Tom Cruise remained calm and composed. So what if Ryan Jenkins could make up a script? He could easily say that it was something he had memorized before—at most, it would only prove that he had a good memory.
Even if that excuse was a bit flimsy, it was still enough to get him out of trouble.
Initially, he just wanted to stir up some rumors. In this industry, if a rumor spreads widely enough, it can deal a fatal blow to a newcomer whose career has just begun. The entertainment industry is precisely the breeding ground for gossip. If a lie is told enough times, it becomes the truth.
He was a superstar, and the other was just a child star. As long as he had a reason that could stand up to scrutiny, it would definitely create a massive storm afterward for this annoying little guy. What he aimed to destroy was his psyche~
The kid wasn't even twelve years old. If accusations and doubts rained down on him, it was almost certain that he'd suffer a mental breakdown. Then, like so many other fleeting stars in Hollywood, he would fade away into obscurity...
The chili water to the face, the ruined date, the mockery on the phone—he remembered them all.
Although he couldn't figure out what the other party was thinking, Ryan understood one thing: Tom Cruise was definitely not an idiot. But did he really understand who he was facing?
He wasn't just facing Ryan Jenkins or Lu Ming—he was up against the creative mind behind the next twenty years of Hollywood.
Ryan knew well that as his fame grew, eventually, someone of weight would stand up to challenge him. He just didn't expect it to come so soon, or in this kind of situation—and to think it was him on the other side!
Fine then! Tom, originally I only wanted to break you and Nicole up, but from today onward, we're adversaries!
"Ryan, don't push yourself. Just apologize and I'll pretend none of this ever happened."
Seeing Ryan lower his head and remain silent, Tom Cruise thought he had gained complete control and smiled brightly.
"Silence!"
Ryan's voice wasn't loud, but it carried an exceptional authority. The chatter in the lounge instantly disappeared. Everyone's eyes were on him, which in turn made the television sound stand out.
"Mr. Gerald, I need a few people with excellent shorthand skills!"
"No problem."
Everyone realized something big was about to happen, and excitement flickered on their faces. Even before Gerald could call anyone, several journalists jumped up—they were pros with the pen.
Ryan began pacing in the lounge, searching his mind for a suitable movie, but the random noise from the television only heightened his already agitated emotions.
Frowning, he picked up the remote control, intending to turn off the TV, but the images and narration on the screen caught his attention.
He had no idea which quirky TV channel this was, but they were recounting major historical events that happened on March 30th in past years:
"On March 30th, 1981, newly-inaugurated U.S. President Ronald Reagan was shot outside the Hilton Hotel in Washington, D.C., by John Hinckley Jr., a fanatic obsessed with Jodie Foster…"
At the same time, the screen showed chaotic scenes from that day. Ryan happened to see two bodyguards rushing at the shooter, which immediately reminded him of a classic movie.
He looked at the journalists with pens in hand. "Faster. I can't guarantee I'll remember all the scenes and plots later."
"Recording!"
"Frank Farmer, he's a Secret Service agent who once served Ronald Reagan. On this day!" Ryan pointed to the TV, which was analyzing the motives behind the assassination attempt. "He took leave to attend his mother's funeral. After the president was shot, overwhelmed by guilt, he resigned. Later, he became a professional bodyguard. He's deeply responsible, strictly professional, and never gets romantically involved with clients."
Then, he saw Jodie Foster's face in the crowd and gave her an apologetic smile. "Rachel is a world-famous pop star, with fans who are obsessed with her, madly so. One of them is just like John Hinckley was for Jodie—he keeps sending her letters, saying he'll take her life."
Listening to Ryan, everyone gradually understood what was happening. It was clear he had drawn inspiration from the TV program—this seemed to be the basic setup for the male and female leads.
"Scene one, act one. Exterior. A dark and eerie underground parking garage."
"Voice-over: A series of gunshots!"
"Frank Farmer leans against a car, firing his weapon, killing an attacker…"
Ryan paced in the lounge, sometimes making strange hand gestures, sometimes closing his eyes deep in thought, as if visualizing scenes. Even when he paused, it never lasted long. Those jaw-dropping scenes and lines poured out from his mouth and became written notes in the reporters' pads.
"Water!" Ryan called out, and Nicole, already prepared, quickly handed him a glass of juice.
As Ryan continued speaking, time passed. The people present had their mouths hanging open wider and wider. Some who disliked Tom Cruise even started casting mocking, sneering glances his way.
Tom Cruise's face turned pale, his arms dropped powerlessly, and he sat dumbly on the sofa. In his eyes, Ryan Jenkins had gone all out, leaving no room for retreat.
If the kid had made up some other script, he could have argued his way out. But clearly, the story Ryan was building was directly inspired by the TV program. From the superstar to the assassin, the parallels to Jodie Foster and John Hinckley were unmistakable.
Especially considering it was a romantic script—the very genre he had questioned the most.
Of course, he could still try to argue, but who were the people here? Hollywood elites! Journalists! Studio execs! Did he really think they were all fools? Even if he was Tom Cruise, in front of these people, he didn't amount to much.
Before they knew it, nearly three hours had passed. Ryan downed his third glass of juice, gave Nicole a reassuring look, and continued.
"Scene 47, act five. Exterior. A private airport."
"Rachel bids farewell to Frank and boards the plane. Frank signals her new bodyguard to take care of her. Rachel gazes at Frank through the window, reluctant to leave."
"Scene change: The plane starts to taxi down the runway. Rachel looks at Frank again and shouts to the pilot, 'Stop!'"
"Rachel gets off the plane and runs toward Frank."
"Voice-over, voice-over… I need a deeply emotional song with explosive power! One that releases all the repressed emotion of the film!"
Ryan seemed anxious. He slapped his forehead and cursed under his breath, "Damn it!"
"Keep recording!"
"Rachel runs up to Frank. They embrace tightly and kiss passionately!"
"Scene change, a 720-degree camera spin!"
"A love song! I need a love song!" To others, Ryan now looked completely manic. He clapped his hands hard and shouted, "Piano! I need a piano! Nicole, paper and pen!"
"There's a piano on the stage!" someone reminded.
Ryan pushed through the crowd and strode up to the ballroom stage, where a grand piano stood. Everyone followed him up, no longer sparing a single glance at Tom Cruise.
Sitting at the piano, Ryan closed his eyes, completely immersed in his own world. It wasn't until a long while later that his slender fingers touched the black and white keys.
At first, there was no rhythm or melody—just chaotic noise, like someone untrained hammering random notes. But Nicole, knowing Ryan well, placed paper and pen in front of him.
What followed was even stranger—after a bit of playing, Ryan would stop to write. Observant onlookers saw the paper quickly fill up with musical notation and what looked like lyrics. As time passed, the once chaotic piano sounds gradually evolved into a beautiful melody.
Bang!
Ryan slammed his hands on the keys. He seemed to mutter to himself, or perhaps to everyone, "Time! I need time! I have to rearrange the composition!"
Then, without a care for those around him, he repeated his earlier actions.
Half an hour slipped by in silence. Everyone held their breath, watching the slightly crazed, deeply engrossed boy, who seemed to be lost in his own world.
By now, even though they didn't know what Ryan would do next, just from that script alone, they all believed: Ryan Jenkins was a damn genius!
"If I stay, I'll be your burden. But I know, every step I take, I'll think of you. So I will always love you. I will always love you!"
Ryan's voice suddenly rang out. It was a cappella, smooth yet magnetic, completely unlike anything a child should be able to sing.
Then the piano accompaniment began. Though it was just one instrument and sounded slightly sparse, paired with Ryan's voice, it was utterly perfect. In that moment, it was as if the whole world had faded away, leaving only him and the piano.
"And…"
Ryan's pitch continued to rise, as if trying to use the soaring notes to express the fiery love between the bodyguard and the superstar in the script.
"Nicole, stop him!" Whitney Houston warned Nicole Kidman. "He'll hurt his vocal cords like that…"
Luckily, Ryan had some self-awareness. After a hoarse cough, he quickly stopped, touching his throat with a flushed face. "Damn! This kind of powerful vocal style really isn't something my age's vocal cords can handle!"
Clap! Clap!
No one knew who started clapping first, but soon, everyone followed suit. The thunderous applause was enough to raise the roof. They were excited to have witnessed the birth of a miracle. No one doubted the boy anymore.
At this point, if anyone dared voice even a shred of skepticism—or even cast a doubtful look—they'd be drowned in applause and spit.
"Sign him! Sign him! Whatever it takes, get him signed!" shouted Gerald, the Warner Bros. board member, repeating himself in excitement. If Nicole Kidman hadn't been there, he might've just kidnapped the kid on the spot.
"Such a show-off!" Nicole said, handing him a glass of water. "You okay?"
Cough. Ryan drank it in one gulp and winked at her. "Relax."
Then he looked at Whitney Houston. "Miss Houston, could you come here for a moment?"
Whitney, puzzled, walked up onto the stage. The first thing she saw was the utterly chaotic sheet music.
Ryan explained, "In my vision, this song needs an incredibly wide vocal range and is more suitable for a female vocalist. It's written for the female lead! At my age, I simply can't deliver the emotion it needs."
(Note: In reality, "I Will Always Love You" is a song from 1973, later rearranged by Whitney Houston. Due to plot needs, it has been altered.)