Urban System in America

The look in Aren's eyes confirmed it. Gratitude, yes, but also a kind of reverence, even unease, as though Rex were a towering figure whose reach extended beyond what Aren could ever imagine. He leaned back in his seat, watching Aren out of the corner of his eye. The kid's awe wasn't hidden well… it slipped through in every glance, every stammer, every attempt to mask his nerves.

Rex didn't mind. In fact, he welcomed it. Each flicker of shock, each humbled silence, was proof that his image was being carved deeper and deeper into From his experience in past life, he knew that loyalty built on gratitude could waver, but loyalty rooted in awe and fear of losing such a rare chance… now that was far more difficult to shake.

Honestly, It amused him how easy it had been. A favor pulled, a contract drawn up by a heavyweight attorney… all trivial for current Rex, but to Aren, they became mountains, unscalable without Rex's hand guiding him, of course even if it had been past him, he would be the same. Anyway, that was the image he wanted to burn into his mind: not just a benefactor, but a force too overwhelming to challenge, too indispensable to risk disappointing.

As Aren clutched the contract, a small, almost unseen smile etched at his face. The foundation had been laid. From this moment on, Aren would walk a path he had prepared, and every step would remind him who had built the road beneath his feet.

Rex wasn't blind to the dangers that came with success. He wasn't some naive kid, who believed in fairness and justice. A director like Aren, if left unanchored, could easily slip through his fingers once the film made its inevitable waves and he wasn't going to bet against it. He knew how fickle Hollywood could be… today you were nothing, tomorrow you were everything, and the day after that you were discarded again. Talent was treated like a commodity, bought and sold as easily as a stock.

Hollywood was crueler than any battlefield. Here, nobody cared about loyalty or sentiment; everything was a transaction, and talent was just another commodity. A rookie director like Aren, stood at the lowest rung with no roots, no backing, no shield, would be the easiest prey once success touched his name.

Hollywood was notorious for it… rookies ignored and humiliated one day, courted and bought the next, once they had proven themselves. If you were unknown, you could grovel, beg, even lick their feet, and they would still look at you as though you were dirt beneath their shoes. But if you managed to carve a name for yourself—if your film sparked, if audiences cheered, if critics praised you, that was akin to throwing blood in the water, and the sharks would instantly swarm in.

And those same people would come running with olive branches, polished smiles, multi-million-dollar deals, promises of creative freedom, awards bait, all dressed up in the sweet language of opportunity. To any ordinary rookie... No, to any sane person, it would be absolutely irresistible.

He knew the pattern too well. Big studios didn't simply enjoy profits, money was never the true game. They thrived on Power and Influence. To them, money was cheap—Wall Street was overflowing with investors eager to shovel billions into their hands, in exchange for a piece of Hollywood's magic. No, what the studios truly valued was power. Influence. Control.

The satisfaction of stealing talents. In fact, they prided themselves on plucking talent out from under rivals' noses, on making someone else's rising star into their loyal servant. Even if it meant bleeding cash and taking a loss. They didn't tolerate intrusions into their territory, their kingdoms. If Aren's film became the sensation Rex expected it to be, offers would rain down on him… offers designed to dazzle, overwhelm, and ultimately enslave.

And Rex knew… Aren's film would not just succeed, it would explode. This little twenty-thousand-dollar horror flick, dismissed by anyone who only saw numbers, would ripple across the industry like an earthquake. A rookie's name attached to that kind of phenomenon? The sharks would tear at him from every side.

That was what Rex had to prevent.

Aren wasn't just a one-time project, he was an asset, a long-term investment, a potential gold mine. And Rex had no intention of letting him be stolen away after all the groundwork was laid. Gratitude alone wouldn't be enough to keep him; gratitude faded the moment someone else offered something shinier. What Rex needed to forge was something deeper, he needed to believe—deep in his bones—that no amount of money, no glittering contract, no seductive promise could outweigh Rex's presence.

He needed awe, fear, and loyalty forged so deeply that even the sharpest claws of Hollywood's predators couldn't pry Aren free.

And this was only the beginning. He wouldn't smother him, wouldn't cage him—no, that was how you drove talent away. Instead, he would provide opportunities just beyond Aren's reach, then make himself the bridge that carried him across. He would feed him resources, smooth out obstacles, and let him taste just enough hardship to value Rex's presence all the more. A balance… support that felt indispensable, but never suffocating.

The industry would come for him, Rex was sure of it. They'd dangle offers, whisper promises, try to paint Rex as a chain holding him back. But by then, if Rex played this right, Aren wouldn't see chains. He'd see protection.

He had to see him not just as a producer, but as a pillar. As the reason he rose, as the shield that made his rise possible. That was why Rex deliberately orchestrated each shock, each display of power… the lawyer, the studio, the car, the effortless connections. All of it was designed to carve into Aren's heart the understanding that standing beside Rex was safer, greater, and more rewarding than standing with anyone else.

It wasn't malice, it was strategy. Hollywood didn't play fair, so neither could he. If he wanted Aren to continue being a wellspring of success, he needed to build more than loyalty. He needed reverence. He needed Aren to reach a point where, even when contracts worth millions were waved before him, he would look back at Rex and think… this is the man I cannot leave.

He allowed a faint smile to tug at his lips, the kind of smile Aren could misread as reassurance. But behind it, his mind was sharp and unyielding. Hollywood could try all it wanted. They could wave money, power, prestige. But Rex was already building something stronger than contracts or paychecks. He was building conviction, dependence, reverence.

And once those roots sank in deep enough, no storm in Hollywood would be able to rip Aren free.

And so Rex leaned back in his seat, calm and unhurried, even as Aren's awe grew. Every widened eye, every moment of stunned silence, every spark of gratitude… they were bricks in the foundation Rex was laying. And that was why every move Rex made now wasn't simply about helping him… it was about building an unshakable bond, an image so towering that when the time came, Aren wouldn't even think of flying away.

(End of Chapter)