Episode - 03

The boardroom was dead silent. It wasn’t the kind of silence that feels peaceful; it was the kind that feels controlled.

A long glass table stretched across the room. It was so clean it reflected the city lights from the giant windows like a mirror. Far below, the city was glowing and loud, but none of that noise could get inside. In this room, there was only one thing: power.

Joel Vance sat at the head of the table. He didn't move. He looked perfectly calm and untouchable. Around him, the company executives were nervous. They shifted in their seats and stared at their glowing screens. Everyone was waiting for him to speak.

The big screen at the front of the room didn't show sports scores. It showed a map of the world with lines crossing different countries.

“The Singapore facility is ready,” one executive said quietly. “If we close the deal in Dubai, we will own the market in two years.”

Joel didn’t say a word. He just stared at the map, calculating everything in his head.

“Sir?” the man asked, his voice shaking slightly.

Joel finally spoke. “Two years is too slow.”

The room felt even tighter. “We can try to go faster—” someone started to say.

Joel shook his head. “No. We don't just go faster. We crush the timeline.”

The executives looked confused. “Sir?”

Joel stood up and walked to the screen. He tapped it, and the map changed. New, aggressive routes appeared. It looked risky and fast.

“Six months,” Joel said.

The silence broke. “That’s impossible!” one director shouted before he could stop himself.

Joel turned to look at him. He wasn’t angry or loud. He just looked completely sure of himself. “Then you aren't thinking correctly,” Joel said. He explained it simply. “If we own the buildings, the media follows us. If the media follows us, the fans follow. And if the fans follow…”

Joel’s eyes got sharp. “…the players don't have a choice but to join us.”

The room went cold. Another executive hesitated. “Sir… pushing people this hard might break them.”

Joel stopped. For a tiny second, something flashed in his eyes. “People break when they are forced to do something,” he said quietly. “They don't break when they choose to win.”

He sat back down. “Prepare the six-month plan.” He didn't have to yell. His calmness was more terrifying than a scream.

The meeting ended without anyone saying "goodbye." People just knew it was over. They packed their files and left quietly. Nobody stayed behind to chat.

Joel stayed in his seat, watching them leave. He didn't just run a business; he controlled the world around it. His company handled the athletes' bodies, their fame, and their money. He owned the reality they lived in.

“Sir," one last assistent said, "should we contact a star athlete to hire as the brand ambassador?”

“No,” Joel said immediately. It was absolute. “We already have one.”

Nobody asked who he meant. They didn't need to.

Later, Joel went into his private office. He walked to the window and looked down at the city. To everyone else, the city looked free and alive. To Joel, it was just something to be organized.

He took off his watch and placed it on the table. It was perfectly straight. Everything in his life had a place. Everything stayed exactly where he put it.

Except for one person.

Joel opened a desk drawer. Inside, it wasn't neat like the rest of the room. There was old paper with faded edges. It was a drawer full of memories.

He picked up an old photo. It was a boy laughing. He looked happy, messy, and full of life. It was Ren. Joel ran his thumb over the picture. Then his eyes moved to a different paper—a new contract, clean and white. It had Ren Avery’s signature on it.

Joel pressed his fingers against the signature. He didn't do it gently. He did it like he was claiming something he owned.

“Five years,” Joel whispered to the empty room. “And you’re still trying to run.”

A memory hit him. A basketball court. A smile. A kiss. And then the words that hurt: “This doesn’t mean anything.”

Joel shut the drawer hard.

There was a knock at the door. “Come in,” Joel said.

His assistant walked in. “Sir, Ren Avery won his match. His team is having a private party tonight to celebrate.”

Joel didn’t turn around. “A celebration?”

“Yes, sir. Because of his winning streak.”

Joel took a slow breath. It wasn't anger; it was something darker. “It's party time, then?” he asked himself.

“Yes, sir,” the assistant replied.

Joel finally turned around. There was a tiny smile on his face, but it wasn't a kind one. It was dangerous. “Good. Get the car ready.”

The assistant blinked. “Sir?”

Joel picked up his coat. “It would be rude not to go to a celebration,” he said calmly. His eyes darkened. “Especially when the party is for something… that belongs to me.”

The assistant didn't say a word. He could tell by Joel’s voice that this wasn't about business anymore. It was personal.

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