T/N: Guys, leave your brains here and don't think too much about the next few chapters.
I tried to change the poison but this part is required for Aglaea and the Amphoreus cast members to join MiHoYo, hence I could only remove the extreme parts and left a toned down version.
Just think this is an AU earth and enjoy the chapters.
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The capital of Greece.
Cinnati hung up the phone and, looking relaxed, walked into the dressing room.
He stood before a full length mirror, looking at himself in the reflection.
This was a man who, even as he entered middle age, still maintained a respectable appearance with great care.
He was wearing a finely tailored dark-gray suit, his tie impeccably straightened.
Even his physique was kept in rather good shape, without the usual pot belly most middle aged men have.
Of course, all of this was thanks to the large amount of money he spent every month.
But even this refined exterior still couldn't hide the parts of him that were… less refined.
For example, his hair.
Although it was groomed meticulously, every strand fixed perfectly in place, it still couldn't cover up the thinning that was impossible to ignore.
Cinnati reached out and carefully tidied his hair again, and the expensive watch on his wrist was revealed at the cuff.
When he finished all of this-
Only then did he look at himself once more with satisfaction, his eyes openly filled with self-admiration and smug pride.
He likewise did not shy away from the qualities that made him who he was.
That arrogance, that predatory ambition nurtured by privilege. Cinnati firmly believed that he was meant to stand above others, controlling everything.
Ever since joining the committee, everything he did had been moving toward that goal.
To secure and obtain even greater authority, he didn't mind using any means necessary, just like what he had done to Aglaea on the phone moments ago.
Art? Ideals? Other people's hard work? All were nothing more than bargaining chips.
"I hope Aglaea can be smart and not make things difficult for me."
"If she bows her head early, I can start negotiations with those people sooner."
Cinnati finally pulled himself out of his narcissistic haze. He left the dressing room and walked into his study. There, he opened his laptop and solemnly clicked on an email.
This email, in his eyes, was not just a message, it was a staircase to the heavens.
The sender was a person named Heldo.
Cinnati was no stranger to this Heldo, his name was practically thunder in his ears.
Because the man was a famous giant in Greece's cultural sphere.
Many ordinary people didn't know much about him, but they certainly knew one organization:
SBI.
Sweety Brand Inc.
The very organization responsible for the surge of people of color, men, and women in Hollywood movies and various games.
And behind this organization stood Heldo.
Heldo wielded power and resources far beyond those stuffy old geezers in the Art Committee.
In terms of entertainment culture, Greece certainly had its pride and heritage, but it was undeniable that most modern Greeks had practically become slaves to Hollywood culture.
Any Greek local celebrity who made a name in Hollywood would be wildly adored back home, their status and fame basically overshadowed local actors.
If he could join Heldo's circle and become the man's trusted confidant, Cinnati could hardly imagine how high he might rise.
SBI's progress in Greece had been less than smooth, which was why Heldo contacted him.
The request was extremely simple: find a item popular with young people, then replace all the key roles inside with their own "diversified" members.
To demonstrate equality and love.
Cinnati wasn't an idiot, of course he understood the real purpose behind this.
It was a kind of forced aesthetic adjustment, a compliance test, something even more outrageous than the Art Committee's value definitions.
They wanted to redefine values of beauty.
Turn the ugly into beautiful, and the beautiful into ugly.
More importantly, they intended to use their narrative system to reshape local culture, turning local customs into the foreign.
Normally, Cinnati would never have been the one chosen to handle something like this.
But unfortunately for Hollywood, and for the entertainment giants, they were suffering severe blows and having a hard time.
And Greece, a land once glorious for well-known and famous plays, had become Heldo's reserve pool.
Cinnati pondered for a long time.
He finally resolved to tell Heldo about his selection of the Okhema Theater.
He needed the man's promise and resources.
Cinnati took out his phone and nervously dialed the number.
Before long, the call connected.
"Hello, Cinnati."
"I hope you're calling to bring me good news."
Heldo's calm voice came through the receiver.
"Of course, sir."
The arrogance on Cinnati's face vanished without a trace. Even through the phone, he maintained a sycophantic expression.
"I'm calling precisely to report the good news."
In extremely concise terms, he explained the situation with Okhema to Heldo. The script and stage play showed the unique pressure of Greek local life.
And the philosophical depth in Okhema's story was quite good.
Each one of the girls had the potential to become a major star.
"What they lack now is simply resources and publicity. I believe you understand this better than anyone."
"In this industry, people can be hyped up to the heavens."
"Audiences don't think deeply. If the media says someone is great, they'll believe it."
"As long as we activate the media machine and give Okhema massive attention, we can rely on the golden brand of Greek theater to build a stylish, powerful vanguard."
"To help you clear away… the unsightly obstacles."
After speaking, Cinnati waited nervously for a response.
After a moment of silence, Heldo's voice finally came through.
"Sounds good."
Heldo spoke slowly: "A troupe that grows naturally from the local soil, brimming with potential, is indeed far more useful than forcibly planting cultural symbols. But… are you sure they'll obey?"
"Rest assured, Mr. Heldo!"
"As long as we control their lifeline, make them understand that without our support they can hardly move an inch, they will naturally obey!"
Cinnati hurriedly added, "Aglaea is being stubborn now only because she hasn't suffered enough. Once Okhema is on the brink of destruction, she will bow her head."
"I hope so." Heldo gave a soft snort. Then his tone shifted sharply, carrying clear coldness.
"You must understand, we are pushing all of this not merely for so-called 'diversity' and 'equality.'"
"More importantly, we must break the dangerous trend at hand. That damn MiHoYo, "
"They are stealing the right to interpret culture!"
Heldo's tone grew heavier, carrying an anger he could no longer hide:
"They're using the philosophical framework we know so well, filling it with their own words, packaging it into so-called universal stories, and driving the young people crazy! Even the young people here!"
Cinnati heard this and nodded repeatedly.
"You're absolutely right. How dare they use our allusions, our way of thinking, to tell their narratives, yet still achieve such tremendous success? It's simply outrageous!"
"Their profane reinterpretations of ancient philosophy are actually treated as treasures by many ignorant fools!"
"This completely shakes the foundations and purity of our traditional culture!"
They could no longer win the debate.
"Purity?"
"No. Cinnati, the key is not preserving so-called purity."
"It is that the right to interpret must remain in our hands. MiHoYo's success has proven something huge."
"Young people still crave profound narratives, but they reject being lectured. So we cannot simply forbid, we must guide, or rather, correct."
"You mentioned this Okhema Theater. Since it has the potential to become the new favorite of young audiences, it must take up the responsibility of being a role model."
"In their plays, I want to see enough diversity!"
"The main characters must include a wide range of genders, races, and even orientations!"
"Remember, not simply natural representation, there must be a quota, enough to reflect our values."
"Even if it slightly sacrifices the smoothness of the story."
Cinnati, upon hearing Heldo's commanding tone, felt his heart bloom with joy.
A command meant he had now become one of Heldo's people.
In the humblest voice he could muster, he said: "I understand, sir."
"As long as we implant our people, twist the story a 'little', just like embedded advertisements, into every popular storytelling medium..."
"The new generation will, without even realizing it, only acknowledge the correctness and beauty that we define."
"In that case, any work that doesn't meet our standards, for example, those 'incorrect' stories and characters from MiHoYo, will naturally be viewed as outdated and narrow-minded by the new generation."
Heldo was finally satisfied.
On the other end of the phone, he smiled, though his mind recalled a bitter memory.
This situation had caused his superior to angrily reprimand him.
The cause was a character from MiHoYo named "Boothill."
This character, styled unmistakably as a Western cowboy, became immensely popular in the Western market as soon as he appeared.
What Heldo saw was only part of the report.
There was far more, but he didn't bring it up.
...
Even more absurd was that young people who grew up under "online education," blissfully unaware, didn't even seem to realize what this implied.
Standing from Boothill's point of view, they harshly criticized the IPC's Market Expansion Department that had initiated the invasion.
And then there was the faction of the Galaxy Rangers.
This had already reached a very dangerous stage.
Sometimes, Heldo himself would sigh.
This "online education" truly did make them happy. But only if it was them behind the scenes. The audiences' happily numb brains could be easily influenced by cultural indoctrination, easily swayed by media.
But when Hollywood and it's narratives gradually devolved into a dumpster fire, the counter-narratives born from the same stupidity also deteriorated in quality.
And now, a certain group had already begun doing exactly that.
Thinking of this, Heldo took a breath and spoke slowly: "Remember, Cinnati, there are wars between people, and invisible wars between economies."
"Culture is no different."
"This war is fought using the cultural products most beloved by young people. And we must use the same method to defeat our opponents."
"Or rather, they are the challengers. What we must do is use our correctness to cleanse those people again."
"MiHoYo is very skilled at telling profound stories, so we must use Okhema to craft equally profound ones."
"To become the model, correct and popular."
"Then, with this standard, we can judge and structure everything that MiHoYo creates."
"Reclaim the right to interpret, define what constitutes a good story. For that, a little artistic sacrifice is absolutely worth it."
Heldo finished.
Cinnati immediately assured him: "I will make sure Okhema stays firmly under our control and becomes our sharpest spear."
"Good. Handle it as soon as possible. I'll support you. Tomorrow, I'll have them send your nomination to boost your position. And money… naturally won't be lacking."
Heldo's final sentence before hanging up made Cinnati's heart pound wildly.
He gripped the phone ingratiatingly, waiting two or three seconds after the call ended before pretending everything was normal.
"Okhema."
Cinnati rolled the name on his tongue.
He could not wait to use every means available to make Okhema submit.
As for Aglaea's persistence,
Heh… Faced with such overwhelming pressure, what could Aglaea, that declining noble, possibly do?
Her family only had a bit of fame in their native Greece. She had no influence, no backing, no authority.
All she could do was submit.
And the more powerless this little Okhema Theater was before him, the more Cinnati savoured the exquisite taste of power.