The Star Maker and His Little Monsters

Chapter 006

For two days, the silence from Riverport Film Studios was absolute. Ethan Gray didn't spend the time waiting by the phone. Experience had taught him that the entertainment industry was a beast that moved at its own sluggish pace. He polished his resume, sent out applications to two other production houses, and even attended an interview for a junior copywriter position at an ad agency. They offered him the job on the spot, but the pay was meager and the creative freedom non-existent. He politely declined.

By the third evening, as he closed his laptop, the shadows outside his window were lengthening. The quiet of the Little Red Pony Academy began to give way to the evening's unique rhythm. The children were arriving.

Ethan had been eating out mostly, exploring the cheap noodle stalls of The Old Quarter, but tonight he felt like cooking. He whipped up two simple dishes—chilled spiced chicken skewers and some stir-fried greens—and took his dinner out to the balcony.

The academy sat on a generous plot of land. It was ringed by a lush perimeter of camphor trees, pagoda trees, and golden osmanthus. Two massive mulberry trees stood like ancient sentinels near the main entrance. The academy itself consisted of two separate three-story red-brick tenements. Currently, only the first building was in use. The ground floor was a chaotic play area, the second floor housed the sleeping quarters and the staff offices, and the third floor was Ethan’s private domain. The second building stood empty and silent, a ghost of the school’s more prosperous past.

As Ethan walked through the courtyard after dinner, a small, solid weight slammed into his legs.

"Oof!"

The impact sent a child sprawling backward, landing hard on their rear. Ethan hurried to help. "Are you alright, little one?"

A sharp, high-pitched Fourrivers accent barked back at him: "I’ve been smashed to bits, I have! Who in blazes are you?!"

Ethan blinked. That accent was unmistakable. It was Blanche, the pint-sized warrior who had bitten him on his first night.

"I’m sorry, I didn't see you. Are you hurt?" He reached out to steady her.

Blanche was a tiny thing, her face no larger than Ethan’s palm, with a sharp chin and eyes that burned with a fierce, intelligent light. She was dressed in a vintage-style red tracksuit with "CHINA" emblazoned across the chest in bold white characters. The sleeves were frayed at the cuffs, and the fabric had been washed so many times the red had faded to a dusty pink. It was the kind of outfit that belonged in a museum—or on a child whose parents were struggling to make ends meet.

She looked up at him, her eyes widening as recognition set in. "It’s you! The dark-as-a-barrow villain!!"

Ethan: "..."

Blanche didn't wait for a response. She scrambled to her feet, abandoned the small red bucket that had been capped over Ethan’s foot, and bolted toward the security booth as if a monster were snapping at her heels.

Ethan sighed. He looked down at his shoes, which were now covered in sand from the bucket. It seemed he had officially been branded with a new nickname: "Dark-as-a-barrow." It lacked the flair of "The Ocean King," but it was certainly more descriptive of his current standing with the toddlers.

He watched Blanche reach the security booth and start gesturing wildly toward him while shouting at Old Ashford.

"Grandpa! Grandpa! Disaster! A dark-as-a-barrow bad guy has infiltrated the grounds!"

Old Ashford squinted through the glass. "Where, Blanche? I don't see any bad guys."

"Right there! Under the lamp!" she hissed, pointing a trembling finger at Ethan. "The one from the other night! He’s hunting for more kids! You gotta catch him, quick!"

The old guard chuckled. "That’s not a bad guy, Blanche. That’s the boss. He owns the whole academy."

Blanche froze. "The boss?"

"The boss," Old Ashford confirmed. "Everything you see belongs to him."

The little girl stared at Ethan for a long beat, her mind clearly struggling to reconcile the "villain" who let Millie get taken away with the "boss" of her world.

"He’s still dark-as-a-barrow," she muttered, her Fourrivers dialect thick with resentment. "He’s mean as a snake. He knocked me over just now and made me spitting hellfire. I think he’s a bit dunderheaded, too."

Old Ashford burst out laughing. "Dunderheaded? Don't let him hear you say that."

Blanche wasn't intimidated. She reached into her waistband and pulled out her plastic water gun, shoving it toward the guard. "Here, Grandpa. Take my gun. Go over there and give the boss a couple of slaps to the head. Teach him some manners."

Old Ashford stared at the neon-green toy. "Do I look like a fool to you, Blanche?"

"Don't be a numbskull, Grandpa! It'll only take a minute!"

The guard shook his head. "I’m not slapping the man who pays my salary, kid. Why don't you do it?"

Blanche’s face fell into an expression of pure, theatrical shock. "I'm just a baby! I’ll wait till I’m grown up, then I’ll shave that dark-as-a-barrow head of his myself!"

By the time Old Ashford looked back up, Ethan had wisely retreated from the light.

Later that evening, Ethan sat in his room and logged onto a popular streaming site, DrizzleStream. He needed to understand the local market, so he looked for highly-rated domestic films. He found that the "Top 10" list was dominated by melodramas and slapstick comedies. There was a glaring lack of high-concept sci-fi or tight, psychological thrillers. He spent the next few hours taking notes, treating the movies not as entertainment, but as a case study.

At 9:00 PM, he went down to the first floor. The activity area was in full swing. Teachers were leading groups in various activities—some children were reading Dream of the Crimson Manor — Illustrated Children's Edition, others were singing.

Blanche was in the middle of a dancing group led by Miss Willow. One moment, she was laughing and twirling with a girl named Rosie; the next, she spotted Ethan leaning against the doorframe. Her face transformed instantly into a mask of grim, professional solemnity.

She turned to Miss Willow, her arms crossed over her chest. "Miss Willow, I thought you were gonna punish the dark-as-a-barrow guy? You’re always shouting at your boyfriend on the phone, so why are you smiling at him?"

Miss Willow went bright red. " Blanche! That’s... that’s private! And Mr. Gray isn't a bad guy." She turned to Ethan with an apologetic smile. "Blanche, why don't you show Mr. Gray the dance we practiced?"

Blanche lifted her chin, staring at the ceiling with the air of an insulted aristocrat. "I won't!"

"A little confidence, Blanche," the teacher encouraged.

"I said Keep your mitts off me! I won't do it!" Blanche shouted, her Fourrivers temper flaring.

She spent the rest of the night giving Ethan "the side-eye"—a look of such pure, concentrated judgment that Ethan eventually felt "bullied" into leaving the room.

The next day, Ethan finally received the text he had been waiting for: Interview at Riverport Film Studios, 2:00 PM.

He arrived twenty minutes early, dressed in a sharp but casual blazer. The studios were a sprawling complex, but the corporate offices were housed in a sleek skyscraper. He was directed to the 8th floor—the heart of the Animation Division.

The waiting room was filled with about fifteen other candidates. Some looked like nervous students; others were middle-aged men with the tired eyes of industry veterans. Ethan sat quietly, projecting a calm he didn't entirely feel. This was his first real test in this world.

" Ethan Gray? The board will see you now."

He entered a conference room where three people sat behind a long mahogany table. A woman in her late forties sat in the center—she was clearly the one in charge.

"Mr. Gray," said a man to her left, looking at Ethan’s file. "A graduate of the Northaven Academy of Cinematic Arts, Department of Directing? Why are you applying for a screenwriting position?"

Ethan sat down, his posture relaxed. "A director is just a storyteller who uses a camera. A screenwriter is a storyteller who uses a pen. I believe the best stories are built from the foundation up."

The interview lasted less than ten minutes. It was clipped, professional, and gave no hint of his standing. "We'll be in touch," the woman said, dismissively.

Three days later, Ethan Gray officially joined the Riverport Film Studios as a member of the Script Review Board.

The studio was divided into the Animation Division and the Live-Action Division. Ethan was placed in Animation, primarily because his "Prudent Hero" script treatment had caught the eye of the senior producers.

The Script Review Board was a strange ecosystem. It consisted of fifteen people. Ten were newcomers like Ethan, fresh-faced and eager to prove themselves. The other five were "Seasoned Thespians" and veteran writers like Old Hartley, men who were essentially in a state of "honorable retirement," providing guidance and keeping the youngsters from making catastrophic mistakes.

The studio was a Crown Enterprise, meaning the benefits were excellent and the job security was high. Ethan was now a "Staff Writer"—he had a guaranteed monthly salary and a cut of any project he successfully shepherded through production.

He spent his first week "coasting"—not out of laziness, but out of a need to observe. He read every internal script he could get his hands on.

On Friday afternoon, the head of the board, Old Hartley, called a private meeting with his two deputies.

"We've had the new batch for five days," Old Hartley said, leaning back in his chair. "Let's hear the assessment feedback."

" Gale Rivers is a disappointment," one deputy said bluntly. "He has a great degree, but his thinking is rigid. He treats every script like a math problem."

Old Hartley nodded, marking a 'D' next to Gale’s name.

"What about Rose Jennings?"

"She’s got spark," the other deputy replied. "A bit chaotic, but her ideas are fresh. She needs training on structure, but you can't teach imagination. I’d give her a 'B'."

"And the boy from Northaven?" Old Hartley asked. " Ethan Gray."

Both deputies spoke at once.

"The kid is a natural."

"Where did we find him? His notes are better than the scripts he’s reviewing."

Old Hartley looked at the 'A' he had already penciled in next to Ethan’s name. "Tomorrow, give them all a test. A blank slate. Tell them to write a one-page script treatment for a children's adventure. Let’s see if he’s as good as he looks."

While his bosses were debating his future, Ethan was back at the academy, sitting on his balcony with a bowl of noodles.

In the courtyard below, a game of "The Eagle Catches the Chicks" was in progress. The "Eagle" was, of course, Blanche.

Despite being one of the smallest children at the academy, Blanche was the undisputed "Little Tyrant." She had a raw, spicy energy that commanded respect. Even the eight-year-olds—including a tall boy who was playing the "Mother Hen"—seemed to follow her lead.

Blanche was cackling with glee, weaving in and out of the trees. "You bunch of gourd-brained fools! You're as dunderheaded as a donkey! If you were a train, you'd never leave the station!"

She let out a roar, dove under the "Mother Hen’s" arm, and snatched the smallest child at the end of the line.

Ethan watched, leaning on the railing, genuinely impressed by the girl’s tactical maneuvers. Suddenly, one of the kids looked up and spotted him.

"Look! It’s the dark-as-a-barrow guy!"

Thirty small heads snapped upward. The courtyard erupted into a chorus of taunts.

"Dark-as-a-barrow! Dark-as-a-barrow!" they chanted, led by a triumphant Blanche, who was sticking her tongue out and making a series of increasingly ridiculous faces.

Ethan froze, his chopstick halfway to his mouth. His face, which was decidedly not dark, turned a deep shade of crimson. The nickname had gone viral. He was the most hated man in the toddler world.

"I’m going to kill that kid," he muttered to his noodles, though he couldn't help but smile.

He finished his meal and went down to find Director Golding. She was in her office, meticulously hand-stitching a pair of tiny cotton shoes for her soon-to-be-born grandchild.

" Aunt Golding, have you heard anything about Millie?" Ethan asked.

The woman sighed, putting down her needle. "I called the District Precinct yesterday. They’re still looking for her parents. I’m going down there tomorrow morning to see if I can bring her some clothes and her favorite stuffed plush toy. She left it in the cubby."

Ethan nodded. "Let me know what they say. I’d like to help... if I can."

He knew that as long as Millie was gone, he would remain the villain in Blanche’s story. But more than that, he realized he actually cared about the fate of the little girl who had been left behind in his emerald sanctuary.