….
The moment the Academy's live digital wire published the certified lists, an immediate media shockwave detonated across Los Angeles.
Headlines swarmed every major entertainment feed within minutes.
Variety declared it a total paradigm shift, running front-page analysis on LIE Studios' monopoly over modern cinema, while The Hollywood Reporter marveled at how a single filmmaker had captured high-fantasy prestige R-rated action, and feature animation in the exact same eligibility window.
Over at Pixy Studios, executive suites were enveloped in furious silence; the smear campaigns weaponized against [John Wick]'s violence had not only failed to stop Regal, but had set the stage for [Kung Fu Panda] to dominate both the global box office and the Academy's animation bracket.
Online, the announcement triggered absolute chaos.
Reddit's film forums instantly pinned megathreads analyzing the historic feat, with fans cheering Keanu Reeves' Best Actor nod, celebrating Lena Crawford's directorial validation, and joking that Regal was essentially competing against himself for the industry's highest honors.
By the time Regal's sleek black SUV pulled onto the main gates of LIE Studios, the entrance had transformed into a roaring fortress of press.
Broadcast vans lined the curbs with humming satellite dishes, and dozens of paparazzi and reporters swarmed against the barricades with boom mics and cameras.
"Stay close, boss." Rock said from the front passenger seat, adjusting his earpiece. "Rook, Rocco, on the door now. Keep the perimeter tight."
"Got it." Rocco grunted from behind.
The vehicle doors pushed open into an immediate wall of noise.
The roar of idling diesel engines, the rapid-fire clatter of dozens of camera shutters firing at twelve frames a second, and a barrage of overlapping shouts hit them all at once:
–"Regal! Twenty-three nominations! Did you expect John Wick to take eight?!"
–"Mr. Seraphsail! Three screenplay nominations in one morning! Is this an all-time Academy record?!"
–"Regal, how does it feel competing against yourself for Best Picture almost every single year?!"
–"Regal! Over here! Just one look!"
Rock stepped out first, followed by Rook and Rocco.
Built like twin brick fortresses, the two guards locked their arms in a barrier, using their sheer bulk to push through the surging reporters and carve a narrow, moving pocket of space toward the studio's security cordon.
"Step back! Move behind the line, please!" Rock's deep voice boomed over the chaos. "Make way!"
Usually, even with a brutal schedule, Regal would offer a few polite smiles, or drop a comment to keep the press happy.
Not today.
Today, Regal kept his chin tucked down, his eyes fixed on the pavement.
In his rush to leave the penthouse this morning, he had completely forgotten that the open collar of his shirt left the base of his neck exposed.
Right there, in broad daylight, was the crimson mark Gwendolwyn had left on him. If he stopped to take questions, he would be caught for sure.
–"Regal! What's the reaction to Lena Crawford's nomination?!"
Regal ignored it all, quickening his stride toward the double glass doors.
"...Hey! Kid! Move your damn camera out of my ear!"
A dry, sharp, utterly fed-up voice sliced through the deafening cacophony of the press pack.
Regal stopped dead in his tracks.
Rock and Rook halted instantly, their shoulders bracing against the pushing crowd to keep the pocket intact.
Regal turned his head toward the edge of the metal barricade, his eyes cutting through the sea of flashing strobe lights.
Standing just behind the second row of reporters, trapped between a cameraman's bulky battery pack and sound tech, was–
Jordan.
He was clutching a folder tightly against his chest, wearing a jacket.
His hair had more gray peppering the temples than before, and the lines around his eyes were deeper, but his sharp, deadpan scowl was unmistakable.
Jordan had taken a massive gamble coming down here today.
Seven long years had passed since 2010, when a broke college kid used to work in his convenience store counter at two in the morning, chewing on cheap snacks and casually tossing out lines like:
'I am gonna be a director soon…'
Back then, Jordan had retorted with his trademark smirk:
'Perfect. I will be here when it flops.'
Now, standing in front of a multi billion dollar studio lot surrounded by international news crews, Jordan had legitimately wondered if that kid had completely forgotten the grumpy store manager who used to sign his paycheck.
In a city like this, people changed the second they touched money.
He certainly hadn't expected what happened next.
A grin broke across Regal's face, every ounce of his earlier avoidance vanishing into thin air.
Without giving a single damn about the cameras, the live broadcasts, or the journalists hanging on his every breath, Regal raised an arm and hollered across the pavement:
"Yo! Boss! What the hell are you doing all the way over there?!"
The entire press line froze as the frantic questions died, replaced by stunned silence.
Reporters blinked in complete bewilderment, while the camera operators paused mid pan.
–"Did he just say 'Boss'?" someone in the front row muttered into their audio monitor.
To the entire entertainment industry, Regal Seraphsail is currently at the absolute peak of modern cinema.
He answered to no studio board, took orders from nobody, and held the entire town in the palm of his hand.
Yet here he was, in front of dozens of national news outlets, casually yelling "Boss" at a random, ordinary older man stuck behind a barricade.
Regal Seraphsail has a boss?!
–"Turn! Turn the camera!" a producer hissed from behind the barrier.
Within half a second, dozens of heavy telephoto lenses and boom mics whipped around in unison, swinging away from Regal and aiming squarely at Jordan.
Caught dead center in the blinding crosshairs of Hollywood's media spotlight, Jordan went completely rigid.
A bead of nervous sweat popped onto his forehead under the sudden assault of flashes, but true to form, his deadpan expression barely cracked.
"HOO!!" Jordan muttered dryly under his breath, shielding his eyes slightly. "Just great."
"Rock." Regal called out, gesturing toward the barrier. "Get him out of there and bring him over."
"Rocco, clear a path." Rock commanded.
"On it."
Rocco moved like a human bulldozer, stepping into the crowd, parting the confused reporters and shoving the barricade aside to open a clean lane.
He extended a respectful hand toward Jordan. "Sir, with me."
Jordan hesitated for a fraction of a second, then pushed past the bewildered journalists, stepping into the cleared space beside Regal.
The moment Jordan stepped through, Regal didn't hesitate. He stepped forward and pulled his old employer into a hug.
"It's really been a while, Boss." Regal said warmly.
Jordan let out an exhale he felt like he had been holding for seven years, a relieved, faintly sarcastic smirk finally breaking through his stiffness as he patted Regal's shoulder.
In this entire industry, in fact, in this whole city, he was the only person on earth Regal still called 'Boss'.
"Damn kid!!!" Jordan muttered. "Seven years later, and you're still making a giant mess everywhere you go."
"Hey, I learned from the best." Regal laughed.
All around them, camera shutters clicked multiple times capturing every angle possible.
Click-click-click-click-click–!
And in that relentless blizzard of clicks, several lenses caught the exact moment Regal turned his head.
Framing the heartwarming reunion of a billionaire kingpin and his former convenience store manager, right alongside the unmistakable, delicate red kiss blooming brightly just above the collar of Regal's neck.
Oblivious to that, Regal smiled, slinging an arm casually around Jordan's shoulders.
"Come on." He said, steering him away from the shouting reporters and toward the gleaming glass doors of LIE Studios–
"Why don't we catch up in my office?"
….
The heavy security doors of the LIE Studios main building slid shut behind them, instantly muting suns of flashing press.
Jordan slowly tilted his head back, his eyes tracing the towering glass architecture, the state of the art digital displays, looping concept art, and the vast, cavernous halls.
'Christ', Jordan thought, his mind reflexively running retail math. 'You could stack about forty of my convenience stores inside this lobby alone and still have room for a parking lot.'
"Come on, Boss." Regal steered him toward the private executive elevators. "Eighteenth floor."
As they walked across the floor, every single person they passed.
Department heads clutching script binders, concept artists, junior editors, and production coordinators, immediately stopped what they were doing.
"Good morning, Boss!" a passing VFX coordinator greeted with respect.
"Morning, Boss." another line producer chimed in, stepping aside to clear the path.
Jordan glanced sideways at Regal, bewildered.
Back in 2010, the kid was wearing a faded apron and asking which mop bucket to dump.
Now, hundreds of people in high-end suits were bowing their heads and calling him 'Boss' like he was the head of an empire.
Yet, without a shred of hesitation or embarrassment, Regal casually gestured toward Jordan every time someone greeted them.
"Morning, Dave." Regal replied breezily to a senior editor. "By the way, this is Jordan. My boss."
Dave froze, blinking in sheer confusion at the older man in the jacket, before quickly bowing again with frantic politeness. "A-Ah! A pleasure to meet you, sir!"
Jordan's lips twitched as a profound sense of unreality washed over him.
He gave Regal a side eye as they stepped into the private elevator–
"Kid, you're going to give your employees a heart attack. Stop calling me that in front of these people."
"Why?" Regal laughed as the elevator ascended smoothly. "Hierarchy is hierarchy. You're the only guy who ever had the legal authority to fire me."
"That was damn years ago, you brat!"
"Was it?"
"Please, stop."
.
….
[To be continued…]
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