Hey Guys.
some suggestions, for like who could be love intrests etc.
anything.
your Suggestions….
—————————————————————————————————————– The blinding golden light from the digital treasure chest illuminated the entire bedroom, casting wild, shifting shadows against the walls.
Vihaan shielded his eyes, his heart thumping.
In all the web novels he used to read between takes on film sets, this was the moment.
The power-up.
The cheat code.
With a final, triumphant chime, the chest burst open, and three glowing blue cards floated up into the air, hovering right in front of Vihaan’s face.
Moody zipped out from behind the chest, wearing a pair of pixelated sunglasses (⌐■_■).
“Behold, Host!” Moody announced, its voice echoing with fake reverb.
“The Human Talent Spawner!
Since you are a Newbie, but a very successful Newbie, I am granting you three A-Grade Human Talents!” Vihaan blinked, looking at the blank glowing cards.
“Human Talents?
You mean…
real people?” “Exactly!” Moody did a little digital flip.
“I can spawn real, living, breathing humans with flawless background histories, government IDs, and absolute 100% loyalty to you!
They will act as your ultimate employees!” Vihaan’s jaw dropped.
Forget hiring freelancers.
This was the ultimate studio-building tool.
“Now, pay attention, Host,” Moody said, pulling down a digital projector screen.
“The System grades talent on a strict scale: S: Most Brilliant (World-Class Visionaries, era-defining legends)S- (Minus): Brilliant (National Elites, the best in a single country)A: Amazing (Top-tier Industry Experts, highly sought after)B: Competent (Solid Professionals, reliable workhorses)C: Average (Standard graduates, nothing special)D: Novice (Basically clueless, will probably break the coffee machine)” Moody tapped the screen with a digital pointer stick.
“As a Newbie, you don’t get an S-class yet.
But I am giving you three ‘A-Grade’ experts!
That means they are the top 1% in their respective fields in this current era!
So, Host…
what kind of talents do you need?” Vihaan didn’t answer immediately.
His mind instantly shifted into the hyper-focused gear of a CEO.
He walked over to his study table, switched on the small desk lamp, and pulled out his trusty notepad.
Shantivan had given him a mountain of capital.
But capital without infrastructure was just a pile of paper waiting to catch fire.
He needed a foundation.
He needed the pillars of a modern, unbeatable media empire.
He sat down and started writing.
And then…
the wait began.
Ten minutes passed.
Vihaan was scratching out diagrams, calculating 2008 market trends.
Moody hovered over his shoulder.
“Host?” Vihaan ignored it.
Twenty minutes.
Moody floated down to the desk, lying on its digital side, propping its virtual head on a hand.
“Hooooost…
are you done?” Thirty minutes.
Moody started physically nudging Vihaan’s cheek with the corner of its screen.
Poke.
Poke.
Poke.
“Think faster…
please?
Pretty please?
With digital cherries on top?
🍒” Forty-five minutes.
Moody was now flying in rapid circles around Vihaan’s head, making airplane noises.
“Nyoooooom!
Host is a slowpoke!
Nyoooooom!” “Shut up, I am structuring a multi-crore corporate pipeline,” Vihaan muttered, swatting at the screen like a mosquito.
Finally, after exactly one hour, Vihaan dropped his pen.
He rubbed his eyes and turned in his chair.
“Okay, I’ve got it,” Vihaan said confidently.
“I need three specific pillars to take Malhotra Motion Pictures to the next level.” Moody stopped flying and floated in front of him, stars in its digital eyes (★‿★).
“Yay!
Tell me!
Tell me!” “First, I need an A-Grade VFX Artist,” Vihaan said, tapping his notepad.
“Hollywood is gearing up for the CGI boom.
India is lagging behind.
If I can build an in-house VFX studio now, I will monopolize the Indian market for the future years.” Moody nodded rapidly.
“Second, I need a Marketer.
Someone who understands modern PR, branding, and how to sell a movie without relying solely on a superstar’s face.” “Ooh, smart!” Moody chimed.
“And third, the most important one,” Vihaan said, his voice turning serious.
“Sanjay uncle is great, but he is an old-school accountant.
I need a killer.
I need an A-Grade Business Manager.
Someone who understands corporate acquisitions, IP rights, and hostile takeovers.” Vihaan leaned back, a smug, satisfied smile on his face.
He looked at Moody with hopeful eyes, exactly like a protagonist in a Chinese web novel receiving his perfect cheat items.
“Alright, Moody.
Spawn them.” Moody stared at him in dead silence.
Then, the digital face shifted.
The lips curled upward.
“Ahahahahaha!” Moody burst into loud, obnoxious, hysterical laughter.
(≧▽≦) Vihaan frowned.
“What’s funny?” “Oh, you sweet, naive Host,” Moody giggled, wiping away a digital tear.
“Why on earth would I give you your choice?” Vihaan’s smug smile vanished.
“…What?” TI-TI-TI!
A massive red cross (❌) flashed on the screen, accompanied by a harsh buzzer sound.
“Did you complete a life-threatening mission?
No!” Moody declared, putting its hands on its virtual hips.
“Did you conquer a space boss?
No!
This is a free Newbie Gift!
You don’t get a menu, Host.
We are doing a LUCKY DRAW!” Vihaan’s eye twitched.
“A lucky draw?
Are you kidding me?
What if I get a garbage man?” “Then you will have an A-Grade Garbage Man!
The cleanest floors in Mumbai!” Moody cheered.
“Now…
LET THE ROULETTE SPIN!” The three blank blue cards in the air suddenly expanded, merging into a massive, glowing casino slot-machine wheel.
The wheel began to spin at a dizzying speed.
Words blurred past Vihaan’s eyes.
Screenplay Expert…
Director…
Picking Bottles…
Professional Vehicle Driver…
Wiping Floors…
Missile Launcher Operator…
Executive Chef…
“Wait, why is Missile Launcher Operator in there?!” Vihaan yelled.
“Shh!
The first pull is stopping!” Moody shouted.
The wheel slowed down.
Tick…
tick…
tick…
Vihaan gripped the edges of his desk, his heart in his throat.
If he landed on ‘Wiping Floors,’ he was going to throw the system out the window.
Tick…
tick…
Ding!
The wheel locked into place.
Golden confetti exploded.
[A-Grade Talent Acquired: Elite Corporate Business Manager] “YES!” Vihaan shot out of his chair, pumping his fist in the air.
The most crucial pillar was secured.
He had his corporate killer.
“Ooh, lucky!” Moody chimed.
“Pull number two!” The wheel spun again, a blur of neon light.
Vihaan held his breath.
Tick…
tick…
tick…
Ding!
[A-Grade Talent Acquired: Master Illustrator / Concept Artist] Vihaan paused, his fist still in the air.
He slowly lowered it.
“Hmm…” “Hmm?” Moody tilted its screen.
“Is that bad?” “No,” Vihaan muttered, his gears turning.
“Not a marketer, but…
an illustrator.
Storyboards.
Concept art for massive fantasy sets.
Animation.
Actually…
this is incredibly useful for pitching high-budget films.” “See?
I provide!” Moody bragged.
“Final pull!
Here we go!” The wheel spun for the final time.
Vihaan closed his eyes.
Please, God.
Please just give me something technical.
Tick…
tick…
tick…
Ding!
Vihaan opened one eye.
He looked at the glowing text.
[A-Grade Talent Acquired: Senior VFX / CGI Specialist] Vihaan stood frozen for exactly three seconds.
Then, he threw his hands in the air and actually started dancing.
It was a terrible, uncoordinated, joyous celebration right in the middle of his bedroom.
“WOHOOOOOO!
YES!
I AM GOING TO RULE THIS INDUSTRY!” “Host is dancing!
Host is dancing!” Moody cheered, flying in circles around him, flashing disco lights from its screen.
Down the hall, the sound of heavy footsteps approached.
“Vihaan?!” Meera’s voice echoed through the wooden door, sounding highly concerned.
“Beta, are you okay?
Who are you talking to?
What is all that noise?” Vihaan froze mid-dance.
He cleared his throat, trying to sound completely normal.
“Yeah!
Maa, I’m perfectly fine!” he shouted back.
“Just…
uh…
just thinking about the next project!
I got a really good idea!” There was a brief pause on the other side of the door.
“…Okay.
Come have breakfast soon.” “I will!” Vihaan let out a sigh of relief as her footsteps faded away.
He turned back to Moody, his face split into a massive, victorious grin.
“Moody,” Vihaan said, stepping forward and placing his hands on his hips.
“You are the best.
You are the greatest, most absolute, top-tier system in the universe.
I take back the punch.” Moody’s screen instantly flushed bright pink, a bashful, embarrassed anime face appearing (⁄ ⁄•⁄ω⁄•⁄ ⁄).
“O-Oh stop it, Host,” Moody stammered, swaying side to side.
“I know I am amazing, but you don’t have to say it out loud…
even though it is entirely true.” Vihaan chuckled.
“So, where are they?
Do they just pop out of the air right now?” “No, that would be creepy,” Moody said, recovering its bravado.
“The System has already inserted their identities into this world’s database.
They will arrive at the Malhotra Motion Pictures office today at exactly 12:00 PM for ‘interviews’ you supposedly set up.
And remember, Host, their loyalty to you is hardcoded.
They will never betray you, take bribes, or leak studio secrets.” “Perfect,” Vihaan whispered, his eyes gleaming with ambition.
Moody floated closer, the digital face looking curious.
“So, Host.
You have the little money.
You have your A-Grade talents.
You survived the Bollywood clash.” The system tilted.
“Now what will you do?” Vihaan looked out the window.
The chaotic, sprawling, smog-filled skyline of Mumbai stretched out before him, baking in the morning sun.
It was an industry built on egos, nepotism, and outdated traditions.
And it was completely ripe for the taking.
“We don’t just survive anymore, Moody,” Vihaan said, his voice dropping into a calm, absolute certainty.
“I am going to take India to the absolute center of the global entertainment map.
We are going to build the biggest Entertainment hub this country and then the world has ever seen.
And the biggest face of it all…” Vihaan turned back to the glowing blue screen, a fierce fire burning in his eyes.
“…will be Vihaan Malhotra.” “He Haaa HEE hAA”…..
– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – The old grandfather clock in the corner of Vihaan’s office ticked steadily.
12:01 PM.
12:02 PM.
Vihaan sat behind his father’s large mahogany desk, tapping his pen against the wooden surface.
The studio outside was buzzing with the sounds of minor renovations and sweeping brooms, but inside the office, it was completely quiet.
12:03 PM.
Knock.
Knock.
Knock.
The heavy wooden door pushed open.
Three men stepped into the office in perfect, almost synchronized unison.
Vihaan blinked, sitting up slightly.
They looked…
oddly similar.
They weren’t exact clones, but they shared the exact same sharp jawline, the same height, and the same alert, intelligent eyes.
It was like looking at three cousins who shared incredibly strong genetics.
However, their styling was completely different.
The first man stepped forward.
He wore a crisp, tailored charcoal-grey suit, his hair slicked back with absolute corporate precision.
He carried a sleek leather briefcase.
“Hello, Boss,” he said, his voice smooth and authoritative.
“I am Naman.
Your Business Manager.” The second man stepped up.
He was dressed in a casual black t-shirt, a heavy watch on his wrist, and thick-rimmed glasses.
He had an aura of intense focus.
“Hi, Boss,” he nodded respectfully.
“I am Aman.
Your VFX, CGI, and Master Editing Specialist.” The third man leaned slightly to the side.
He had messy, artistic hair, wearing a loose linen shirt with sleeves rolled up.
“And I am Raman,” he smiled, a bright, creative spark in his eyes.
“The Master Illustrator.
We are entirely at your service.” Vihaan stared at them.
Aman.
Naman.
Raman.
He slowly lowered his head, pressing his hand over his mouth to muffle a sudden, violent snort of laughter.
“Moody,” Vihaan whispered under his breath.
“Did you really just name them Aman, Naman, and Raman?” A tiny blue holographic screen popped up near his coffee mug, displaying a shrugging emoji ¯_(ツ)_/¯.
“I ran out of creative processing power generating their fake Aadhar cards, okay?
Don’t judge my naming sense, Host!” Vihaan shook his head, composing himself.
He looked back at the trio.
Despite the lazy names, the aura they exuded was undeniable.
They radiated absolute, top-tier competence.
“Welcome to Malhotra Motion Pictures,” Vihaan smiled, standing up and shaking their hands.
He pressed the intercom button.
“Sanjay uncle?
Could you come to my office for a minute?
Bring Ramesh too.” A minute later, Sanjay walked in, adjusting his glasses, followed by Ramesh, one of the senior production assistants.
Sanjay stopped in his tracks, looking at the three identical-ish men standing in a neat row.
“Sanjay uncle, meet the new core executives of our studio,” Vihaan announced proudly.
“Naman will be handling our corporate business and acquisitions.
Aman is taking over the post-production and editing pipeline.
And Raman will head our art and concept department.” Sanjay looked bewildered.
“Vihaan…
when did you interview them?
Where did they come from?” “I’ve been headhunting them quietly for weeks,” Vihaan lied smoothly, not missing a beat.
“They are the best in the business.
Naman, I want you in the large office directly adjacent to mine.
Aman, Raman, the studio renovation is still happening, so Sanjay uncle will find you temporary setups in the east wing.” The trio nodded in unison.
“Understood, Boss.” Sanjay, still slightly dazed by their intense professionalism, ushered them out of the door to give them the studio tour.
As the door clicked shut, Vihaan let out a long breath and sank back into his father’s chair.
He booted up his computer and opened the financial spreadsheet.
Today was July 29, 2008.
The dust from the Shantivan cyclone had finally settled.
All the theatrical runs had ended.
The pipeline money from Yash Raj Films and UFO Moviez had successfully cleared into the company accounts.
After paying the June salaries, clearing the studio maintenance, and paying the advance bank EMIs up to January 2009, Malhotra Motion Pictures was sitting on a massive, undisputed war chest.
Nearly ₹38 Crores in pure, liquid cash.
A few months ago, they were begging for time over a ₹20 Crore debt.
Now, Vihaan had enough capital to finance two major Bollywood films simultaneously.
But Vihaan didn’t want to make just another movie.
“I need to make a statement,” Vihaan muttered, tapping his pen on the desk.
“I need something that proves Shantivan wasn’t a fluke.
Something that establishes this studio as a powerhouse.
I need a lot of money.” Pop!
Moody suddenly materialized, hanging upside down from the ceiling like a digital bat, its screen displaying a devious, scheming smile (¬‿¬).
“Did someone say…
a lot of money?” Moody chimed.
Vihaan leaned back, crossing his arms.
“What do you want, Moody?” “Vihaan, my lovely, ambitious Host,” Moody said, flipping upright and floating down to the desk.
It struck a thinking pose, a digital hand stroking a virtual chin.
“Let’s look at the current timeline.
It is 2008.
The Bollywood box office is growing, but it hasn’t reached its ultimate milestone yet.” Moody leaned in close.
“If your next film crosses…
hmm…
let’s say…
₹100 Crores in Net Box Office.” Vihaan’s eyes widened slightly.
In 2008, the “100 Crore Club” didn’t officially exist yet.
It was a mythical number.
(Historically, Aamir Khan’s Ghajini would be the first to touch it in December 2008).
Hitting 100 Crores wasn’t just a hit; it was a cultural phenomenon.
“If you hit 100 Crores,” Moody whispered, the screen glowing bright gold.
“I will bypass the lucky draw.
I will directly award you the 11-Dub AI.” Vihaan’s breath caught in his throat.
“Perfect dubbing,” Moody tempted, its voice sounding like a seasoned salesman.
“Across every language on Earth.
Tamil, Telugu, English, Spanish, Mandarin.
And it won’t sound like a cheap voiceover.
The AI perfectly maps the original actor’s vocal cords.
It will feel like Shah Rukh Khan is natively speaking fluent US English, with the exact same emotional breaks, the same raspy depth, and perfect lip-sync.” Vihaan stared at the system.
If he had the 11-Dub AI, the language barrier of Indian cinema would instantly shatter.
He wouldn’t just be making Bollywood movies.
He would be making Pan-India, global blockbusters without spending a single rupee on foreign dubbing studios.
Vihaan felt a massive surge of adrenaline pump through his veins.
He grabbed his notepad and pulled it toward him.
“Challenge accepted,” Vihaan said, his eyes burning with intense focus.
“Yay!
Good luck, Host!” Moody cheered, vanishing with a pop.
Vihaan stared at the blank page.
How do you make 100 Crores in 2008?
It couldn’t be another simple comedy.
He needed something gripping.
Something that would command premium multiplex ticket prices but also keep the single-screen audiences on the edge of their seats.
It needed immense repeat value.
It needed a soundtrack that would rule the radio stations.
It needed a script so unpredictable that nobody could spoil the ending.
He started writing down ideas.
Romantic Drama?
No, too saturated.
YRF and Dharma already owned that space.
He tore the page out and threw it away.
Action Masala?
No, he didn’t want to compete with Akshay Kumar and Salman Khan on their home turf just yet.
He tore another page out.
Horror?
He just did that.
He needed to avoid being typecast.
Tear.
Crumple.
Toss.
He sat there for an hour, chewing on the end of his pen.
His mind dove deep into his perfect, system-indexed media library.
He scanned through thousands of scripts, looking for the ultimate thriller.
He needed something dark, witty, musically brilliant, and mind-bending.
Suddenly, an image flashed in his mind.
A piano.
A dead body on the floor.
A blind man continuing to play the piano while a murderer cleaned up the blood behind him.
Vihaan froze.
The sheer cinematic brilliance of it hit him like a freight train.
In 2018, this movie had shocked the nation, redefined the thriller genre in India, and swept the National Awards.
If he released it ten years early, to a 2008 audience that was completely starved for intelligent, plot-driven thrillers…
it wouldn’t just be a hit.
It would cause absolute madness in the theaters.
A slow, confident smile spread across Vihaan’s face.
He pressed his pen to the fresh paper.
He wrote a single word across the center of the page, underlining it twice.
ANDHADHUN