The offices of Holt Industries, located in a modern Metropolis skyscraper, exuded innovation and efficiency. The air was crisp, the lighting perfect, the design sleek. Marcus, dressed in an elegant but understated suit, approached the reception desk, a digital portfolio in hand.
Receptionist, with a professional smile: "Good morning, Sir. How can I help you?"
Marcus,smiling back: "Good morning. I'm Marcus Kane. I'd like to meet with Michael Holt, please."
Receptionist,typing quickly on her interface: "Michael Holt... I see. Do you have an appointment, Mr. Kane?"
Marcus knew this would be the hurdle. In the United States, his name didn't carry the same weight as in the Japanese publishing world. Manga artists, unless they were media legends like Akira Toriyama or Eiichiro Oda, remained largely unknown to the general public, especially an author like him who cherished his privacy.
Marcus, keeping his composure: "No, I don't have a scheduled appointment. However, I'm certain Mr. Holt will be interested in what I have to propose. It's an investment opportunity in a tech sector he hasn't yet explored."
Receptionist,slightly skeptical but polite: "I understand. Many people come in daily with ideas. Without an appointment, it's difficult... However, let me call his office to see if his assistant can see you."
She dialed an internal number. Marcus waited, observing the lobby. He felt the discreet gaze of security cameras. He wondered if Holt's systems were sophisticated enough to link "Marcus Kane" to "Utopian." Probably.
Receptionist, after a brief conversation: "Very well, Mr. Kane. Ms. Evans, Mr. Holt's assistant, can grant you ten minutes. Please take the elevator to the 40th floor. You'll be expected there."
A smile of satisfaction on his lips, Marcus thanked the receptionist and headed towards the elevators. The sliding door closed with a soft hiss. As the cab ascended rapidly, he watched the urban landscape of Metropolis unfold through the glass wall.
He hadn't come merely as Marcus Kane, the manga artist. He had come as a potential investor, with a simple yet revolutionary idea for this world of super-technology: a personal communication device, elegant, intuitive, and accessible to the masses. A "smartphone."
The elevator stopped with a soft ding. The doors opened onto an equally minimalist floor, where a woman in a severe pantsuit awaited him, a datapad in hand.
Ms. Evans: "Mr. Kane? I'm Ms. Evans. Mr. Holt has a very busy schedule, but he is willing to listen to you briefly. Please follow me."
Marcus nodded, ready to pitch his most down-to-earth, and potentially most lucrative, idea to one of the smartest men on the planet. The business game had begun.