"Deal."
An hour and a half later, Alex and Reed exchanged contracts and shook hands. The gesture was simple, almost procedural, yet the weight behind it was absurd. Six hundred and forty-three million dollars.
Netfi would directly invest in the final two seasons of Bleach, securing exclusive international streaming rights, while also financing Death Note and obtaining its overseas distribution rights.
When Alex stepped out of Netfi's headquarters, the contract in one hand and Yasmim's fingers intertwined with his in the other, the city felt strangely indifferent. Traffic flowed as usual, people walked by talking on their phones, horns sounded in the distance—the world kept turning, completely unaware that inside that slim leather folder lay a sum capable of reshaping destinies.
Yasmim, however, didn't seem to belong to that world anymore.
She walked a few steps ahead, then slowed down, then sped up again, as if her body was struggling to catch up with reality. Only when a cold gust of night wind swept down the avenue and raised goosebumps on her skin did she truly shiver.
That was when she realized it.
Her back was soaked in cold sweat.
"Huh…?" Alex remarked casually, glancing at her sideways. "You don't look very happy. That's six hundred million."
At that moment, Yasmim showed none of the confidence of a woman in her thirties. Her eyes were far too wide, her expression far too blank. She looked like a teenager hearing a huge number for the first time.
"You do remember we're talking about dollars here, right?" Alex added, raising an eyebrow.
She froze.
Her brain shut down for half a second.
Then came the scream—high-pitched and sharp, worthy of a documentary about panicked rodents.
"SIX HUNDRED MILLION DOLLARS?!"
Taking advantage of his height, Alex pressed a hand down on her head to stop the outburst.
"Stop making a scene," he sighed. "Honestly, I think I could've asked for more. If I'd stirred up a bidding war among the local platforms, I might've squeezed out even more money."
He knew full well that sounded like bragging.
Death Note would never pass domestic censorship. No publicly listed platform would dare touch it. Using internal competition to inflate the price was, in reality, impossible.
That project was only good for "trapping" foreigners.
Even so, the deal didn't involve just one work. It covered two full seasons of Bleach and two Death Note films. Spread out like that, the investment was high—but not to the point of confirming the childish fantasy that "foreigners are just throwing money away."
The problem was that Yasmim seemed to believe every word.
She stared at him with sparkling eyes, took a deep breath as if bracing herself, and said in a tone far too serious,
"Lower your head."
"Huh?" Alex raised an eyebrow, confused.
Even so, he leaned down.
"Mwah-mwah-mwah-mwah-mwah!"
The next second, Alex felt like a tree trunk being attacked by a hyperactive woodpecker. Yasmim was completely electrified, her arms wrapping around him, her entire body trembling with barely contained excitement.
If they'd been back home, they might've drawn attention.
But here, no one seemed to care. Public displays of affection were just part of the scenery.
…
A few days later.
"Hehehe…"
For several days straight, the entire crew began to suspect that Yasmim had lost her mind. Ever since she'd returned from that trip with Alex, she seemed unable to stop smiling. Sometimes she would sit alone, staring into space, then suddenly start giggling as if she'd remembered a joke only she knew.
Alex pretended not to notice.
It wasn't as if he could parade around with the signed contract and shout, "I made six hundred million—amazing, right?"
That would be insane.
You don't flaunt money.
Geórgia, however, watched quietly from the side. She blinked a few times, piecing things together. Maybe the others didn't know what had happened, but she had a pretty good guess.
After all, she was the one who had handed Reed's business card to Alex.
"Yasmim…" she asked, approaching cautiously. "Do you know something?"
Even though she knew that whatever had happened between Alex and Yasmim had nothing to do with her, curiosity got the better of her.
"It's nothing," Yasmim replied, wearing a smile that was far too calm. "You're imagining things."
If it had been anyone else asking, she might've played it up, acting mysterious and showing off a little. After all, in her own mind, she already saw herself as a future "billionaire wife."
In truth, on the night they returned from Netfi's headquarters—after being utterly exhausted—Yasmim had still found the energy to check the exchange rate on her phone during the flight back.
Forty-four billion.
Even if Alex burned money like water on productions, there was no way he could spend that much anytime soon. And that was without counting the fact that Netfi hadn't bought the domestic rights to Bleach's final seasons. Given its current popularity, there was still room to push the price even higher at home.
By the time Bleach truly ended, Yasmim was certain of one thing: Alex's net worth would easily cross ten digits.
But when she noticed that the one asking was a young, beautiful girl who was clearly interested, her expression shifted instantly.
Now Alex was like monk's meat.
Everyone wanted a bite.
As for Yasmim's increasingly bold thoughts about becoming "Mrs. Alex," Alex chose to play dumb. His focus remained firmly on Battle Tendency.
"Director Alex… this really isn't appropriate, is it?" Mark said, his expression bitter, almost tragic.
In his hands was a pink dress.
Yes. The next scene to be filmed was the one where Joseph disguises himself as a woman to infiltrate the German base and rescue Speedwagon.
When he'd read the script before, that scene hadn't been there at all.
It was obvious Alex had added it at the last second, pushing him off a cliff without warning.
"A professional actor shouldn't complain about something this small," Alex replied casually. "Look at Ray. For a movie, he even kissed another man. You're really going to be embarrassed about wearing a dress?"
Despite the serious tone, the corner of Alex's mouth betrayed him, twitching upward uncontrollably.
In another life, Mark had once even cosplayed as Marilyn Monroe for a production. To his eternal regret, he'd looked… far too striking.
Hearing that, the smile on Ray's face vanished instantly.
That movie was one of his most famous works. But the kissing scene was something he wished he could erase from his memory forever.
Mark clenched his teeth, took a deep breath, and stared at the pink dress like it was his fate itself.
Damn it.
It was just a dress, after all.
"…Fine," he muttered, lifting the fabric. "Let's just get this over with."
Let hell begin.
________________________________________________________________________________________
Each 50 Power Stones collected unlocks a new chapter! Your support not only helps the story continue but also allows us to create extra content for dedicated readers.
Additionally, exclusive content and bonus chapters are available on Patreon: https://www.patreon.com/c/ImmortalEmperor
Join now and help shape the future of the story while enjoying special rewards!