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Chapter 286: This Is How It’s Done
🕑 Added 2025-09-12 10:23:58 +0000 UTC“They shot down the mountain track idea, at least for now…”
“Ugh, lame. Why not ditch ‘em and do it solo?”
“We don’t have the bandwidth. Golden Experience and Steel Chain Fingers are game studios, not event planners…”
“So, that’s it? Donezo?”
Sunlight poured through the windshield.
Gus Harper’s sleek black SUV rolled into the sales office parking lot, guided by security.
Click. Gus unbuckled, grinning. “Nah, I pitched a compromise. They’re in.”
“Sweet!” Zoey Parker, in the passenger seat, popped her reclined seat upright, slipped her feet—rocking cute lace socks—into sneakers, and peeled off a curling “Zoey’s Throne” sticker from the glovebox. “This thing’s falling apart. Gotta bolt it down with a metal plate…”
Gus choked on his water. “Yo, leave my ride alone!”
“Tch, stingy,” Zoey teased, sticking out her tongue.
They hopped out, doors slamming.
“Oh, right,” Zoey said, slinging her bag over her shoulder. “Event budget—did it go up?”
“Big time,” Gus nodded. “Doubled from $7.6M to $16M.”
Three days after Gus’s reworked Golden Bull Joint Extreme Challenge pitch, Max Wheeler and Matt of Tencel Bull, after an all-night debate, signed on for the high-risk, high-reward mix of goofy and extreme.
“One snag, though,” Gus said as they left the lot. “With the budget and risk spiked, Tencel’s pushing back on the split. They want a smaller cut.”
Zoey raised an eyebrow. “Risky how? What’s the event?”
“Soapbox Derby,” Gus said, laying out the brakeless, wacko car race.
Before he could mention the no-chute skydive, Zoey doubled over, cackling. “Hahaha, that’s so dumb! ‘High risk’? Who’s gonna care about this clown show?”
She’d braced for Gus’s wild brain to drop something unhinged, but this? Kids’ cars with no brakes sliding down a hill? Peak absurdity. No way it’d pull clout.
Tencel Bull—seasoned execs—must’ve thought Gus needed a doctor. Even Zoey, sans her rebate system, would’ve.
“Alright, alright,” she gasped, patting Gus’s shoulder. “Solid chaos, bro. I’m in. What’s their offer?”
“They want 40-60. Their $6.4M to our $9.6M, same split for ad space.”
Zoey waved it off. “Pfft, round it up. We’ll do $10M, they do $6M.”
What a scam, she thought. Tencel footing 40% for this circus? They were begging to get fleeced.
Her system made losses painless—$10M or $20M, she’d cash out big with a 100x rebate (Chapter 289). But Tencel’s cash was real. If this flopped, they’d eat it.
Zoey felt a twinge of guilt. Burning her money was fine—she had the system. Dragging Tencel into a sinkhole? Kinda shady.
“Hmm,” Gus mused. Tencel would jump at the $400K discount—40% ad space for less coin? Free lunch.
But Gus wasn’t handing out freebies. That $400K cut had to earn its keep.
His eyes lit up. The no-chute skydive’s 50x50-meter safety net—2,500 square meters of prime ad real estate. Originally, WindyPeak and Tencel split it 50-50, alongside plane logos (WindyPeak on the fuselage, Tencel on wings), Ike Garcia’s gear (WindyPeak back, Tencel chest), and instructor uniforms (all WindyPeak).
Zoey’s $400K concession? Perfect leverage. Gus could yield some plane or gear space but claim the entire net for WindyPeak’s logo. If Ike nailed the drop, that net—blazing with WindyPeak’s brand—would be the money shot, broadcast worldwide.
“Cool,” Gus nodded. “I’ll pitch Tencel the $10M-$6M split, see if they bite.”
Zoey blinked, surprised, then grinned. “They’d be nuts to say no to free cash. Ad space stays the same, right?”
“Yup,” Gus said, smiling slyly. He’d keep the net play close to the chest.
They hit the landscaped boulevard outside the sales office.
“Hold up!” Zoey grabbed Gus’s arm.
“What now?” Gus asked, bracing for her next prank.
She stuck out her hand, smirking.
Gus blinked, then high-fived. “…Yeah?”
A flock of mental crows flew over Zoey’s head. She yanked his arm. “Not that, you dork!”
She looped her arm through his. “It’s property handover day. Penny Quinn’s gonna be here. Gotta sell the act, you know?”
Gus froze. He’d forgotten to tell her—Penny was already locked down with her sister, Emma “Hammer” Quinn, living it up. Zoey thought they were still playing matchmaker, but Penny and Emma were out here joking about “spicy romance in Denver.”
“Uh…” Gus hesitated.
“What?” Zoey raised an eyebrow.
Gus sighed, lifting his arm. “Take it off.”
He grabbed her hand, intertwining their fingers. “This is how it’s done.”
Zoey froze, cheeks flushing. Her slender fingers locked with his, a shy grin spreading. “Yeah… like this…”
Meanwhile, at Nebula Games’ HQ, CEO Victor Lang stared at a design sketch, brows knotted.
The sketch? A four-wheeled rig—barebones chassis, simple rod, small wheels. But the shell? A sleek, Nebula-blue-and-black lowrider, styled like a supercar.
“This screams what, exactly?” Victor snapped. “We’re a gaming platform and somatosensory pod giant. A sports car? Are we selling Lambos now?”
“But…” the art team lead stammered, “we wanted to slap our logo on it, but they wouldn’t let us…”
“Tch,” Victor scoffed. “No logo? Then make it ours. What’s Apex Interactive doing?”
The lead hesitated. “Rumor is, a polar bear tricycle.”
Bang! Victor slammed the desk. “That’s the vibe! Apex has been schooling us forever—time to flip the script. Their mascot’s a polar bear. What’s ours?”
“Shark,” the lead said.
Nebula’s logo—a shark fin cutting through digital waves, king of the gaming ocean.
“Exactly!” Victor grabbed a pen, sketching over the design. “Shark body for our brand. Add hawk wings—shows we’re unstoppable, soaring anywhere. Plus, it’ll cut drag.”
The lead raised a hand. “Uh, boss… it’s unpowered. No drag to cut…”
Victor shoved the sketch aside. “Enough talk! Redo it. We’re outshining Apex.”
“Yes, sir!” The lead grabbed the sketch and bolted.
In the hall, he studied Victor’s work. Shark body, hawk wings—weird as hell.
After three rounds of talks, WindyPeak and Tencel Bull sealed a $10M-$6M deal for the Golden Bull Joint Extreme Challenge: Soapbox Derby.
Both sides moved fast. Soapbox races weren’t new, but treating them as a legit competition with a custom track? First of its kind.
Problem? Nobody signed up.
It looked too absurd—like a prank. When WindyPeak’s X account and Gus’s personal handle dropped the news, most fans thought it was a teaser for a quirky new game. Comments rolled in:
“Zoey’s cooking another weird-ass game, hyped!”
“Soapbox? What’s next, Cat Rio 2?”
Zoey cackled. Her first Publicity and Marketing Project receipt popped:
[Publicity and Promotion Sub-project: Golden Bull Challenge]
[Investment: $10M]
[Settlement Time: 7 days (+0 days)]
[Rebate Rate: 100x (+0x)]
[Current Revenue: $0]
[Estimated Rebate: $1B]
[Settlement Timer: Awaiting Start]
Tied to Peak Nation’s 100x multiplier (Chapter 285), this low-stakes bet could bank a billion. Zoey was stoked—locked in, untouchable.
But with no players signing up, Gus huddled with Ethan “Zane” Holt and Max Wheeler, flipping the playbook.
No outsiders? Time to rope in the industry.
Gus didn’t know Tencel’s contacts, but he went all-in, hitting every gaming player—big dogs like Nebula Games and Apex Interactive, to small fries like Starlight Tech, Horizon Studios, and Nexus Games. Even media outlets—Gamer’s Pulse, PlayVibe, and Cabin Fever—got dragged into the soapbox circus.
Once the floodgates opened, the goofy race’s hype went nuclear…
