Lunch wrapped up in an unspoken understanding.
No contracts were discussed.
No salaries mentioned.
It felt less like a business meeting and more like a collision of three artists' souls.
The outcome didn't need signatures—everyone already knew the answer.
Back at the office, Bandit kicked the door open, so excited he looked ready to start jumping.
"Oh my God, we locked down Uma Thurman! I'll have the lawyers draft the contract right now—"
"Not yet," Link cut him off.
"Not yet?!" Bandit's eyes went wide. "She's our ticket to the A-list!"
"She's not going anywhere."
Link's tone was calm, almost arrogant. "A real actor doesn't walk away from a role that truly sets them on fire."
He paused and looked at Quentin.
"Now go get the final piece of the puzzle."
Quentin's lips twitched into a grin, like a kid about to be let loose in an amusement park.
---
In the suburbs of Burbank, inside a small theater.
The backstage area was narrow and stuffy, the air thick with sweat and makeup. Old bulbs cast a harsh white glow in the dim room.
Samuel L. Jackson sat in the corner, head lowered, a beat-up backpack in his hand.
He'd just finished a bit-part performance—no more than three lines. He'd shouted himself hoarse, and the audience hadn't even looked his way.
Even that meager paycheck wouldn't cover tomorrow's rent.
He stared at himself in the mirror, his eyes hollow and dead.
Just as he was about to leave, a voice came from behind him.
"Mr. Jackson."
He turned around.
Two young men stood in the doorway.
One with burning intensity in his eyes.
The other calm as still water.
"We're from Pangu Pictures."
Link gave a brief introduction, then pointed to the excited man beside him.
"This is our director—Quentin Tarantino."
"Sorry," Jackson said coolly. "I'm not interested."
He'd seen this type before—people who talked about "discovering talent" but couldn't even reimburse bus fare.
Quentin suddenly pulled a single page from his bag and almost shoved it into Jackson's hands.
"Please—just read this first."
Jackson frowned. He wanted to toss it away, but instinctively glanced down.
It was a monologue.
Ezekiel 25:17.
His eyes locked onto the lines. Slowly, his brow tightened.
Finally, he looked up, his voice rough. "You want me to read this?"
"No." Quentin shook his head, eyes blazing.
"I want you to make it come alive."
The air backstage seemed to freeze.
The light bulb buzzed faintly, as if holding its breath.
Samuel fell silent for a few seconds—then took a deep breath.
In the next instant, his entire presence changed.
> "The path of the righteous man is beset on all sides…"
His voice was low and searing, like a preacher clawing his way up from hell.
Every word hit like a bullet, slamming straight into the heart.
As the monologue built, his voice grew louder, fiercer, almost unhinged.
The backstage lights began to tremble, as if making way for a divine incantation.
> "…and I will strike down upon thee with great vengeance and furious anger!"
In that moment, he wasn't acting.
He was a messenger of God—rage given human form.
The monologue ended.
Silence.
Even the hum of the ventilation system seemed to stop.
Quentin stood frozen, mouth half open, nailed to the floor.
Samuel exhaled slowly. The aura drained away, and he was just a broke actor again.
He looked up and asked hoarsely, "So—when do we start shooting?"
For a second, Link couldn't respond.
His heartbeat skipped.
This wasn't watching a performance—it was witnessing the birth of a legend.
He reached out, a smile finally breaking across his face.
"Welcome aboard, Mr. Jackson."
Their hands clasped—firm and steady.
At that exact moment—
[User: Link]
[Influence Index: 3000 (+1000)]
[Description: Successfully secured the final core cast member. The holy trinity of Pulp Fiction is now complete.]
A blue panel flickered before his eyes.
As the numbers surged, Link felt his blood boil.
Just days ago, he'd been hounded over $450 in rent.
And now—
He was standing at the gates of Hollywood, holding the key that could rewrite destiny.
This was the comeback.
This was what it felt like to grab fate and force it to change.