….
[Los Angeles | LIE Studios Headquarters | 18th Floor]
The silence inside Regal Seraphsail's private office continued for more than one hour.
And to say the three - Julian, Arthur, and Sean - were nervous would be an understatement; they are even prepared to be sent to prison for trying to steal a billion dollars IP
Their only focus was to watch Regal's every moment.
Honestly, they felt weird for staring at him with such attention, but they couldn't ignore any signs of dissatisfaction, so they could make a run if things turned dicey.
But fortunately, nothing of that sort happened.
Also nothing positive happened either.
At one point they even collectively thought, 'Is he even reading?'
He had been reading for twenty-seven minutes.
He didn't skim or skip ahead to the dialogue blocks or third act. His eyes moved steadily across the pages with the methodical pace of a genuine reader.
But alas, they still couldn't decipher anything.
They had spent three years filming in Portland's damp, rain-slicked streets, maxing out four credit cards, skipping meals, living in a cramped one-bedroom apartment with editing equipment piled on the kitchen counter, and sacrificing their relationships just to bring those pages to life.
And now, their entire future rested on the silent judgment of a man who owned the very word they had used as their title.
At page forty-two, Regal's fingers stilled. He paused on a scene description, his gaze lingering on a passage detailing a quiet, low-angle shot of a girl looking through a rain-flecked window pane.
He slowly set the script down flat on the desk.
"I know you already explained it in your letter, and it might seem redundant for me to ask again." Regal said, leaning forward slightly with a thoughtful gaze. "But I want to hear it directly from you… why this title?"
"No… actually, it makes complete sense that you would ask." the man replied softly, an earnest warmth settling into his voice. "In fact, I wanted to explain it to you in person rather than leaving it on a piece of paper. No matter how much I write, ink and paper can never truly capture the depth of love we have for this story… or for that name."
A faint, subtle smile touched Regal's lips. This man has the true heart of a storyteller.
It was exactly as Julian had anticipated.
What impressed Regal even more than the explanation itself was the man's choice of perspective.
He hadn't dwelled on the grueling three-year development process, nor had he leaned on words like 'pain', 'effort', or 'hardships'.
Instead, the very first word to cross his lips was 'love'; a pure passion for the world they had built.
The creators sitting across from him didn't know it yet, but Regal had already made up his mind.
A quiet sense of reassurance washed over him.
Taking time out of his packed schedule on his next project to meet people this deeply devoted wasn't a distraction.
It was worth every single second.
"We tried to change it…" Julian said, his voice slightly raspy. "But I wasn't convinced..."
Even as Regal outlined the harsh reality of corporate legal scrapers, locked MeTube accounts, and cease-and-desist letters from MDC Entertainment's trademark defense, Julian remained unmoved by corporate threats.
Reaching into his coat pocket, Julian placed a small, faded spiral notebook onto the desk.
Its cardboard cover was frayed and water-damaged, filled with childhood sketches of postmen, neighbors, and ordinary people going about their lives.
He quietly shared the truth behind the project: it wasn't a corporate brand or an attempt to cash in on LIE Studios' cinematic universe.
But his younger sister's name.
Born with a severe pulmonary condition, little Marvel had spent her short eleven years tethered to an oxygen concentrator, watching the world through a second-story window.
To her, everyday human resilience was the ultimate superpower, and before she passed away, she made Julian promise to show the world her drawings.
"To change the title... to call it The Window… or The Observation... it feels like we are erasing her name from her own story."
A heavy, suffocating silence immediately blanketed the room, so absolute that the low hum of the office ventilation sounded like a roar.
Arthur and Sean went rigid in their seats, their knuckles turning white as they gripped the armrests.
Regal remained unmoving, his arms resting casually on the desk, his sharp, unblinking gaze locked onto Julian.
In truth, Regal's decision had already been made.
He had no intention of letting corporate legal machinery crush this film, nor would he force them to surrender a title tied to a dead girl's memory.
But as he looked at the director standing before him, Regal wanted to see the depth of Julian's conviction.
"So..." Regal's voice cut through the stillness, low and deliberate. "What are you going to do if I am not convinced?"
Julian didn't flinch or shrink back. Instead, a quiet, indestructible clarity settled over his face.
Slowly, Julian reached out, picked up the faded, water-damaged spiral notebook from the desk, and slid it gently back into his coat pocket.
"Then we shelf this cut." Julian said softly, his voice devoid of bitterness or dramatic bravado and carrying only the weight of absolute resolve. "We pull the trailers, cancel the festival submissions, and put this film away."
Arthur looked up at him, but Julian kept his eyes fixed entirely on Regal.
"We won't stop making movies, Mr. Seraphsail." Julian continued, taking a step forward. "I am sure one day we will pick up our cameras, write a new script, and make another film from scratch. We're filmmakers, and we can compromise on budgets, on scene edits, on runtime, or pacing. But not her name, not in this story. If this film ever reaches the screen, it has to be called Marvel. To call it anything else erases her from the only legacy she left behind."
He paused, a faint, melancholic smile touching his lips.
"If the industry isn't ready to let her story be told under her name, then this film stays vaulted. We will go make something else. Because three years in an editing room taught me something: the industry owns the trademarks, Regal... but they don't own our integrity. And I didn't make a promise to a multi-billion-dollar studio. I made a promise to an eleven-year-old girl."
Across the desk, Regal didn't say a word for three long seconds.
Beside Julian, Arthur and Sean exhaled with quiet pride, not defeat, knowing exactly where they had drawn the line.
Then, very slowly, a genuine, rare smile broke across Regal Seraphsail's face.
God,that's just stupid, Regal thought, his own heart beating with a long-forgotten thrill. But it really was worth every single second.
Arthur and Sean tensed slightly, but Julian remained motionless, holding Regal's gaze without a single trace of fear.
"It's reckless, financially irresponsible, and entirely illogical in this business." Regal continued, leaning back into his leather chair, a rare, faint smile hovering at the corners of his mouth. "Every lawyer in Hollywood would tell you to change the title, take the check, and move on. But that's the difference between executives who trade in content... and storytellers who bleed for cinema."
He looked at the three young filmmakers sitting across from him.
"Here is what we are going to do." Regal said, his voice calm and decisive. "I am not going to sue you. And I am not going to force you to change your title."
The three boys let out a collective, staggered breath, their shoulders dropping in unison as the crushing tension in their chests evaporated.
"But we have a corporate reality to manage." Regal continued, leaning forward and resting his forearms on the mahogany wood–
"If we release a film called Marvel through a normal distribution pipeline, the public will assume it's part of Earth-616... They will walk into the theater expecting Tony Stark or Peter Parker, and when they are met with a quiet, two-hour indie drama about a girl in a bedroom, they will feel cheated. The disappointment won't be because your film is bad. It will be because their expectations were misaligned."
He slid a clean sheet of paper forward across the desk.
"We release it under a sub-label." Regal explained. "LIE Pioneers. It's our new division for independent, non-franchise cinema. And the title on the poster will be–
"Marvel: A Sister's Window."
Regal looked directly at Julian. "It keeps her name at the center of the billing, and it honors the promise you made to her. But it lets the audience understand exactly what kind of story they are walking into before they buy the ticket. Does that work for you?"
Julian's eyes turned slightly moist, his lips trembling as a massive, overwhelming smile broke across his face.
He nodded quickly, swallowed hard, and struggled for a second to find his voice.
"Yes. Yes, Mr. Seraphsail." Julian choked out, his voice thick with gratitude. "That... that is more than we ever dared to hope for."
"Good." Regal nodded, a warm, genuine look in his eyes.
He reached over to his desk intercom and pressed the button. "Samantha, can you bring in the lunch trays? And call Simon. Tell him we need a standard distribution contract for a LIE Pioneers project."
"On it, Regal." Samantha's voice crackled back instantly through the speaker, carrying a warm, knowing note of amusement.
She had been monitoring the meeting from her desk outside and had already drafted the preliminary paperwork the moment she heard Regal's tone shift.
As the three filmmakers carefully gathered the script and the faded notebook, their hands shaking with relief, Regal watched them relax into the chairs.
Sitting through countless corporate strategy meetings and endless production schedules could easily make anyone lose sight of why they started.
But meeting people like Julian, creators who would rather vault their own masterpiece than sell its soul, re-ignited the fire.
Regal picked up his pen, opened the fresh script treatment for his next project, and smiled.
….
Ten minutes later, the door opened.
Samantha entered carrying a large tray laden with fresh turkey sandwiches, mixed green salads, and cold sodas. Behind her, Simon strolled in, a folder of contracts tucked under his arm, his shaved head gleaming under the office lights.
"So these are the troublemakers who have been occupying our reception for two months." Simon grinned, setting the folder on the desk and pulling up a chair–
"I have to admit, I was ready to have security carry you out on principle, but Samantha told me your script made Rock cry in the reading room."
"It didn't make me cry." Rock's deep, rumbling voice echoed from his position by the door, his posture still straight as a pillar. "I had a minor dust allergy."
"Sure you did, buddy." Simon chuckled, offering Julian and the others a friendly hand. "I am Simon. I handle the logistics."
"We can handle the marketing." Arthur said quickly, his producer's instincts kicking in. "We've already mapped out a grassroots festival strategy–"
"Forget the grass roots." Regal interrupted, taking a bite of his sandwich. "We go wide immediately in sixty select theaters across the country. New York, Chicago, San Francisco, Seattle–
"Play it in the premium art-house slots, running the trailers directly before The Dark Knight's evening rotations. The audience coming out of our three-hour tragedy will be in exactly the right emotional headspace to receive your trailer."
He looked at Julian.
"And we don't buy out your rights. You keep full creative ownership of the characters and the notebooks. LIE Studios simply takes a standard twenty-five percent distribution fee to cover print and marketing, and we split the backend profits fifty-fifty."
Julian, Arthur, and Sean looked at each other, their minds completely unable to calculate the sheer scale of the turnaround.
They had walked into this building expecting a hostile lawsuit, ready to fight with every last penny of their eighty-dollar savings just to protect a name.
And now, they were casually eating sandwiches with the creator of the MDCU, while their sister's name was being formatted for a national theatrical release.
"It's a beautiful script." Gwendolyn whispered, looking up at Julian. "Your sister would have been very proud of you."
"Thank you, Miss Oulworth." Julian said softly, his voice thick with an emotion he no longer tried to hide. "She... she really would have."
As the afternoon sun broke through, the five of them began to go through the contract details.
The transaction was clean, the language honest, and the relationship based entirely on mutual respect for the craft.
And today, the three youths had officially stepped out of the shadow of the window, walking directly into the path of the storm.
….
.
[To be continued…]
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