Lord of Entertainment

(3rd Person POV)

The bamboo fountain clicked rhythmically against stone as another half hour passed. Autumn leaves drifted across the dueling ground where Arthur and Takeshi continued their dance.

The observers believed Takeshi was merely prolonging the fight for sport. They couldn't see his growing frustration as Arthur blocked each increasingly powerful strike while maintaining his facade of struggle.

"Stop playing around, Takeshi!" Haruto's voice carried across the garden. "End this!"

Takeshi's teeth clenched as he launched another barrage, each blocked by Arthur's seemingly clumsy yet effective defense.

Yasushi leaned forward, his expression shifting from boredom to interest.

Then Arthur moved. After thirty minutes of pure defense, his stance shifted to attack. Takeshi raised his guard, confident - until Arthur's wooden blade slipped past his defense like water through stones, striking a vital point with precision.

As Takeshi grunted from the impact, Arthur followed with another strike. The wooden katana flew from Takeshi's grip, and the mighty samurai found himself sitting in the garden dirt, stunned disbelief on his face.

The wooden blade rested against Takeshi's throat. He looked up to find Arthur smiling down at him, relaxed as if they'd just finished a casual game.

"Well, that was entertaining, wasn't it? For both you and our audience. And look - I even managed to win." Arthur's casual tone carried none of his earlier strain.

Takeshi stared, his mind struggling to process his defeat.

Around the garden, everyone had risen to their feet, faces frozen in shock.

"This... this isn't possible..." Kaede's whisper barely carried on the breeze.

"Could Takeshi have thrown the match?" Haruto suggested weakly, but even as he said it, he knew better. Takeshi would sooner die than dishonor himself with a false defeat.

Yasushi and Satsuki exchanged stunned glances. Even the ninja had fallen silent, their earlier playfulness replaced by awe. None had imagined witnessing the third prince's strongest samurai fall to an entertainer.

"You..." Takeshi stared up at Arthur, recognition dawning in his eyes as he recalled Arthur's seemingly desperate blocks transforming into this casual mastery. Understanding hit him - he'd been the one being played all along.

A wry smile crossed his face. "I severely underestimated you."

Arthur remained silent as Takeshi continued, "You feigned weakness, defended cautiously to lower my guard, then struck at the perfect moment. Brilliant strategy."

Arthur's face showed confusion - he'd merely pretended weakness out of habit, and struck simply because the fight had grown tedious. But Takeshi's interpretation saved him the trouble of explanation, so he let it stand.

Arthur extended his hand to Takeshi, who ignored it and rose on his own. Then, unexpectedly, Takeshi bowed deeply, his earlier contempt replaced with genuine respect.

"Please forgive my previous disrespect," Takeshi's voice carried new humility. "Your victory has earned my regard. I hope you'll overlook my earlier insults."

"Don't worry about it," Arthur smiled easily. "I understand why samurai would question my honor."

Kaede and Haruto stood frozen, still processing this turn of events.

Before anyone could stop him, Haruto stepped forward. "I challenge you-"

"Silence!" Takeshi's bark cut him off. "You call yourself a samurai? Trying to fight him while he's weary from our duel?"

Haruto's mouth snapped shut. Beside him, Kaede swallowed her own challenge, shame coloring her cheeks.

Yet Arthur accepted Haruto's challenge anyway. Ten minutes later, Haruto joined Takeshi in defeat. Yasushi and Satsuki exchanged knowing looks - they'd caught Arthur's deliberate show of struggle.

The message was clear to everyone: Arthur was far stronger than he let on. He'd revealed just enough of his power to earn respect while clearly holding back, ensuring the third prince wouldn't underestimate him again. Arthur knew well that Yasushi had orchestrated this test.

"You've surprised me greatly," Yasushi admitted. "I saw only a director before me, but now I see much more."

Arthur's response was just a smile, interrupted by the excited ninja.

"That was amazing!" Kurotani bounced with enthusiasm.

"See? This proves ninja techniques are superior to samurai ways!" Yokuma declared.

The age-old argument erupted again between the warriors.

"Such children," Yasushi sighed, guiding Arthur away from the bickering to discuss their film project and Arthur's broader plans for Japon.

***

Sunlight filtered through paper screens in the rented production office, where hopeful actors filled the hall's wooden benches.

The scent of fresh tea and nervous energy mingled in the air as the line stretched down the corridor of the minor film studio Arthur had commandeered for auditions.

News of Arthur's samurai film project had spread like wildfire through Japon's entertainment circles after major TV channels and newspapers broke the story. Film critics and industry insiders buzzed with anticipation about how this foreign director would handle their cultural heritage.

Nervous whispers rippled through the waiting actors.

"Just imagine - being in a hundred-million-dollar film!" an actor nudged his friend excitedly. "This could be our big break!"

"Keep dreaming," his companion sighed. "Look who we're competing against."

All eyes drifted to Seiji Kurotaba, the famous Japonese star whose mere presence seemed to crush their hopes. His polished appearance and confident bearing made the other actors shrink into themselves.

Amid the growing murmurs of doubt, a loud voice cut through the tension. "Would you all shut your traps? You're giving me a migraine!"

Heads turned to see Enji sprawled sideways across his chair, one leg draped over the armrest. Without warning, he picked his nose and flicked the result in Seiji's direction. "Who cares if someone's famous? Good acting is good acting."

He let out a dry chuckle. "One thing about Hellfire Studio - Arthur Pendragon judges talent, not reputation. Unlike these other fancy studios with their politics."

His crude confidence sparked hope in the previously dejected faces around him. Even Seiji remained silent, unable to dispute the truth in Enji's words.

Among the crowd stood 90-year-old Rendō Arakiba, his presence commanding quiet respect.

The veteran actor had devoured the "Seven Samurai" script, seeing himself in Kambei's role. The youthful energy buzzing through the hall didn't faze him - he simply waited his turn with practiced patience.

As the line dwindled, Rendō finally entered the production office to face the famous director. But Arthur's reputation meant little to him. His sole focus was bringing Kambei to life - the director could've been anyone.

Still, he showed Arthur proper respect, acknowledging both his young age and remarkable achievements. While "Harry Potter" hadn't impressed Rendō, "Seven Samurai's" script had captured his imagination.

He poured everything into his audition, silently praying for the role that seemed written for him.

***

A week later, Arthur reviewed his mental shortlist: Rendō Arakiba for Kambei, Enji Akagiri for Kikuchiyo, Seiji Kurotaba for Kyūzo, and Tetsuya Hōjō for Shichirōji.

The talent was undeniable, though each brought their quirks. Enji's rebellious nature stood out sharply against Japon's conservative culture. Seiji maintained a calculating silence that hinted at hidden motives. And Rendō carried himself with an intensity that could either be age or natural ferocity.

Yet despite their eccentric personalities, their acting abilities were exactly what the film needed.

A few days later, Arthur wrapped up the final auditions, setting the stage for production. The samurai's technical guidance combined with government permits and the third prince's backing smoothed the path forward.

All that remained was waiting for his crew to arrive in Japon, their entry guaranteed by Arthur's connections. His status, similar to Empirica's "green card," allowed him free reign in the kingdom.

***

Two days later, Arthur welcomed his arriving crew, the ghostly members materializing alongside their living counterparts.

Production began in earnest. Curious onlookers gathered at a distance, watching the unusual spectacle of foreign filmmakers working alongside Japonese talent.

Though occasional demon interference interrupted shoots, the filming progressed steadily under Arthur's direction, each day bringing the story closer to life.

While Arthur immersed himself in "Seven Samurai," a different story unfolded in USE's shadows. Through the poorest districts, where rain-stained walls carried desperate hopes, whispers of Dionysus spread like wildfire. In dim alleyways and crowded tenements, the prayer sheets passed from hand to hand, each new believer adding to the growing faith.

John, architect of this spiritual movement, kept to the shadows as instructed. Though he yearned to openly spread the word, Arthur's warning echoed in his mind: "Stay hidden. Complete your work there, then come to Horn Kingdom. You have the makings of a great actor."

Arthur's promise of an acting career fueled John's caution. In shadowy meeting places, he and his followers wore masks, hiding their identities from even each other.

"Pope John," the masked followers bowed deeply.

John suppressed a sigh. Despite his protests, they insisted on the title.

"What news? Have the false gods' followers noticed our movement?" Tension threaded through his voice.

"We're careful, Pope," a young voice spoke from behind a mask. "No one suspects."

Another follower shifted nervously. "Some suspicious figures in our neighborhood, but nothing immediate to fear."

As more reports filtered in, John nodded gravely. "Stay vigilant. We can't afford attention from the false gods' servants. Not yet."

***

Afternoon light filtered through stained glass windows in the small Solarus church, casting rainbow patterns across the sun god's golden statue. In her sparse chamber, Sister Elena frowned at the prayer sheet in her hands.

"Dionysus? Lord of Entertainment?" The words felt strange on her tongue.

She remembered the bright-eyed child who'd brought it. "Please pray to Dionysus," the girl had begged. "He gives hope to those who ask."

"Dionysus?" Elene asked, her voice tinged with curiosity.

The girl nodded and replied, "Yes, he's the god who answered my prayer. He provides me with food after I recite the prayers written on that paper."

"A god who answers prayers?" Elena had exclaimed, disbelieving.

"Yes! He sent food when I prayed," the girl's voice had rung with conviction. "Thank goodness I can read, or my family might still be hungry!"

Now Elena stared at the prayer sheet, torn between doubt and worry.

She doubted the girl's story, but if a god truly did respond, it meant that Dionysus was incredibly dangerous.