"No"mination

Lately, Harvey Weinstein had been acting like a king. He would visit various media outlets, swaggering around with his hands behind his back, and casually command, "Ah, I don't really like this movie lately. Why don't we bury it?" And the journalists, bowing to the ruler of Hollywood, would shut their mouths about Echos of a family.

...Of course, that wasn't how it actually worked. Modern power framed itself with goodwill. So instead of telling journalists not to ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠write about Echos of a family, Harvey presented them with films they would find far more appealing. Works like Shakespeare in Love and Life Is Beautiful.

"Looks like the lineup for the next Academy nominees is pretty much set. Write some articles about these, will you?"

These were masterpieces currently playing to rave reviews in the United States. He 'requested' favors from his various acquaintances, treated them to dinners, hosted small parties, and threw out bait. The journalists, like fish waiting for food in a pond, swarmed to listen and wrote articles based on his words. It was proof that he controlled the media beautifully.

But naturally, a few media outlets slipped through the cracks.

"This is too blatant."

Michael Mitchum. The editor-in-chief of the movie magazine Behind the Scene immediately noticed the nationwide phenomenon of Echos of a family being pushed out. Even if the production company claimed they were focusing their marketing on industry professionals, there were still far too few articles.

"Uh, I have a source on that," a subordinate reporter next to him chimed in.

"They say Harvey Weinstein is blatantly blocking it. To make sure his own films win. Everyone noticed the vibe and is keeping their heads down. There's no point in crossing Harvey these days."

"What if we write an article about this?"

"It'll get buried instantly, and we'll face a massive backlash. We don't have any proof."

"Right. Who would care about an article that's just sensationalist?"

No, even if it did get attention, it would only be temporary. Michael felt it was a time to tread carefully. Crossing Harvey Weinstein right now meant getting absolutely crushed in this industry. Being excluded from interviews ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠or press screenings for his films was a given, and there was a high chance of facing disadvantages in various other situations.

Yet, for some reason, Michael kept picturing Sion Lee.

A family patriarch, a position fitting his age, just an ordinary man. To Michael, who was utterly ordinary compared to the giants who ruled the industry, his only saving grace—his sole spark of specialty—was 'cinema' itself. That was why, in this exhausting industry, he had held on with a sense of duty to cover films, actors, and the environments they were made in, putting out accurate information and fair articles.

"Do you remember that?" Michael asked.

"You wearing women's clothes, Chief?"

"Yes. It was a truly wonderful memory."

"...?"

"Come to think of it, folks like us who write articles rarely get to experience being completely blindsided by someone's change and growth. Well... to be precise, back then I basically jumped into a pile of shit because of my own big mouth, but looking back, it wasn't half bad."

As someone in this industry, Michael wanted only one thing: for Hollywood to keep growing, for talented actors to keep emerging, and for better movies to be made as a result. That was why his experience wearing a skirt hadn't been so bad.

"It was a sign to welcome a great actor."

Because the actor named Sion Lee had overturned his petty evaluation and shown his absolute best.

"Who do we have an interview with this week?"

"Olga Asimov. Didn't she just shoot a movie called Truth Network? With Jim Carrey."

"Let's add one question to that."

"...I don't know if that's a good idea," the reporter sighed, understanding the editor-in-chief's underlying intention.

Truth Network was a movie about journalists. A work dealing with how a single article handled by reporters could balloon and affect society as a whole. Starring Jim Carrey, with Olga Asimov playing a nasty but fiercely loyal editor-in-chief, it was currently in the middle of its promotional schedule.

And today was the interview with Behind the Scene, the famous movie magazine.

"A movie I enjoyed recently?"

Hearing the unexpected question, Olga tilted her head with a meaningful expression.

"Hmm, let's see. Works like Life Is Beautiful or Shakespeare in Love?"

"Are there no other films?"

"..."

A subtle silence fell for a brief moment at Michael Mitchum's question. It was the typical battle of wits expected of anyone in Hollywood. But Olga, who was now 'tired' of even that, chuckled and asked frankly, "It seems you want to put me in a difficult spot."

"Not at all. I'm just asking."

"You're planning to publish this exactly as is, aren't you? Then of course it could get difficult."

"If you don't mind, wouldn't we be carrying that burden together?"

"You mean sharing the responsibility."

A sharp, bobbed haircut cleanly cut at the jawline. Her platinum blonde hair and her age in her 40s gave her a mature and elegant charm. Olga, possessing an iconic charm built up over her years as an actress, spoke clearly.

"Of course, we can't leave out Echos of a family. It's the real deal. If anyone hasn't seen it, I want to tell them they must, absolutely must, watch it. Being able to watch a film in theaters that will leave its mark on cinema history in one way or another is a deeply meaningful experience."

The words of the legendary Hollywood actress were beautifully packaged and published as an article. And that wasn't all.

All kinds of actors began to support Echos of a family in interviews and various other ways.

"..."

Early morning, Hollywood. A weekday, a time when foot traffic was sparse.

Elena Asimov, who had quietly entered the movie theater wearing sunglasses, only came out after quite some time had passed. A few paparazzi, who had planned to persistently track her today, cautiously followed behind. They grew intrigued as Elena turned into an alley with suspicious movements.

Oho, where is she going?

Did she watch it with her boyfriend? Sion Lee?

And what they discovered upon following her into the alley...

"Huh?"

"Where did she go?"

Elena was nowhere to be seen in the long alley.

It was just when they were standing there, slightly dazed.

"Who are you ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠looking for?"

"...Yikes."

"Ah, Elena. Just one photo..."

One was startled, and the other approached with a sly smile. At that moment, Elena Asimov grabbed the camera lens, stopping him from taking a photo. Then, she snatched it right out of his hands with a swift upward motion.

"W-What! Give it back!"

"I'm going to give you what you want."

With that, Elena held up the camera and began taking photos of herself. Her long platinum blonde hair was tied back in a ponytail. The natural smile on her cold, elegant face was more than enough to steal the souls of the startled paparazzi. Meanwhile, one of the paparazzi tilted his head as he noticed the movie ticket held in Elena's hand as she took the photos. It was for Echos of a family.

The incident was published the very next day in a famous Hollywood newspaper.

In truth, it was a minor happening that occurred daily to Hollywood celebrities, but because it was Elena, it produced a slightly more special and sensational result. One by one, those who held goodwill toward Sion and his fellow actors did their absolute best in their respective positions.

Hearing the news, Sion thought, ...As expected, he operates on a completely different scale.

Michael Jackson had appeared on ABC News immediately to promote Sion's movie. That brief statement, delivered during a special talk segment on the news desk, boasted an incredible promotional effect.

And Elena, Olga, Jim too...

Some criticized it, calling it "viral marketing" or "excessive cronyism," but regardless, with their help, Echos of a family began to rise again. Sion, who wanted people to see this movie not simply because he wanted to make a lot of money, felt grateful to his colleagues who helped him, but he also assessed the situation coldly.

They're all going to get on Harvey's bad side somehow.

For the first time as a regressor, he felt a twinge of regret.

Should I have completely eliminated him back then, whether we worked together or not?

Even at that time, Harvey was a scoundrel who muddied the industry, but Sion had hesitated because he didn't know what would happen if he drastically altered history so early in his regression. Given Harvey's petty, money-grubbing nature, Sion had assumed that if he trampled him a bit, the man would stay in his lane.

To think he'd splash dirty water like this.

Sion felt as if a tiny tadpole he had left in the water, thinking it was nothing, had returned as a giant poisonous toad. But then again, no matter how much a poisonous toad croaked, it was nothing in front of a giant serpent.

Having passed his days as a 'Teen Heartthrob' to become the 'Broken prince', Sion now possessed a thicker network, more wealth, higher fame, a more refined star quality, and finally, the sheer weight of a collective entity including his production company, far greater than when he had first clashed with Harvey. No matter how much Harvey used political maneuvering to mobilize his surroundings and expand his influence, Sion's current charm and foundation were far from average. Above all, even if he had kept his head down on set, his sheer capacity to raise hell in a battle of momentum using his background and image was still that of a pure 'brat'.

He dares to invite me to a party?

Sion prepared leisurely, thinking he should give him a proper taste of his own medicine.

Meanwhile, Harvey Weinstein's side assessed the current situation like this:

"There's no need to make an enemy of him. Let's stroke his ego a bit and win him over."

Thus, the party he hosted was promoted among industry insiders as follows:

Sion Lee was plagued by inaccurate public perceptions, with rumors painting him as a brat who spent every day surrounded by women and alcohol. In reality, he had spent the last few years quietly doing his job according to his schedule and enjoying gardening at home in his free time. Consequently, not many people had seen Sion Lee at a party, at least not since Swing in Chicago.

Thus, many giants of the political and financial worlds were full of anticipation.

How handsome is he in person?

Harvey is pulling strings in this area again.

It would be hilarious if he actually talks back to us.

It would make a great story if I could spend a night with him... I wonder how much it would cost? Should I buy him a supercar?

And so, a luxurious charity party was hosted, renting out the top floor of a hotel. Fancy finger foods, expensive champagne, a champagne tower, and sweet jazz music filled the room. People gathered in small groups here and there, greeting one another, exchanging information, and socializing, but their attention was focused on one spot.

Just when would Sion Lee arrive?

Time ticked by slowly.

"..."

And Harvey Weinstein, who kept monitoring the situation from the center of the party, thought:

Why the hell is this bastard not here yet?

Right next to him was Albert H. Payne, who had flown in from New York. Wearing glasses and a rather plain tuxedo, he had come all this way to gauge what kind of person Sion Lee was by talking to him. But the man of the hour was nowhere to be seen.

"..."

"..."

"Uh, Mr. Weinstein?"

"I don't know either. I've been telling them to contact him for a while now."

This was bound to be incredibly embarrassing. In Hollywood, receiving a party invitation and not showing up on time was an act that damaged the image of both the host and oneself. It was an especially uncomfortable situation because all the guests were eagerly anticipating Sion Lee's appearance.

"Hey, Harvey. When is Sion coming?"

"...Ah, I hear he's running a bit late due to traffic."

"I want to see Sion. Where is he now?"

"Damn it, I have to head back soon."

Complaints began to rise here and there, and Harvey Weinstein grew anxious.

How much time had passed while he sat on pins and needles?

Suddenly, the jazz band stopped playing.

"What now...?"

"Huh? All of a sudden?"

"The music was good."

An abrupt 'accident'.

"Ugh..."

Harvey's face twisted with displeasure. Social parties were generally decorated extravagantly to show off the host's status, so an accident like this was no different from throwing mud on the face of the host, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Harvey Weinstein.

Right then, a strange tune began to play.

Horace Silver's Song for my Father.

The piano laid down a bass riff, and the drums added a bossa nova-style rhythm. Soon, the tenor saxophone's head melody began. It was a highly intense, passionate funky music that was the polar opposite of the quiet jazz from before.

Along with it, the firmly closed doors of the party venue swung open, and a man stepped inside.

"Frrrrrrrrrrr..."

Sion lightly buzzed his lips and slid his glasses up.

Today's concept was 'Bill Evans'.

Hair neatly slicked back with pomade. Horn-rimmed glasses. A woman standing right next to him recognized Sion Lee, dressed in a sleek black suit that perfectly matched the style of that name, and let out a perfectly timed shriek.

"Kyaaa!"

With that, the party venue, which was supposed to be a place for socializing, was instantly transformed into a 'show' and a 'fan meeting'.

"That motherfucker..."

Harvey's face flushed red. People began to gather around Sion in excitement. The deflated expectations were suddenly met in an unimaginable way by the spectacular entrance. As everyone swayed and danced to the rhythm, Sion slowly walked toward Harvey Weinstein, greeting people as if conducting them.

"...What is this, Harvey? The atmosphere changed all of a sudden. Did you plan this kind of performance for today's party?"

"No way. That bastard must have done it. I don't know what kind of trick he pulled. Damn bastard."

A reunion after several long years.

Thus, Harvey's scheme to invite Sion to his own turf and thoroughly break his spirit had ended in failure. In truth, the reason for the small entrance performance staged solely for Sion was as simple as a magic trick. He had merely slipped a $100 bill into the pockets of the waiters and the jazz band members.

Though his insides burned at the situation that refused to go his way, Harvey Weinstein had no choice but to beam like a professional.

Sion smiled gently, as if reading the mind behind the gaslighter's characteristic expression, and muttered under his breath:

"Hey, asshole. Let's have some fun for old times' sake."