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Chapter - 127
🕑 Added 2025-05-13 16:47:27 +0000 UTC[Title : A Wager]
….
Across the table, the old man folded his arms, his sharp eyes fixed on Regal. His voice carried the weight of decades in the industry.
“Kid, before we go any further, let’s get one thing straight - we are not selling.”
There it was. No room for doubt.
Stan Lee. The man. The legend of Marvel Comics.
Regal had known this was how the meeting would begin. Stan had made his stance clear from the moment they had agreed to talk.
Still, seeing him now - this version of him, alive, clear-eyed, and still sharp - made him remember something.
A strange mix of reverence… and sorrow.
Because Regal remembered another version of this man. The one from his past world. A legend, yes - but one who hadn’t been treated like one when it mattered most.
That Stan Lee had been exploited in his final years.
Robbed - figuratively and literally - by those who were supposed to protect him.
There were legal filings about elder abuse, allegations that his own inner circle had manipulated him for money. His former manager. His so-called "business partners."
Even his own blood had turned into vultures.
By the time he passed away, it wasn’t in peace - but in a haze of controversy, isolation, and commodification.
Even his death had become another product to be packaged and sold - a final cash grab for those circling around him like scavengers.
Regal signed in his heart, then exhaled slowly.
This Stan sitting in front of him - this version - was still whole, and more so -
He was more powerful than the version of his past world had ever been.
And Regal knew, with absolute clarity, that he had no intention of taking anything from him - only of giving him back what the world had once failed to.
A legacy that ended right.
…..
Meanwhile, Regal leaned back slightly in his seat, letting the silence hang - not awkward, just… respectful.
Then, softly. “I figured you would say that, sir.”
Stan raised a brow and waved a hand dismissively. “Ah, don’t ‘sir’ me, kid. I have been ‘Stan’ since the Kennedy administration. If you knew what I was gonna say, then why’re you sittin’ here wasting both our time?”
There was no bite in it. Just blunt truth, wrapped in the kind of voice that had sold dreams for decades.
Regal didn’t answer right away. His gaze held steady - unflinching, but not arrogant. Just a present.
That bothered Stan a little.
He had seen this look before, years ago… in artists burning themselves alive over panel layouts, in young editors sleeping under their desks to meet a deadline, in Jack when he was sketching with a broken wrist.
That impossible sincerity. Not the kind you fake.
And for all the fantasy Stan spent his life spinning, he had always kept his feet in reality. He didn’t like crowds, didn’t do long dinners. He kept distance for a reason. Too many people came close, only to take.
But gut instinct? That, he still trusted. And something about this kid’s eyes kept his hand from waving him out of the room.
But Stan wasn’t the type to let people in easily. Not anymore. Not after what happened when he ignored his gut. Handed over the reins to people he thought he could trust.
Regal offered a small smile. “I am not here to take Marvel from you, Stan.” He said, voice even. “I am here to make sure no one else does.”
Stan leaned back in his chair. He studied the kid - really took him in now.
He let out a dry chuckle. “Heh. Kid… that’s a hell of a line. You practice that in the mirror or it just comes to you?”
Regal didn’t blink.
Stan shook his head, still smirking. “You know how many people have walked through that door with a line like that? ‘We are here to honor the legacy,’ ‘bring the stories into a new age,’ blah blah blah. One guy told me he wanted to build ‘the next cinematic religion.’” He raised a brow. “That one got me good.”
Regal cracked a small laugh. “I am not starting a religion.”
“Good.” Stan said. “’Cause I already got one. It’s called comic books.”
Regal nodded, the smile fading back into seriousness. “I don’t blame you for being skeptical.”
He leaned in a little now, forearms resting on the table.
“As someone who has built stories myself - I get it. MDC isn’t just a company to you. It’s your life. It’s your name, your ink, your time. And yeah… it’s not for sale. I respect that.”
Stan gave a small, thoughtful breath. A sound somewhere between a sigh and a grunt. But Regal wasn’t done.
“I am not here to take what’s yours.” He said. “But I am asking for a seat at the table.”
Stan’s eyes narrowed slightly.
“You are already working that deal with my son’s.” He said. “You don’t need my permission.”
“I know.” Regal said, honestly. “But I still wanted it.”
That gave Stan pause. He didn’t say anything right away. Just stared for a moment longer. Finally, he leaned in a little.
“What makes you think you deserve a seat at this table?”
Regal opened his mouth, started to speak, but Stan held up his hand.
“Don’t start with the pitch.” He said, cutting in. “You think turning words on paper into something that lives and breathes is just about ideas? Kid, it takes sweat. Years. It breaks your back and keeps you up at night. Don’t tell me - you show me.”
Regal nodded slowly, hand drifting up to his jaw in thought. He let the challenge hang for a moment, then sat back.
“One Marvel movie.” Regal said. “Just one. I make it, you watch it. If you like it, we will talk again. If you hate it…” he shrugged. “I walk away. I will hand over whatever shares I buy - no strings attached.”
Stan gave a low, disbelieving chuckle. “That’s ridiculous. You wanna gamble all that on one movie?”
Regal looked him in the eye. “It’s not a gamble when I know it’s a sure short hit….”
Stan's expression was unreadable - part suspicion, part something closer to curiosity.
“You really believe one film can change my mind?” He said at last.
Regal smiled faintly. “I think a good story can change everything.”
That kind of hit Stan in the wrong sport. He isn't sure about what a movie with a good story could do but he experienced what a bad one could do.
Then Stan gave a dry laugh. “Alright, fine. Let’s play. But I don’t give you anything - not a penny, not a note, not a favor. You are on your own.”
“I can live with that.” Regal said. “But if you do want to help… I won’t say no.”
Stan tilted his head, amused. “Heh. Slippery kid.”
Regal extended his hand. “Deal?”
Stan eyed it, then shook. Firm. Solid.
“But kid.” He added, his voice leveling out. “if it stinks... I will never see you again. Capisce?”
Regal grinned. “That’s fair.”
They let go.
Silence, just for a second.
Then Stan, muttering to himself, half-grinning: “One film, huh… let’s see if the kid’s got a bite.”
….
He leaned back in his chair, watching Regal head for the door. The young man had just turned, halfway to leaving.
Then - he stopped.
A pause.
Stan’s grin sharpened, brow lifting. “Second thoughts already?”
Regal glanced over his shoulder, eyes fixed not on Stan, but on the far wall.
“…No.” He said slowly. “Just wondering… can I take that poster with me?”
Stan followed his gaze.
There, mounted in a slim black frame, was a limited edition print - an old-school classic: a man in a suit, silhouette cast against a city skyline.
Right beside it hung another - iconic, unmistakable.
A man of steel.
Stan squinted. “That’s not one.” He muttered. “That’s two.”
He looked back at Regal. And for the first time, he saw it - clear and unfiltered.
Greed.
Not the kind that claws at contracts or power, but the innocent, gleaming-eyed kind. The kind you would see in a comic shop when a kid spots the last foil variant on the shelf.
Stan gave a small grunt. “...Just take it.”
Regal beamed. No shame, not a drop. “Much appreciated.”
He was already halfway across the room, lifting it gently, holding it like a holy artifact.
Meanwhile, from near the doorway, Samantha watched - arms crossed, eyebrows climbing higher by the second.
She didn’t say anything for a second. But the secondhand embarrassment was written all over her face.
Stan noticed her expression, then looked at Regal, who was now admiring the back of the frame like it might whisper secrets.
“Kid’s got no shame.” He said under his breath.
Samantha let out a long sigh, rubbing the back of her neck. “Sorry about that. He’s not always like this… Just when he starts feeling comfortable, he gets a bit too - Demanding. Especially when there’s momentum behind him.”
Stan chuckled, leaning back with a knowing shake of his head. “It’s fine. Part of the business, isn’t it? The ones who want to change everything are never polite about it.”
Regal, finally satisfied with his prize, turned and made for the door.
But, true to form, he paused halfway through the exit, turned back, and spoke with that same breezy, matter-of-fact tone.
“Oh, and Stan - almost forgot.” He pointed a finger like he was circling back on a minor item, but his eyes were already gleaming with purpose. “Since ‘principal photography’ on my movie doesn’t kick off until next week, I have got about a day or two of breathing room. So I thought I would join the publishing team’s pre-release planning session.”
Stan raised an eyebrow. “Planning session?”
Regal nodded. “Yeah. The comic marketing and development meeting - layout revisions, variant cover strategy, print run projections. You know, all that internal cycle stuff. I want to sit in.”
He took a few steps forward again, gesturing casually with the rolled-up poster under his arm.
“I figure since the comic adaptation is going to be the narrative bedrock for the film, I should be there to help streamline worldbuilding. Just a few tweaks and maybe some reboots. You will see.”
Stan squinted, a little unsure. “Reboots?”
“Yep… Something along those lines.”
Samantha turned her head slowly toward Regal, her expression a cross between admiration and preemptive stress. Clearly, she knew the pitch was only the beginning of what he planned to unload once inside that meeting.
“You did say you wouldn’t interfere with my film, right?” Regal added, offering Stan a playful half-shrug. “I am just asking for support in shaping the source material.”
Stan gave a slow exhale through his nose and waved him off. “Go on. Crash the party.”
Regal gave a mock salute. “See you in the war room.”
With that, he turned and finally exited, for real this time, leaving Samantha to follow after him, pausing only to glance back at Stan with a helpless smile.
“I apologise again.” She said. “This… is going to be a long week.”
Stan didn’t answer at first. He just stared at the door for a moment, then leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table, fingers steepled.
“I made the right call… didn’t I?” He murmured.
The silence offered no answer.
Then, quietly, he added to himself. “…But why do I feel like the next pre-publication sync is going to be an absolute disaster?”
.
….
[To be continued…]
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