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Chapter 285: The Wildcard Among Goofballs, the MVP of Daredevils
🕑 Added 2025-09-10 12:01:14 +0000 UTC“Zoey’s pushing to max out the budget on this collab,” Gus Harper said, spreading his hands at Walter Parker’s villa. “I’m on the fence—not sure if now’s the time to dive in. First round of talks wrapped for now.”
Walter sipped his tea, mulling it over.
Gus had a point. WindyPeak was killing it in gaming, but they were still a mid-sized outfit, worth maybe $1-2B. They were in growth mode, pumping cash into core games like Overwatch ($18M budget, Chapter 277). Sponsoring a wild real-world event? Risky move.
And Zoey wanting to crank costs up? That made a shaky project even dicier.
“But,” Walter said, “Zoey’s got a nose for this. A $7.6M ad budget’s peanuts for you guys now. Big effort, small splash. If you’re gonna fly a flag, make it a billboard.”
He shot Gus a look, almost proud. My girl’s finally getting it.
“As for whether it’s worth it,” Walter continued, locking eyes, “business is about betting big. Peak Nation was a long shot—nobody bet on extreme sports. You made it a banger. This joint event’s different but same vibe. Find a hook like the Peak Eight, and you’re golden. Plus, Tencel’s splitting the risk.”
Gus nodded, gears turning. Walter was Team Zoey on this one.
WindyPeak couldn’t stay a one-trick pony. To build a gaming empire, they had to branch out beyond games. Komina, their big rival, had a sprawling playbook worth studying—minus the sloppy investments. WindyPeak needed a lean, game-centric model that sprouted new branches, like this Peak Nation-fueled extreme sports event.
A rare shot.
“Got it,” Gus said. “I know how to amp the hype and the budget…”
Three days later, round two of Tencel Bull and WindyPeak talks kicked off.
Tencel sent Matt (Chairman) and Max Wheeler (CEO). WindyPeak had Gus and Ethan “Zane” Holt, since Zoey was off at a young entrepreneurs’ summit in Washington, repping Seattle after Apex Entertainment’s triple shoutout and print feature (Chapter 286).
Gus brought a beefed-up plan for the Golden Bull Joint Extreme Challenge.
First pitch? Soapbox Derby.
Matt blinked at the name, puzzled. “I’ve heard of this… kids’ thing from the 1930s East Coast, right? Slap wheels and a steering wheel on a soapbox, slide down a hill?”
He squinted. “This is just a name, yeah? What’s the actual format?”
Gus grinned, awkward but polite. “Same deal. Contestants build weird-ass cars—within size and weight limits, no power—and race down a slope. Scored on track performance, speed, and how wild the design is. Winner gets a prize.”
Dead silence.
Matt’s jaw dropped. Max frowned, lost. Even Zane shot Gus a what the hell look.
…Huh?
Max opened and closed his mouth, hands twitching. We’re talking extreme sports, right?
This was no Peak Eight—no Himalayas skydiving, no Alps avalanches, no Angel Falls climbs. A 1930s kids’ game?
Extreme goofball energy.
Max’s face twisted like he was holding in a rant but didn’t want to be rude. “What’s… the danger here?”
“Oh, my bad,” Gus said, smacking his forehead. “No brakes.”
Max: …
What the actual—?
Peak Nation was your baby! Himalayas! Angel Falls! And now you’re hyping a brakeless soapbox as extreme?
Max’s grandma dodging traffic in her wheelchair was more hardcore.
He was speechless. Worse, Zane—usually the sharp one—nodded like this was genius. “Sounds fun.”
Max nearly fainted. Is WindyPeak a clown factory?
Gus clocked the vibe. Only Zane got it.
Max rubbed his temples, forcing calm. “Can we… revisit the ridge race?”
“Oh, yeah, we’re game,” Gus nodded. “But Zoey wants to go big—open a new mountain track. We’d drop $30M, take a quarter to build it. That’s our challenge course.”
Max: …
He was done. Brain fried. Ready to bail.
Open a mountain? $30M? These people were lunatics. Gus was a wildcard, Zoey a money-torching maniac, and Zane—Mr. 20-Years-of-Connections—had caught their crazy.
Matt, curious despite himself, piped up. “And this 7,000-meter skydiving thing? Where’s the extreme?”
Max rolled his eyes. Matt, don’t poke the bear. It’s just a high-altitude jump, right?
Gus grinned. “No parachute.”
“It’s like fish sticks with no fish, or cronuts with no wife. Skydiving… sans chute.”
Max froze. Stood. Walked backward out of the room. Checked the sign: WindyPeak Conference Room 1. Glanced at the “WindyPeak Games” logo on the auto-door.
Am I in a nuthouse?
He shuffled back, raising a hand. “Sorry, Gus, run that by me again. 7,000-meter skydiving… what’s the deal?”
Gus chuckled. “Few days ago, Octane—our Peak Nation champ, sole Nirvana · Peak King titleholder—got a DM. One of his extreme sports buddies, Ike Garcia, wants us to sponsor a nuts challenge: 7,620-meter skydive, no parachute.”
Max nearly laughed. Suicide much?
Gus waved it off. “Not just for kicks. There’s a 50x50-meter high-strength fiber net to catch him. Three pro parachutists guard him, high-altitude cam crew films it. Inspired by Peak Eight’s Swallow Cave dive.”
Ike, 25, wanted to one-up the game’s virtual thrill in real life.
Max’s face went green. From heat to ice in seconds.
WindyPeak’s vibe was chaos. One event, two projects:
Soapbox Derby, a brakeless kids’ game—goofball champion.
7,620-meter no-chute skydive, banking on a tiny net—daredevil MVP.
Not the athletes pushing limits. The sponsors’ sanity.
Silence gripped the room. Max, brain-dead, glanced at Matt.
Under the table, Zane gave Gus a sneaky thumbs-up. Nailed it, bro.
These projects—goofy soapbox and death-defying skydive—were ice and fire. Pure hype fuel for pre-event buzz. If they pulled it off, the Golden Bull Joint Extreme Challenge would blow up.
But the risk? Public backlash if it flopped—or worse, if someone got hurt.
Tencel Bull had to decide.
