<h4>Chapter 45: Is this for real?</h4>


    (Arthur POV)


    After that chat with Rupert Darkme, I''ve been knee-deep in negotiations with book publishers. "Harry Potter" is burning a hole in my pocket, and I''m itching to get it out there. But these talks? They''re enough to make me want to pull my horns out.


    Every publisher I''ve met has the same song and dance. "You''re a new writer," they say, conveniently forgetting about a little film called "The Demonfather." They offer royalties that wouldn''t buy a decent cup of coffee, all while iming they''re taking some huge risk.


    Thest straw was my meeting with ming Books. The editor actually had the gall to call me a "one-hit wonder" to my face. As if "The Demonfather" was just some fluke.


    That''s when it hit me. Why am I letting these short-sighted publishers dictate terms? I''ve got the means, the vision, and the story. Time to cut out the middleman.


    So, I''ve done it. I''ve founded Hellfire Stories. My own publishingpany. Has a nice ring to it, don''t you think?


    I''ve sunk about a hundred thousand dors into a printing factory. It''s not much to look at right now - all nking machinery and the smell of ink and paper. But when I walk through it, I can almost hear the hum of stories waiting to be told.


    And I didn''t stop there. I''ve bought up stores all over the city and beyond, shelling out hundreds of thousands more. Each one a potential gateway to the worlds I''m going to create.


    Is it a risk? Hell yes. But I''ve never been one to y it safe. And something tells me "Harry Potter" is going to be just the beginning.


    While my team and I have been neck-deep in preparations for "The Lord of the Rings," I''ve somehow managed to squeeze in time to finish writing "Harry Potter and the Philosopher''s Stone." It''s amazing what you can aplish when you don''t need to sleep, isn''t it?


    With the manuscript hot off my typewriter, I headed down to the printing factory. The ce is a cacophony of nking machinery and the sharp smell of ink. It''s not exactly high-tech, but it''s the best we''ve got in this world.


    I handed the manuscript to Grigori, the demon overseeing the printing. He thumbed through the pages, his brow furrowed in concentration.


    "So, how long will it take?" I asked, trying not to sound too impatient.


    Grigori scratched his chin, leaving a smudge of ink. "Well, Mr. Morningstar, considering the volume and our current capabilities... I''d say we can have the first batch ready in about three weeks."


    I must have looked surprised because he quickly added, "That''s if we run the presses day and night, of course. It''s not like those fancy human factories, but we''ll get it done."


    Three weeks. In my old life, that would have seemed cially slow. But here, with our steam-powered presses and hand-set type, it''s practically lightning speed.


    I nodded, trying to hide my impatience. "Alright, Grigori. Three weeks it is. Just make sure the quality is top-notch."


    Leaving the printing factory behind, I head back towards the studio. It''s funny how things change. These days, the ce is swarming with actors - mostly the ones who couldn''t get the time of day from big studios before. Now they''re lining up to audition for our next project.


    The crowds got so bad we had to move auditions to that big warehouse I snagged in the cheap district. Who would''ve thought we''d outgrow our space so quickly?


    As I stroll down the streets, I can''t help but notice the change in how people look at me. Gone are the sneers and whispers of "trashy prince". Now, I see admiration in their eyes. It''s... different. Not unwee, but definitely going to take some getting used to.


    Don''t get me wrong, there are still plenty of demons who''d love to see me fall t on my face. Can''t please everyone, I suppose. But the shift is undeniable.


    What really throws me for a loop is the reaction from other races. I overhear an elf whispering to his dwarf buddy, "That''s Michael Corleone!" as I pass by. It takes everything in me not to turn around and correct them. I''m not Michael, I just yed him. But then again, maybe that''s the point of good acting.


    A group of young humans actually stops me, asking for autographs. Me. The demon they probably would''ve crossed the street to avoid a few months ago. I sign their papers, trying to keep my hand from shaking. It''s surreal.


    Before I know it, I''m actually starting to feel like a superstar. It''s a far cry from the "trashy prince"bel I''d been stuck with for so long.


    As I finally make it back to the studio, dodging another group of autograph seekers, I can''t help but shake my head. Fame is a fickle thing. One minute you''re theughingstock of the kingdom, the next you''re everyone''s favorite demon.


    I just hope I can keep this momentum going. Because if there''s one thing I''ve learned, it''s that in this business, you''re only as good as yourst hit.


    And I''ve got no intention of being a one-hit wonder.


    I step into the warehouse, and it''s like walking into a beehive. Actors are everywhere, all buzzing with nervous energy, hoping tond a role. But my attention is immediately drawn to my team huddled in the corner, looking like they''re about to draw swords on each other.


    "How''re you doing, guys? Auditions going alright?" I call out, making my presence known. "You all look like you''re about to start a brawl."


    Mercy, one of our casting team members, is quick to respond. "No, Your Highness. We''re not fighting, but... we''ve got a bit of a disagreement with the casting director."


    Mart nods, pointing at two actor profiles. "Klein says this guy performed better, but we think it''s the other one."


    I take the profiles, eyeing them carefully. One''s an imp demon, the other a dwarf. Neither screams ''Gollum'' to me, but I keep that thought to myself for now.


    "Alright, what''s the story here?" I ask, bracing myself for the drama.


    Klein jumps in, exining how the imp demon nailed the performance, his voice dripping with enthusiasm. But before he can finish, Mercy cuts in.


    "See, boss? He''s clearly biased. I bet that imp''s his cousin or something."


    Mart nods vigorously. "The dwarf was definitely better. No contest."


    I resist the urge to roll my eyes. They''re arguing over Gollum, of all roles? Neither of these guys looks remotely like the character I have in mind.


    Before things can escte further, I hold up my hands. "Alright, guys, let''s pump the brakes here. To be honest, I don''t think either of them is quite right for Gollum."


    The looks on their faces are priceless. You''d think I''d just announced we''re making a romanticedy instead of "Lord of the Rings."


    "What? Why?" Klein sputters.


    Mercy chimes in, "Don''t you want to see their performances first, boss?"


    "Yeah, how can you know they''re not right without even seeing them act?" Mart adds, looking perplexed.


    I sigh internally. If I tell them it''s because neither actor looks the part, they''ll probably use me of being shallow. But the truth is, Gollum is such a unique character, we need someone who can embody him physically as well as dramatically.


    "Look, I just know, alright?" I say, trying to sound confident rather than dismissive. "Sometimes you''ve got to trust your gut in this business."


    They don''t look convinced, but they''re not arguing either. Small victories, I suppose.


    "Alright, let''s put a pin in this argument for now," I say, gesturing towards the line of increasingly antsy actors. "We''ve got a warehouse full of people waiting. We can duke it outter."


    Klein nods, looking properly chastised. "Yes, boss."


    I make my way to the center of the judging table, settling into the slightly taller chair reserved for me. It''s a bit much, if you ask me, but apparently it''s expected. Image and all that.


    With a nod to the crew, I signal for the auditions to begin. One by one, actors step forward, each hoping to be the next big thing in Hellfire Studios'' uing blockbuster.


    I put on my best "serious director" face, pen poised over my notepad. To anyone watching, I probably look like I''m jotting down detailed critiques of each performance. The reality? Most of my notes consist of "average" or "bad", with the asional "good" thrown in when someone actually impresses me.


    It''s not that I''m being harsh. It''s just... well, when you''ve got the original performances etched into your memory, it''s hard not topare.


    As I''m contemting whether "mediocre" is too mean to write down, the next actor steps up. I barely nce up at first, expecting more of the same.


    But then I do a double-take so hard I nearly give myself whish.


    Holy hellfire. The... being standing in front of me looks like Gollum''s long-lost twin. Or cousin. Or whatever the equivalent would be for a creature that''s meant to be one-of-a-kind.