….
Meanwhile, back inside the house, Robert carried the lockbox into the living room and set it gently on the coffee table.
He already had a strong suspicion about what it contained.
Over the past year, Iron Man has done far more than dominate the box office. It had completely rewritten the course of Robert's life.
The film had earned hundreds of millions of dollars worldwide, but the box office numbers almost felt secondary because it had finally buried the narrative that had followed him for years. The headlines were no longer about his arrests, addiction, or rehabilitation.
Now they talked about Tony Stark.
About the billionaire genius who had looked straight into the cameras and casually dismantled the unwritten rule of superhero cinema by declaring. "I am Iron Man."
Even though Iron Man wasn't the first film in the MDCU, it was the one that had truly ignited the franchise. Somewhere along the way, Robert Downey Jr. had become the face of this Cinematic Universe, the actor audiences instinctively associated with its very foundation.
If anyone deserved to be called the godfather of the "M" in the MDCU, it was Robert.
He glanced at the text message Simon had sent earlier that morning, keyed the combination into the lockbox, and heard a satisfying–
Click.
The lid rose under its own weight.
Nestled inside a bed of precision-cut black foam was a single screenplay, printed on thick, premium stock embossed with a subtle crimson watermark.
Across every page, his name appeared in faint translucent lettering, a security measure designed to identify any potential leak instantly.
Robert reached in, lifted the script with both hands, and turned to the title page.
[IRON MAN 2]
[–Written by Regal Seraphsail]
A grin spread across his face.
"...Let's see what you've cooked this time."
Robert picked it up, and the weight of the paper felt significant.
He opened the first page, and there was a handwritten sticky note attached to the inside cover, penned in Regal's sharp, angular handwriting.
__Robert, see you in the workshop__
The note contained only four words: "See you in the workshop." Somehow, that was all it took to send a shiver down Robert's spine.
He immediately read the script.
As Robert worked his way through the first act, he watched Tony Stark realize that the very palladium core keeping him alive was also poisoning his blood. Beneath Tony's increasingly erratic and self-destructive behavior lay a quiet, existential terror, revealed in scenes of him getting drunk inside the armor, driving Rhodey away, and pushing Pepper Potts aside simply because he couldn't bring himself to say goodbye.
Robert read for two straight hours without moving, completely ignoring his cooling tea.
When he finally closed the screenplay with surprising care and let it rest on his lap, his gaze drifting beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows toward the Pacific.
The ocean rolled on, indifferent, while his mind was anything but.
A quiet laugh escaped him. "Well..."
He shook his head, half amused, half impressed. "So that's the game."
His fingers drummed lightly against the cover before he looked back at the title page.
"You really don't know how to write an easy sequel, do you?"
Another beat of silence, and a crooked smile slowly spread across his face. "...Good."
He picked up his phone, glanced at Regal's handwritten note one more time, and slipped the screenplay back into the lockbox.
"Looks like I am paying a visit to the workshop."
….
[London, England | South Kensington]
A few minutes earlier…
The rain was falling in a steady, relentless sheet against the tall Victorian windows of Henry Cavill's private study.
Henry watched the young courier finish the final verification, close the lockbox, and carefully slide the tablet back into her satchel.
The entire handoff had gone flawlessly, every step executed with quiet professionalism and exactly as protocol demanded.
Standing a few steps behind her was the man accompanying the delivery: Rock.
Henry had only heard him speak during the identity verification, and even then only briefly. Rather than relying on a tough demeanor or a booming voice, the bodyguard was remarkably polite, standing quietly near the entrance with a calm, observant composure as he patiently waited for the delivery to conclude.
Once everything was finished, Rock gave the slightest nod, silently signaling that it was time to leave.
The young woman took two steps toward the door…
...then abruptly stopped.
Henry noticed her shoulders tense as she stood there for a moment, seemingly giving herself a silent pep talk.
Autograph... autograph... just ask for the autograph... don't mess it up…
She slowly turned back around. "Mr. Cavill?"
Henry smiled. "Yes?"
She drew a deep breath. "Would... would it be possible to get a selfie with you?"
The words had barely left her mouth before her expression completely changed.
Her eyes widened. "Oh no..."
Both hands immediately flew to her mouth. "No! That's not what I meant!"
"I-I mean... autograph!" She looked utterly mortified.
She pointed helplessly at herself, frantically trying to explain. "I practiced asking for an autograph all morning! I don't know why I said selfie!"
Henry laughed despite himself, not because he was making fun of her, but because she looked genuinely convinced she had just ended her career with a single misplaced word.
"It's alright." he said with an amused smile. "We can do both."
She blinked. "...Both?"
"A selfie and the autographs."
For a moment she simply stared at him before her face lit up.
"O-Okay!"
A minute later, after taking a quick selfie together, she thanked him no fewer than three times before carefully putting her phone away.
Then she reached into her satchel and confidently pulled out a single sheet of thick autograph paper…
...and froze.
Henry watched as she searched one pocket, then another, and the confidence she had regained only moments earlier melted away.
"...I only brought one."
She slowly closed her eyes, looking utterly defeated.
"I promised my two friends I'd try to get three autographs if I ever got assigned to deliver to you."
She gave the satchel one final, hopeless search despite clearly knowing the outcome.
Henry chuckled again, warmer this time. "I think we can solve that."
He walked over to his desk, opened a drawer, and pulled out two sheets of premium stationery. After signing the autograph sheet she'd brought, he neatly signed the other two before handing all three back to her.
"There you go."
She accepted them with both hands as though they were priceless treasures.
"Thank you so much, Mr. Cavill!"
"My pleasure."
Only then did Rock step forward.
He waited while she carefully tucked the signed sheets into a protective folder before looking at her.
"Ready?"
"Y-Yes."
Rock opened the door for her and, just before they stepped outside, said in the same calm, even tone he'd maintained throughout the visit,
"Next time... remember everything before leaving the office."
Her cheeks immediately flushed crimson.
"...Yes, Rock."
Henry watched the pair head toward the waiting car before quietly chuckling to himself.
Somehow, what had begun as a routine script delivery had turned into one of the most unexpectedly charming fan encounters he would ever had
….
Henry's dog lifted its head, letting out a low, warm woof.
It was Kal, who had been sitting patiently by his side through all this anticipation. Henry smiled softly, reaching into his pocket to give the American Akita a few well-earned treats, scratching him thoroughly behind the ears as the dog happily leaned into his hand.
Leaving Kal to his treat, Henry carried the heavy black leather case back into his study, setting it down with deliberate care on his mahogany desk. He unzipped the heavy-duty waterproof seal, the sound loud in the quiet room.
Inside lay a script, bound in stark, unblemished white paper, embossed with the shimmering gold crest of the House of El.
[SUPERMAN: THE WORLD'S BURDEN]
[–Written & Directed by Regal Seraphsail]
Henry took a deep, steadying breath.
As his fingers brushed the pristine paper, he felt the phantom weight of the red cape settling onto his shoulders instantly, heavier and more complex than ever before.
He opened the cover page.
Glued to the bottom corner was a small, handwritten index card in Regal's unmistakable, razor-sharp handwriting:
__The cape is heavier this time Henry. Prepared to carry it well__
Henry stared at the ink for a long moment before a quiet, resolute smile touched his lips as he pulled his phone from his pocket, opened his messages, and navigated to Regal's contact.
Rather than sending a lengthy message about the script's brilliance or asking about schedules, budgets, or contracts, he simply typed one sentence, knowing that was the exact frequency Regal operated on.
[Henry]: The cape can be heavy, but the shoulders are ready.
He hit send, set the phone aside, and picked the script back up, turning to page one to read it all over again.
….
[Same Time]
[London, England | Elite Stunt & Parkour Academy]
Five thousand miles away–
Andrew Garfield is currently training in this warehouse for two months.
When Regal had casually mentioned during a phone call that the wire work for the [Spider-Man] sequel was going to be "significantly more demanding," Andrew hadn't waited for an official start date.
He had flown straight to the UK, hired a team of elite Olympic gymnasts and parkour specialists, and practically moved into the facility.
[Spider-Man: Web of Destiny] had grossed over 1.2 billion dollars.
It was a cultural monolith.
Andrew had gone from a relatively unknown theater actor to a global superstar whose face was recognized in every country on Earth.
The pressure to follow up that kind of debut was suffocating.
And just a moment ago, the warehouse door had opened, and a quiet, imposing courier named Jex had delivered a heavy, sealed black case.
Andrew wiped his hands meticulously on his sweatpants, erasing any trace of chalk and sweat before reaching out to take the pristine manuscript.
[SPIDER-MAN: HOMECOMING]
[–Story by Regal Seraphsail]
He flipped it open. The familiar sticky note awaited him.
__Ready for take two buddy?__
Andrew let out a soft, breathless laugh before diving into the pages.
As his eyes scanned the dialogue, he felt a wave of relief wash over him, immediately followed by total awe.
This wasn't just a bigger, louder sequel filled with explosive set pieces. Regal had anchored the story in the agonizing beauty and chaos of youth, immersing Peter Parker in the lonely, exhausting challenge of balancing homework, first love, and the bone-crushing reality of being a neighborhood superhero.
And the action…
Andrew swallowed hard as he reached the sequence involving the collapsing ferry, the sheer scale of the practical stunt work making it clear that Spider-Man himself had to be the absolute physical anchor of the entire scene.
"Andrew?" his trainer asked gently. "Are you there?"
Andrew slowly closed the script, looked up at the high ceiling of the warehouse for a long moment, then slipped it into his gym bag before turning to his stunt coordinator.
"Marcus!" Andrew shouted, his voice echoing with renewed, burning energy.
"Let's run the scaffolding drop again!" Andrew said, stepping back onto the high platform. "And this time... remove the safety mat. I need to get used to the concrete."
….
[Same Time]
[LIE Studios | Regal's Office]
Regal's phone buzzed on his desk.
He was currently deep in a heated phone call with Zack Barg regarding the final sound mix of [The Dark Knight], but he paused, glancing down at the illuminated screen.
He read Henry's message.
He had already received frantic, ecstatic calls from Robert Downey Jr. and Andrew Garfield earlier that day.
The scripts had landed.
The actors understood the assignments.
The foundation of the MDCU was not just secure; it was about to evolve into something entirely unprecedented in cinematic history.
"Zack." Regal said, cutting the editor off mid-sentence.
["Yeah? Are you even listening to me about the bass levels on the Tumbler chase?"] Zack sighed through the speaker.
"I am," Regal smirked, a quiet, absolute thrill of anticipation lighting up his eyes. "Just finish the mix by Friday. We're moving to Phase Two."
Before Zack could even complain about the dead-line, Regal ended the call only for the screen to light up again almost instantly.
Caller ID: Ryan Reynolds.
Regal let out a long, heavy sigh before pressing the receiver to his ear. "Hello..."
["Huh... I'm hearing a lot of packages are flying out of your offices these days,"] Ryan's voice drawled smoothly on the other end, referring to the top-secret scripts Regal had been dispatching to his lead actors.
"Get straight to the point, bud."
["When is our second baby coming out?"]
Regal's eyebrows shot up. "Gosh... where did you even learn to say that? You're making it sound so weird."
["What the?! My informants told me you love calling your projects your babies!"]
While that statement was technically true, it was a private running joke strictly between Regal and Gwen.
"Fire your informant immediately." Regal deadpanned.
["Will do, boss. So... when is it coming?"]
Regal leaned back in his chair, a mischievous glint in his eye. "You know, I actually have a fresh script ready for Green Lantern 2. Want me to deliver it to your house personally?"
A heavy, terrified beat of silence hung on the line.
["Now that I think about it... take all the time you need, boss,"] Ryan replied with sudden, extreme politeness. ["Though not too much time either! You know, the script work for Deadpool 2 is almost completely wrapped up... it would be a real shame if someone 'accidentally' leaked the storyboards or something."]
Click.
The line went dead before Regal could even respond.
"Damn... this dude." Regal muttered, shaking his head with a quiet chuckle as a genuine smile broke across his face.
.
….
[To be continued…]
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