The problems begin.

Magnus Holm was immersed in the darkness of his virtual space, the only source of light being the floating image before him: a video fragment where a digital Kiwi moved clumsily, with stiff, lifeless animations. His expression was one of utter frustration.

He had spent days locked inside his immersion capsule, isolated from everything, with a single goal in mind: to recreate what he had witnessed during the year-end exam evaluation at Solís Academy. As one of the leaders in the film industry, he had been among those selected to review the short films of the most promising students. Among the many mediocre works and a few with potential, there was one that had left him speechless.

The Kiwi short film.

From the moment he saw that animation, he understood the impact it would have on the industry. It wasn't just visually innovative—it conveyed something more… a kind of expressiveness no other creator had achieved before. The exaggerated yet fluid movements, the perfect gesticulation of the small creature, the way its body deformed to emphasize its actions… Everything was crafted with a technique impossible to ignore.

And the supposed mind behind that work was just a second-year student: Damian Grant.

The director had been clever, stopping any attempts by industry leaders to approach the boy and protecting his work. But Magnus had always suspected there was someone behind him.

Relying on his memory to recreate what he had seen, he had practiced relentlessly, but without access to the short film, everything he had managed to create so far was based solely on what he could recall. Fragments of the animation flashed through his mind, yet when it came to translating them into his own work… he always ended up with a crude and incomplete version.

"If only I could take another look at that short film..."

He muttered in irritation. It infuriated him. He knew that other leaders present in that meeting were also trying to understand this new technique.

Damian Grant had simply been lucky to get there first.

But the world didn't remember pioneers. It remembered those who took an idea and pushed it further.

Magnus knew that the faster he mastered this technique, the faster he could forge his own success. He didn't care that Grant would get credit for presenting it first. The real recognition would go to the one who perfected it.

And as a leader, he couldn't allow himself to be outdone by a mere inexperienced student.

He smirked coldly.

"But why the hell is he taking so long to publish his short films?"

The question lingered in Magnus Holm's mind as he leaned back against his capsule's seat, his eyes still fixed on the floating image of the clumsy Kiwi he had tried to replicate.

Any other student in his place would have flooded the network with their work, eager to claim credit and bask in the fame that a revolutionary technique like this would bring. Yet, Damian Grant hadn't done so.

For Magnus, this could be an advantage. If the boy remained in hiding, it meant that other leaders still couldn't study him or steal his method. That gave him time.

But at the same time, he felt the frustration of not having the original material to study.

With that thought in mind, he moved his hand, and a new interface appeared in his virtual environment. He opened the browser and typed the student's name.

Damian Grant.

Nothing.

No records of short films, publications, or recent projects linked to him.

—Hmph…

It wasn't surprising. The director had bought him time by shutting everyone up, and it was possible the boy himself was avoiding exposure. But Magnus lost nothing by doing a quick search every day.

Changing his approach, he entered another search.

Kiwi.

It was unlikely anything would appear so soon, but as soon as the results loaded, his eyes narrowed.

There it was.

Among several irrelevant entries, there was a platform with a post: "Kiwi - Animated Short Film."

Magnus tilted his head with curiosity.

Creatives could generate personal platforms to share their projects with the public—a kind of digital showcase where they displayed their work, supported by government-assigned agents. Some amassed thousands or even millions of followers, establishing their name as a recognized brand.

But this particular platform…

It only had five followers.

It was a newly created page. In fact, according to the registration date, it had been opened today.

"Oh… so you prefer to stay anonymous."

He thought as he noticed there was no personal information on the platform.

It was common among certain creatives. While some used their real names as a personal brand, others preferred to separate their identity and operate under an alias.

And in this case, the chosen name was…

Mirage Arts.

Magnus frowned. He didn't understand the meaning of those words. It sounded… peculiar.

Next to the title, there was a logo. A simple and minimalist design: some kind of creature, resembling a lizard but with wings on its back, set against a cream-colored background.

He didn't know what it represented, but it had a… nostalgic feel to it.

Magnus scanned the platform with sharp eyes. It was an empty site, without flashy decorations or unnecessary elements—just a clean and functional design. There were only two short films uploaded, but just by looking at the thumbnails, he recognized them instantly.

"They're the same two he presented at the exam."

His excitement surged instantly. Now, at last, he could rewatch the Kiwi short film in detail, analyze every frame, every transition, every hidden technique in the animation. His frustration of the past few days would finally come to an end.

Without wasting any time, he clicked on Kiwi.

A pop-up window appeared before him.

"To access this content, pay 5,000 Luma."

Magnus frowned.

He knew that platforms like these had this feature. Creatives often used it to monetize their projects to the public, but…

"A mere student asking for 5,000 Luma for a short film?"

Disbelief, anger, and a certain sense of recognition swirled in his mind. Any rookie who tried something like this would be labeled an idiot for thinking someone would pay such a price for an unknown creative. But Magnus wasn't stupid.

"No… this kid knows exactly what he's doing."

The people in that room remembered the Kiwi short film. The leaders, the professors—everyone who saw it knew its value.

Magnus clenched his teeth.

He had no other choice.

He pulled out his credit and paid the 5,000 Luma without hesitation.

Then, he glanced at the number of followers on the platform. Five followers.

His gaze sharpened.

"Are they all creatives in my same situation? Leaders who were at that meeting and saw the short film?"

A chill ran down his spine.

Damian Grant hadn't just created a revolutionary technique—he was controlling who saw it and at what price.

It was as if that kid didn't care about fame or followers—only money.

---

Lucas Grant drummed his fingers against the polished surface of the desk. His gaze wandered around the office, trying to find something to focus on to calm his nerves. It wasn't the first time he had been here, but this time felt… different.

Before he could dwell on it further, the door opened with a sharp sound.

A man in a dark suit entered with firm steps. His expression was unreadable, and he barely spared Lucas a glance before sitting across from him.

—Alright —he said bluntly—. What do you need?

Lucas swallowed and straightened his posture.

—I finished my latest book —he announced, trying to sound enthusiastic—. I'd like the guild to publish it on their platform and actively promote it.

The man didn't respond immediately. A file sent by Lucas appeared on his Panel, and with complete disinterest, he opened it.

Meanwhile, Lucas took the chance to explain.

—The story follows a detective trapped on a train during a night journey. A murder occurs, and with time against him, he must find the culprit before the train reaches its…

—I'm sorry, I'm not interested.

Lucas blinked, stunned.

—Excuse me?

The man looked up from his Panel, impassive.

—Your story isn't what we're looking for. It lacks an innovative angle or a concept that truly stands out.

Lucas frowned.

—But you haven't even read it.

—I can recognize a project that won't work just by reading the synopsis —the man said dryly—. You should keep trying.

He stood up, walked to the door, and opened it, signaling that the conversation was over.

Lucas clenched his fists, holding back his frustration.

He knew his recent projects hadn't been his best, but this was too much. They hadn't even given him a real chance.

However, he said nothing more. He stood up with a frown, crossed the door, and left, his frustration evident in every step.

When the office fell silent, the man closed the door, turned around, and activated his Panel.

A call connected, and on the other side, a distorted voice spoke.

—Did you reject him?

—Yes —the man replied coldly—. Just as you asked. I hope this is enough for you to reconsider working with us.

There was a brief pause.

—I am satisfied.

The call ended.

The man turned off his Panel and exhaled, showing no emotion. Then, he sat back down as if nothing had happened.

...

Damian was sitting in the room assigned by the academy. It was Saturday, the last day to work on the project before Monday's presentation.

However, something unsettled him.

Clara hadn't arrived yet.

Frowning, he checked the time on his Panel. She had never been late before.

Just yesterday, she had been excited to test the game.

After a few seconds of hesitation, he opened the chat and sent her a message.

—Are you okay? You haven't arrived yet.

Several minutes passed before his Panel vibrated with a response.

"I'm really sorry, I had a problem at home and I won't be able to come today. I truly regret it, I didn't want to leave you alone at this moment."

The message was short, but the guilt was evident in every word.

Damian tilted his head, still confused. Something must have happened.

A second message arrived shortly after.

"I'm fine, don't worry. It's more of a family issue, but it's impossible for me to go today. I'll see you on Monday. Again, I'm really sorry."

Damian exhaled slowly. If it were something serious, she would have said so.

He remained still for a moment, Panel in hand, wondering what could have happened, but there was no point in pressing her. Everything would become clear on Monday.

—No problem, take care of whatever you need to do —he replied—. All that's left today is testing the game and fixing minor details, so I can finish it on my own. See you Monday.

After sending the message, Damian let out a sigh.

"Alright, time to finish this."

With renewed determination, he headed to the development capsule, entered it, and activated the virtual environment.

Unlike this world's virtual experiences, Firewatch began by displaying a minimalist logo of a dragon and the name of its platform, Mirage Arts.

Next, a beautiful landscape with warm colors appeared, followed by the game's title in its original design. The art style was unique. Damian only felt his consciousness in the space, watching as a menu appeared with various game options. He could navigate it with just his gaze, and he did, starting a new game but keeping the development panel open.

The world of Firewatch unfolded before his eyes after skipping the story introduction.

The warm colors of the sunset painted the sky above a vast forest. Damian moved his body slowly, ensuring the sensation was comfortable while observing the details they had managed to capture in the environment.

"It feels amazing."

But he wasn't here to admire it. He began the final test, exploring the world, making sure everything worked as it should.

He walked the trails, checked the fluidity of the animations, and tested every interaction mechanic. As he progressed, he fixed minor bugs in real time using the development tools.

The efficiency of this technology was astounding.

Unlike game development on Earth, this tool had automatically debugged and solved the vast majority of issues on its own.

"This makes developing a game a thousand times faster than on Earth."

Occasionally, alert notifications popped up for potential errors, such as lighting issues in certain areas or some dialogue inconsistencies.

—Looks like everything is in order.

Finally, after a couple of hours, the test was complete. Firewatch was ready.

Damian exited the capsule and stretched his arms. There was an hour left before the academy closed.

He could continue working on Sunday if he had a development capsule at home, but that was a luxury reserved for only a few. He didn't need it anyway.

He trusted his work.

Opening his Panel, he marked on the academy's platform that his assigned room was no longer needed and submitted his project right then and there.

—All set.

On Monday, Firewatch would be presented.

...

Damian was in the living room at home, sitting on the carpet with a deck of cards in hand while his younger sister, Lía, watched him with an exaggeratedly focused expression. They were playing cards, and although it seemed like an innocent game at first glance, Damian knew Lía was competitive.

—Ha! —she suddenly exclaimed, placing her last card on the low table with a satisfied smile—. I won!

Damian raised an eyebrow and crossed his arms.

—Are you sure? —he asked doubtfully, checking the cards—. Hmm… I don't know, this smells like cheating.

—I didn't cheat! —she protested, puffing out her cheeks.

Damian let out a small chuckle and ruffled her hair.

—Alright, alright. I'll let you have this victory.

Lía grinned proudly, but just as she was about to say something else, the sound of the front door interrupted their game.

Their father had arrived.

Lucas entered the living room with slightly slumped shoulders, his expression showing exhaustion. However, upon seeing his children, he quickly straightened up and put on a smile.

—Dad! —Lía exclaimed happily, running toward him for a hug.

He lifted her briefly before setting her back down and tousling her hair.

—How was your day?

—I beat Damian at cards!

Lucas let out a soft chuckle and glanced at his son knowingly.

—Wow, that's impressive.

Damian greeted him, but he wasn't fooled. His father was in a terrible state.

It was subtle, but as an adult, he could catch the small signs—the brief moment of dullness in his eyes before forcing a smile.

He said nothing for now. Not in front of Lía.

Instead, he turned on the living room screen and put on a travel documentary.

—Hey, look at this —he said to his sister, grabbing her attention—. It's about a place with giant mountains and snow.

—Hmm… —Lía tilted her head curiously—. Is it interesting?

—Definitely better than those silly kids' videos.

She huffed indignantly.

—I don't even watch them that much anymore...

Damian smiled internally. With her attention diverted, he watched his father head to his office.

Without wasting time, he got up and followed him.

When he entered the office, Lucas was placing his jacket on the desk. He didn't seem surprised to see his son walk in.

—I knew you'd come —he said with a sigh.

Damian crossed his arms.

—What happened?

His father pinched the bridge of his nose and let out a long sigh.

—I presented my book today. It was rejected.

Damian frowned.

—Did they even read it?

—That's the worst part. They didn't even bother to take a look.

The frustration in his father's voice was evident. And he had every right to feel that way.

Damian had read his manuscript. It was more than decent—the final result was similar to the original version of Murder on the Orient Express. While he couldn't guarantee this world had the exact same literary tastes, the book was good.

This only increased his uncertainty about how his own projects would be received in the future.

He couldn't be sure how people would react to Mulan. Its story, values, and narrative style could clash with this world's sensibilities. That was one of the reasons he wanted to test it with his family first.

But the problem here wasn't the book's content.

If they hadn't even read it, then the reason for the rejection was something else.

—What will you do now? —Damian asked, still analyzing the situation.

Lucas crossed his arms and sighed.

—I won't work with that guild again. If they won't even give my work a chance, I'll look elsewhere.

He pulled out his Panel and started contacting his agent.

Damian saw the conversation would take a while, so he wished him luck and left the office.

However, his concerns were only just beginning.

As he returned to the living room, he heard the door open again.

It was his mother.

But as soon as he saw her, her expression hardened.

His father had arrived looking dejected. His mother, on the other hand, looked furious.

Damian immediately approached her.

—What happened?

Nora took a deep breath to calm herself before answering.

—One of the Leaders at my job complained about my stage designs. He said they weren't good enough and… I was replaced.

Damian felt an alarm go off in his mind.

His father and now his mother—both having work-related issues on the same day.

That wasn't a coincidence.

—Just like that? —he asked, frowning.

—Just like that —his mother replied with a frustrated grimace—. They didn't even give me a chance to defend my work. They simply said it wasn't what they were looking for.

Damian wasn't buying it.

He started connecting the dots.

During the first exam, at least ten Leaders had learned about his identity.

He knew some might be interested in him or, in the worst case, see him as a threat.

But attacking him like this right away didn't make sense.

If they wanted to negotiate with him, they would have tried first.

If they wanted to pressure him, they would have targeted him directly or at least given him a sign.

Unless there was someone with a more personal motive.

And in that case, the first person on his list of suspects was Samuel Lorrick.

The memory of Clara's sudden absence only made his suspicion grow.

"Did something similar happen to her?"

His mother sighed.

—I'm going to change. I need to talk to your father because, at least for now, I don't have a job anymore.

Damian nodded and gave her a small smile.

—Get some rest. I'll take care of Lía and dinner.

His mother gave him a warm smile and affectionately ruffled his hair.

—Thank you, sweetheart.

And with that, she went upstairs.

As Damian watched her disappear up the stairs, a wave of anger surged through him.

Someone was trying to hurt his family.

And he wasn't going to let it slide.

But now wasn't the time to think about retaliation. He needed to calm down first.

He took a deep breath and returned to the living room.

Lía was still watching TV.

—Interesting? —Damian asked, trying to sound relaxed.

She shrugged.

—Mmm... kinda.

Damian smiled.

—Mom's home, but she's tired, so we'll let her rest. I'll cook tonight.

Lía looked at him in surprise.

—You know how to cook!?

—Of course, I do —Damian said, pretending to be offended—. Don't you trust me?

He suddenly tickled her, making her squirm with laughter as she tried to get away.

When he finally let her catch her breath, he asked:

—What do you want to eat?

Lía crossed her arms, deep in thought.

—Something tasty. But no soup. I'm tired of it. I want something with cheese.

Damian quickly thought about what to make. As he went through his memories, he once again noticed something that had caught his attention before—the lack of culinary diversity in this world.

It wasn't hard to understand why. Humanity had spent most of its history at war, focused more on efficiency and survival.

Here, lands had never been as separated as they were in his previous world. On Earth, vast oceans divided entire continents, allowing each region to develop its own unique cultures, flavors, and traditions. But in this world, humanity had always been closely connected, advancing in a homogeneous way, without the stark differences that led to the rich culinary heritage he knew.

The result: good food, but not much variety.

With that in mind, he already knew what he was going to cook.

He looked at Lía, who was watching him expectantly.

—Tonight, we're making something special —he said mysteriously—. An original dish, my specialty.

—What is it? —she asked, intrigued.

—You'll only find out if you help me.

Lía's eyes sparkled with excitement. She stood up with a determined expression, rolling up her sleeves as if preparing for battle.

—Alright! I'll help you!

Damian smiled, satisfied.

—Perfect.

In the kitchen, Damian placed the ingredients on the table while Lía watched with curiosity.

—Tonight, we're making something special: pizza.

—Pizza? —Lía frowned—. What's that?

—A dish where you can add lots of cheese.

—Hmm… alright, but if it tastes weird, don't make me eat it.

Damian smirked.

—I bet you won't leave a single crumb.

Lía looked at him skeptically but decided to follow his instructions.

He showed her how to make the dough, and although she grimaced at the sticky texture at first, she soon got into it, kneading it forcefully like she was playing with clay.

—Look, Damian! It's a dough monster!

—Yeah, and if you don't do it right, it'll get its revenge in the oven.

—Ah! Then I'll try harder!

Damian stifled a laugh and let her finish her "creation." Once the dough was ready, they moved on to the toppings.

—You can pick whatever you want.

Lía studied the options like she was making the most important decision of her life.

—Lots of cheese. And… this and this. —She pointed with her finger.

Damian nodded, and together they assembled the pizza. When they finally put it in the oven, Lía sighed.

—Now we have to wait, right?

—Exactly.

—That's the worst part.

—Welcome to cooking.

—Next time, I'll only help with the eating.

---

Two hours later…

The aroma of pizza filled the house. When their parents came downstairs, they stopped at the sight of the table.

—What's this? —Lucas asked curiously.

Lía grinned proudly.

—It's pizza! Damian and I made it. Well, mostly me.

—Pizza? —Nora looked at it with interest.

—It's one of my original recipes —Damian explained—. Try it.

Their parents each took a slice, and after the first bite, their expressions changed.

—This is… incredible. —Lucas blinked in surprise.

—The texture, the melted cheese… It's delicious! —Nora added.

Lía puffed out her chest.

—Told you!

The tension of the day faded as the family enjoyed their dinner. There was laughter, carefree conversations, and warmth.

Damian watched the scene in silence.

This was how it should always be.

But he knew he couldn't let his guard down.

If someone was trying to hurt them… he would respond.

There was no doubt about it. He wouldn't let anyone get near his family or his friends with bad intentions.