A Time Magazine article officially certified the notion of "2002: Martin's Year."
Inside the office of Martin Meyers at Meyers Studios, Martin set down the magazine and looked at Ivanka in surprise.
"How did you pull this off? Did you PR Time Magazine?"
Ivanka flashed a sly smile. "I used a little of my father's connections. Shhh, don't tell him—he doesn't know yet."
Martin chuckled inwardly. If Donald Trump knew his daughter was leveraging his network to promote me, would he fly into a rage?
He couldn't help but laugh as he imagined Trump's signature red-faced fury.
After all, his memories from his previous life in China were full of hilarious photos and videos of Trump. One of his favorites was an animated parody where Trump's infamous pout was edited to resemble Donald Duck—it had him in stitches the first time he saw it.
Outwardly, Martin maintained an air of concern and asked in a "worried" tone, "Do you think Donald will blame you when he finds out?"
Ivanka, clearly pleased by Martin's display of concern, laughed.
"Don't worry. My dad won't get mad—especially if you let his company manage your Manhattan real estate."
Martin grinned. She was certainly adept at leveraging connections: she'd used her father's network to promote Martin while ensuring her father profited in return. Clever.
Martin quickly agreed. After all, it was a win-win situation.
He had no plans to start his own real estate company, so the Manhattan properties would need management. It didn't matter who handled them, as long as it got done.
Ivanka's smile grew wider, clearly satisfied. She was already picturing how confident she'd sound when she told her father about the deal later that evening.
Three weeks passed, and Spider-Man continued its rampage through the global box office.
Meanwhile, Martin had returned to Dominica.
"Martin, why did it take you so long to come back?"
The disappointed look in young Keira's eyes made Martin feel a little guilty.
Quickly, he said, "I brought gifts for everyone!" Then he leaned closer and whispered in her ear, "Yours is the most special."
Martin's return reinvigorated the production of Pirates of the Caribbean.
That night, Keira Knightley tossed and turned, unable to sleep.
Her thoughts were filled with Martin.
But this tiny inn was too small. If she tried anything, it'd be all too easy for someone to hear.
Frustrated, she suddenly remembered she hadn't opened the gift Martin gave her.
Barefoot, she climbed out of bed and rummaged through her luggage until she found it.
"Hmph, let's see just how special this is. If it's not, you'll pay for it…"
She puffed her cheeks in mock anger as she tore open the package.
Then her eyes widened.
"What the f***!"
In her hands was a cylindrical sculpture, made of what appeared to be ivory or horn. It had been meticulously carved into the likeness of Martin.
The top featured his handsome, smooth face, the middle his body clad in a sharp black suit, and the bottom his long legs in tailored black trousers.
The craftsmanship was exquisite, polished to a glossy finish. But its shape and smoothness immediately made her think of... certain things. (Dildo)
What a naughty guy!
Keira's cheeks turned bright red. After a moment's hesitation, she hugged the sculpture to her chest, climbed back into bed, and hid under the covers.
Soon, strange "singing" sounds filled the room.
The next morning, Martin stepped out of his room looking refreshed, only to see Keira, who also seemed particularly radiant.
He gave her a knowing smile and asked in a low voice, "Did you like my gift?"
Keira's face flushed red. "What gift? I don't know what you're talking about!" She then ran off in a hurry.
Martin stood in the hallway, grinning mischievously.
"Martin, good morning! What's so funny?"
Orlando Bloom emerged from his room and saw Martin laughing to himself in the hallway.
Martin quickly stifled his grin.
"Oh, Keira just told me a hilarious joke. Couldn't stop laughing."
"What joke? Let's hear it."
Orlando, now comfortable around Martin thanks to his approachable demeanor, leaned in curiously.
Martin smirked. "Hmm, it's a naughty joke about women. Not suitable for minors."
With that, he walked away, leaving Orlando standing there, puzzled.
Wait… aren't both of you technically still minors?
By late June, the summer blockbuster season was in full swing.
Spider-Man continued to dominate theaters, but another highly anticipated Martin production was about to premiere: Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone.
The movie's dual premieres in London and Los Angeles attracted significant attention.
Martin had to take another leave of absence to attend the Los Angeles event. However, the world's eyes were more focused on the London premiere.
Why?
Because Princess Diana attended with her two young princes.
"There he is—Prince Harry, the supposed inspiration for Harry Potter? He's so—"
Emma Watson peeked out from behind a massive theater poster, sneaking a glance at the two princes walking the red carpet. Her focus lingered on Prince Harry, rumored to be the inspiration for the titular wizard.
Standing beside her were Daniel Radcliffe and Rupert Grint.
"What's he like?" Rupert asked curiously.
Emma thought for a moment.
"Hmm… not very… cute."
Daniel adjusted his round glasses and smirked. "Not as cute as me, right?"
Emma glanced at him but said nothing, thinking, I'm comparing him to Martin as a kid.
Her attention soon shifted to Diana. With a wistful tone, she said, "Princess Diana is so elegant. I heard she's good friends with Martin. I wish I could be her friend, too."
Emma's meaning was clear: if she became friends with Diana, it'd bring her closer to Martin.
Rupert, however, misunderstood and said, "Who wouldn't want to be friends with Diana? That'd be so impressive!"
Do I seem that shallow?
Emma glared at him.
"I don't get why we're here today."
At 20, Prince William stood tall at over 6'2", looking every bit the adult as he glanced wearily at the crowd of children around him.
"Relax! Look how adorable these kids are!"
Eighteen-year-old Prince Harry was in his element, happily signing autographs for the young fans.
"Harry, can I get your autograph?"
"Prince Harry, please sign mine!"
"Harry Potter, sign mine!"
Somehow, one child started calling him "Harry Potter," and soon the others followed suit.
"Harry Potter! Harry Potter!"
Prince Harry beamed, his grin stretching ear to ear. He signed with newfound enthusiasm and nodded. "Yes, that's right—I am Harry Potter."
William rolled his eyes.
Everyone knows Martin didn't base Harry Potter on you. Stop deluding yourself.
But Harry couldn't care less. At that moment, he was Harry Potter.
Behind a nearby poster, Daniel Radcliffe frowned.
He wanted to shout, "Hey, I'm Harry Potter!"