1461-1462

Chapter 1461: A Flourish of Flowers 

Caught off guard, Mike sucked in a sharp breath. His eyes widened as he blinked a couple of times, then he held out the bagel in his hand, flashing a polite smile. 

“Sorry, could you hold this for me? I need to, uh… deal with something.” 

Deal with what? 

Anson, a little confused, took the bagel. He watched as Mike calmly walked to the street corner, patiently waiting for the traffic light to turn red. Engines roared around him, and a flood of people surged across the crosswalk— 

“Ah! Aaaah!” 

Mike suddenly started shouting like a lunatic, jumping up and down, flailing his arms with every ounce of energy he had. His dark gray suit made him look especially clumsy, but he didn’t care one bit about the puzzled stares from passersby. He bounced around like a boxer, shuffling his feet in a drunken-fist dance. 

When he’d finally let it all out, Mike regained his composure and returned to his usual self. He walked back to Anson’s side. 

Looking at Anson’s stunned expression, Mike took his bagel back with a sheepish smile. 

“Sorry about that. I had to do it, or I might’ve exploded right here.” 

Mike gazed at Anson quietly, his eyes full of focus and sincerity. There were no stormy waves or crashing tides in them, just a clear, bright spark. 

“Thanks, Anson. Thank you. You’ve saved my entire year.” 

Anson: … “A year?” 

Mike: “Yeah, a whole year. Well, actually, more like three years.” 

Anson couldn’t hold it in anymore; the corners of his mouth curved up. “Oh no, now I’m feeling the pressure. So, this is what it’s like to be Jesus? I had no idea I was also responsible for saving the world.” 

Mike stayed serious. “Hey, that’s Spider-Man’s life.” 

Anson let out a soft chuckle. “Looks like I’ve still got a long road ahead.” 

Mike tilted his head, puzzled. “What road?” 

Anson: “Hollywood’s like this: Step one, you tie yourself to a role, hoping it’ll get you noticed by the masses. Step two, you try to break free from that role so you’re not stuck playing the same character forever with no other options.” 

Mike’s eyes lit up with realization. “So that’s what you’ve been busy with this past year?” 

He’d originally thought that with the triple punch of The Butterfly Effect, Elephant, and Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, Anson had already broken through. But now, it seemed the journey was far from over. 

Mike added, “It’ll probably take some time. New York’s only just kicking off its big promotional push.” 

Following Mike’s gaze, Anson spotted a massive billboard in the most prominent spot on the street—a still from Spider-Man 2. 

The hype for Spider-Man 2 had officially begun. 

No doubt about it, Sony Columbia had high hopes for the movie’s box office haul and had started the marketing campaign early. As Spider-Man’s home turf, New York was blanketed with promotions. Posters covered every prime corner, impossible to ignore. 

And here’s the kicker: Levi’s face was everywhere too. 

Normally, when promoting a comic-book superhero flick, the focus is on the hero. Posters highlight the “heroic image”—masked up if they’ve got a mask, suited up if they don’t. The goal is to showcase the superhero vibe and feed into the audience’s fantasies. 

But this time, things were a little different. Sony Columbia recognized Anson’s star power and wanted to bridge the gap between him and Peter Parker. They were banking on his box office pull to stack onto Spider-Man 2 and push it to new heights. 

So, Anson’s face was plastered all over the city. The promotional effort was unprecedented—Sony Columbia was pouring serious cash into it. 

Clearly, the behind-the-scenes power struggle between the two CEOs, Amy Pascal and Michael Lynton, was still a big factor. Their shared goal was crystal clear: Spider-Man 2 had to succeed. 

But beneath that shared goal, they each had their own agendas. 

The same “success” could mean totally different things. A $30 million profit was a win; a $100 million profit was a win too. A $300 million North American box office was a success; shattering the all-time North American record was another kind entirely. It all depended. 

After all, with the original Spider-Man as a benchmark, the stakes, expectations, and positioning were on a whole different level. 

If Spider-Man 2’s box office fell short—even if it didn’t outright flop—“not successful enough” would still count as a failure. And when that happened, the executive power struggle could veer off in wildly different directions. 

Michael, who held the upper hand, still had room to maneuver. Amy, with her back against the wall, had no choice but to go all in. That fundamental difference defined their situations. 

Before, Michael Lynton had taken a risky swing, trying to ditch Anson and shaking off the baggage. It flopped spectacularly, leaving him humiliated. This time, he switched tactics. 

On the surface, Michael extended an olive branch, fully backing Amy’s promotional strategy—going even further by shoving Anson into the spotlight as the film’s public face, the poster boy for the Spider-Man franchise. It came with a hint of groveling, a mea culpa for his past misstep. 

But underneath, it was a calculated move—a “kill with kindness” play. He’d tied Anson’s name to the movie’s box office fate so tightly that the crushing weight of expectations came crashing down on him alone. It put Michael in a win-win spot, regaining the upper hand in their rivalry. 

If the box office soared, well, that was expected. The Spider-Man series had a solid rep, Anson’s past films were hits, and Sony Columbia had shelled out a fortune on his paycheck. Any level of success would feel justified—they’d reap the rewards without needing to thank Anson. 

If the box office underperformed even slightly, it’d all be Anson’s fault. Clearly, his star power had been overhyped. His arrogance had blatantly siphoned profits from Sony Columbia’s pockets—unacceptable. 

Future collaborations? They’d have to “think it over.” 

In short, it was a dazzling display—flowers blooming, oil sizzling in the fire. The stakes were rising, and Michael was playing it smarter, subtler, and sharper this time. 

Because he knew Amy couldn’t say no. She was already strapped to Anson’s chariot. Even knowing it was a setup, she had to charge in headfirst. 

No way out. 

Anson tugged his baseball cap lower, shadows hiding his face, making sure the bustling crowd wouldn’t spot him easily. He let out a quiet laugh. 

“This kind of treatment? It’s a first.” 

Sure, he’d already worked box office miracles with Catch Me If You Can and Spider-Man, but the scale and intensity of this campaign were on another level. Sony Columbia was going all out, betting everything on this movie. 

It was a whole new ballgame. 

Everywhere he looked, his face stared back—omnipresent, inescapable. 

Chapter 1462: Burning with Anxiety 

This was the first time Anson truly felt the待遇 of a Hollywood superstar—the sheer force of top-tier publicity, built entirely on a mountain of cash. 

These promotional costs didn’t even come with a courtesy check-in from Anson. They’d just be tacked onto his “name” in the end anyway. After all, that’s what you get with a superstar. Movie studios chase them down, banking on their box-office draw. 

Mike tilted his chin slightly, a knowing look in his eye. “That’s superstar treatment for you.” 

Anson let out a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “Saving the world?” 

Mike cracked up too. “How about starting with saving a little guy like me first?” 

The power struggles at Sony Columbia’s upper levels were starting to mess with the future of the Spider-Man franchise. In the face of a Hollywood mega-studio, an actor’s individual power still felt pretty puny. But to Mike, Sony Columbia might’ve played this one wrong. 

Michael Lynton was convinced Anson needed Peter Parker. Reality, though? It might be the other way around—Anson seemed ready to ditch Peter Parker altogether. 

With the influence and pull Anson had now, one more Spider-Man flick or one less wouldn’t make or break his acting career. Plus, he was out there carving his own path as an actor, hunting for a signature style that was all his own. Shaking off the Peter Parker label was the crucial first step. 

When push came to shove, it’d be Sony Columbia begging Anson to stick around—not the other way around. 

At least, that’s how Mike Donovan saw it. He didn’t agree with Michael Lynton’s approach. He was set on locking Anson down, no matter the cost. 

Mike still remembered the first time he went to see Anson in person. Back then, he’d shown up with a mix of doubt and curiosity—sure, he made the visit, but he wasn’t totally sold. Looking back now, though, he knew it was one of the smartest moves of his career. 

Mike stepped aside, flashing a warm smile and gesturing for Anson to head in. Together, they walked back into Warner Records’ office building. 

As they stepped into the lobby, you could spot the receptionist right away—fidgeting, practically sweating bullets, looking like she was about to lose it. 

She was clearly terrified for her job. 

How could she not have recognized Anson? She worked the front desk at Warner Records, for crying out loud, and somehow missed the biggest star on the planet right now? Sweet Jesus, she needed an eye doctor—or maybe a shrink. 

That alone was bad enough. But the real disaster? That sour, stepmom-like face she’d made earlier—how much had Anson seen? Had he picked up on the hostility? 

God help her. 

The more she thought about it, the worse it got, the scarier it felt. 

Even before Anson showed up, her head was already drowning in a mess of panicked thoughts, barely able to breathe. 

She’d decided that the second she saw him, she’d rush over and apologize. Even if she didn’t get a chance to explain herself, she’d at least show some remorse— 

Knees on the floor, posture perfect, clinging to a shred of dignity in a last-ditch effort. 

But when Anson actually appeared, her mind went blank—total shutdown. Then, with Mike Donovan right there beside him, she felt like her throat was being squeezed shut. 

Not a sound came out. 

And… that was it. Nothing else. 

Her brain turned to mush, every thought wiped clean. All that was left was instinct—stumbling along, dazed, trailing after them like some obedient puppy, escorting Anson and Mike to the elevator with a blank stare. She didn’t even try to say anything, just watched the two figures dumbly. 

As the elevator doors started to close, a voice broke through. 

“Joey?” 

The receptionist froze. How did Anson know her name? 

“Good luck on Monday!” 

Her brain couldn’t catch up fast enough. She caught the slight upward curve of Anson’s lips, his eyes glinting faintly under the shadow of his cap. 

The doors slid shut. She stood there, stunned, her mood slowly waking up, climbing out of a pitch-black abyss and soaring into the clouds. 

Before she even realized it, her feet were bouncing lightly. 

It hit her then—she glanced down at her name tag: “Joey.” That’s how he knew. A little laugh escaped her as she turned back to the elevator. 

The doors were long closed, reflecting her goofy grin back at her like some kind of idiot. No one else was there to see, but her smile still took off, soaring free under a blue sky. Suddenly, the whole world felt brighter. 

Maybe Monday wouldn’t be so bad after all. 

Meanwhile, up on the 37th floor— 

Chaos reigned. People were freaking out, whispers buzzing through the air. Everyone was guessing, trying to piece together what was happening. 

Mike’s assistant had come back and was spinning like a top—too busy to stop, too swamped to answer questions. Bits and pieces of conversation floated around, but nothing added up, fueling the office gossip mill into overdrive. 

Then—bang! 

The elevator doors slid open. The noise cut off like a switch, all eyes snapping toward it, breaths held. 

The arrival? Dustin Thorne. 

“Mike! Mike! Where’s Mike?” Dustin shouted, barreling straight toward Mike’s office, tension written all over his face. 

“I just heard Anson’s here at the company—is that for real?” 

Mike’s assistant freaked, grabbing Dustin and yanking him into the office before slamming the door shut. 

Buzz, buzz, buzz. 

The chatter exploded, the whole place ready to boil over. 

Theories flew left and right. Some said Anson was here. Others said it was just his assistant. Some swore he was about to ditch Warner, or that he was pissed about the new deal with August 31st’s leftover members. A few even claimed Mike and Anson had a full-on falling out. 

Blah, blah, blah. 

But no one had the real story. 

One glance swapped, and the info shifted. One whispered rumor later, and the narrative flipped. 

Excitement and unease churned together in the air. Now it made sense why Sony Columbia’s execs were playing such a high-stakes game. Someone like Anson could be a bargaining chip—or a ticking time bomb. Every move he made sent ripples, and even a giant company couldn’t dodge the fallout. 

Ding! 

The elevator doors opened again. The office’s chaos and chatter died instantly. Everyone pretended to busy themselves, but their sneaky side-glances couldn’t help drifting toward the elevator. Two figures stepped out, one after the other, seemingly oblivious to the weird vibe in the room. 

Whoa. 

Breaths stopped, heartbeats froze—time itself hit pause. People forgot they were supposed to be sneaking looks, heads turning, eyes locking onto one spot without even trying to hide it. Jaws dropped as they zeroed in on that figure. 

Anson. 

It was Anson. The Anson who had the entire North American entertainment industry’s attention glued to him. The Anson Warner Records had been chasing and calling and hitting dead ends with for months—only for him to stroll in today, out of nowhere. 

That presence, that smile—it grabbed every eye in the room, no exceptions. 

Dead silence. Pin-drop quiet. Everyone just watched as Mike walked Anson across the floor, disappearing into his office. 

In less than sixty seconds, the news had spread through the whole Warner Records building: 

Anson was here.