Damian was sitting on the metro, which felt more like a bullet train, with a speed that should have been terrifying yet a stability that made him question whether he was really traveling by metro. Resting an arm on the armrest, his gaze was lost in the panoramic view of the city.
Veltrum, bathed in the warm hues of sunset, stretched beyond the train's wide windows. Though it wasn't the capital, its significance was undeniable; the presence of the Grand Solís Academy and numerous influential leaders made it one of the most important metropolises.
He slid a finger across his Panel, sending a quick message to his mother to let her know he'd be late. Then, he leaned back slightly in his seat, finding it surprisingly comfortable.
"Another point in favor of this world... even public transportation is high quality despite being free."
Around him, the other passengers were absorbed in their own worlds, some with wireless earbuds and others focused on their Panels. Not so different from Earth, where people were glued to their phones—only here, the screens were holographic. Though not transparent, ensuring privacy.
Damian was scrolling through a social network similar to Twitter—or X, as it had been called before he died. Browsing through local posts, he found everything from famous artists announcing new releases to clips of streamers reacting to or analyzing movies. Many of these videos linked to a popular video-sharing platform.
After a few minutes, his search paid off.
A viral post from the Veltrum Entertainment Association announced that the Solís Academy's year-end festival would be held next week—an event open to the entire city. Damian already knew about this festival thanks to his past life's memories: it was an annual tradition that took place after the second exam, allowing students to showcase their projects to the public.
The festival wasn't just an internal celebration; it had a city-wide impact. The best works were screened, there were live performances, food stalls, interactive events, and most importantly, the presence of major leaders and studios. Much of the event was streamed online, making it even more relevant.
However, not all students could participate actively. Only those who had passed the second exam were allowed to present their projects to the public. The rest, while not expelled from the academy, could only attend as spectators.
Damian played a video attached to the post.
An old man with wild white hair, sunglasses, and light clothing appeared on the screen. He had a relaxed demeanor but an unmistakable presence. He wasn't just a leader in his field but someone who held a special title reserved for the most influential figures across all creative industries.
"Ah, the Solís Festival!" the man said enthusiastically. "It's my favorite time of the year. It's always fascinating to see what these young minds bring to the table. Surprise me, geniuses!"
Damian smirked.
"I guess there will be plenty of competition."
He closed the post and stood up, noticing he had already arrived at his destination.
---
The cold lights of the massive selection hall flickered slightly above the managers' heads.
Aoi Ross sighed, crossing her arms as she watched the boy in front of her leave the room with a downcast expression.
"I'm sorry, but your film doesn't meet the level I'm looking for," she had told him moments earlier, her tone professional yet firm.
She had expected more from someone who had studied at a university in another region, but his work lacked the spark that would justify taking a risk. She couldn't afford to make a mediocre first selection—not when she was just starting out.
Aoi stood up and left the meeting room, meeting the gazes of some of her colleagues. Some gave her sympathetic looks, as if they understood the pressure of not having secured a client yet. Others barely concealed their amusement.
"Still nothing, Ross?" one of them taunted, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed.
"You're way too picky for a rookie," another added condescendingly.
"Shut up. At least she has standards," a short-haired manager with glasses interjected, giving the others a sharp look.
Aoi pressed her lips together and took a seat in the large common area where managers gathered—either those still without clients or those looking to expand their roster. On the enormous holographic screens, the profiles of applicants entering the building to obtain a license were displayed.
Managers were always on alert, ready to snatch up promising talent before the others. The system was simple: first come, first served. Once a client was selected, no one else could take them. However, there was a limit of five selections per day, meaning hasty decisions could be costly.
Aoi only had one selection left.
A new batch of profiles appeared on the screen. The atmosphere in the room grew tense when one of the managers identified a student from the Grand Solís Academy.
"A Solís student?" someone murmured, drawing even more attention to the screen.
Everyone paused, evaluating the information before making a move.
"He hasn't even graduated from his second year of high school," a manager noted with hesitation.
"If I'm not mistaken, the academy's second exam just started recently," another added.
A collective sigh followed. Many dismissed the profile almost immediately.
It was common for Solís students to apply for a license around this time, in case they failed the exam and had to repeat the year. Aoi noticed how several managers turned away, no longer interested.
Of course, there were exceptions. Some students, even without graduating, could receive recommendations from the academy or an influential leader who had taken them under their wing, making them stand out. Others managed to capture attention with an impressive portfolio.
But this profile had no portfolio attached.
Aoi narrowed her eyes.
"Damian Grant," she murmured, intrigued.
A Solís student. Even if her colleagues had already been disappointed too many times, she hadn't experienced such disappointment herself. Maybe it was her inexperience as a manager, or maybe she just had a gut feeling.
She bit the inside of her cheek, glancing at the screen again. If she picked him and he turned out to be a failure, she'd have no more chances until the next day.
Her finger hovered over the profile.
Clenching her teeth, she selected Damian Grant.
Client assigned: Damian Grant.
"Come on, Aoi. You know this isn't a good idea," her glasses-wearing colleague whispered with a worried look.
"I know," Aoi admitted with an apologetic smile.
Her colleague sighed.
"Good luck."
"Thanks… I think."
"Pff, rookies," another manager scoffed, shaking his head.
Aoi ignored the remark and left the room with her head held high, swallowing her frustration.
---
The meeting room had a simple design: comfortable sofas and a low table in the center. Aoi entered and saw the boy waiting calmly.
The first thing she noticed was his good looks. He was young but had a serene expression, carrying an air of maturity that didn't match what she expected from a desperate student.
Damian stood up and greeted her naturally.
"A pleasure to meet you. I'm Damian Grant."
Still intrigued, Aoi responded with a professional smile.
"Aoi Ross. I'll be your manager… if everything goes well."
They sat down, and Aoi pulled out her Panel, adjusting herself on the sofa. Her long black ponytail draped over her shoulder as she reviewed her new client's information.
"Before we begin, I'll explain the basics," she said in a professional tone. "What you applied for isn't just a permit but a license. This is what separates regular civilians from creatives. Anyone can apply, but they need to present at least one project and convince a manager they're worth it."
Aoi paused briefly and added:
"With the license, you'll officially be recognized as a Junior Creative. This grants you certain benefits, such as the ability to create an account to upload your projects to the network officially."
Damian nodded, listening attentively.
"Anyone can upload videos and content online, but only creatives receive automatic copyright protection without complicated procedures. Plus, there are exclusive platforms where only creatives can publish their work."
"That's exactly what I'm looking for," Damian said, seemingly satisfied with the explanation.
Aoi reviewed his profile again.
Second-year student at Solís. Normal family. No recommendation from a leader. No portfolio attached.
A risky bet.
Damian met her gaze with a relaxed expression and casually said:
"Do you want to check out my work?"
Aoi raised an eyebrow, surprised.
"You have a portfolio? Why didn't you attach it to your profile?"
"I don't want just anyone to see it," Damian replied calmly. "I prefer to keep a low profile for now."
Aoi found that amusing.
"So you think that if people saw it, you'd attract too much attention?"
"I wouldn't be surprised."
"Wow, such confidence." For a moment, Aoi almost felt pity. If he truly believed himself a genius when he wasn't, the fall would be harsh.
But she maintained her professional expression and smiled.
"Alright, let's see what you've got."
Damian transferred two files to her panel.
Aoi raised an eyebrow upon seeing only two short films.
"Is that all?"
She thought about asking but held back. It would be rude to say it out loud.
She sighed and started playing the first one.
The first short film, Tuck Me In, took her by surprise.
This wasn't the work of an average amateur. Damian understood pacing, tension… there was something about it. Aoi felt a chill run down her spine when she reached the end.
"Interesting…" she murmured.
This boy had a lot of talent.
Then she opened the second short film, now with even higher expectations.
Kiwi.
At first, her mind struggled to process it.
Not only was the story impactful, but the animation itself was unlike anything she had ever seen.
Her mouth slightly parted as she watched each frame, each expression of the little kiwi. The story moved her in such a short time, conveying emotions with such delicacy.
"This is…" she whispered, her eyes wide.
When the short film ended, Aoi remained silent. Her mind worked rapidly, trying to grasp what she had just witnessed.
A new visual style. A new way of storytelling.
She had won the lottery.
Aoi deactivated her panel and looked at Damian with a smile that betrayed her excitement.
"Congratulations!" she suddenly exclaimed with a broad grin. "From today, you are a Junior Creator!"
Unable to contain herself, she showed her energetic side and gave him a pat on the shoulder.
She activated her panel and processed the license in an instant.
Damian seemed a bit overwhelmed by the sudden change in her attitude but accepted the license with satisfaction.
"That was fast."
"Of course!" Aoi replied, leaning slightly toward him with a confident smile. "Did you think I'd play hard to get after seeing that?"
Damian let out a soft chuckle.
"I guess not."
"I'm glad I bet on you," Aoi said, sending a virtual license to his panel. "I'm happy to work with you."
Damian looked at the license on his panel for a moment.
Objective achieved.
"Thank you, Aoi."
And just like that, without realizing it, Aoi Ross had just found the talent that would define her career.
---
The echo of his footsteps resonated on the polished marble as Samuel walked through the grand foyer of his home. The chandelier's light illuminated the walls adorned with exquisite art from ancient eras, each piece carefully selected for the sole purpose of showcasing the Lorrick family's status.
A butler gave him a slight nod before announcing in a calm voice:
"The master is expecting you in his office."
Samuel felt a twinge of tension but nodded without changing his expression. He walked down the carpeted hallways until he reached the grand dark wooden door. He knocked twice.
"Come in."
His father's voice, Nathaniel Lorrick, was firm and controlled, carrying an authority that needed no volume to be imposing.
Samuel entered and closed the door behind him.
The office was spacious, with shelves filled with books on literature, history, and art treaties. At the center stood a fine wooden desk and a large leather chair where his father sat with effortless elegance. To the side, a glass of liquor rested on the table, reflecting the dim light of the study.
"Sit," his father ordered without taking his eyes off a holographic panel.
Samuel obeyed.
Nathaniel deactivated the screen and fixed his cold gaze on his son.
"How are the exams going?"
Samuel straightened slightly.
"Good. I got an S on the first one."
A heavy silence filled the room. Then, Nathaniel placed his glass on the table with a subtle yet meaningful sound.
"Good?" he repeated with a hint of disdain. "No, you didn't do good."
Samuel blinked, confused.
"What do you mean?"
Nathaniel intertwined his fingers, observing him with the calm of someone who had complete control over the conversation.
"One of my acquaintances attended the evaluation. A Leader. And he informed me that two students surpassed you."
Samuel frowned.
"But an S is the highest grade."
"Not all S's hold the same weight," his father replied curtly. "Those two students stood out from the rest."
Samuel felt a tightness in his chest.
"Did he say who they were?"
"No. There are confidentiality agreements, and frankly, I don't care. It was only the first exam."
Samuel clenched his jaw.
Nathaniel rested an elbow on the desk and watched him patiently.
"Besides, I was also informed that at the Academy, you were disrespected by some ordinary student."
A sharp irritation ran down Samuel's spine.
His expression darkened.
"I will take care of it."
"No."
Nathaniel's tone was sharp.
Samuel looked up, surprised by the interruption.
"The Lorrick name must never be slighted," his father continued coldly. "So I will handle this student myself."
Samuel lowered his head slightly.
"Yes, Father."
For a moment, silence lingered. Nathaniel studied him, evaluating him with his gaze. Then, unexpectedly, his expression relaxed just a little.
"Samuel."
"Yes?"
"I know there's a girl you're interested in."
Still caught in his frustration, Samuel raised his head in slight surprise.
Nathaniel smiled subtly.
"Tell me. Does she have what it takes to join our family?"
Samuel straightened with confidence.
"Yes. She's a prodigy in music."
Nathaniel raised an eyebrow.
"Interesting."
"But I can't approach recklessly," Samuel admitted. "Her mentor is a highly recognized Leader. Celeste Avelyn."
Nathaniel let out a small scoff.
"And what of it?"
Samuel didn't respond immediately. He knew his father didn't see Leaders as untouchable figures.
Nathaniel leaned back in his chair, looking thoughtful. Then, with arrogance, he delivered his verdict.
"Our family is not so small that a single Leader could intimidate us."
Samuel nodded.
"I know."
Nathaniel looked at him, a calculating glint in his eyes.
"Score an S on all three exams, and I will support you with this girl. Even if you're not the best, your grades must be flawless on the surface."
Samuel felt his confidence strengthen.
"I will do it."
Nathaniel nodded in satisfaction.
"Then we have an agreement. You may go now."
Samuel stood up, gave a slight nod, and left the office, feeling the weight of new expectations on his shoulders.
But deep inside, all that remained was a burning determination.