The efficient, forward momentum of the meeting hit a wall. It wasn't a subtle shift; it was a full-stop, record-scratch moment.
Sabine had stood up, her posture ramrod straight, a flicker of nervousness in her eyes that was quickly masked by professional determination.
"Sir," she began, her French accent cutting through the quiet hum of the virtual office.
"Regarding the launch strategy for Meteor Creative…. I must reiterate my suggestion…. We should not merely acquire a distribution shell. We should hire—or acquire—a dedicated comic house. Their artists, their sensibilities... we need them to... to adapt the material."
The air in the room went cold. All eyes darted from Sabine to the figure at the head of the table.
Sael VT had gone perfectly still. The friendly, relaxed aura that had characterized "Saturday" vanished, replaced by an intense, focused stillness. He slowly leaned forward, the smooth plates of his motion-capture suit shifting silently. The blank, polished surface of his mask seemed to fix directly on Sabine.
His voice, when it came, was several degrees cooler, the modulation adding a low, resonant gravity that felt like a physical pressure. "Why?"
The single word hung in the air, heavy and demanding.
He continued, his tone leaving no room for ambiguity.
"I have already completed the artwork…. The stories are finished… They are perfected…. Why would I need to pay another group of artists to... 'adapt' my work?"
To everyone else in the room, it sounded like a challenge. A reprimand. The boss's prized creations had been called into question, and his response was a cold, intimidating demand for an explanation. Amanda and Saiko exchanged worried glances. The assistants looked down at their tablets, trying to become invisible. The atmosphere was thick with the tension of a perceived dressing-down.
Kate saw the whole thing unfold like a slow-motion collision. She saw the brilliant flash of Sabine's idea, and then she saw Sael's reaction—the leaning in, the subtle tilt of the head, the way his gloved fingers came up to slowly rub his chin.
The rest of the room saw anger. They saw a legendary, volatile genius about to explode at a subordinate.
But Kate saw something else entirely. She'd known that boy since he was in diapers. The leaning in? That was his
"I'm listening intensely" pose. The chin-rubbing? That was his tell for when his brain was working overtime, processing something that genuinely intrigued him.
He wasn't angry. He was fascinated. He just didn't understand Sabine's angle, and his default mode when curious was to interrogate the subject until he did.
Unfortunately, his "default mode" involved the presence of a terrifying mask and a voice that could make a gangster rapper cry.
She saw the color drain from Sabine's face, the lawyer freezing under the weight of that modulated, intense gaze. Sabine thought she had just torpedoed her career.
'Oh, for heaven's sake,' Kate thought, a mix of amusement and exasperation flooding her.
'He's not mad, you brilliant idiot, he's hooked. He just doesn't know how to ask a question without sounding like he's declaring war...'
She smoothly cleared her throat, drawing the room's attention. Her voice was calm, a steady anchor in the sudden tension.
"Sabine," she said, her tone leaving no room for argument.
"Answer the question. Sael isn't angry; he wants to understand your perspective. Explain it to him. In detail."
She gave a slight, almost imperceptible nod to Sabine. 'It's okay. You're on the right track. Just talk.'
The lifeline Kate threw was grasped with both hands. Sabine took a visible, steadying breath, the professional mask slamming back into place, though a faint flush remained on her cheeks.
"You are right, of course. The stories are perfect…. The art is... breathtaking," she began, her voice regaining its strength.
"I am not criticizing the product. I am criticizing the packaging for this market."
She looked around the room, making eye contact with the other women, trying to bring them into her argument.
"I must confess something to you all…. Since I was a little girl, I have loved comics. Manga, Novels, Animation…. It is my passion. It is why I went into law—to protect artists. And in all my years, what you have created..." She gestured to the dossier on the table.
"...it is the most magnificent work I have ever had the privilege to read."
The praise was genuine, and it slightly diffused the tension.
"But," she continued, her gaze returning to Sael,
"With all due respect, it lacks a certain... relatability… A key ingredient that the audience here not only expects but craves." She chose her next words carefully.
"The stories are masterpieces of plot and character. But they are... chaste. They lack the adult elements, the... sensual maturity... that is a standard narrative tool in our culture. I am not speaking of gratuitous content. I am speaking of the nuanced, mature themes of relationships, of passion, of life that are woven into the very fabric of our entertainment. To omit this is to present a meal without its most prized spice. It will be admired, but it will not be devoured. Adding these elements will not corrupt your masterpieces, Sael. It will perfect them for this world…. It will make them undeniable."