The silence between both sides of the table had stretched on for nearly five minutes when Alex finally spoke again, breaking the tension in a controlled, deliberate manner.
"Mr. Reed, the exclusive broadcasting rights to Bleach cannot be yours."
The reaction was immediate. Reed frowned, his brows knitting together. If he couldn't secure exclusivity over the next two seasons, offering such a high price simply made no sense. This wasn't charity-it was a calculated investment.
But Alex wasn't finished.
"However," he continued calmly, "I can offer you exclusive rights to another one of my works."
The irritation in Reed's eyes shifted into confusion.
"You mean the production you're currently filming in New York?" he asked.
To be fair, any new project by Alex sparked interest, but Reed didn't believe anything could reach the impact of Bleach.
"No," Alex replied. "I mean the next one. The one after that."
For a moment, Reed's expression became difficult to read. It sounded like a blank check-a vague promise tied to a project that didn't officially exist yet.
Who could guarantee when it would be filmed? Or what it would even be?
Noticing the hesitation, Alex gave a faint smile.
"Let's do this instead. Prepare some paper and a pen. I'll write the script right now. If you don't like it, throw it in the trash without a second thought."
The words landed like a silent explosion.
Reed froze for a second. Yasmim Banner, seated beside Alex as an "improvised assistant," widened her eyes. If there hadn't been a foreign executive sitting across from them, she might have slapped Alex's thigh on the spot.
Have you completely lost your mind?
Still, Reed made a short gesture with his hand, and an assistant quickly brought over paper and a pen.
After all, there was nothing to lose.
Alex took the pen.
And then he began to write.
No hesitation. No outlining. No pauses.
The words flowed onto the page with an unsettling ease, as if they already existed fully formed in his mind, merely waiting to be transcribed. Reed watched in silence, his eyes growing wider by the second. This didn't look like creation-it looked like copying.
Yasmim didn't even realize when she leaned closer. She was so near that the warmth of her breath brushed Alex's cheek as she whispered, almost inaudibly,
"You're serious…?"
Alex didn't answer.
He didn't need to.
About half an hour later, he closed the notebook with a simple motion and wrote a title on the cover in clean, decisive letters:
DEATH NOTE
"Please," he said, sliding it across the table. "Have a look."
Reed swallowed as he took it. He couldn't explain why, but the moment he touched that ordinary-looking notebook, a chill ran down his spine, as if something dangerous were contained within.
He opened the first page.
The story began with a high school student named Light Yagami picking up a seemingly unremarkable notebook…
As Reed read on, his hands began to tremble.
Alex hadn't written everything-the script only went as far as Light's carefully planned elimination of the FBI agents. Even so, every page felt like it was tightening around the reader's chest.
Suddenly, Reed snapped the notebook shut and stood up.
"Genius!!!"
The shout echoed through the room.
Yasmim nearly jumped out of her chair.
For a few seconds, no one spoke. The air felt too heavy for ordinary words. The assistant standing by the door didn't know whether to take notes, leave the room, or pretend nothing had happened.
Alex simply leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. There was no visible pride on his face. No anxiety. Only the absolute calm of someone who knew exactly what he had placed on the table.
Reed noticed-and was even more shaken by it.
It wasn't just the script.
It was the creator.
"Alex… this is extraordinary," Reed said, his voice thick with emotion. "If this is filmed, it won't fall below Bleach. It might even… surpass it."
He had always favored suspense and investigative stories. That was why he'd been interested in things with Sherlock Homes in the first place. But this was different. He hadn't seen anything like it in decades of working in the industry.
Yasmim, still stunned, couldn't suppress her curiosity. What kind of story could provoke such a reaction?
"The exclusive rights to this work can be yours," Alex said, cutting into the moment. "But it'll cost more."
A faint smile crossed his face.
Of course, there was calculation behind it. Death Note would never pass domestic censorship. Selling it to the overseas market was the most logical choice. As for the local audience… well, there were always other ways.
Reed sat back down, thoughtful. After a moment, he spoke again.
"To maximize the value of this work… it should be adapted as films. Two of them."
Alex blinked, surprised.
He thought for a few seconds.
It made sense. The first half was perfect. The latter part, in his memory, had always felt excessive. Turning it into two films was, indeed, the most profitable option.
"At least this way," Alex said with a half-smile, "no one can say I ruined the story with an unnecessary continuation."
Reed laughed without even realizing it.
When the meeting finally ended, Reed remained alone in the room, staring at the closed notebook on the table. He had the strange feeling that this simple object would change many things-perhaps even the market itself.
On the other side of the door, Alex walked calmly down the corridor, as if nothing extraordinary had happened.
But in his mind, the future was already in motion.
And he knew it.
The world was not yet ready for what was coming.
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