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Chapter 1642: Besieged on All Sides 

Crowds. Noise. A tidal wave of excitement. 

The premiere of The Princess Diaries 2 was shaping up to be the wildest party of the summer. The heat and hype were overwhelming, and the atmosphere was electric. 

People were thrilled and ecstatic. 

Anyone standing in the middle of it all could feel the madness seeping into their skin. You couldn’t help but believe that The Princess Diaries 2 might just become another box office dark horse—maybe even surprise audiences the same way Spider-Man 2 had by surpassing its predecessor and taking the market by storm. 

But not everyone was caught up in the hype. 

From the second floor of the El Capitan Theatre, Bob Iger stood watching the frenzy below with a tight brow and a serious expression. His eyes scanned the crowd, as if searching for the end of this fever pitch. He looked pensive—clearly not relaxed. 

Bob Iger: President and Chief Operating Officer of Disney. 

After attending the premiere of the first Princess Diaries, he had once again shown up for the sequel. It seemed like he had a soft spot for this live-action fairy tale series. 

But things weren’t quite so simple. 

Two years ago, Bob attended the premiere of the first movie standing firmly by then-CEO Michael Eisner’s side. At the time, Disney was in the midst of internal power struggles, with the board deeply divided due to Eisner’s autocratic leadership. Bob, a loyal ally of Eisner, had hoped the film’s success might shift momentum in their favor. 

Two years later, Disney’s future was shakier than ever. 

This summer, everyone was buzzing about the power struggle over at Sony-Columbia, but insiders knew the real crisis was at Disney—far more serious than Sony’s issues. 

And as always, it all circled back to Michael Eisner. 

Since 2001, Disney’s declining profits had placed Eisner in the hot seat. Rather than managing from the shadows like most CEOs, Eisner insisted on personally overseeing everything: from theatrical shows and TV ads to the costumes of theme park performers. He even handpicked furniture for Disney hotels and discussed paint choices with the workers. 

No other CEO micromanaged like this—not even Rupert Murdoch of News Corp. People couldn’t understand why someone at the top cared so much about the smallest details. 

But that was just Eisner. Control freak, through and through. 

That’s why Hollywood insiders nicknamed him The Tyrant—and Disney employees weren’t exempt from that opinion. 

What critics conveniently forgot, though, was how Eisner had once saved Disney from collapse. 

Back in 1984, Roy Disney—nephew of Walt Disney—launched a power grab within the company. In the aftermath, he poached Eisner, a producer at Paramount, and took a gamble by naming him CEO. 

At the time, Disney was a ghost of its former self: no direction, no innovation. Mickey Mouse and Donald Duck were fading into obscurity. But under Eisner’s strong-handed leadership, Disney rose from the ashes and rejoined the ranks of Hollywood’s Big Seven studios, standing shoulder-to-shoulder with Warner Bros. and Sony. 

Twenty years. For two full decades, Disney was Eisner’s Disney. But nothing lasts forever. What rises must fall, and Disney was no exception. 

The company had become a reflection of Eisner’s singular vision—so much so that creativity suffered and alternative voices were silenced. 

In Hollywood, his ruthlessness was well-known. He once physically assaulted an employee in his office. He demanded absolute loyalty, and the smallest hint of disloyalty was seen as betrayal. One of the co-founders of DreamWorks, Jeffrey Katzenberg, left the company after clashing with him and became a lifelong rival. 

When things were going well, Eisner soaked up all the glory. When things fell apart, he bore the blame alone. 

Now, another golden era for Disney seemed to be slipping away. Revenues were dropping, stock prices declining, and trust within the company had crumbled. 

Most believed Eisner’s authoritarian style was the root of the downfall. He made questionable decisions and refused to be challenged, slowly steering Disney toward disaster. 

He poured money into Pearl Harbor, boasting it would top Titanic at the box office—but it turned out to be a colossal flop. He spent years acquiring ABC only to have no follow-up plan, resulting in a failed investment. He misread the European market when launching Disneyland Paris, failed to react to the rise of the internet, stumbled through a rushed entry into the digital space, and underestimated the potential of comic book superheroes. 

The list goes on. 

After twenty years of dominance, Eisner’s Disney had become trapped by the very system he created. 

At Disney’s annual shareholder meeting this March, Roy Disney—who had once handpicked Eisner—and another powerful board member, Stanley Gold, united. Backed by 43% of shareholders, they demanded answers for the company’s poor financial performance and called for Eisner’s removal. 

The so-called tyrant was now surrounded, besieged on all sides. 

Despite Eisner’s fierce resistance, the situation was slipping beyond his control. 

Most saw Bob Iger as Eisner’s loyal right-hand man—a clear “Eisner guy.” But Bob had ideas of his own. 

What if Eisner lost the battle? What if the CEO role was suddenly up for grabs, and Disney needed a new leader to turn the company around? 

Why shouldn’t Bob throw his hat in the ring? 

All signs pointed to Eisner’s days being numbered. 

And Bob... Bob had a bold thought: what if he was the one to push Eisner out? 

But just imagining the consequences sent chills down his spine. He knew all too well how vindictive Eisner could be. 

His mind was spinning with ideas—how to dethrone Eisner was one thing, but how to rebuild Disney afterward was another. 

Clearly, live-action princess movies were one potential direction. 

The problem was, this premiere—despite its glitz and glamour—felt hollow. 

Taking a step back, Bob saw things more clearly. 

Sure, there were flashing cameras, fancy dresses, and enthusiastic cheers. But it was all surface-level. A pretty facade with no real substance underneath. 

Chapter 1643: Special Guest 

On the surface, everything was bustling and lively. 

But beneath it all, a black hole was slowly consuming energy. 

When Chris Pine made his entrance, the cheers and applause were tinged with a certain skepticism—a subtle, meaningful scan from head to toe: 

Who was this nobody, and what made him worthy of taking over Anson’s role in the sequel? 

Even putting it another way—that Chris Pine wasn’t replacing Anson, but rather stepping in after Anson chose not to return—it still didn’t sit right with people. Why him? If he couldn’t match Anson’s presence, then at the very least he needed to bring the same kind of unique spark. 

But... 

Those critical eyes just didn’t believe that this man had the charm to rival Anson. 

When Julie Andrews appeared, the crowd exploded in cheers; the energy surged. But it still lacked the surprise and freshness from two years ago when she made her big comeback. It just didn’t feel the same. 

When Anne Hathaway came out, the atmosphere reached a small climax. The noise was real. But Bob immediately saw the problem: 

People still saw Anne as a kid. A teenager. That friendly girl-next-door type. Like someone you went to high school with. 

Forget superstar aura—she didn’t even project a regular celebrity vibe. 

Now, that worked in the movie's favor because Anne could blend into her role easily. But from a marketing standpoint? It was a problem. She lacked pull. 

It was just like Macaulay Culkin back in the day. Home Alone was a massive hit, but once he left Home Alone, his charm vanished. 

And the blame? That was on Disney. 

This was all part of their marketing plan—to create a “relatable, down-to-earth princess.” Everything happening now was exactly what Disney had orchestrated. This was the goal. 

But now, that same strategy had turned into shackles, holding them back. 

Live by the sword, die by the sword. 

Disney had no one else to blame. So the real question was: how were they going to turn this around? 

The premiere was still in full swing—noisy, chaotic, buzzing with energy. You could see it on the faces of the reporters: surprise and delight. No one had expected an August release to stir up this much excitement. But here it was, completely exceeding expectations. 

Disney really knew how to throw money around. 

But Bob had a bad feeling. It gripped his chest like a vice. 

He wondered if they were about to fall short of recreating the box office miracle from two years ago. But where had things gone wrong? Had they miscalculated the direction of the live-action fairy tale? 

His mind was a tangled mess of swirling thoughts—way too much to unpack at once. 

Bob let out a slow breath and decided to stop overthinking it. This wasn’t just about The Princess Diaries 2 and whether it did well or not. Disney’s future direction—massive, billion-dollar shifts—was riding on this. Any move had to be carefully planned, step by step. 

Just then, another black car slowly pulled up in front of the El Capitan Theatre. The main cast had all arrived. The red carpet hype had started to die down. The audience’s energy was obviously spent. People glanced around, exchanging looks, unsure— 

Who else could still be coming? 

The director, Garry Marshall? 

Sure, directors are the heart of a movie, and Garry was a Hollywood legend. But let’s be honest—directors don’t usually get the same kind of star treatment. They work behind the scenes. Unless you're Spielberg or James Cameron, you don’t get those deafening cheers. And right now, the crowd had very little energy left to give. 

Eyes met, a few people clapped half-heartedly. The awkwardness thickened. The glossy exterior was starting to crack. 

Bob’s face darkened. 

He spun around and shouted at his assistant, “What are you waiting for? Cheer! Cheer!” 

Assistant: “…???” 

They hesitated, but then reflexively threw their hands up. “Oh—uh, woohoo…?” 

Bob looked like he was about to choke on his own breath. “Downstairs. The crowd.” 

Assistant: “Ah!” 

Bob: “Go. Now. Immediately. Get the energy back up.” 

The assistant finally caught on, nodded in a daze, and took off running downstairs. 

Bob rolled his eyes, frustrated. No matter how the box office turned out, the premiere had to look impressive. If the energy dipped now, the press—those vultures—would rip them to shreds before the numbers even came in. 

Damn it! 

The black car rolled to a stop at the red carpet entrance. The atmosphere had grown sluggish, scattered. Many people had already turned their attention to the screening inside, chatting quietly about the film. Only a few were still watching the car out of politeness—probably expecting it to be the director and feeling obligated to offer a little respect. 

Then the car door opened, and someone stepped out— 

“Director!” 

The shout came instinctively, but it died in the speaker’s throat. The moment they saw the long legs stepping out of the car, their jaw dropped. 

That... was not Garry Marshall. 

Distracted glances were suddenly glued in place, scanning upward from those legs—sneakers, shorts, white T-shirt, and a sporty blue jacket. The whole outfit, blue and white, felt like a chilled bottle of lemon soda on a scorching summer day—cool, refreshing, totally electric. The dazzling cobalt blue popped against the sea of red and gold like a lightning bolt. It grabbed the eye, the breath, the heartbeat. 

Everything froze. 

The air stopped moving. The noise died out. Conversations, clapping, camera shutters—all went still. 

Even the photographers were silent, frozen in place as they stared at the figure stepping out. The world felt like it had paused. 

Total silence. Not even a whisper. 

And yet—that silence carried something else. 

In most cases, silence meant boredom, disinterest, or awkwardness—death for any premiere. Even just a lull in cheers could send PR teams into panic mode. 

But this wasn’t that kind of silence. 

There was a kind of electric thrill pulsing beneath it, like a fire waiting to ignite. No sound—but hearts were racing, breaths were held. The tension rose higher and higher, until it felt like the entire El Capitan Theatre was about to explode. 

In the middle of all that pressure, the figure didn’t flinch. He just smiled—softly, modestly. He nodded politely to both sides, every movement graceful, confident, and easygoing. His casual outfit only enhanced that youthful, energetic charm. 

Without pausing, he stepped onto the red carpet. And suddenly, the carpet came alive. The bright red blazed like fire, and the splash of blue was like a spark that lit it up. Passion surged. Energy erupted. 

“Anson.” 

Someone said his name—like thunder rolling across the crowd. 

Chapter 1644: The Scene-Stealer 

"Anson." 

It wasn’t a cheer, a shout, or a scream—just a single call. Like unexpectedly running into an old friend or classmate on the street. Surprise laced with joy, escaping the lips before the mind could catch up. A simple utterance, disbelieving yet instinctive. 

And yet, in that split second—at the edge of light and shadow—when eyes met that familiar face and gaze, a wave of happiness and exhilaration erupted like a tidal wave, tearing through everything in its path. 

Glances exchanged. Shock and madness ignited in the air. 

The next moment—total eruption. 

"AHHHHH!" 

The scream pierced the sky. 

It was as if someone had ripped the heavens open—an explosion of energy so violent it stunned even a passing assistant to a complete stop. 

Wh-What just happened? 

Aaaahhhh! AHHHHHH! 

From zero to a hundred—no, a thousand, even ten thousand—the energy spiked to impossible extremes. The red carpet, dull and uninspired just seconds ago, was suddenly engulfed in flames. 

Madness. Absolute madness. 

Nobody could believe their eyes. People screamed and jumped, turning to those beside them in frantic confirmation. 

"Ahhhh! AHHHH! Is that—Is that ANSON?!" 

"Anson? That's ANSON? We’re actually seeing Anson in person?!" 

Shock became collective euphoria. Disbelief turned into undeniable reality. The crowd morphed into a living, breathing organism, pulsing with excitement, shaking Hollywood Boulevard to its core. 

Bob froze—buzzing. 

The sound was too overwhelming; his ears rang with white noise, drowning out everything else. The world had been swallowed by a hurricane. 

Forget the stats, the reports, the box office numbers, the gossip—none of it mattered anymore. Nothing compared to this moment. Faces contorted by sheer excitement, bodies pushing forward in chaos, all painted the grandest of scenes. 

It wasn’t just seen—it was felt, down to every pore. 

Spider-Man 2 had been out for a full month. Everyone was talking about Anson—that was a given. But all of it, through newspapers, headlines, and word of mouth, lacked weight. 

This? This was real. 

This was overwhelming, electrifying, undeniable. 

Standing before that tsunami of sound, the sheer scale of the crowd made one feel utterly insignificant. 

But here’s the magic: all that mania, all that frenzy, all that hysteria—bowed before one man. One name. Shouted with wild abandon, over and over again, until the world shook. 

“ANSON!” 

Again. And again. And again. A chorus of devotion. 

Trembling. Worshiping. 

The assistant dashed from the second floor, barreled across the red carpet, and headed outside—only to be slammed by a wall of heat, a wave of sound, like smashing into a barrier. The recoil nearly knocked him off his feet; his organs felt like they had collapsed into a knot. 

Dazed, he stared at the sea of chaos, knees buckling, mind blank with confusion. 

So... did he complete his task or not? 

Even Bob wasn’t immune. 

From the second floor of the El Capitan Theatre, he thought he could stay detached—aloof, analytical, removed from the masses. But now, faced with the boiling frenzy outside, his knees weakened. 

Because Bob knew—this was what he had been waiting for all day: a pure, raw eruption of energy, a madness from the heart. 

The entire cast of The Princess Diaries 2 combined couldn’t match one-tenth of this moment. This wasn’t just the climax of a premiere—this was the premiere. 

And strangely, Bob recalled the premiere of the first Princess Diaries two years ago. The memory crystal clear. 

“ANSON! AHHHHHH!” 

Surprise. Absolute surprise. A hundred percent joy. 

One second. 

From boredom to ecstasy. From yawns to hysteria. It took only one second. 

The Princess Diaries 2 premiere was about to wrap up on a quiet, anticlimactic note—until everything flipped in a heartbeat. Now, Hollywood Boulevard was ablaze. 

It was almost over, the buzz dying down. 

No one expected this—that this would be the true peak of the night. 

No one expected Anson to be the biggest surprise of The Princess Diaries 2 premiere— 

Anson Wood. 

The Anson Wood. The absolute centerpiece of this summer. The man who stood at the top of the Hollywood pyramid. 

One entrance. 

That was all it took to completely hijack the entire event. Every spotlight snapped toward him. Everyone else faded into the background. 

For a moment, it felt like this wasn’t a movie premiere at all—but Anson’s fan meet. 

And it wasn’t just the crowd. Even the reporters lost it. 

In fact, they were worse than the fans—completely unhinged, scrambling to capture the moment. Shutters clicked wildly, thoughts scrambled, professionalism shattered. It was chaos. 

Wait a minute—was this the studio's plan all along? 

Maybe Anson wasn’t in The Princess Diaries 2. But he showed up for the premiere. 

That alone blew up all the rumors: that he and director Garry Marshall had fallen out; that he’d refused the sequel out of ego; that he and Anne Hathaway had broken up and turned hostile. 

All of that—meaningless now. 

And the best part? 

This was Anson’s first public appearance since Spider-Man 2 shattered the box office. 

Sure, he'd been packed with interviews, magazine shoots, and press—his face everywhere from TV to street billboards—but he hadn’t made a single public appearance. 

Until now. 

Now, here he was. Real. Smiling. Bathed in golden sunlight. 

Rational thought? Gone. 

No one else could've done this. Only The Princess Diaries 2 could’ve made it happen. At the peak of his career, in the middle of conquering new territory, Anson still made time to show up and support his former collaborators. 

And with that, he made one thing crystal clear: 

Anson hasn’t forgotten where he took his first step on the silver screen. 

Actions speak louder than words. 

Sure, he had a hundred reasons to skip the premiere. Even a video message would've been enough. 

But he didn't. 

And in just one moment, with one appearance, he guaranteed The Princess Diaries 2 a new wave of buzz—and kept the summer box office fires burning well into August. 

(End of Chapter)