"Cass, you gotta see this!"
Gal shoved her phone right in front of Cassius's face while he sat in the break area sipping coffee.
He blinked, surprised.
The screen showed the Hollywood Reporter's website:
"Smoke in the Air: Warner and Universal Lock Horns Over One Actor in Rare Hollywood Agent War?"
"How One Actor Turned Two Studios Into a Public Battlefield: From Interstellar to Fast & Furious 6."
The article laid out the timeline clean and sharp.
Cassius nailed his Nolan audition. Warner caved to outside pressure and yanked him. He jumped straight to Universal's Fast 6. Warner offered big money to drag him back and got told no. Now both studios were racing toward billion-dollar box-office targets with Cassius at the center.
The whole messy story sat there in black and white.
Industry experts weighed in with heavy likes: "This is Warner protecting its authority—plain and simple!"
"Universal just scored a massive steal by locking down a rising star with serious Asian-market pull."
"This is two giants fighting for future box-office dominance, especially in Asia."
"For the first time in years, Hollywood is watching two major studios go head-to-head in public because of one actor's casting drama."
Cassius skimmed it, handed the phone back, and unscrewed his thermos for a sip of warm water.
"Pretty long read."
"Long? Try explosive," Gal said, scrolling. "Twitter, TMZ, even Variety are all over it. Check this—#CassiusEffect is trending hard."
Cassius leaned in. Sure enough, a flood of English tweets were blowing up the hashtag.
"Who knew two studios would throw down over a actor? Nolan couldn't write this script if he tried."
"Universal's playing chess with Cassius to knock Warner down in sci-fi."
"This guy's stone-cold. Turned down Warner and Nolan, landed another A-list gig, and now both sides are going to war over him. Real life's crazier than fiction."
Cassius opened Weibo instead.
The platform was pure chaos.
#CassiusForcesHollywoodStudioWar
The topic kept climbing.
Every comment was either screenshots of foreign coverage or passionate essays.
"Holy shit—Brother Cass clout is insane! Warner and Universal are actually fighting because of him!"
"What the hell is an international superstar anyway? (leans back dramatically) Used to be the big Hollywood bosses playing their own games. Now one of ours is right in the middle of the storm!"
"Gotta admit, I'm a little worried. Two mega-studios gunning for him… is Brother Cass about to get screwed over?"
"Screwed over? Didn't you read the reports? Universal's got his back! Justin Lin and Vin Diesel both went public praising him. That's real power talking!"
"Haha, Western netizens are losing their minds asking who this Cassius guy even is. Newsflash—you wouldn't understand the power level!"
"Doesn't matter who wins. We win. First time a actor has this kind of spotlight!"
"Fast 6, go crush Interstellar!"
The comments section was packed with memes, hype, analysis, and straight-up war cries—like New Year had come early.
Sung Kang wandered over, phone in hand, looking like he'd seen a ghost. "Cass, you're the spark now. Everyone overseas is talking about you. My Korean friends are blowing up my phone asking if this is real. They said this kind of open studio war is basically unheard of in Hollywood history."
Jordana leaned in, laughing. "Unheard of? Try straight-up surreal. I've been in this business forever. Seen actors get fought over, studios throwing shade, but an actual public standoff between two giants because one actor left? Never."
She clapped Cassius on the arm. "You just made history in the weirdest way possible."
Director Justin Lin strolled up holding his phone, looking oddly amused. "Saw the news? Not bad. Saves us a ton on marketing."
He looked straight at Cassius. "Don't stress the noise. Just nail the scenes. The louder they scream out there, the more it proves we played this right."
"Universal's headquarters called me earlier. Didn't mention any of the drama—just asked how shooting's going and if we need extra support."
He paused, a knowing smile tugging at his mouth. "Sometimes being taken seriously by your rivals is proof you matter. The bigger they make this circus, the more it shows they're rattled."
Cassius nodded.
Justin was right.
The break-area gossip session ended fast. Crews started prepping the next shot.
Cassius dropped into his folding chair and pulled out his phone, flipping through Rob's latest texts.
Rob sounded wired. The free publicity was insane. Cassius's Google search volume and social buzz were skyrocketing. Every project he'd ever touched was getting dragged back into the spotlight.
"Stay low-key. Focus on the work."
Rob's last warning: "You're the eye of the storm now. Every word and move gets magnified. But don't panic—Universal's PR team isn't sleeping on this."
Cassius fired back a quick "Got it" and closed the chat.
He opened Twitter and checked the trends. #WarnerVsUniversal, #Cassius, and #InterstellarVsFast6 were all sitting in the top spots.
He tapped into one thread.
A user posted: "Still don't get what this actor's secret sauce is. Just because he said no to Warner? Hollywood turns down actors every day."
Replies came fast and messy:
"Word is Nolan loved his audition. Warner was happy at first, then folded."
"Green Lantern made over 700 million worldwide. His script rewrite was smart as hell and he's got massive pull in China. Hunger Games broke records thanks to him."
"Secret sauce? Look at his résumé—corpse extra to superhero lead to Nolan sci-fi and Universal action blockbuster in under three years. That's the sauce."
"Maybe the sauce is that he's shattering what people thought was possible? An Asian actor not just surviving but becoming the commercial center and actually affecting studio decisions?"
"Please. He got lucky and the hype machine did the rest. Neither movie's even out yet. We'll see who actually wins."
Fast & Furious 6's London set kept rolling like clockwork.
The outside media storm about Warner and Universal became the crew's favorite break-time topic.
After all, everyone here was part of the box-office war.
Then one morning a brand-new trailer and fresh box-office predictions dropped and shot straight to the top of the charts.
Lionsgate made their move.
The final trailer for The Hunger Games: Catching Fire hit every platform at once.
Fast cuts, fire, pure adrenaline.
Jennifer's face glowed in the wreckage, looking unstoppable. New characters flashed by. The arena looked bigger, deadlier.
The money was all over it.
The trailer ended on black with white text: "January 29. Worldwide. The fire's lit. No one's safe."
Worldwide day-and-date release.
Lionsgate wasn't playing small.
Major tracking services updated their numbers.
With the first film's 1.118 billion global haul, the books still exploding, Jennifer at peak popularity, and the bold global rollout, most analysts bumped Catching Fire's opening weekend to 250–280 million worldwide.
Final global total projections sat comfortably at 1.2 billion.
One point two billion.
Bigger than the first film. Touching the ceiling for commercial blockbusters.
Inside Lionsgate's Burbank conference room the air smelled like expensive coffee and victory.
The core execs lounged on the couches, grinning like they'd already won.
The CEO—a chubby middle-aged guy with messy dark curls—set his tablet down. The screen showed that fat 1.2 billion number.
"Gentlemen, the narrative out there is fascinating."
He spoke with the easy confidence of a man holding all the cards. "Warner and Universal are busy tearing each other apart over one actor. The press is eating it up. Perfect cover for us."
The head of marketing—a sharp woman in an Armani suit—jumped in. "Let them fight. Their eyes are on each other and on Cassius. That gives us the cleanest launch window possible. Nobody's throwing serious resources at a sequel that looks like a sure thing."
"Sure thing?" the global distribution VP laughed. He was built like a linebacker, fingers drumming the couch arm. "We're not aiming for safe. We're aiming for history."
"First film did 1.118 billion. This one goes 1.2 or higher. You know what that means?"
"It means The Hunger Games stops being a successful YA adaptation and becomes a full-blown franchise IP that gets written into the history books."
"And every page will have Lionsgate's name on it."
The room buzzed with the kind of excitement that comes right before you join the big leagues.
"Speaking of Cassius—"
The CEO raised an eyebrow, voice dripping with casual dismissal. "China roadshow feedback was messy, but that just proves Jennifer and the IP itself are strong enough without him. The so-called boycott noise is noise. We pivoted fast, dialed him down, focused on Jennifer and the story. Smartest move we made."
"Smart?" the distribution VP smirked. "We're not just smart. We're about to print money."
"Think about it. While Warner and Universal are still swinging at each other over Cassius, our movie quietly rolls out worldwide and banks 1.2 billion."
"What do you think the headlines will say then?"
He answered himself, savoring every word. "How The Hunger Games: Catching Fire used pure quality and perfect timing to rise above two giants fighting in the mud."
"Lionsgate played it cool, grabbed the moment, and became the new industry benchmark."
"Cassius? He'll be a footnote. Proof that one actor can't move a real franchise."
The distribution VP snorted. "His fans might scream, but who cares? Twelve billion dollars shuts every mouth."
"So here's the plan," the CEO said, finger slicing the air. "Full steam ahead on the global day-and-date. Pour every marketing dollar into Jennifer and the big world-building."
"As for Warner and Universal? Let them keep screaming. We'll just keep counting the money and enjoying the win."
The meeting ended on a high of near-delirious confidence.
Everyone in the room felt the wind at their backs and a winning hand in their pocket.
London set, Fast 6.
Monday morning, shooting hadn't started yet, but half the crew was glued to their phones.
"Whoa—"
Sung Kang let out a low whistle. "Lionsgate just got bodied. North America 150 million, China only 100 million RMB—"
"That opening is straight-up walking backward compared to the first film."
Jordana leaned over to look. "China tanked that hard? The first one was huge there."
"Look at this."
Sung Kang pulled up a Weibo screenshot. "#NoCassiusNoHungerGames2 is the new battle cry."
Vin Diesel was strapping on his wrist guards when he glanced up. "Because of Cass?"
"Pretty much all because of Cass."
Sung Kang handed his phone to Cassius as he walked over.
Cassius took it, scanned the numbers and boycott posts, then passed it back without much expression. "How's the actual movie?"
"Reviews are solid," Sung Kang said, scrolling. "Rotten Tomatoes fresh at 85 percent, audience score decent. Problem is nobody's showing up—especially in China. Emotions are running hot."
Justin Lin wandered over with his storyboard book. "Hollywood just got another lesson. Never underestimate the audience, especially when they feel disrespected."
He looked at Cassius. "This is actually good for you. Proves your pull is real, not manufactured."
Cassius nodded and didn't say much.
He grabbed his script and headed for his chair.
Today's scene was a heavy dialogue beat—him and Michelle Rodriguez's Letty talking about family and betrayal after a brutal escape.
He needed to get in the zone.
His phone buzzed. Jennifer.
Just one line: "Fuck this box office. I'm done."
Followed by a middle-aged guy flipping the bird emoji.
Cassius sent back a shoulder-pat emoji.
He could picture exactly how pissed she was right now.
The movie was hers to carry. She'd poured everything into it. A weak opening hurt worse for her than anyone.
And there wasn't a damn thing he could do about audience mood.
Rob texted right after.
"I've got half a dozen outlets begging for quotes on Catching Fire's numbers. I told them you're buried in Fast 6 and not commenting on other projects."
Smart move.
Anything he said now would get twisted.
Sorry? Sounded fake.
Silence? Could read as cold.
Best play was staying completely out.
"Warner's apparently quietly celebrating. They think Lionsgate eating dirt takes some heat off their own drama with Nolan."
Cassius's mouth twitched.
This was just the opening act.
Hollywood drama never stayed on one stage.
The set came alive—lights, cameras, sound rolling into position.
Cassius closed his script and walked toward the prepared garage set.
Michelle was already there, rolling her shoulders.
"Ready?"
She looked at him.
"Ready."
Cassius nodded.
"Action!"
The camera locked on Cassius's face.
Dirt streaked his skin. His eyes carried the exhaustion of the chase, but underneath burned a hard, unyielding resolve.
He started his lines—voice low, every word cutting clean.
The rhythm, the emotion, the presence—
Every skill on his panel was firing, folding into every glance and pause.