(3rd Person POV)
Inside the grand meeting room of Hellfire Park, Arthur stood at the head of the table, gesturing toward the white wall behind him, where several images of coastlines, beaches, and harbors were pinned in neat rows.
"In two days, we're heading to the U.S.E.," he announced, voice calm but firm. "These locations were scouted by our advance team—potential filming sites. But I'm not settling yet. When we get there, we'll explore more. If nothing better turns up, we use these."
Murmurs followed, until one crew member raised a hand. "Boss, why are we going all the way to a foreign land? Don't we already have the VFX studio? Can't we just simulate the ship, the ocean, everything?"
Others nodded, the same question clearly on their minds.
Arthur chuckled lightly and cleared his throat. "You're right. Our VFX studio has done wonders—it's fixed a lot of logistical headaches, created entire cities, even forged illusions as real as steel. But this time…" He paused, glancing toward Firfel, who sat quietly among the crew. "This project is different."
He turned back to the group. "This isn't just about visuals. This film—Titanic—is about presence. About texture. The wind in your face. The creaking of real wood beneath your feet. The chill of sea mist. These things... they can't be faked. Not completely."
Some of the crew exchanged thoughtful glances. Firfel tilted her head, watching him speak.
Arthur continued, "We need a real ship. Real waves. Real sunrises. Our actors have to feel it. Not just act like they do."
He paced a few steps, then added with a hint of mischief, "Besides, we plan to actually sink the ship."
That caught them off guard. A few gasps. Then silence. Slowly, nods followed.
Lilith, one of the senior production designers, leaned forward. "You said we'll use a ship. But what kind? Are we building one?"
Arthur smiled. "Good question." He raised two fingers. "We've got two options. One—we build a replica from scratch. Expensive. Time-consuming. But accurate."
He snapped his fingers. A new image appeared on the wall.
The crew leaned in.
It was a colossal vessel, faded in places but majestic nonetheless.
"Option two—we purchase this ship. The Grand Whale. Docked in the U.S.E. It's old, yes, but structurally sound. Renovate it, rework the details... and it becomes the perfect stand-in for the legendary Titan Ship."
He studied the ship's image, a glint of nostalgia in his gaze. In truth, he thought, 'this Grand Whale resembles the Titanic of my past life more than this world's version ever did.'
But then a voice cut through the moment.
"Wait—that's the Grand Whale. Isn't it some kind of relic in the Empirican continent? I've heard it's beloved by the older generation. I doubt they'll sell it."
"Yes! That's the Grand Whale!" someone blurted out, eyes wide with recognition. "I heard it first sailed before airships were even invented. Back then, it was the pride of the United States of Empirica."
A wave of murmurs spread through the room.
"It's considered a national treasure," another crew member added. "Even if it's not as famous now, I seriously doubt the U.S.E government would let a bunch of foreigners buy it."
Arthur listened calmly, a knowing smile tugging at his lips.
"Hehe, true enough," he said, hands clasped behind his back. "But I have my ways."
The production team exchanged curious glances. Firfel, sitting cross-legged with her arms folded, raised a brow at him. She was clearly intrigued.
---
Two days later, the media in the U.S.E. were in a frenzy. Headlines spread as Arthur Pendragon, accompanied by Firfel and his core production team, landed at Angels Airport.
But it wasn't just their visit that caught attention.
What really stirred the press was the presence of Paul Hennessy—the newly elected president set to take office in January 1276—personally welcoming Arthur at the airport.
Photographers scrambled to catch the moment, and soon grainy shots filled newsstands with bold captions:
"Why is Arthur Pendragon here—with his girlfriend and full crew?"
"Hellfire Studios in Angels City? Speculations rise after meeting with new President Hennessy."
Rumors swirled. Was it political? A documentary? Or something far more cinematic?
In a private suite lined with velvet drapes and warm lighting, Arthur and President-elect Paul Hennessy sat across from each other. A waiter poured them wine into crystal glasses before quietly taking his leave.
Paul swirled the wine, then took a slow sip. "So… you're connected to that organization. The one that backed my rise to the presidency."
Arthur gave a faint smile. "Mr. President, accusations are dangerous things. It's safer to assume I'm just a filmmaker."
Paul raised a brow. "Funny. Because that same organization pushed for barcodes, computers, and now they're ordering me to assist you—filming permits, access, and even the Grand Whale."
Arthur didn't respond. He sipped his wine with calm detachment.
Paul leaned in slightly, eyes narrowing. "You may not wear their badge, but you're clearly tied to them."
Arthur's tone was colder now. "Let's not get lost in questions, Paul. Just help push the permits through… and make sure I get that ship."
Paul frowned. "The Grand Whale? That vessel's a historical symbol for the U.S.E. Why do you need it?"
A slow grin formed on Arthur's face. "To sink it."
Paul choked mid-sip, spilling wine onto his cuff. "You want to what?"
"Sinking it. For the film," Arthur said with eerie ease. "Don't worry—it'll be cinematic."
"You're going to destroy a cultural relic… for a movie?"
Arthur raised his glass again. "Film is life. And life is sacrifice. Besides, I only need to sink it once."
Paul blinked in disbelief. "This is madness."
Arthur gave a patient shrug. "So? Will you help me or not?"
Paul hesitated, sweat forming on his brow. The weight of his future presidency clashed with the tension in the room.
"I… I'll do it," Paul finally stammered. "It's just a ship. I'll handle it. Even if I'm not officially in office yet, I can make it happen."
Arthur nodded, satisfied. "Good. I knew I could count on you."
Paul grabbed a handkerchief and wiped his forehead, unsure if he'd just made the biggest mistake of his political career—or aligned himself with the most powerful man in the world of cinema.
---
The next three days, headlines exploded across the media. The cruise company Whale Line Heritage held a press conference and announced the shocking news: the legendary ship Grand Whale had been sold to none other than Arthur Pendragon.
The agreed purchase price? Six million U.S. dollars—a figure that translated to roughly 4.5 million global dollars.
TV networks and newspapers ran the story with bold titles:
"National Relic Sold to Foreign Filmmaker—The Grand Whale Now Belongs to Hellfire."
"Hellfire Buys the Grand Whale – National Relic Sold for $6M!"
"Arthur Pendragon Buys Empirica's Crown Jewel—What Will He Do With It?"
Public reaction in Empirica was fast and furious.
"What the hell?! They're selling the Grand Whale?!" one elderly man shouted at a TV screen inside a neighborhood diner. "That ship is a damn piece of history!"
His son groaned beside him, shaking his head. "I thought it was off-limits... How'd he get his hands on it?"
From a nearby table, a woman chimed in, "I heard it's been neglected for years. Maybe Hellfire will restore it better than we ever could."
The old man grumbled, "Don't care. It's ours. Not theirs."
Back on the docks where the ship had long rested, the Grand Whale's crew stood in silence, gathered beneath the shadow of the vessel they had served for decades.
The captain, a grizzled man in his sixties, addressed them solemnly.
"You've all heard the news. The Grand Whale's been sold."
A heavy silence followed—until one sailor spat to the side and growled, "Tch. Selling it to that guy? I'd rather see it rust."
Another crewman joined in, scowling, "If it was that dwarf, Billy Dark—the founder of DARK Corp—I wouldn't complain. At least he's from this nation. But Arthur Pendragon? That demon bastard? I'd rather burn the whole damn ship to the ground than see him touch it."
A third sailor leaned in, voice low and dangerous. "Yeah. We should burn it. Like we did to that Hellfire branch back then—"
"Shut your damn mouth!" the captain roared, finger pointing straight at him. "Are you insane?! You want the entire world knowing what we did?!"
The sailor froze.
Everyone else stiffened, falling into silence.
"Not. A. Word," the captain said, his voice like iron. "You keep your mouths shut. All of you."
"Aye, Captain!" they echoed quickly, fear replacing fury.
The wind rustled across the pier, but no one dared speak further.
Above it all, the Grand Whale loomed—massive, aged, and now under new ownership. A ship once hailed as the pride of Empirica… now destined to become part of Arthur Pendragon's next cinematic legend.