The Blackwood mansion was usually a fortress of quiet luxury.
But at 7:00 AM on a Tuesday in 1992, it was pure chaos.
Donovan sat at the massive marble kitchen island, sipping his freshly squeezed orange juice.
He watched his family with the quiet amusement of an ancient god trapped in a ten-year-old's body.
His mother, Victoria, was balancing a crying toddler on her hip.
Two-year-old Chloe was currently trying to eat a heavily revised movie script.
"No, sweetie, that's the third act," Victoria sighed, gently pulling the paper away from the baby's mouth.
"And frankly, the dialogue tastes better than it reads. I need to fire that screenwriter today."
On the other side of the island sat Christian.
Donovan's six-year-old brother didn't care about Hollywood, box office numbers, or scripts.
He only cared about dinosaurs.
He smashed a plastic T-Rex into a bowl of milk, splashing it across the pristine counter.
"Roar! The mighty Rex destroys the cereal city!" Christian yelled happily.
"Christian, please," Richard said, not looking up from his newspaper.
The CEO of Warner Brothers was already dressed in a sharp three-piece charcoal suit.
He was aggressively highlighting financial reports with a red pen.
"Don't drown the dinosaurs. The cleaning staff unionizes when they get mad."
Donovan smirked. This was his reality.
He had the soul of a deity and the mind of a cinematic genius.
But right now, he was just a kid trying not to get milk on his private school uniform.
The kitchen phone rang. The butler, Henry, answered it and silently handed the receiver to Richard.
"Blackwood," Richard answered sharply. He listened for a second, his eyes narrowing.
"Tell Paramount that if they release their film on the same weekend as our blockbuster, I will personally ensure they don't get a single theater screen in the Midwest. Yes. Have a terrible morning."
He hung up, returning to his cereal as if he hadn't just threatened to destroy a rival studio's entire fiscal quarter.
"Have a good day at school, boys," Victoria called out, wiping milk off Christian's chin.
She kissed Christian's messy forehead, then leaned down to Donovan.
"Don't intimidate the teachers today, Donovan. I mean it."
"I never intimidate them, Mom," Donovan replied smoothly, adjusting his tailored blazer.
"I just ask them very specific historical questions they can't answer."
Richard chuckled behind his newspaper. "That's my boy."
---
A private driver was waiting outside in a sleek black town car.
Donovan grabbed his leather backpack. It was much heavier than a fifth grader's should be.
Inside wasn't just math homework or history books.
It was the complete character design portfolio for *One Piece*.
The drive to Oakridge Academy took twenty minutes.
Christian spent the ride making two action figures fight on the leather seats.
Donovan spent the ride sketching complex hardware schematics.
His grandfather had kept his word. Arthur Blackwood was currently buying a massive warehouse in Burbank.
It was going to be the headquarters of Donovan's new animation empire.
But Donovan knew that 1992 technology was painfully slow and limited.
If he wanted to pioneer digital coloring and high-speed rendering for his anime, standard computers wouldn't work.
He was drawing a custom motherboard layout in his notebook.
He needed to link multiple processors together in a primitive render farm to handle the animation frames.
Because the 90s chips ran incredibly hot when pushed to the absolute limit, he was designing a custom liquid cooling system.
He drew a network of tubes and water pumps to keep the graphics hardware from melting down.
It was a level of computer engineering that wouldn't be standard for decades.
But with the Blackwood fortune backing him, he could hire the best engineers in Silicon Valley to build his crazy ideas.
---
The car pulled up to Oakridge Academy.
It was the most exclusive private elementary school in Los Angeles.
The parking lot was full of luxury cars, armed bodyguards, and the children of celebrities.
For a normal kid, it would be extremely intimidating.
For Donovan, it was just a room full of future employees and industry pawns.
He stepped out of the car. He didn't walk like a ten-year-old.
He walked with the subtle, heavy presence of a king inspecting his domain.
Other kids instinctively moved out of his way without knowing why.
His *Tyrant's Domain* was completely suppressed, but his natural aura was undeniable.
He walked into his fifth-grade classroom and took his seat at the back by the window.
The teacher, Mr. Harrison, was writing a complex math equation on the chalkboard.
Donovan didn't pay attention at all.
He opened his notebook, hiding his manga pages underneath his textbook.
He had a studio to build. He needed to finalize the sword designs for Zoro.
School was just a waiting room for his empire.
"Hey, Blackwood."
A voice interrupted his thoughts.
Donovan didn't look up from his drawing of a three-sword fighting style.
It was Leo Vance. Leo was the son of a major talent agency director.
He was an arrogant eleven-year-old who thought he owned the playground.
"I heard your grandpa is buying that old warehouse in Burbank," Leo sneered, leaning heavily over Donovan's desk.
"My dad says Arthur Blackwood is finally losing his mind. Buying real estate for a kid's cartoon project."
A few other students turned to watch the confrontation.
They all knew the Blackwoods and the Vances were industry rivals.
Donovan slowly stopped drawing.
He placed his pencil down on the desk with a soft *click*.
He looked up, his deep blue eyes locking onto Leo's.
For a fraction of a second, Donovan let a microscopic drop of his *Tyrant's Domain* leak out.
The temperature around his desk seemed to drop by ten degrees.
The air became suffocatingly heavy.
Leo's smug smile vanished instantly.
The older boy felt a sudden, irrational spike of pure terror shoot down his spine.
His breath hitched. His hands started to tremble uncontrollably.
He felt like he was standing in front of a starving lion, not a ten-year-old classmate.
"Leo," Donovan said. His voice was quiet, smooth, and entirely devoid of childish emotion.
"Tell your father that if he spends less time worrying about my family's real estate..."
Donovan tilted his head slightly, holding the terrifying eye contact.
"...and more time managing his A-list clients, maybe his lead actor wouldn't have just signed a secret deal with Paramount last night."
Leo stepped back, his face completely pale. He swallowed hard, completely intimidated.
He didn't even know what Donovan was talking about, but the sheer, crushing authority in the boy's voice broke him.
Leo turned around and quickly walked back to his desk, looking down at his shoes in silence.
Donovan picked his pencil back up and returned to shading Zoro's bandana.
The god of emotion found it amusing how easy mortals were to manipulate.
---
When the bell rang for recess, the other kids ran to the playground to play basketball or tag.
Donovan walked calmly to a quiet bench under a large oak tree.
He opened his leather backpack and pulled out a massive, brick-like cellular phone.
It was heavy, clunky, and cost more than most people's cars in 1992.
It was a gift from his grandfather.
He pulled up the thick antenna and dialed a private number.
It rang twice before a highly professional voice answered.
"Arthur Blackwood's office. Margaret speaking."
"Margaret, it's Donovan."
"Ah, Master Donovan. How is the fifth grade today?"
"Tedious. Is my grandfather available?"
"He is currently in a board meeting, sir. But he instructed me to patch you through if you called about the Burbank property."
"Do it."
A click, and then Arthur's booming voice came through the static of the early cellular network.
"Donnie! Tell me you aren't calling from the principal's office."
Arthur was currently sitting at the head of a massive mahogany table, surrounded by sweating executives.
He had put his grandson on speakerphone for everyone to hear.
"Not today, Grandpa," Donovan said smoothly, watching a kid fall off the swings in the distance.
"I need you to contact a tech firm in Silicon Valley. I have the schematics ready for the custom motherboards and the liquid cooling systems for the render farm."
"I need them manufactured and installed by next month. The standard hardware will overheat and melt when we start rendering the pilot episode."
The Warner executives in the boardroom stared at the speakerphone in absolute disbelief.
A ten-year-old was ordering custom liquid-cooled computer infrastructure.
Arthur just threw his head back and laughed loudly, the sound echoing in the corporate office.
"You heard the boy!" Arthur yelled at his Vice President of Technology.
"Get Silicon Valley on the phone! My grandson needs liquid cooling for his render farm!"
Donovan smiled, lowering the antenna on the brick phone.
The world was moving entirely too slow for his liking.
But he was going to drag Hollywood into the future, kicking and screaming if he had to.