Quentin snatched the newspaper, his eyes scanning the lines of text, and his entire face flushed crimson.
"That despicable thief! Bob White!" he practically roared. "Link , I'm going to rip his face off right now!"
He lurched to his feet, only to be nailed in place by a low, firm "Sit down."
Link's voice wasn't loud, but it was like a bucket of ice water. The air immediately chilled.
He picked up the Hollywood Reporter and read through the article, line by line.
His knuckles were white, his palms cold.
He knew that right now, any display of emotion could be fuel for the enemy.
For a moment, the only sound was their breathing.
Then, the familiar blue interface appeared before his eyes.
\[Influence Index: 1000]
\[Exchangeable Skill: Crisis Management (Basic) -500 points]
Link narrowed his eyes and focused his intention.
\[Exchange Successful.]
\[Skill Unlocked: Crisis Management (Basic) – Public opinion is a knife; you now hold the handle.]
In a flash, a flood of unfamiliar knowledge—media strategy, rhetoric, psychological traps—poured into his mind. It was as if he suddenly had the savvy of a veteran war-room strategist.
When he looked up, his eyes were different.
"Link !" Quentin gnashed his teeth. "Aren't you angry?!"
"Anger is the lowest form of emotion," Link said flatly, picking up his cold coffee. "It solves nothing. On the contrary..."
He held up the newspaper, a slight curve on his lips.
"—It's given us a massive gift."
Bender looked utterly confused. "A gift? He's accusing us of plagiarism! This will destroy all investor trust!"
"No," Link gently shook his head, his tone as calm as if he were leading a board meeting. "He's given us free exposure. Right now, all of Hollywood is watching us."
He looked at Bender. "Tell me, how much does a full-page ad on the front of the Hollywood Reporter cost?"
Bender paused. "Twenty grand... Why are you asking? We should be sending a legal letter, issuing a clarification..."
"A clarification," Link said mildly, "is the weakest defense."
He picked up the phone, his speaking pace even. "Hello, get me the advertising department. Yes, I want to reserve tomorrow's front page, full spread... Yes, the entire page."
Hanging up the phone, he turned to the two men with an extremely cold smile. "On the left side, a screenshot of this very article; on the right, our movie logo. Below that, one line of text..."
He enunciated every word:
"The truth needs no explanation. The theater will bear witness."
The air suddenly exploded with energy.
Quentin was stunned for two seconds, then slammed his hand on the table, laughing like a maniac. "Link , you're a devil! But... I freaking love it!"
Bender opened his mouth, wanting to argue, but couldn't say a thing. The cool, precise sense of control emanating from Link made him afraid to even breathe too deeply.
"And then," Link continued, "we'll follow up with a coordinated one-two punch."
His gaze was sharp, like he was mapping out a chess game. "Day after tomorrow, ten in the morning, we hold a press conference."
Bender asked, "So we prepare counter-evidence? Prove we didn't plagiarize?"
"No." Link shook his head, his tone softening. "That's too amateur. We won't explain ourselves. We will only do two things..."
He held up two fingers.
"First, formally announce the film's start date. Second..."
His lips slowly curled up.
"...We will donate one hundred thousand dollars to establish the 'Hollywood Original Screenplay Protection Fund.'"
The air froze again.
Quentin gaped. Bender stared for a few seconds before finally squeezing out, "One hundred thousand dollars? Link , that's a big chunk of change."
Link turned to him, saying mildly, "Bender, you're only seeing the money. You're not seeing what it buys."
He set down his coffee, speaking slowly, but with a commanding pressure:
"This money will turn us into the guardians of originality. The media will clamor for the story, the audience will share it, and our peers will follow suit. For a measly hundred thousand, we buy the attention of all of Hollywood. That, my friend, is a bargain."
Bender looked at him, silent for a moment.
Finally, he sighed and slowly smiled. "Link , I don't know if you're crazy or a genius, but I'll bet you won't lose."
"Crazy?" Link chuckled. "It's called strategy."
Just then, the phone rang.
The jarring sound seemed to herald a turning point in destiny.
Bender instinctively looked at Link.
Link made a "please" gesture.
Bender answered: "Hello, Pangu Pictures."
The voice on the other end was polite and urgent: "Hello, is Mr. Link there, please? This is Marty Grossman."
Bender's eyes widened. He covered the receiver and mouthed to Link—
"Marty!"
Link just smiled, picked up a pen, wrote a line of text on a piece of paper, and slid it across the table.
"Tell him to bring John to the press conference, day after tomorrow at ten a.m. He can see for himself the start of a legend."
Bender read it, his scalp tingling.
But he repeated the line, word for word.
There was a two-second silence on the other end, then Marty's slightly excited voice came through: "Of course! Of course! We'll be there on time!"
After hanging up, the office fell into a strange quiet. Even the sound of the old wall fan seemed exceptionally clear.
Quentin stared at Link, with a newfound respect in his eyes.
Bender leaned back in his chair and let out a long breath.
He suddenly realized he wasn't partnering with a young producer.
He was working with a monster wearing a veneer of calm, a machine whose thoughts moved far faster than any normal person's.
Link looked at the two of them, his voice calm:
"All right, gentlemen. The game has begun."