(3rd Person POV)
By the end of March, the very first Grammy Awards took center stage—this time, the spotlight shifted from actors and directors to musicians and composers. Talented artists, producers, and songwriters from across the continent gathered to celebrate the year's best in music.
Like the Golden Globes before it, the Grammys were not entirely dominated by Hellfire artists. While some trophies went to rising stars under the Hellfire banner—most notably, newcomer Joseph Jackson, who took home his first Grammy—many awards were earned by lesser-known talents outside of Hellfire's empire.
This came as no surprise. Just like the Golden Globes, the Grammy Awards were organized through an independent academy—staffed by music critics, veteran composers, and guild representatives.
Though Hellfire founded and funded the event, Arthur ensured the award process wasn't perceived as biased or monopolized.
By the end of the night, songs by other artists and bands that had never graced Hellfire's label were now echoing through the kingdom—played on public radios, cafés, or booming from Hellfire Walkman devices on every corner.
The Grammy's influence spread quickly. Within days, the kingdom's music charts began shifting. Old chart-toppers dropped. New Grammy-winning tracks surged up the rankings.
~~~
A few days after the Grammy Awards and the shake-up in the music charts, early April brought another major event—the official opening of Hellfire Bank.
For weeks, Princess Mary's endorsement had stirred public interest. Now, on launch day, every Hellfire Bank branch across the Horn Kingdom was bustling. Long lines snaked outside. Inside, those who had pre-applied and been approved were finally receiving their account credentials.
The interior of the branches surprised many. They were spacious, well-ventilated, and more modern than any other bank in the kingdom. But what truly caught the eye—what drew every curious glance—were the individual Hellfire Computers stationed behind each teller.
Unlike the traditional banks—especially the Big Four, which still relied on two or three computers at most, and even then only for basic bookkeeping—Hellfire Bank had nearly twenty terminals in a single branch.
"Why do they need so many computers?" a housewife murmured, eyeing the glowing screens as she clutched her form.
Her husband scratched his head. "Beats me. Looks excessive, if you ask me."
Around them, murmurs of confusion echoed. The cards were new. The machines outside still puzzled many. The technology felt out of place in a world where most banks ran on ledgers and parchment.
Unbeknownst to the curious customers, the sea of computers inside Hellfire Bank wasn't just for show. Arthur's tech division had built a fully digitized banking system from the ground up—a first in the kingdom.
Every terminal was part of a secure real-time network that silently worked behind the scenes: verifying identities through photo and magical signature scans, issuing credit scores, approving cards, logging transactions, and updating savings or loan accounts live.
Even inter-branch communication flowed through encrypted channels. It was smooth. Fast. Unseen. The future—hidden behind blinking screens.
No paper trails. No delays. No manual balancing at the end of the day.
On another note, the customers who spoke with the bank tellers left with more than just activated accounts—they left with smiles. The tellers were courteous, professional, and genuinely kind, a refreshing contrast to the cold indifference of the Big Four banks, where the staff acted as if they were royalty doing favors for peasants.
What surprised many even more was how easy it was to set up an account. Customers were guided to the HellfireBank website—yes, an actual website—and told they could manage everything online. From checking balances in real time to monitoring their credit card limits, the system offered full transparency.
The idea of using a "website" was still foreign to most. Though the Horn Kingdom was leading the charge in internet use, for the vast majority, it was still a novelty—something out of a fiction.
Even the debit card came with a twist: customers could withdraw money directly from the strange new machine stationed outside the building—the so-called "ATM Machine."
"I'd like to deposit a thousand Horn Kingdom Dollars," said one man cheerfully as he pulled out a thick wallet and passed it over.
"Thank you for your trust, sir," the young teller replied with a warm smile and a polite bow.
"Haha, don't mention it," the man chuckled. "Honestly, it's because of how kind you've been. You don't get that at the other banks."
Her smile widened. Most customers only deposited the minimum thirty HKD required to get a debit card—but this man had dropped a thousand without blinking. She quickly keyed the deposit into her terminal.
"Your funds have been deposited," she said. "You can now withdraw from the ATM outside. Just register your PIN there—that'll activate your card."
"Wonderful. Thank you," the man said with a nod. He gave his new debit card a curious glance, then stepped out of the branch—now bustling with lines of people wrapping around the lobby.
Outside, the sun glinted off the polished steel casing of the ATM Machine. A line had already formed, with dozens of people whispering among themselves, eyes lit with anticipation.
'Heh. Look at them,' the man thought, watching the crowd. 'All excited over a machine.'
Still, he couldn't deny his own curiosity. Activating his card was just an excuse—he wanted to try it too.
After waiting nearly ten minutes, it was finally his turn. He stepped forward and hesitated slightly as he inserted his card. The machine swallowed it with a soft mechanical whirr.
'Is my card really safe in there?' he wondered, blinking at the faint green flicker of the screen.
Then the display changed. Instructions appeared, prompting him to set a personal PIN. He pressed the mechanical buttons, each click firm and deliberate. After confirming the digits, the screen blinked again—his card was now active.
He glanced at the withdrawal options and selected 100 HKD.
The machine hummed—low at first, then with a rhythmic chuka-chuka-chunk as gears spun inside. A second later, the metal tray clicked open and crisp bills slid out: ten neatly stacked ten-dollar notes.
"Wow..." he breathed, reaching out to take the cash. It felt warm, fresh, and somehow futuristic.
A second click followed, and a narrow slip of paper emerged from the side—his receipt.
He stared at it for a moment, then smiled.
"This… is something else."
---
While Hellfire Bank welcomed thousands upon thousands of customers on its opening day, the Big Four banks remained idle—complacent and unmoved. Despite headlines showcasing crowded Hellfire branches and footage dominating the news, none of them lifted a finger in response.
In their eyes, the hype was temporary.
They believed the novelty would wear off soon enough, that Hellfire Bank was nothing more than a flashy experiment doomed to fail.
In their private conversations, the idea of a bank going bankrupt—especially one started by a filmmaker—was downright amusing.
They were even looking forward to Arthur's downfall. "He'll regret ever stepping into our domain," some whispered. The concept of giving customers advance money through a credit system felt like financial suicide to them. Reckless. Laughable.
From their predictions, Arthur would lose millions—perhaps even hundreds of millions—before the end of the year.
After all, they were the Big Four—entrenched, trusted, and untouched for centuries. Why worry?
And so, they waited. Confident. Dismissive.
Trusting that their centuries-old dominance as the Big Four would remain unshaken.
---
At an exclusive rooftop restaurant overlooking the golden skyline of Horn Kingdom, the CEOs of the Big Four banks gathered over steak and wine—laughing like kings above a battlefield.
"I heard Hellfire Bank mailed out credit cards with six-figure limits to nobles and high-ranking elites," scoffed Salarie Green of Gold of Wales, her tone thick with sarcasm. "As if giving spoiled aristocrats free rein with unearned money won't backfire."
"Arthur Pendragon strikes again," chuckled the Horn Coins chairman. He raised his glass. "Bold as ever, but always two steps away from idiocy."
"Even nobles will default if they think the money's free," added the elf CEO of Silver Nature with a smirk. "And Arthur just handed them an open tab. It's like tossing meat into a den of wolves and hoping for loyalty."
"The nobles will bleed him dry," CEO of Solarus Security added, chuckling. "And when they vanish without paying back a coin, he'll learn what real debt feels like."
They raised their glasses in mock toast—to the fool who dared challenge the old guard.
~~~
Meanwhile, deep within the sprawling luxury district of the Hellscape, the noble demon Ferdinand Fellwing was indulging his daughter in one of the flagship boutiques under Arthur's latest brand—Hermès.
The boutique glittered with enchanted lighting and shelves lined with shimmering dresses, mana-threaded handbags, and custom-fitted cloaks stitched with noble insignias.
"You'll really let me buy anything I want, Father?" the girl beamed, spinning in place as her eyes devoured the rows of velvet gowns, silk dresses, and enchanted handbags.
"Of course, my dear," Ferdinand grinned, flashing the golden credit card Princess Mary had mailed him. "This little card will take care of it all."
"Thank you, Daddy!" she squealed, dashing through the aisles with reckless joy.
Ferdinand chuckled darkly, watching her shop without restraint. "That Pendragon boy really doesn't know how the world works," he muttered to himself. "Sending me a hundred-thousand-dollar credit card, like I'd ever pay it back."
He remembered the letter from Princess Mary, neatly wrapped in royal parchment. Inside had been the card, some promotional material—and a formal agreement. No enchantments. Just clean ink, a few terms, and a line to sign.
He signed it with barely a glance.
But what he hadn't considered was the fine print—buried in the simple legal jargon was everything Arthur needed.
A signature on a non-magical contract was still binding in the Horn Kingdom. Especially one sent under royal endorsement. That meant full liability. Any unpaid debt could result in court summons, interest penalties, frozen estates—and worst of all, public humiliation.
Right now, all Ferdinand saw was free money—a golden card and a golden opportunity.
What Arthur saw… was a leash.
He loved men like Ferdinand—arrogant nobles who thought themselves untouchable. They would make him wealthier, and eventually, serve as walking warnings to anyone else thinking of skipping the bill.
And one day soon, when the statements arrived, when interest piled and legal letters began knocking on noble gates—Ferdinand and the others like him would realize:
Arthur hadn't given them freedom.
He'd given them debt. And wrapped it in luxury.