Bonus Chapter.
The offices of Cooper Attorney Firm remained unusually quiet for a Monday evening.
Most employees had already gone home hours ago, leaving only scattered lights glowing behind the windows of the small Burbank building.
Outside, traffic still drifted along the boulevard in a distant, constant hum, but inside the firm the noise faded into something softer and more restrained.
The interior remained as clean and professional as ever without appearing overly luxurious. Soft lighting pooled across organised desks and neatly stacked filing cabinets, casting long shadows through the narrow hallways.
A forgotten coffee cup sat beside a printer that had long since gone silent. The usual muted conversations that filled the office during the day had disappeared, replaced now by the low buzz of fluorescent lights and the occasional creak of the ageing building settling into the night.
The atmosphere still felt efficient rather than intimidating, though at this hour it carried a quiet exhaustion beneath the professionalism.
Inside one of the remaining illuminated offices, Elizabeth Cooper leaned back slightly in her chair while massaging the bridge of her nose tiredly.
Her reading glasses rested beside an untouched cup of coffee that had gone cold at least an hour earlier.
She exhaled slowly and let her eyes drift toward the glass wall separating her office from the empty corridor outside.
The reception area beyond sat dark except for a single lamp near the front desk, its warm glow stretching faintly across the polished floor.
For a moment, the silence felt heavier than usual.
Stacks of documents covered nearly half her desk: trademark filings, copyright registrations, corporate incorporation papers, banking records, licensing agreements, retail contracts, and manufacturing agreements.
At the centre of everything sat one particular folder.
Industrial Illusions.
Elizabeth stared at the name silently for several moments while thinking, 'Even now it still feels somewhat surreal. A card game company. Created by a fifteen-year-old boy. And somehow... Despite how absurd that sounded... Everything continued progressing with frightening momentum.'
Elizabeth exhaled slowly before reopening one of the finalised registration documents.
INDUSTRIAL ILLUSIONS LLC
Registered Owner: Roland Cooper acting as legal guardian of Alexander Jones.
Naturally, the true ownership structure hidden beneath the legal framework was far more complicated than that.
Alexander maintained complete ownership and control of the company through private agreements and protected legal structures she personally drafted.
Officially, however, Roland served as the legal public face due to Alexander’s age.
And according to her uncle Roland himself, also because Hugh Jones explicitly prohibited Alexander from using the Jones family name and influence directly.
A test for his heir, he called it.
Elizabeth still remembered her surprise the first time her uncle explained it.
Most wealthy fathers would have immediately thrown endless resources behind their son’s ambitions, especially ambitions with this much visible potential, but Hugh Jones had done the opposite.
No corporate shortcuts, no political favours, no leveraging the Jones name; Alexander had to build everything himself or fail trying.
At first Elizabeth thought the restriction was excessive; now, however, she started to see it in another light entirely.
She slowly closed another completed file before leaning back thoughtfully, 'Maybe Hugh Jones simply understood his son's potential better than most people ever would...'
A faint smile appeared on her face as she thought, 'Honestly… Alexander probably prefers it this way too. The boy possesses an almost frightening level of pride and ambition beneath his calm exterior.'
Elizabeth had seen ambitious people before in her career, like corporate executives, law firm partners, investors, and politicians, but Alexander felt different.
Most people chased after success, but Alexander looked at the world as if he intended to reshape it, and somehow people around him kept starting to believe he actually could.
Her eyes slowly drifted toward the framed photograph resting quietly near the corner of her desk.
A younger version of herself stood smiling between her mother, her father, and her uncle Roland.
Her expression softened immediately.
Her father. Lieutenant Colonel Daniel Cooper.
Even after all these years, the memories remained vivid: the long absences, the military bases, the phone calls from overseas.
Yet despite how often duty pulled him away, whenever he returned home, he always devoted every moment possible to her and her mother.
Elizabeth still remembered sitting on his shoulders during local fairs while he laughed loudly enough to embarrass her mother, or the way he somehow always brought gifts back from deployments no matter how remote the location.
Then one day he never came home again. The notification officers, the funeral, the folded flag.
Elizabeth quietly closed her eyes for a brief moment.
At the time, she thought her world had ended, but her uncle stepped forward without hesitation.
He left the military shortly afterwards and entered the private sector despite possessing none of the business background many others had, yet somehow, through sheer discipline, competence, and stubbornness, he succeeded.
Eventually, his path crossed with Hugh Jones, and from there everything changed.
Uncle Roland became Hugh’s most trusted man, closest confidant, protector, and problem solver.
Meanwhile, he also ensured neither Elizabeth nor her mother ever lacked anything.
Financial stability. Guidance. Support. Presence.
At some point, without Elizabeth fully realising it, Uncle Roland simply became her father in every way that mattered.
Which was precisely why she trusted Alexander far more easily than she normally would have.
Uncle Roland believed in him completely, and Uncle Roland rarely misjudged people.
Elizabeth glanced once more toward the massive collection of paperwork spread across her desk.
Over the past several weeks she had finalised trademarks for Duel Monsters, secured copyrights for card artwork and designs, established banking structures, handled licensing protections, reviewed production contracts, and incorporated an entire company.
And the strangest part?
This was only the beginning.
The weekend demonstration results alone already showed frightening potential.
Every single hosted event succeeded.
Some locations performed better than others naturally depending on traffic and visibility, but according to the reports she reviewed, the game never failed to attract attention, not once.
Children became invested almost immediately. Parents stayed longer than expected. Products sold rapidly and perhaps most importantly, people returned asking for more.
A slow breath escaped her lips as she muttered, "Haa…This might actually become enormous."
For the first time in years, Elizabeth felt genuine excitement toward her work.
Not routine contracts. Not endless corporate disputes. Not predictable negotiations. Something new. Something growing. Something alive.
And somehow a fifteen-year-old had become the centre of it all.
Elizabeth stared silently at the Industrial Illusions file once more before finally closing it carefully.
Then she smiled faintly, "Well… if Uncle Roland is betting on you that heavily…"
Her eyes sharpened slightly, "…Then I suppose I should too."
~~~▽~~~
Several miles away across Los Angeles, another office remained illuminated long after sunset.
Inside the upper floor of Merriweather Commercial Printing & Design, Thomas Merriweather sat alone behind his desk silently reviewing several pages of financial reports.
The room smelled faintly of ink, paper, machine oil, and stale coffee.
A familiar scent, one he had lived around for nearly twenty years.
Normally, reviewing production numbers gave him comfort as they were mostly predictable, stable, and understandable.
Tonight, however, Thomas rubbed his forehead tiredly before looking once more toward the newest production request sitting near the centre of his desk while thinking, 'Another increase. Larger than the previous one... Again. At first Alexander's orders looked like a lucky contract. As starter decks increased, booster production expanded, promotional material multiplied, and reprint requests started arriving almost immediately afterwards. But now...'
Thomas slowly exhaled through his nose and muttered out loud, "...Now this is becoming something else entirely."
Earlier that afternoon, several friends he trusted visited the weekend Duel Monsters demonstrations personally at his request.
Their reports remained scattered across his desk.
"All products sold steadily."
"Kids stayed inside the stores for hours."
"People immediately started playing after buying."
"One location almost sold out completely."
"Customers kept asking when more product would arrive."
Thomas stared at the final line for several extra seconds while thinking, '"When more product would arrive." That is the important part. Not: "Did they buy it?" But: "When can we buy more?" That's a clear sign of the market's response to this product...'
Slowly, Thomas leaned back heavily in his chair while staring toward the ceiling.
With his decades of experience in commercial printing, he understood exactly what kind of opportunity this represented, 'Most products fade quickly. Novelty carries them briefly before demand collapses. But Duel Monsters… No. This feels different... Because people are not simply buying a product but they are engaging with a system, a hobby, a social activity. And booster packs...'
Thomas narrowed his eyes slightly as he realised, 'That is the real monster hidden underneath everything. Starter decks introduce players to the game. Booster packs create the obsession to keep playing it.'
Collection. Trading. Competition. Rarity. Repeat purchases. Potentially endless repeat purchases.
Slowly, Thomas stood from his chair before walking toward the office window overlooking part of the city below.
His current facilities would never handle long-term expansion, not if growth continued at this pace.
Which meant he needed scale. Massive scale.
And recently, through several industry contacts, Thomas learned about a manufacturing factory currently drowning under severe financial problems.
A large facility with good infrastructure and strong transportation access likely heading toward bankruptcy within months.
Under normal circumstances, acquiring and refitting such a facility would sound insane for a company his size, but these were no longer normal circumstances.
Thomas returned toward his desk before opening a thick notebook filled with handwritten calculations, then once more he reviewed the numbers carefully.
Printing press:
$200,000–$500,000.
Cutting and finishing equipment:
$50,000–$150,000.
Packaging systems:
$100,000–$300,000.
Warehouse restructuring.
Transportation.
Installation.
Labor.
And finally factory acquisition costs.
Total estimated investment:
roughly $500,000 to over $1.2 million.
Thomas stared at the final total silently.
Even after the recent surge in profits generated through Alexander’s premium orders, it wasn’t enough, not even close; he would need loans, large ones at that.
Thomas closed his eyes briefly.
For a moment, the numbers stopped looking like investments and started looking like consequences.
Loans of that size were not abstract figures on paper. They were monthly payments. Interest. Deadlines. Bank meetings. Legal obligations. It was pure pressure.
If demand slowed even slightly after expansion began, the entire structure could collapse underneath him.
A failed acquisition alone could cripple the company for years, and factories were not forgiving mistakes.
Machines broke. Supply costs fluctuated. Employees needed wages regardless of market conditions. Shipping delays, maintenance failures, production errors. Any one of them could turn optimism into disaster frighteningly fast.
Thomas had spent nearly twenty years building Merriweather Commercial Printing carefully and conservatively, specifically to avoid risks like this.
Steady contracts. Predictable growth. Controlled expansion. Survive first. Profit second.
That philosophy had carried him through the current recessions, material shortages, and competitors far larger than himself, but now he was considering throwing all of that stability into a furnace over a card game. A card game.
Thomas gave a short, humourless laugh before rubbing his face again.
If someone had described this situation to him a year ago, he would have called them irresponsible, probably delusional and yet the numbers refused to behave like delusion.
That was the problem; the demand was real, worse than real, it was accelerating each passing day.
Every instinct developed through decades in the industry kept warning him how dangerous rapid expansion could become while simultaneously whispering that failing to move now might be an even greater mistake.
That contradiction sat heavily in his chest.
If he went through with that, he would be risking his business, his reputation, his future, and everything he spent decades building.
For several long moments, the office remained completely silent except for the distant humming of machinery downstairs.
Thomas slowly stood once more before beginning to pace across the room and muttered, "This is insane…"
And yet every instinct he possessed kept screaming the same thing.
This is an opportunity. Not a good opportunity, not a profitable opportunity, but a life-changing opportunity. The kind that appeared once in an entire lifetime if someone was lucky.
Thomas stopped walking briefly before remembering the first day Alexander walked into his office, 'Young. Calm. Completely serious. And far more capable than someone his age should have been... And those eyes...'
Thomas narrowed his gaze slightly.
He had seen ambition before but not like that.
Alexander spoke about Duel Monsters as though its success was already inevitable. Not out of arrogance but of sheer conviction. The kind capable of dragging others forward with it.
Thomas slowly looked back toward the production estimates once more, then finally his expression hardened, "…Damn it."
He sat back down heavily before pulling the telephone closer.
A few seconds later, he began dialling.
If he wanted to seize this opportunity, then he needed to stop hesitating and gamble everything on it.
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