In a private suite of a hotel, Dorian Wilson arrived under the "escort" of the black-market mine’s guards. His buzz cut gave him a hardened look, but he had nothing in the way of charm or handsoness—just a thoroughly average appearance. Still, his eyes radiated confidence.
Despite working day and night in the mines with no days off, his belief never wavered—one day, once he broke free, he would beco an international superstar.
"Have a seat," Veil gestured casually, a polite smile on his face.
All things considered, Dorian was soone he had known in a past life. So civility on the surface was still necessary.
Dorian sat without hesitation, making no attempt to flatter Veil. In fact, a trace of arrogance played between his brows, as if he didn’t see Veil as soone worth paying attention to.
And honestly, he didn’t.
From his limited perspective, Veil was still a mystery—soone he didn’t have access to in terms of background or influence. And though he had seen Veil on a livestream once and heard so online chatter, those monts felt distant. The brutal hours at the mine left him disconnected from any dia. Internet access was unreliable, and even if he managed to get online, what could he possibly watch? The show hadn’t even been edited and released yet.
Outside of a few industry insiders, who even rembered Veil’s na?
"So you’re the elusive Veil? The guy behind the scenes who wants to buy my screenplay?" Dorian raised an eyebrow. "I used to think that proper business dealings required mutual understanding. You had soone I’d never heard of show up and try to buy out—that’s why I refused. But now that you’ve co in person, I guess I should show you so respect."
After a brief exchange, Dorian had already labeled Veil as one of those spoiled rich kids—no real talent, just daddy’s money. The good looks, the gorgeous woman by his side... all the trademarks were there.
He figured this might be a golden opportunity. Maybe he could squeeze sothing out of this rich idiot.
Veil chuckled, amused. "Co on, what do you an ’so outsider’? That was my guy who reached out. I was caught up with sothing at the ti and couldn’t co personally. But now that I’ve recovered, here I am. And from what I’ve heard, your situation isn’t exactly ideal. Stuck in so shady mine? Sounds like you won’t be getting out anyti soon, huh? Six months, minimum?"
This particular mine wasn’t ordinary. It had a backing, security detail, and a twisted sense of "ethics." Everyone brought in was forced to work half a year before they were released—and yes, they actually did get paid.
It wasn’t pure scam. It was more like legalized exploitation. But anyone who tried to escape or resist? Brutal punishnt.
Ding! Protagonist Dorian Wilson experienced a sharp emotional fluctuation. Congratulations, Host! Villain Points 2000.
Dorian flinched slightly, subconsciously glancing at his pinky finger, still wrapped in bandages. It had been broken when he tried to escape.
That was the mont he realized—he didn’t have the power to fight the mine’s backers. For now, he had to endure.
He glanced at the door, then at Veil, his gaze warning—soone could be listening.
"You don’t have to worry about your guards," Veil said smoothly. "They’ve been moved far enough away. As long as you’re in my presence, no two-bit mine boss is going to pull anything."
That might be a terrifying figure to Dorian—but to Veil? A single word and they’d vanish.
"Fine. You can buy the screenplay. But only for three years. Five million in cash. And you get out of this place."
Dorian raised five fingers, naming his outrageous price.
Lyra inhaled sharply. Five million? For just three years?
And with a personal rescue tacked on?
That was robbery.
In this world, the entertainnt industry wasn’t booming. A seven-figure buyout was already top-tier. Five million for a script? Practically unheard of. Unless soone was laundering money, prices never went that high.
She tried to push back. "Isn’t that a bit steep? I’ve read your script—it’s creative, sure, and the concept is tight—but a lot of the language and plot points won’t translate well to screen."
She deliberately downplayed its strengths, citing potential censorship or screen adaptation issues.
After all, even popular series that were reinstated post-censorship ca back completely butchered. As for Twilight of the Two Heroes? That script would get gutted.
"And you are?" Dorian’s gaze softened a little.
He hadn’t expected a woman hanging around a rich heir to be so refined—she didn’t carry that usual spoiled air, instead radiating calm grace.
"Lyra Chandler," she replied evenly.
"Lovely na," Dorian smiled. "You raise good points, Lyra, but let be clear—if even a fraction of that script makes it to screen, it’ll be worth way more than five million. And that’s a fact. I’ve made my offer. Whether or not Veil accepts is his call. But even with a buyout, I still retain the rights to make adaptations, and my na must appear in the credits of every episode as the original creator—my pen na, prominently displayed."
That clause was non-negotiable.
His system relied on fa to grow stronger. Without recognition, even with mories of his past life, he couldn’t recreate everything from scratch without special items.
Lyra turned to Veil. He said nothing, just kept rhythmically tapping his fingers on the table.
"Five million isn’t a high price," Veil finally said, nonchalant. "And money isn’t a problem. Not five million, not fifty million—hell, even five hundred million, I could pay it all."
Before Dorian could react, Veil continued, "But if the price goes up, I won’t just be buying this one script. I want you. Everything you’ll ever write. Novels, songs, comics—your lifeti of intellectual property. Full rights."
Lyra’s eyes widened in shock.
Was he insane?
Five hundred million to buy out Dorian Wilson’s entire creative output for life?
Even the most prolific creators alive couldn’t churn out that much gold.
"Don’t worry," Veil said, smiling and patting Lyra’s shoulder.
He had his reasons.
Dorian was unique. He had past-life mories. With the right items, he could provide a steady stream of IPs from another world—high-quality, reliable content.
Sure, Veil could use mory fruits himself. But everything took ti. Even narrating ideas out loud wasted hours.
Why not just pay the money and let Dorian do the heavy lifting? A perfect money-making tool.
That was why Veil hadn’t killed him.
As long as Dorian submitted, the system would strip him of his protagonist status. Then, a new story arc would begin.
More ti saved, and more inco generated—what was not to like?
"If you’re offering five hundred million, then I really need to think about whether I’m worth that much," Dorian said, lips curling into a polite smile.
He didn’t outright reject Veil’s offer.
Veil had enough clout to pull him out of the mine. That ant real power—and soone not to cross lightly.
For now, his plan was to stall, maybe even sell Twilight at a bargain. As long as he got out of the mine, that was enough.
Total lifeti buyout? Never gonna happen.
He knew what was hidden in his mory—novels, films, classic literature, even breakthrough scientific concepts. His knowledge was priceless.
Not five hundred million. Not even fifty billion.
He’d never sell his soul.
"How about this, Mr. Veil—take Twilight of the Two Heroes. The script is yours. The money can wait. Just get out of here."
Dorian smiled, backing down a step. He could tell Veil had locked onto him. There was a creeping sense of danger in his gut.
Fine—let the script go. What mattered most now was escaping this hellhole.
Maybe if he lay low, Veil would forget about him. Or he’d gain new backers who could shield him.
Worst-case scenario? He’d flee abroad, build his empire from the ground up, and return when he had the power to face Veil head-on.
Veil clicked his tongue and shook his head. "If I’ve made the offer, it’s because I an it. I’m willing to lose money. That’s not your concern."
Ding! Protagonist Dorian Wilson is furious. Congratulations, Host! Villain Points 5000.
Lyra sat there like she’d been hit by a truck.
Where was she?
What was happening?
Who had gone insane?
Why would Veil offer half a billion to buy Dorian’s entire creative future?
And why would Dorian refuse?
Maybe she hadn’t slept well. This had to be a hallucination.
She rubbed her eyes and pinched her earlobe, dazed.
"Sothing wrong with your eyes? Need to rest?" Veil teased, gently pinching her cheek.
She turned her head, a rosy blush coloring her face. It wasn’t that she didn’t like being touched—but with Dorian right there, it felt awkward.
"I’m fine. You two go on. I’m listening," she said softly.
Ding! Protagonist Dorian Wilson is deeply jealous. Congratulations, Host! Villain Points 10,000.
Dorian swallowed his bitterness and stood. "Mr. Veil, let’s leave it here for today. The script’s yours. Just get out. We’ll discuss the rest later."
He couldn’t take another second.
Once he got out of here, he’d rise from the ashes.
He would beco Trasidia’s greatest star—no, the world’s most famous idol.
With beauty like Lyra by his side.
He believed it. He knew it.
As Dorian walked away, Veil let out a long sigh.
Buying out Dorian Wilson wasn’t going to be easy.
Maybe in his eyes, he really was destined to be the world’s biggest superstar.
Global idol?
Pathetic.
Veil smirked.
Didn’t he realize? In this world, even idols get chewed up and spit out by capital.
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