Rejected My IP? I Gave It to Their Rivals

Chapter 3

The next morning, applications came pouring in like snowflakes.

My assistant dropped a thick stack onto the corner of my desk.

"Mr. Lawson, 27 companies have reached out since last night. Their pitches are practically identical."

I picked up the first application.

It read: No livestreams, no ceremonies. We'd be grateful if you'd just stop by and take a look at our rehearsals.

The next one was even more straightforward: If the other teams don't want it, could we have it?

A dull ache settled in my chest as I read through them.

Sophie had thrown the word "handout" around online as if it meant nothing.

But out here in the real world, there were actors who'd survived on nothing but bread rolls for 3 straight years. Actors who'd walked through freezing winters in shoes with soles split wide open. Actors who couldn't even afford to attend auditions because a few hundred in travel expenses was already beyond their means.

Dignity mattered. True.

But dignity wasn't something you built by trampling on someone else's only chance to make a living.

At 10 a.m., our car pulled up outside the abandoned factory rented by Starlight Productions.

There were no welcome banners. No reception team waiting outside.

The elderly janitor saw us, spun around, and hurried off to find Ryan.

Ryan came rushing out to greet us, his hair streaked with gray and the cuffs of his shirt frayed.

He rubbed his hands together awkwardly, and the first thing he said was, "Mr. Lawson, our place is pretty run-down. I hope you don't mind the condition."

"Whether it's run-down or not, I'll decide after I see it."

Ryan froze for a moment, clearly caught off guard.

I continued, "I want to see the place exactly as it normally is."

A quiet sigh of relief escaped him before he led us in.

A middle-aged woman poked her head out of the rehearsal room. She wore a faded sweater that had been washed so many times it was almost white.

That was Mia Foster. She'd won a Best Supporting Actress award years ago, but she hadn't landed a single role in 5 years.

"Hello, Mr. Lawson."

Her voice was soft, but every word came out clear and precise.

"Are you the crew's representative?" I asked.

She nodded. "Ryan said you'd probably want to hear directly from the actors."

Ryan hurried to explain, "This wasn't some planned setup, I swear. Mia's been with the crew longer than anyone else. She knows exactly what everyone here has been going through."

I didn't respond. I decided to look around the rehearsal space first.

The floor was bare concrete, and icy drafts blew in through the windows. Anyone rehearsing here in winter had to bundle up in heavy coats just to stay warm.

A male actor crouched on the floor, stretching his legs. An old knee injury kept him from putting much weight on one leg.

His name was Charlie. Years ago, he'd appeared in a handful of action films. Now, he couldn't even find work as a stunt double.

When he saw me, he stood with a smile, though his injured leg wobbled beneath him.

Mia lowered her voice and said, "Charlie has had two knee replacements, and his leg still hasn't fully recovered. But he comes to practice every single day without fail."

Next, we went to the prop room.

The clothing racks were so covered in rust that they were barely recognizable. Several costumes were held together by safety pins scattered haphazardly across the fabric.

Mia gently ran her hand over an old, tattered gown. "I've lost count of how many years we've used this. I've patched it at least a dozen times."

"Have you ever tripped on it?" I asked.

She paused.

"Yeah. It wasn't too serious, though. Once, I stepped on the hem during rehearsal and hit my knee pretty hard. It stayed black and blue for weeks."

Ryan let out a heavy sigh.

"2 years ago, one of our actors fractured a bone during rehearsal. We couldn't afford proper treatment, so he still gets pain whenever it rains or the weather turns damp."

And the equipment was even worse.

The only sound system they had was a beat-up unit they'd picked up at a secondhand market. The microphones crackled with static nonstop, and one side of the lighting stand was so badly tilted that they had to prop it up with a brick to keep it from falling over.

Mia spoke again, "Mr. Lawson, none of us are afraid of hard work. What scares us is never seeing a way forward."

I turned to her and asked, "If I give the project and the funding to Starlight Productions, what's the first thing you'll do with the money?"

She didn't answer immediately. She pulled a crumpled piece of paper from her pocket.

The notes were written in neat, even handwriting.

"First, we'll properly fix up the rehearsal space so no one else gets hurt. Then we'll replace the broken equipment with something we can actually use. Whatever's left will be distributed as living expenses, so everyone can catch their breath for a while."

"You don't think accepting help is shameful?"

Mia frowned, clearly puzzled by the question. "Why would it be shameful? Mr. Lawson, we're not accepting help because we've lost our backbone. We just have hurdles right now that we can't clear on our own. If someone lends us a hand, we'll be able to keep moving forward. When we make it someday, we'll be the ones reaching out to help others."

My assistant murmured under his breath, "Now that's a sensible way to look at it."

I couldn't have agreed more.

It was such a simple truth, yet some people just failed to see it.

Ryan finally couldn't hold back his emotions. His eyes filled with tears.

"I'm just not very good at this. I've made everyone suffer along with me."

Just before we left, I turned to Ryan.

"If I sign the project over to your team, will you be completely transparent about every cent you spend?"

He was so overjoyed that the deep furrows across his forehead seemed to smooth out all at once.

"You bet. I'll tape every single receipt right onto the wall so everyone can see exactly where the money went."

Mia stood off to the side, twisting the hem of her sweater until her knuckles turned white.

She didn't beg. She simply looked at me.

Her gaze was so clear and sincere that it struck me right in the chest.

Once we got back into the car, my assistant asked, "You've made your decision?"

I looked out the window.

In the distance, Lightchasing Crew's soundstage gleamed harshly under the bright sunlight.

Sophie had posted another update the night before:

If kindness can't withstand being picked apart, then it was never genuine kindness.

She was still waiting for me to back down.

I turned my gaze back.

"I've made up my mind. We're giving it to Starlight Productions."