Chapter 2: Nicole Kidman's Curiosity
For Nicole, who was determined to put down roots in Hollywood, William was a piece of stock with enormous upside.
She didn't care whether William was struggling at the moment.
What mattered to her was the possibility—the "what if."
Nicole had always been fiercely driven, her hunger for success bordering on obsession.
That ambition would soon manifest in the most direct way imaginable.
Her whirlwind marriage to Tom Cruise in 1990—beyond the inevitable spark between a handsome man and a beautiful woman—was, at its core, an intensely rational career calculation.
In that rigidly stratified circle, Nicole understood better than anyone that behind the words Tom Cruise stood Hollywood's most elite production resources and power networks.
But in 1989, Nicole was still an Australian girl with untested wings, cautiously probing the battlefield of fame and fortune.
From her perspective, William Blake was a mysterious player—someone capable of renting a soundstage in a prime Los Angeles location and casually dropping a million dollars on top-tier equipment.
That level of capital already qualified as serious muscle in the independent film world.
So even though William currently looked unshaven and worn-down, Nicole maintained a perfectly calibrated humility.
She tilted her head slightly, deep eyes carrying both appraisal and deference, approaching William with a posture closer to that of an apprentice than a peer.
In a Hollywood that was realistic to the point of cruelty, she refused to miss a single opportunity to climb.
And at this moment, William was the man who might hand her a rope.
As for why she called him "Boss"—or rather, "Little Boss"—
Nicole was only twenty-one this year, but William, reborn with a cheat code, hardly looked his age.
Even before his memories awakened, his physical condition had been exceptional.
A bit of casual exercise each day was enough to keep his stamina and strength well above the norm for his peers—
still within human limits, of course.
Had it not been for his background and his obsessive fixation on the film industry, America might well have gained another Olympic-level athlete.
Because his body had always been at its peak, William looked no older than an eighteen-year-old kid.
Naturally, Nicole had misjudged his age.
In truth, he was five years older than her.
"Can't be helped. My little production company is practically on the verge of bankruptcy,"
William said calmly.
"As the boss, if I'm not frowning, what should I be doing instead?"
He paused, then added casually:
"Oh—and next time, drop the 'little.'"
William showed no trace of stage fright in front of Nicole Kidman.
In his previous life, as a director of specially rated films, he had seen more beautiful women than he could count—thousands upon thousands.
Beauty had long since lost its mystique.
But until today, William himself had still been a relatively naive young man.
That was why the sudden shift in his demeanor and speech caught Nicole off guard.
She froze in place for a moment.
While she was undeniably curious about why William had changed so drastically...
But the two of them were, at most, acquaintances who knew each other's names—
they weren't even friends.
So Nicole didn't dwell on it.
"Bankruptcy?" she said thoughtfully. "Well… at least from where I'm standing, you already seem to have a solution in mind. Am I wrong?"
It had to be said—Nicole was someone whose ability matched her ambition.
Her read on William's expression was perfectly accurate.
Because William did have a plan.
He didn't have the money to shoot a conventional film.
But his old line of work was a different story.
Due to its very different focus, the production costs of special-rating films were laughably low compared to mainstream cinema.
"So you caught on," William replied lightly.
"Too bad there's no prize."
"All right, I've got things to take care of. We'll talk later."
With that, he didn't wait for Nicole's response. He turned and walked straight toward the parking lot, though he still lifted a hand to wave goodbye.
Watching his retreating figure, Nicole Kidman crossed her arms and thought to herself:
Just a few days ago, he still looked so green.
And today—he's not even pretending anymore?
What changed?
Interesting man.
No matter how carefully Nicole analyzed William's behavior, she was destined to come up empty-handed.
---
In the parking lot, inside a slightly battered Chevrolet—
William sat down but didn't immediately drive off to arrange his return to special-rating filmmaking.
That brief interaction with Nicole Kidman had revealed something else entirely.
Another cheat.
He realized that he could recall every single frame of the films he had seen starring Nicole Kidman.
"So aside from a terrifyingly strong body," he muttered,
"I also came back with photographic memory, huh?"
Closing his eyes, William tried recalling a suspense film Nicole had starred in called Before I Go to Sleep.
Every shot.
Every cut.
Every composition.
All of it appeared in his mind with astonishing clarity.
"Tsk. What a waste," he sighed.
"If I had the money right now, I'd definitely make this film."
Shaking his head, William started the car.
As for why he didn't just write the script and go looking for investors—
That was because too many people fundamentally misunderstood how filmmaking worked.
In Hollywood, having a brilliant script didn't mean investors would magically line up, money would pour in, cameras would roll, and you'd become a great director overnight.
That kind of story existed only in novels.
In the real Hollywood, there weren't just hundreds—there were thousands of great scripts buried and forgotten.
Or rather, Hollywood had never lacked good stories.
What it lacked were the countless conditions required to bring one of those stories fully to the big screen.
Before achieving fame, trying to raise investment was nothing short of a fantasy.
---
Los Angeles in 1989 was bustling to the extreme—
endless lines of cars, crowds packed shoulder to shoulder.
As a result, it took William nearly half an hour just to park in the underground garage of the office building where his accounting firm was located.
Soon after, he stepped into the accountant's office.
"Hey, Alexander."
Alexander—the accountant handling William's case.
"Mr. Blake," Alexander said politely, professional to the core.
"What brings you here in person?"
It couldn't be helped.
Clients who were foolish and wealthy were everyone's favorite.
He had even begun calculating how much he could make later by helping William through bankruptcy proceedings.
"I'm here to ask," William said calmly,
"how much I can borrow from the bank using my production company as collateral."
It wasn't arrogance.
At this point in time, America was at the height of the VHS boom.
Which meant that special-rating films—William's specialty—were part of a rapidly growing industry.
Rather than scraping by with twenty thousand dollars, he might as well go all in.
Alexander froze for a second after hearing the question.
Then, somewhat uncertainly, he asked,
"You mean… you want to mortgage your production company to secure a bank loan?"
"That's right," William said, nodding.
"You heard me correctly."
"Please give me a moment."
Alexander pulled out the documents related to William's company and began calculating with a handheld calculator.
Ten minutes passed.
"Sorry to keep you waiting, Mr. Blake," Alexander finally said.
"Based on my preliminary assessment, mortgaging your production company should allow you to borrow around three hundred thousand dollars from the bank."