[Owen POV]
The movie The Man Who Tried finally began principal photography after two weeks of pre-production.
My snake was still asleep, so Jack Kennedy was out of the picture for now, which caused slight panic at 4CLOVER since he had just taken out a massive loan.
Some speculated that he had run away after getting the money.
However, after Claire called, I—speaking as Jack—told her that I was working on a script at my house, which reassured her, especially since I had already transferred some of the money to the company account.
At the set of The Man Who Tried, I stood in front of the camera with Steve Carell, having an argument in front of our burned-down house.
"What do you mean you don't have any money in the bank?" I gasped, widening my eyes as I stared at my dad—Steve Carell.
We were discussing the possibility of renting an apartment when he said that.
His face was full of horror as he replied, "I… I don't trust banks—"
"Where did you keep the money, Dad?" I asked again, a little nervous. I chuckled slightly and said, "You—of course you wouldn't keep all of your life savings inside the house… right?"
He turned slightly toward the burned-down house and stammered, "I…"
"Where?" I pressed.
"Inside my mattress," he admitted.
I widened my eyes slightly and said, annoyed, "Is that why your back has been hurting every morning?!"
"No, that's just something that happens when you grow older," he replied dismissively.
We stared at each other for a beat before rushing back to the burned-down house to find the mattress.
But when we arrived, the entire thing was gone, leaving only a few warped metal springs behind.
A fireman walked past and commented, "Huh. That's weird. Usually mattresses are salvageable. It's like someone stuffed kindling inside so that when it burns… it burns."
I turned to my dad with an accusing glare, hands on my waist. He bit his lower lip, his eyes teary, desperately trying to hold back a shout.
"CUT!" the director, Payne, shouted.
"Nice job, both of you!" he added. Payne had been unsure about hiring Steve Carell at first, but once we figured out the character, Steve nailed the performance.
"We've still got some time. Let's finish all the exterior shots before we rebuild the set," Payne said firmly.
That short five-minute argument had taken nearly three hours to shoot. Unlike George, who always had a clear picture of his films, Payne worked slowly, collecting as much material as possible for the edit.
We tried different camera angles, different levels of energy, and several variations of the scene. The indoor sequences would be filmed later, once the house set was rebuilt, so Payne had to be especially careful with continuity.
"It's a wrap for today. Nice work, everyone!" Payne called out. The crew began packing up.
As I was leaving, Steve stopped me. "Hey, there's a party tonight at Stephen Colbert's place. I can get you in if you want."
"It's okay. I've got writing classes, so I can't go," I said.
"Oh, right. Wait—how old are you again?"
"I'm sixteen."
He blinked in surprise. "Sixteen? Wow, I thought you were already done with high school."
"I am done with high school," I replied. Seeing his confusion, I sighed. "I'm working on a book under Jessica Sloane's mentorship. I've got class with her tonight."
"Oh!" Steve's eyes widened. "Jessica Sloane? The one who wrote The Sixth Sense? I heard her Detective Kid script just got picked up by Universal."
"Yeah, they bought it. But they won't let her near the production. She thinks they want to butcher the script, so they're keeping her out."
Steve nodded knowingly. He had friends in the industry and understood how things worked, even if he hadn't had his big break yet.
When I got home, Jessica was waiting for me—but in a strange state.
She was absorbed in my manuscript, Phantom Troupe: Night Raid, the first volume of my planned trilogy.
The book was based on my previous life as an assassin. Jessica assumed it reflected something from my childhood. She wasn't exactly wrong—but not right either.
Because of the level of detail, the story read like a manual on how to be an assassin, and Jessica was hooked from beginning to end.
I waited patiently as she finished the last page. Then she looked up at me, her eyes glittering.
"Owen! This… this is incredible! I know a publisher who would love it. Should I call her?"
"No." I poured cold water on her excitement. "I haven't finished drawing the illustrations yet."
"There are illustrations?" Jessica became excited again, turning her head around to look for them.
I picked up a couple of illustrations from my desk and handed them to her. One showed the theater stage, and another had Isabelle.
Jessica squealed in excitement as she saw the pictures.
"I'm not going to publish it until I'm sure I can finish it," I told her.
She asked, "And when do you think that will be?"
"I'm not sure. Maybe early next year?" I replied.
"Hmm…" She thought about it before saying, "I think you should release it right now."
She explained, "Then, you'd know whether the story fared well in the market. That way, you wouldn't need to write the second book if it flopped."
Her plan was quite good, and the first installment of the book ended on an open note, with some ideas for the sequel written in. It wasn't until the second book that things really hit the fan.
"Alright. I'll do it," I said.
"What?" She was confused.
"I'll talk with the publisher," I said as I sat at my desk. "If I use my star power, then I might get more on the advance payment, right?"
"Definitely." Jessica nodded in agreement.
"By the way, Claire called me yesterday." Jessica sat in front of me. "4CLOVER Pictures is going to create their own studio."
"You have your own production company. Do you still want to work with 4CLOVER?" I asked, confused.
"Well, we only have a couple million right now. And by we, I mean George. It's hardly enough to break into mid-level movies."
She took out a script from her bag and placed it right in front of me. "I talked to George about it, and he said the only way we can produce this is with other people financing it."
"What's the story about?" I picked up the script and read it, since she clearly expected me to. Otherwise, she wouldn't have brought it here.
"Classification: Owen?" I looked at her in disbelief as I saw the title.
She became embarrassed and stammered, "It's not… not you, but influenced by you. I mean— That name is just a placeholder. I'll be changing it later."
I looked at her skeptically before sighing and reading the script. It was basically the story of me fighting the three mask demons and saving David's daughter.
She wrote it pretty well, and it could work as a standalone movie. However, as I read it, I had some ideas for it.
"How about making some minimal changes?" I asked.
"What are you suggesting?" She leaned forward, excited.
"Rather than a standalone action-horror hybrid film, maybe… we change the setting, turn it into something worthy of a franchise?"
I crossed out the name on the script with a pencil and replaced it with: O-Class.
Before she left, she said, "By the way, I want you to be the actor for the film. And you're going to come with me to meet Jack during the pitch. That way, you can check whether or not he was replaced by a demon."
"I—" I opened my mouth in shock, but before I could reject it, Jessica smiled and said, "You agreed, right? I know I can count on you!"
"We're going to meet him next Monday! We can do it after you finish filming so there are no excuses!"
Then, she left in a hurry. I sighed and slumped over my desk before glancing at my rings. "Please wake up before Monday, otherwise I'll be in huge trouble."
…
The next day, filming only took two hours in the morning. It was because Steve Carell had the Dana Carvey Show. This had already been discussed before production began, so I had free time that afternoon.
I went to the ice-cream shop to hang out, since Elena had classes and Michael had a date.
While I was there, I scribbled some ideas for the Lucky Clover studio and how I should use my money wisely.
"What are some franchises I know?" I muttered, balancing the pencil on my upper lip, crossing my arms as I thought about it.
Besides Marvel, DC, and the big franchises, what else could I use to make money for the foundation of the studio? To be honest, 200 million would vanish if I made just two blockbusters.
And that wasn't even counting the lack of a guaranteed profit return. It could flop hard at the box office, and I'd be left with nothing but losses.
Fast and Furious?
Harry Potter? The book isn't published yet.
Lord of the Rings? I'm not sure how the original filmmaker convinced the Tolkien estate for the adaptation. And I'm also sure it would take a lot of money to make.
I sighed and muttered, "If I had another billion or so, I wouldn't have to worry so much."
Filmmaking was really expensive. Especially the hidden costs behind a theatrical release.
Suddenly, I saw a familiar figure entering the ice-cream shop.
"Oh, it's Cheese," I muttered.
"ALISON!" She snapped at me immediately. "I'm going to expose your bullying to the media one of these days!"
"Cheese, you're here alone?" I asked, slightly intrigued.
"Not that it's any of your business, but I have a day off today, and I'm waiting here until my friend finishes school."
"You played hooky?"
"I HAD AN AUDITION!"
"Oh, did you get it?"
She slumped slightly. "No."
"Well, good luck next time," I said before turning back to my notes. She sat alone and ordered her ice-cream and snacks, since I had expanded the menu so it wasn't just ice-cream anymore.
"What are you working on? Homework?" she asked, bored, her phone battery already dead.
"No, just some movie pitches," I replied.
She rolled her eyes. "You're already a famous actor. Do you still want to be a producer or something?"
I ignored the jab. "Cheese, let me ask you something. As a tween girl, what do you usually watch in the theater?"
She blinked, caught off guard. "Hmm? I don't know. I want something fun, but most movies are too serious. And the kids' ones are too childish."
Her words hit harder than she realized. She wasn't wrong—there was this gaping hole in the market. Tween audiences didn't really have their own movies. Family sitcoms still leaned wholesome, kids' films felt watered down, and Disney's made-for-TV stuff was squeaky-clean and forgettable.
That was when it clicked.
I froze, the pencil sliding off my lip and clattering onto the table. There it was, something that I had been searching for.
"Wait… I remembered something." My eyes lit up and I immediately wrote the name of the franchise on my notepad.
"What?" Alison asked, curious now.
"I'm not going to tell you." I stood abruptly, and the waitress rushed over, startled. "She and her friends can eat for free today," I told her. "But only her usual friends. If she tries to bring a crowd, bill her for everything."
Alison perked up, excited, but quickly masked it under her usual scowl. I was still a jerk in her eyes.
But I didn't care. My head was buzzing. I hurried home, chasing that half-buried memory clawing its way out of the past.
It wasn't even something that was new in my first life. By then, it was already nostalgic, almost forgotten.
I only stumbled onto it because my old celebrity crush had acted in the musical version of the story—High School Musical: The Musical. That led me to watch the original trilogy.
Later, as a YouTuber, I dug into its history to cover it in my youtube channel.
It was never meant to be a phenomenon. Just a Disney Channel Original Movie. It has a small budget of five million dollars and was put straight to TV.
And yet… it had blown up, becoming a four-billion-dollar juggernaut with a very small budget. It didn't get a theatrical release until the third movie, which was a huge oversight from Disney.
The name of the franchise? It was written in my notepad.
{High School Musical!}
I spent the entire night writing down everything I remembered about the movie. The plot was relatively simple, but the songs were the main problem.
"I need to record Breaking Free and bring it as a demo before the movie pitch."
David called me at a fortuitous time—I needed someone's help to rent out a recording studio.
And also, I needed someone to duet with me on the song.
"How about my daughter? She's been healthier these days, and you were right about the demon transforming her body. She can sing and act really well now. Before, she was like a wooden plank speaking, but now she can really show her emotions—OW—"
"What?" I asked, amused.
"Nothing, she just threw a water bottle at my head. Anyway, when do you need us there?" he asked casually. "Also, doesn't Lenny Sloane have his own recording studio?"
"Ah!" I finally remembered Jessica's husband owned a recording studio.
Now I had another dilemma. How should I record the music as Owen, but pitch the story as Jack Kennedy?
"Rent out a studio first. I need to figure out the beats before recording. And it's better if Lenny—or anyone else—doesn't know about it."
"Alright." David agreed easily.
Later, I was walking through the Montecito building courtyard where a lot of the kids were hanging out. Some sat by the pool, others lounged on the chairs and tables I'd set up as a common spot.
Sometimes we even watched movies together in the courtyard using a projector and external speakers.
"Bayani," I called to the esper kid with the sound-based power.
"Elena," I called her too.
"I want to try something."
Elena linked my mentalscape to Bayani, and I sent him the song I remembered.
"Can you figure out the notes for it?" I asked.
He nodded vigorously. "Better. I can see it as clearly as ABCs!"
So Bayani joined me in creating the demos for the movie.
But when he and Elena listened to the songs, they told me something disheartening.
"Other than Breaking Free and We're All in This Together, the others are kind of…" Bayani hesitated, until Elena smiled and said bluntly, "Cringe."
"Eh, it's still era-appropriate." I shrugged. "But you're making an important point. I don't have to follow the Disney formula exactly. I can build the story and songs on my own."
…
The next day, on the set of The Man Who Tried.
"What's going on?" I asked when I saw the worried faces of the staff. The director was inside his tent with the writer.
Today we were supposed to shoot some car scenes, driving around the LA streets.
Phil, the cinematographer—who'd worked with me on three films now—answered, "Agents from WME are here for Lisa Kudrow."
"Why the agents and not her?" I asked, confused.
"They're trying to get her more parts. The director is already trying to accommodate her, but they want even more. They want Lisa bumped from side character to one of the leads."
"I see." I replied, then walked toward the tent. Phil looked alarmed and tried to stop me, but Michael held him back.
"He—"
"It's fine. Owen can handle himself," Michael told him.
Inside, I heard the agent bulldozing the writer and director.
"She's taking a pay cut to be in the movie. Do you understand what a big deal that is? You've got gold in your hands here. Don't squander it." The agent, a pushy man in his mid-40s, leaned in on them.
"If we change anything, we'd have to reset production. Not to mention, she has to return to her sitcom shoots in three weeks. That's already a tight frame. Now you want us to add more scenes for her?" Payne was visibly irritated.
"So what? Who is Steve Carell compared to Lisa Kudrow? Who is Owen Chase or Sarah Michelle Gellar compared to her? She should be at the top of the call sheet, and you need to realize it—there is no movie without her."
"Oh, I wouldn't go that far," I interjected, making all three turn toward me.
The agent faltered, then feigned recognition, extending his hand. "Hi. Mr. Chase, I'm a big fan. Norton, from WME—"
"Sorry, I don't think a no-name nobody like me could dare shake your hand, Mr. Norton. I mean, who am I anyway, right?" I said with a smile edged in sarcasm.
He pulled his hand back in defeat, then turned back to the writer and director. "Right. Just think about what I said. There's still time to make tweaks to the script."
"Yeah, definitely tweak the script that Lisa was so in love with she took a pay cut to be in it. She must really love that."
He turned—only it wasn't me who'd spoken. A female voice had cut through.
Lisa stormed into the tent, fuming.
"This… is unexpected."
I had been gearing up to shut the agent down, but Lisa beat me to it.
After she tore into him, the agent left. She turned back to us, sighing.
"Sorry. He's unreasonable sometimes. I told WME I don't want him as my rep, but they won't change him."
This was before the Friends cast banded together to renegotiate their pay. Even though the show was massively successful, pulling in a billion dollars from merchandise and VHS sales, Lisa was still only making $50,000 per episode.
WME wasn't treating her as a priority despite her TV fame.
There has always been an elitism between TV and film. TV was seen as lesser—at least until prestige shows like The Sopranos and Mad Men narrowed the gap.
"The staff outside filled me in when I came to see the director. I didn't notify the agency, so I guess that's why I caught them here," Lisa said with a weary sigh.
"You should switch agencies. William Morris is huge, but they're not giving you the attention you deserve. Go to UTA. They'll be big in just a couple of years."
She blinked, then chuckled. "Wow, you hold a grudge, huh? Someone calls you small and you immediately want to steal their talent away."
"Who said I'm short!?" I shot back indignantly.
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