Monday morning felt a little lighter.
Donovan sat at the large dining table in the Blackwood estate, eating a bowl of cereal. He was still tired from the emotional weight of Saturday night, but he didn't feel broken anymore. He felt grounded. He had a new life, new friends, and a lot of work to do.
His mother, Evelyn, walked into the dining room carrying a thick stack of paper. She was wearing a sharp blazer, looking every bit the high-powered Hollywood producer. She dropped the stack right next to Donovan's cereal bowl.
"Read that," Evelyn said, pouring herself a cup of coffee. "I'm directing it. We start shooting in a few months, and I want you for the lead role."
Donovan wiped his mouth with a napkin and looked at the title page.
*The Sandlot.* He remembered this movie. It was the ultimate 90s classic about kids playing baseball in the summer of 1962. The main character, Scotty Smalls, was the new kid in town who didn't know how to throw a ball.
"It's a great story, Mom," Donovan said, flipping through the first few pages. "But the dialogue is a little clunky in the second act."
Evelyn raised an eyebrow, sitting down across from him. "Oh really? The studio writers spent three months on that dialogue."
"Yeah, and it sounds like guys in their forties trying to sound like twelve-year-olds," Donovan pointed out casually. "Kids don't set up jokes like that. They just insult each other. Make the banter faster and meaner, but keep it funny."
Evelyn leaned forward, actually taking mental notes. "Okay. What else?"
"The stepdad," Donovan continued, tapping a page near the end of the script. "The whole movie is about Smalls losing his stepdad's baseball signed by Babe Ruth. But the stepdad is barely in the movie until the end. If you add two short scenes early on showing how much Smalls wants his approval, the climax will hit way harder emotionally."
Evelyn stared at him for a second. She took a sip of her coffee, completely impressed. "You're right. That actually fixes the pacing issue we were having in the editing room. I'll have the writers adjust it today. So, are you taking the role of Smalls?"
"Yeah, it sounds fun," Donovan smiled. "Can I get a couple of extra roles for Jake and Chris? Just background kids on the rival baseball team."
"Done," Evelyn smiled back.
Just then, Richard walked into the dining room, adjusting his tie. He kissed Evelyn on the cheek and grabbed a piece of toast.
"Morning. Donnie, the lawyers are finalizing the paperwork for Rogue Entertainment," Richard said, checking his watch. "The Seattle team is officially ours."
"That's great, Dad," Donovan said. "Actually, while we're buying things, I have a request for the film division."
Richard paused, taking a bite of his toast. "I'm listening."
"You need to buy Marvel Comics," Donovan said simply. "Or at least their film rights."
Richard frowned slightly, pulling up a chair. "Marvel? The comic book guys? They're bleeding money right now, Donnie. The industry is looking at a massive crash. Why would I buy a sinking ship when we already own DC Comics through Warner?"
"Because they're cheap right now," Donovan explained, leaning back in his chair. "A few failing studios like Carolco currently hold the rights to characters like Spider-Man and the X-Men. They are desperate for cash. If you buy those rights now for pennies, they revert to us."
Richard's business instincts immediately kicked in. He stopped chewing.
"Dad, if you buy Marvel's film rights while they're desperate, Blackwood Enterprises will literally own the monopoly on the entire superhero genre," Donovan said calmly. "When special effects catch up in a few years, we will control both DC and Marvel. Nobody will be able to compete with us."
Richard stared at his son. A slow, predatory smile spread across the billionaire's face.
"I'll have the acquisition team look into Carolco's financial records by noon," Richard said, pulling out his cell phone. "If they're bleeding, we'll buy Spider-Man before lunch."
"Thanks, Dad," Donovan grinned, finishing his cereal.
***
Later that afternoon, the atmosphere in the Burbank animation warehouse was pure chaos.
They were holding voice auditions for *One Piece* in a small, makeshift recording booth. Mark, the lead animator, was sitting at the soundboard holding his head in his hands.
"Next!" Mark called out through the microphone.
An adult actor in his thirties stepped up to the mic. He cleared his throat and let out a very deep, theatrical pirate yell. *"Arrrgh! I'll stretch my arms and defeat you!"*
"Thank you, we'll call you," Donovan said flatly, sitting on a couch in the back of the room with a bag of potato chips.
The actor sighed and walked out.
"They all sound like cartoon characters from the 80s," Mark groaned, spinning around in his chair. "We need raw energy, Donovan. This kid is supposed to be wild."
"Hey, let us try!" Chris Evans suddenly yelled, bouncing up from the floor where he and Jake had been reading comic books.
Jake jumped up too. "Yeah! Give us a script!"
Donovan laughed and tossed them a couple of pages. "Alright. But you guys are kids. Your voices are going to change in a few years. So you can't be main characters."
"I don't care, I just want to yell in a microphone," Chris beamed.
Donovan pointed at the script. "Chris, you're the voice of the mountain bandit that gets beaten up in episode one. Jake, you're a young marine recruit running away."
The two boys ran into the recording booth, put on the massive headphones, and stood in front of the mic.
"Okay, action," Mark said, hitting the record button.
Chris took a deep breath, channeled his absolute maximum golden retriever energy, and screamed at the top of his lungs. *"Take all his treasure! Hahahaha!"*
Jake immediately followed up with a panicked, cracking voice. *"Run! The pirate is too strong! Ahhhh!"*
Mark burst out laughing, giving them a thumbs up through the glass. "That was actually perfect. Pure chaos. You guys are hired."
Chris and Jake high-fived each other through the glass, completely thrilled.
"Okay, we have the background characters," Mark sighed, looking at Donovan. "But we still don't have our main character. We don't have a Luffy. Who's going to do it?"
Donovan put his bag of chips down. He walked over to the booth as Jake and Chris stepped out.
"I'll do it," Donovan said, stepping up to the microphone.
Mark raised an eyebrow. "You? Donovan, no offense, but you're a really calm kid. The main character is a screaming, rubber idiot."
"Just hit record, Mark," Donovan smiled, putting the headphones on.
Donovan stood in front of the microphone. He didn't just warm up his voice. He closed his eyes.
He didn't activate his vocal cords. He utilized his divine will for perfect, conceptual immersion. He reached into his memory, pulling the total essence of Monkey D. Luffy over himself like a second skin.
For five seconds, the studio was dead silent.
In that brief time, a profound shift occurred within the recording booth. Donovan's body seemed to relax, but at the same time, it filled with a wild, uncontrollable, buoyant energy. He felt the phantom sensation of a straw hat on his head. He gained an absurd appetite, a reckless bravery, and an unshakable, naive belief in friendship. His physical posture changed completely; he was no longer a calm kid, but a slouching, joyful, hyperactive pirate.
He had total control, yes, but in this moment, he *was* the character.
Donovan opened his eyes. They looked wider now, brighter, filled with a chaotic, infectious light that wasn't there before. A wide, sloppy grin spread across his face, a look completely alien to Donovan Blackwood, but perfectly natural to the rubber pirate.
He leaned into the microphone. It wasn't just a voice. It was the absolute manifestation of the character speaking through him, loud, raw, and overflowing with stubborn, joyful energy.
*"I'M GONNA BE KING OF THE PIRATES!"*
The battle cry ripped through the studio monitors, flawless and perfect. It carried the entire essence of the anime world, distilled into one flawless delivery.
Mark's jaw literally dropped. He slowly took his finger off the record button, staring through the glass at the grinning boy who seemed to have been possessed by the soul of a pirate.
"Holy crap," Mark whispered, his voice trembling slightly. "That's it. That's not just the voice. That's *him*."
Chris Evans looked at Jake with wide, shocked eyes. "Dude... that was like a magic trick. He looked different!"
Donovan blinked, taking a deep breath. In a split second, the wild energy vanished, and the comfortable, calm demeanor of Donovan Blackwood returned. He gave his friends a normal, peaceful smile and walked out of the booth, feeling perfectly in control.
"Told you he was a genius," Jake said proudly, crossing his arms.
"That was amazing!" Chris beamed, still vibrating from the performance. "Can you do that for other guys too?"
Donovan smiled as he grabbed his backpack. "Only the ones I really like, Boston."
The studio was coming together. His friends were having fun. His new, immersive talent was a perfect success. And somewhere in the city, his dad was probably buying Spider-Man.
"Alright, that's enough work for today," Donovan said. "Who wants to go to the park? Chris, you said you had a baseball glove, right? I need to practice throwing for a movie."
"Yeah! I have two gloves!" Chris yelled, running toward the exit. "Let's go!"
Donovan and Jake followed him out into the warm California afternoon, arguing the whole way about who got to pitch first.