1006-1010

*Chapter 1006: Diligence*

The bustling crowd momentarily shifted their gaze from Sam to Anson, but it only lasted a brief second before their attention scattered again. After all, no one expected Anson to have much say, especially not in front of the director.

That had become the norm. None of these “chosen workers” had any voice in the matter.

There was a slight pause in the air. A faint difference in temperature hung between Sam and the crew, subtly tightening the atmosphere in the studio.

Then, Anson broke the silence.

"Director, could we at least finish filming this scene in one go?"

Swish. All eyes turned to Anson.

Even Sam seemed a bit surprised.

But Anson didn’t shy away.

"Director, you should take a look at my current position. I’m not joking."

"Of course, creative sparks and brainstorming are great. We’re all on board—hallelujah—the movie’s moving in a positive direction. But we need to take things step by step. We’ve finally found our rhythm, and no one wants to lose it again in a mad scramble."

"And honestly, I know no one's complaining, but if I may—if I’d known, I would’ve eaten more at lunch. I’m going to need some afternoon tea to refuel."

His tone was light, humorous, a mix of jest and slight grumbling. The atmosphere instantly eased.

Sam scratched his head awkwardly. His thoughts hadn’t quite caught up—his burst of inspiration wasn’t met with the reaction he’d expected.

"Director," Anson called out again. Sam didn’t lift his head.

"I love your ideas. I just need to get back to reality to think clearly."

Sam finally couldn’t hold back, the corners of his mouth relaxed, and so did his shoulders. "Sorry, I wasn’t thinking just now."

The director apologized!

The entire crew breathed a collective sigh of relief.

Anson tilted his head, "Wasn’t it because you were thinking?"

Sam chuckled and looked over at the wire rig team. "Lower our lead actor. He’s about to pass out."

Finally.

Anson’s feet touched the ground again, regaining control of his body.

Meanwhile, the wire riggers could finally relax their hands after holding Anson up for so long. It was not only physically exhausting but also required immense concentration—just a slight lapse could result in an accident.

Noah immediately stepped forward, offering tea and water to the rigging team, asking about their afternoon snack preferences with warmth and consideration.

Anson, however, needed to relax.

Being suspended by wires for so long took a toll on the body.

First, the spine, which bore the brunt of the pressure.

Second, the inner thighs. In the "Spider-Man" comics, Gwen dies from spinal injuries caused by the immense force during her fall, despite Peter’s web saving her mid-air. To prevent actors from suffering a similar fate, protective harnesses are used around the thighs to maintain core balance.

The downside is the heat and friction on the inner thighs, amplifying discomfort, particularly for men. After just a few hours, Anson’s thighs were red and swollen, and his knees were trembling slightly.

Suspension on wires is torture for everyone involved.

During break time, Anson had to fully relax.

But like Sam, his mind was still racing.

Anson had been thinking about how to make this scene even better. Most importantly, how to make Spider-Man's aerial movements look more graceful and dynamic—key elements of a superhero film.

Sam’s recent burst of inspiration had sparked something in Anson too.

Anson first went to discuss with the stunt coordinator and then with the wire riggers. After confirming the feasibility of his ideas, he approached Sam.

After explaining his thoughts in detail, Sam pondered for a moment.

"Are you sure?"

Anson shrugged slightly. "No, not sure."

Sam blinked in surprise.

Anson added, "But I want to try. Filmmaking is the art of creating dreams, right? Things that can't happen in real life can happen in the world of imagination."

Sam looked at Anson again. Not only was he not acting like a diva, but he was fully immersed in the sequel’s production—this was a good sign.

Sony-Columbia had been worried about Anson, especially after his ambitious contract negotiations, where he had pushed hard to test their limits. Though they eventually reached an agreement, no one could tell if the deal was worth it until the film hit theaters.

Now, it seemed Sony-Columbia had nothing to worry about.

"Alright." Sam nodded.

Sam was known for being demanding, but it was clear that Anson was equally dedicated to perfection.

"Let’s do it," Sam added.

Anson spread his hands. "Well, considering the length of those numbers on the paycheck, I don’t have much of a choice."

Sam burst into laughter.

Meanwhile, Harry was growing anxious.

He’d been trying to find the perfect moment to snap some photos, undetected, and walk away unscathed. But time was running out, and the longer he waited, the greater the chance of being caught.

What now?

Harry finally thought of the perfect moment. He would capture a shot of Anson during his mid-air 360-degree spin, showcasing the new costume in all its glory—a photo that would blow away the competition.

None of those sneaky shots of Anson’s costume peeking out while changing, or him in slippers stepping out of his trailer. Those were child’s play compared to what Harry had in mind.

TMZ wouldn’t settle for that. If they were going to break a story, it had to be big—something that could rewrite the industry.

The concept, composition, angle, and camera were all set. Now he just needed the scene to start again.

But!

After one failed take, the crew didn’t jump into another. Instead, Anson was busy rehearsing with the wire team again.

Harry remained hidden behind a waterproof tarp and a pile of crates. He wasn’t worried about being found out—his concern was the catering truck leaving before he could sneak off after the shoot. Otherwise, his plan would fall apart.

And it was sweltering. Sweat drenched his back, and Harry regretted not bringing two bottles of water.

Damn it.

Harry cursed silently.

Still, he remained patient, channeling his inner Ninja Turtle.

Finally—

The wire team was back in position, ready to go. Harry perked up, knowing the shoot was about to resume.

This was a one-shot deal. Miss it, and there might not be another chance.

Sure enough, the crew got ready, back in action.

Take sixteen.

"Action!"

Harry held his breath, eyes locked on Anson’s position, his finger hovering over the shutter.

Waiting.

Still waiting.

Swoosh.

There he was!

*Chapter 1007: Rookie Mistake*

Patience, stay patient, hold your breath. Harry was fully in the zone, like a professional photographer capturing the movement of a hummingbird deep in the jungle.

Then—

Whoosh!

The figure launched into the air from below, light as a feather, reaching its peak with a graceful 360-degree front flip, feeling the pull of gravity as it began to fall.

But then, he paused mid-air, shot out webs from his hands to secure a point, and with a swift pull, propelled himself forward in a rapid descent.

He shot forward like a torpedo, spinning like a propeller, heading straight for Doctor Octopus.

This!

It was dazzling, stunning!

His form, his movements, his posture—elegant and agile, graceful and fluid, transforming the imagined scene in Harry’s mind into reality.

For a moment, Harry couldn’t believe his eyes—

Without the aid of computer effects, he was witnessing such a high-difficulty action sequence live.

And not just a good version, it was even better—more creative, more stunning.

Now, Harry finally understood what they had been rehearsing earlier.

Instinctively, he held his breath.

But this time, Harry didn’t forget the shutter. His fingers moved quickly, snapping frame after frame, capturing the entire sequence.

Click click click click.

The shutter went wild, pounding in Harry’s ears, his heart skipping a beat. Then it hit him—

The flash!

Harry could hardly believe it. He had made such an amateur, careless, rookie mistake—he forgot to turn off the flash, revealing his position.

Stupid, absolutely stupid.

Then, a commotion erupted outside.

“Who? Who’s using a flash?”

Sean Graham held tightly onto the wire rig, his whole body leaning back as if in a tug-of-war, using his weight to maintain control. Without this effort, there was no way he could support Anson’s weight alone—working even with four people was a challenge.

Fully focused, sweat pouring down, Sean didn’t allow his attention to slip for a second.

At that exact moment, a series of blinding flashes went off from the corner of his eye.

Damn it!

Sean instinctively shut his eyes. His first reaction was to grip the wire rig tighter, leaning back to prevent any mishaps. But in that brief blink, sweat stung his eyes, causing a momentary lapse.

By the time Sean realized he had lost control of the rig, there was no time for regret, panic, or fear. His immediate instinct was to grab onto the wire.

But it was too late.

The wire slipped through his gloved hands, burning as it tore through his grip, leaving his palms stinging.

Finally, Sean caught the wire, but his balance was already lost. His feet couldn’t stay grounded, and he was yanked forward, dragged by the rig.

Sean: It’s over.

“Oh God, Anson!”

It all happened so fast, so unexpectedly, no time to react.

Anson’s body hung in mid-air, momentarily stunned, and in the next second, he lost balance. Gravity pulled him violently, like a leaf dangling in a tornado, trembling fiercely.

He was neither up nor down, floating in mid-air, unsupported—falling.

Harry’s heart sank.

The next moments were a blur. Five seconds seemed to vanish, like a time jump. Anson lay on the ground, looking up at the heads gathered around him, the crowd buzzing as they surrounded him.

Alfred was pale, his face drained of all color.

“Move aside, everyone move aside, he needs air!”

Alfred shouted loudly.

“Anson, Anson? Are you okay?”

“Anson, can you hear me?”

Anson: I’m fine, don’t worry.

He thought he spoke, but no sound came out. He wasn’t even sure if his mouth moved.

His entire back was numb, like a current running through it. It didn’t hurt—just a faint numbness, making him feel like he was okay. But why couldn’t he speak? Why was everything so chaotic?

Breathe, breathe deeply.

Anson reminded himself, taking deep breaths, trying to pull his mind back from the numbing silence.

Boom.

Like pulling a plug from a sink, the noise rushed back in, pouring over him like a waterfall, making his throat seize.

Cough cough.

“I’m fine…”

Finally, Anson spoke, waving his hand to calm everyone down.

“I’m fine. I just need to rest a bit.”

The buzzing crowd finally quieted, watching Anson with bated breath, afraid to make a sound.

Anson smiled slightly.

“Really, I’m fine. It’s just a fall—everyone falls sometimes.”

Sam looked pale and called out, “Anson!”

Anson saw Noah standing there, eyes filled with tears, looking panicked and helpless. He couldn’t hold it back anymore.

“Ha, God, Noah! I didn’t see angels or Lucifer, so there’s no need to worry.”

Noah stayed silent, staring at Anson with deep concern in his eyes.

Anson sighed softly. “Are you all just going to watch the leading man lying here without offering a hand? I must’ve failed as a person.”

But Alfred wasn’t in the mood for jokes. “Are you sure? No pain at all?”

They were worried about Anson’s condition and didn’t want to move him unnecessarily, just in case.

Anson laughed. “Ha, really, I’m fine.”

Without waiting for help, he reached out, preparing to sit up on his own.

But then, from the base of his spine—or maybe his lower back, hard to pinpoint—a sharp, numbing pain shot through him like a lightning bolt, cutting off all sensation before he could even sit up. The pain, like a tidal wave, choked his breath.

Every muscle in Anson’s body tensed, his vision went black, the world fractured, and his hearing faded into a dull roar.

Thud.

He barely started to sit before collapsing back onto the ground, lying there like a mummy.

A second—just one second, but it felt like an eternity.

“Sorry, Sam, I think I might need a doctor.”

The crowd went dead silent.

A wave of fear clenched Sam’s heart, regret and panic crashing into him like a punch to the chest. His eyes were wide with dread, his mouth open but no sound coming out, frozen on the spot.

Luckily, Alfred’s experience kicked in, and he shouted immediately.

“911, call 911! We need an ambulance here!”

“Where’s the on-set medic? Check on Anson right now! What are you all doing? Run! Move! Now’s not the time to freeze up!”

“Get moving! Haven’t you ever dealt with an emergency? Stay calm! We need to stay calm!”

The sound of rushing footsteps echoed from all directions, chaotic and frantic. But amidst the noise, Anson felt the pain slowly ebbing away, fatigue pulling him down into a bottomless darkness.

*Chapter 1008: A Foreboding Feeling*

The conference room was spotless and bright, with wide, clear windows.

From the 39th floor, Manhattan’s streets looked like blood vessels, and the cars and pedestrians below appeared as ants scurrying about their lives. Yet, this height wasn’t enough—certainly not high enough to break through the clouds and feel the sun’s unfiltered brightness.

People always wanted to climb higher—

The 49th floor. The 59th. The 99th.

Until they could overlook the entire world.

But Lucas Wood found it all rather dull. Everyone seemed driven by the desire to conquer—conquer the world, the universe, the stars. Yet, the more they yearned for this, the more it revealed their insecurity and inner emptiness, hiding their insignificance behind grand, unreachable goals.

Conquest had nothing to do with courage or boldness.

Still, life was about finding ways to pass the time.

Lucas didn’t mind their ambitions for "conquest," as long as they didn’t interfere with him. In fact, he might even use their mentality to create a space of indulgence for himself: an $8,000 handcrafted Italian sofa, a £10,000 British bespoke suit, and a $350,000 piece of modern art—allowing him to enjoy life’s luxuries in peace.

Not bad, really.

In front of him sat a man just like that—

Speaking passionately about his dreams, painting a grand vision of the world he hoped to shape—his ambitions, his goals, the achievements he sought.

Blah, blah, blah. The words were full of “I, I, I,” a trait typical of Hollywood types.

For some reason, Lucas felt a slight throb in his temple, his heart skipping a beat. An inexplicable sense of anxiety crept in, a feeling of unease gripping him tightly.

It felt like a bad omen.

Quietly regaining control, Lucas brought his drifting thoughts back and leaned slightly forward. He decided to steer the conversation.

"Mr. Pitt."

"Brad Pitt."

Finally!

The man dubbed the "Sexiest Man Alive" stopped his endless monologue and looked at Lucas, his eyes playful—

There was no anger, no frustration, but clearly, he hadn’t fully accepted being interrupted. His gaze locked on Lucas, and the motion of chewing his gum slowed down, gradually letting the silence grow awkward.

Lucas never knew Brad Pitt could talk so much off-screen.

But it didn’t matter.

Lucas cut straight to the point, "This won’t work."

"I don’t know much about movies."

"But I do know that starting your own production company won’t make you a legendary actor, nor will it make you a billionaire."

"This is their game, a Wall Street game."

"Of course, unless your only goal is to have the freedom to pick scripts, make films that interest you, regardless of their success or failure, and change your pretty-boy image—then yes, starting a production company is a good idea."

"Not brilliant, but smart enough."

"However, if your goal is to change your standing in Hollywood and achieve your dreams, starting a production company isn’t the way to do it. You’ll never surpass DreamWorks."

"And they had three backers; you only have yourself."

"Or… does your wife’s money also come into play?"

His tone was calm and steady, but the sharpness hidden in his words was impossible to ignore. There was no change in his pitch, yet every sentence felt like a jab.

Brad didn’t speak, but his agent beside him erupted.

"You better show some respect!"

"This is Brad Pitt, Hollywood’s most valuable man. If anyone can change the industry and make history, it’s him."

Lucas remained expressionless, his brow not even twitching.

"Oh."

That’s all he said.

"So, the $20 Million Club?"

The room fell silent because Brad wasn’t part of that exclusive $20 Million Club.

"Never mind, no need to answer. Because even being in the $20 Million Club wouldn’t change anything. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be here looking for investment advice to start a production company, right?"

"Even if you became the next DreamWorks, you still wouldn’t change your status—because you don’t have enough money."

"And I’m not talking about $100 million or $200 million."

Buzz, buzz, buzz. His phone vibrated softly.

John Quinn, one of the company’s top executives and the man who promoted Lucas to partner a few years back, had faith in Lucas’ talents.

When Brad Pitt approached them for financial advice, signaling he was searching for partners, John saw an opportunity—not just in Pitt himself, but in gaining a foothold in Hollywood. By opening a Los Angeles branch, their firm could attract actors clueless about money management, securing a new market.

John trusted Lucas to handle the situation. And he’d heard Lucas’ brother was an actor too, which could be a bonus.

Up until now, the conversation had been tense, but John believed Lucas had control of it—until the phone’s vibration broke the flow.

John glanced at Lucas—

Was this all part of the plan? A tactic to further disrupt Brad Pitt’s ego?

Lucas glanced at the caller ID as he answered, continuing to speak.

"Starting a production company, that’s a choice. It means you’re playing their game, but…"

His voice trailed off as he saw the name on the screen—

Noah Newman.

Anson’s assistant. Anson had always refused the idea of hiring an assistant, preferring to work alone. So Lucas had gone ahead and hired one through Edgar, assigning Noah to Anson without waiting for any protests.

Lucas knew Anson wouldn’t fire Noah—he’d feel too guilty about making someone lose their job. In the end, Anson kept Noah, just as Lucas had predicted.

Now Noah was calling. Had something happened?

Lucas’ heart raced, the sense of foreboding growing stronger.

He nodded politely to Brad as an apology but didn’t speak before answering the call.

John’s expression shifted slightly, and he decided to break the tension, turning to Brad with a quick explanation, "…it’s a busy time for us right now."

After just a few seconds on the phone, Lucas hung up, barely five seconds passing. "Sorry, something urgent came up. I have to leave now."

He rattled off a string of words, not waiting for any response. Turning swiftly, he pulled open the conference room door and left, like a storm passing through.

Inside the room, everyone exchanged confused glances, utterly bewildered by what had just happened.

John’s smile froze halfway across his face.

*Chapter 1009: Reckless Actions*

The air was cold and still. His muscles stiffened to the point where he couldn’t even turn his head, yet he could feel the gazes crossing paths, thoughts surging in his mind like a storm.

John Quinn was completely caught off guard, but he still showed the composure of someone who had weathered countless storms. He shrugged lightly.

“Well, it seems someone’s had a mental breakdown in front of a true Hollywood superstar. I’d better check if our company’s health insurance covers therapy.”

Light and humorous, he subtly complimented Brad Pitt with a bit of self-deprecation, skillfully pulling the situation back on track.

Smooth and seamless.

“I should go check on things. Before this spirals any further into chaos, let’s take a three-minute break. A quick meditation might solve the problem.”

With a casual joke, John took control of the situation. Not only did he find a perfect excuse to leave, but more importantly, he gave Brad Pitt and his agent the space to talk.

Whether it would be a serious discussion or an angry outburst, it didn’t matter. John wasn’t going to stick around and become the scapegoat or the target of their frustration.

A win-win.

John made his exit, left the meeting room, and looked around. He spotted Lucas standing by the elevator and couldn’t contain his anger any longer. He walked faster and faster towards Lucas, like a volcano about to erupt.

His remaining rationality kept him from completely losing it. After all, this wasn’t San Francisco, not their company’s turf. There was no need to air their dirty laundry in front of outsiders.

But even that restraint took all his self-control.

Taking a deep breath, John could almost hear the fire boiling in his ears. He noticed something off—Lucas was repeatedly pressing the elevator button. Even though he knew pressing it more wouldn’t make it come faster, Lucas couldn’t stop.

So, this wasn’t some tactic to humble Brad Pitt? Lucas left the meeting room in a hurry purely for personal reasons?

John’s string of rational thought snapped.

“Lucas, what the hell are you doing? Do you even know what’s gotten into you? Even if your mom died, you’d still better stay here and close this deal…”

His words were abruptly cut off.

Lucas, who had been expressionless all this time, turned and looked at him. Those deep, emotionless eyes were like the vast ocean, calm but with a sudden undercurrent of menace that sent a chill down John’s spine.

The roaring in his ears vanished.

John had never seen Lucas like this.

The world went quiet.

Lucas finally spoke, “My brother’s been hurt and taken to the hospital. I need to go.”

Just one short sentence to explain, but John still felt his heart tighten, nearly suffocating. He had to muster all his remaining composure to keep it together.

Lucas barely held onto his composure, “As for here, there’s no need to worry. It’s just Brad Pitt.”

John quickly realized how pathetic he looked, standing there exposed under Lucas’s cold gaze. He snapped angrily, interrupting him.

“Just Brad Pitt?”

“Heh. Do you think Hollywood has more than one Brad Pitt? Just because your brother’s some wannabe actor, you think you can look down on everyone? Not just anyone can call themselves a Hollywood star.”

“A hundred of your brothers wouldn’t be worth one Brad Pitt.”

John stepped closer, nearly grabbing Lucas by the collar to punch him, but he barely controlled himself.

“For God’s sake, Lucas Wood, do you know what you’re doing? This is our chance—our once-in-a-lifetime chance to break into Hollywood.”

“I know those Hollywood idiots are all show, no brains. Talking business with them is like insulting your own intelligence. But the checks they write are real, and they’re in the millions.”

“Once we secure this deal, we call the shots. This is easy money, too easy to pass up. But you’re acting just as brainless as them, throwing away this golden opportunity.”

“We made you a partner, but we can just as easily push you out. Do you remember how you even became a partner?”

“Even if your brother—”

John got more and more worked up, raising his voice without realizing it. His face turned red, veins bulging, looking uglier by the second, completely unaware of his own grotesque behavior.

Until—

Ding.

The elevator doors opened, interrupting his rant. John watched Lucas step into the elevator and realized his voice had gotten out of control.

He quickly lowered his volume, glancing nervously around to see if anyone had noticed. But it was too late. Turning back, Lucas was already in the elevator, still calm as ever.

They used to joke that Lucas had nerve damage, never showing any emotion no matter what happened. But now, looking at Lucas’s blank face, a cold chill crept up John’s spine.

Everything was happening too fast, too much for John to keep up with, leaving him unusually flustered.

“Leaving? You’re leaving?”

“Damn it!”

“If you leave now… do you even know what this means?”

Lucas had intended to explain that Brad Pitt was already hooked. Even if he left, Brad would come back, and there was no need for John to panic like this.

But now, Lucas didn’t feel like explaining. He didn’t have the energy.

“Yeah.” Lucas nodded lightly.

John froze, not understanding what Lucas was agreeing to.

In that brief moment, the elevator doors slowly closed.

Just like that… slowly closing…

John’s mind went blank. He didn’t know how to react. Almost instinctively, he raised his hand to stop the doors, trying to keep Lucas from leaving.

“Lucas Wood, do you even—”

But Lucas cut him off sharply. “Move.”

John’s eyes widened. “What did you say?”

Lucas repeated, clearly and firmly, “Move. Aside.”

John was stunned. He didn’t even realize that he had obediently stepped back, watching as the elevator doors fully closed, and Lucas disappeared from sight.

John: What?

Lucas just walked out on him? Lucas just cursed at him?

So that slap Lucas just delivered across his face… is that why his cheeks were burning?

Turning around, John noticed the figures in the office cubicles, all ducking down like moles. After a brief stir, everything returned to normal as if nothing had happened.

Yet the stillness around him felt like it was mocking his embarrassment.

His face burned even more.

Chapter 1010: Rolling Up His Sleeves

His heart pounded uncontrollably. Despite using all his strength to maintain control, panic and fear surged over him like a tide.

Ding!

The elevator doors opened, and Lucas rushed out like a gust of wind. He raised his hand to hail a taxi, pulling out three green bills with Franklin’s face on them.

“Mount Sinai Hospital. Red lights and speeding are on me.”

Face grim, exuding an aura that could kill with a single glance, Lucas radiated a cold, dangerous presence.

The taxi raced ahead.

With a screech of the brakes, the car stopped in front of Mount Sinai Hospital.

Lucas moved forward with unstoppable momentum—

Observe, judge, identify, move.

Without pause or questions, he headed straight to his destination. From afar, he could already see the busy and tense film crew, filling the hallway chaotically without any semblance of order. Although no one spoke, an oppressive mix of confusion and anxiety permeated the air.

Lucas had no time to distinguish who was who; his eyes scanned the crowd swiftly and landed on his target.

“Noah!”

“Tell me, what happened? Where is Anson now, and who is the attending doctor?”

In just a few words, Lucas got to the point—

Nothing else mattered now; only Anson mattered.

Noah’s eyes were full of panic, his voice burdened with deep guilt. “It’s my fault. I didn’t take good care of Anson. Mr. Wood, I’m so sorry.”

“Anson… Anson was filming, and he fell from two stories high. He... he lost consciousness. He’s undergoing scans right now…”

Noah’s words were disjointed and flustered as he tried to stay calm, but his mind was a mess, instantly pulled into the darkness by fear.

A shadow briefly flashed across Lucas’s expressionless face. “How did this happen?”

Accident? Or something else?

Noah’s face was blank; he clearly didn’t have an answer to Lucas’s question. “I... I don’t know. Everything happened too quickly.”

“Mr. Wood, Anson... he could barely speak, and if…”

Noah didn’t dare to finish, afraid his words would bring bad luck. He shut his mouth tightly, and his eyes gradually lost focus.

Suddenly, Lucas’s heart nearly stopped. He stood there in a daze, feeling as if he were in an ice cellar, despite it being midsummer.

Stay calm!

He needed to be calm. Anson needed him.

In the chaos, Lucas clenched his fist, his neatly trimmed nails digging into his palm. He felt no pain, but at least he sensed some stability, and his blood seemed to start flowing again.

“Don’t worry. No matter what happens, I’m here for Anson.”

Lucas gently patted Noah’s shoulder, trying to calm him down and to regain his own composure.

“You mentioned on the phone that Anson was conscious and even spoke to you?”

Noah nodded hastily. “He was joking with us, but only for a moment before he passed out. The paramedics said it might have been due to pain. Later, in the ambulance, Anson regained consciousness briefly and he said…”

Noah carefully glanced at Lucas.

Lucas didn’t say anything, just looked at Noah quietly.

Noah obediently continued, “Anson said, don’t call Mom and Dad.”

Lucas: …

Noah tried to explain on Anson’s behalf. “He was just worried about them…”

Lucas gave Noah a look, and Noah stopped talking. Clearly, Lucas understood Anson better than Noah and needed no explanation.

Standing at a distance, Noah could feel the chill emanating from Lucas—an aura not just warning strangers away but one of unstoppable determination, a presence that seemed to say he would crush any obstacle in his path. It caused the air around them to cool down bit by bit.

It wasn’t just Noah; the chatter around them also mysteriously quieted down as everyone’s gaze turned to Lucas.

Lucas paid no attention to it. He was only focused on the situation at hand.

Right now, Anson was undergoing scans, and they still had to wait for the results and the doctor’s assessment. No matter what, Anson was the priority.

But that didn’t mean he would sit here idly waiting.

There were still a lot of things that needed to be dealt with.

From all the noise and chaos, Lucas sorted out a plan, feeling gravity pulling his heart back to the ground.

“Alright, we’ve got work to do. The cause, the sequence of events—this can’t be left unresolved. I need your help.”

“First, find a room where all the crew members can gather instead of standing here creating disorder. Disrupting the hospital’s order makes it easy for someone to take advantage.”

“Second, contact Edgar and let him know what’s happening. He’s too far away in Los Angeles, but he can go directly to Sony Columbia’s office. They need to organize a PR team—to protect the hospital, prevent paparazzi from sneaking in, and release an official statement to avoid media speculation.”

“Third, talk to the on-set supervisor and remember every witness to the incident. Not just one person, but everyone who saw the entire event unfold. Ask them what they saw. I need a complete picture of what happened.”

“And finally.”

Lucas paused, his temples throbbing as an uncontrollable anger burned in his chest.

“Tell me where the director is. There are some things I need to discuss with him.”

Noah stared blankly at Lucas, overwhelmed by the sense of danger, and swallowed hard.

Lucas noticed, his lips tugging up slightly. “Don’t worry. I won’t hurt him.”

Noah obediently nodded in agreement.

Honestly, everything was still chaotic, his mind restless and uneasy.

Lucas couldn’t stay completely calm, but the more chaotic things got, the more focused he became, with only one thought in his mind—

No matter what, he would not let this incident pass easily. Even if it was just an accident, someone had to be held accountable. No one could walk away unscathed after hurting his brother.

No one.

If necessary, he didn’t mind getting his hands dirty.

The accident was bad—really, really bad. But it had already happened. There was no point dwelling on it endlessly. What mattered more was how they handled things afterward.

Lucas exhaled softly, going over everything in his head to make sure he hadn’t missed anything. For now, that was all. If there were any oversights, he’d deal with them later.

His gaze refocused.

“Noah, I believe in you.”

With those simple words, he helped Noah regain his balance amidst the stormy waves. Finally, Noah’s eyes found their focus again.

Noah wiped his face hastily, nodding solemnly. He carefully went over Lucas’s instructions before stepping forward resolutely.

Lucas followed Noah’s direction, and found Sam Raimi slumped on a bench, exhausted, disheveled, and lost. He approached him head-on.