Ballistics analysis showed at least twenty rounds had entered the restaurant. Based on the angle of the sweep, three or four people should have been hit.
Instead, the only injuries were from flying glass. No one took a bullet.
When police reviewed the security footage, their expressions grew even stranger.
The video clearly showed the bullets changing trajectory the moment they came through the window. Not dramatic turns—just small, precise deflections. Enough to miss every person inside.
One ballistics expert watched it three times before muttering, "Maybe fragments from the glass altered the paths…"
He didn't sound convinced.
Cassius stayed quiet.
He glanced at Sangye. The old monk stood outside, head tilted back, simply feeling the morning sun.
Zhuoma was comforting Dorje, buying him a hot chocolate. The young monk's hands still trembled around the cup.
"You can go," the police finally said.
Cassius led the three of them through the tape. Reporters immediately swarmed.
"Mr. Cassius! Can you tell us what happened?"
"Were you scared?"
"Will this experience affect your future work?"
Cassius didn't answer. He got everyone into the SUV Rob had sent and pulled away.
His phone buzzed.
An email from Marvel: The Ancient One: Shadow of Vishanti revised script approved. Project officially greenlit.
Next week: casting begins. Director confirmed as David Yates. Six-month shoot. Locations: Qinghai, Iceland, and Los Angeles stages.
The morning after the shooting, Cassius woke at six.
He lay in bed staring at the ceiling, replaying the moment the bullets came through the window. The trajectories had been too clean. Too deliberate.
Even accounting for glass, there was no way every round had curved around their table like that.
Sangye's hidden mudra. Zhuoma's rhythmic tapping. Dorje's quiet chanting.
This family definitely had something going on.
Cassius sat up, grabbed the glass of water on the nightstand, and took a sip. It was cold from last night.
He made a decision.
He texted Rob: Move Sangye and the others here instead of a hotel. We've got plenty of empty rooms.
Rob replied instantly: You sure? That's three people, one of them an old monk. Habits might—
It's fine. Second floor has five guest rooms. Send a car before noon.
Cassius went downstairs and started the coffee maker.
While it brewed, he scrolled the news. The shooting was everywhere.
Headlines ranged from dramatic to borderline supernatural:
Cassius Survives Burger Shop Shootout — Bullets Miss by Inches!
Miracle in West Hollywood: 20 Rounds, Zero Fatalities — Police Can't Explain
Star-Lord's Real-Life Escape? Fans Flood Social Media
Comments were all over the place.
"Cassius's luck is insane. Buy a lottery ticket."
"Bullets curving? That's creepy."
"I was in the military. That angle should've killed at least two people."
"Maybe Cassius has actual powers now that he's playing a sorcerer?"
"Bro, you've watched too much Marvel."
Cassius closed the phone and poured himself coffee. Milk, no sugar.
At ten, Rob's car pulled up to the hotel.
Sangye, Zhuoma, and Dorje stood outside with their light bags.
Dorje still wore his maroon robes. Sangye had changed into a simple dark gray outfit. Zhuoma wore jeans and a white T-shirt and looked like any other international student.
"Sorry to trouble you," Sangye said, pressing his hands together.
"Don't worry about it. Treat it like your own place."
Cassius helped carry their things.
The Beverly Hills mansion was big. Main house, three floors. Five guest rooms on the second floor, each with its own bathroom. Usually it was just him and Kristen rattling around in it.
He put Sangye and Dorje in the largest suite at the end of the hall—two single beds, garden view.
Zhuoma got the room next door. Smaller, but it had a little balcony.
"It's nothing fancy," Cassius said.
Sangye looked around and nodded. "Much better than the monastery."
Dorje stood frozen in the doorway, clearly uncomfortable.
"Come on in," Cassius said. "Make yourself at home. Pretend you're still at the temple."
Dorje finally stepped inside and set his cloth bag on a chair.
Zhuoma was already wandering the living room, studying the movie posters and trophy shelf. "Are these real Oscars?"
"Replicas," Cassius said with a smile. "The real ones are in a bank vault."
"Cool."
She walked to the floor-to-ceiling windows and looked at the pool. "You're living pretty well."
"Lucky."
"Not just luck," Zhuoma said, turning to him. "My uncle says you have benefactors in your fate."
Cassius didn't answer.
At lunch they ordered pizza. Sangye examined the crust-to-cheese ratio like it was a sacred text before declaring, "This fills you up better than burgers."
Dorje ate in small bites while sneaking glances at the TV. Cassius had left ESPN on—baseball game.
"Understand any of it?" Cassius asked.
Dorje shook his head but didn't look away.
"Let him watch," Zhuoma said. "He's only ever chanted and worked at the monastery. Never seen this stuff."
After lunch, Cassius headed to Marvel for a meeting.
"I'm coming with you," Zhuoma said.
Cassius turned. "Why?"
"I'm the consultant," she said matter-of-factly. "And my uncle's resting today. Dorje has to stay with him. I've got nothing to do, so I might as well learn how Hollywood runs meetings."
Cassius looked at Sangye.
The old monk nodded. "Take her. She's sharp. She might even give you ideas."
Apparently this had already been arranged.
At one o'clock they left for Marvel headquarters.
In the car, Zhuoma buckled her seatbelt and asked, "Did you feel something yesterday?"
Cassius kept his eyes on the road. "I felt the bullets miss us."
"And?"
"I saw the three of you doing… something."
Zhuoma smiled. "I knew you'd notice. But I can't say more. Uncle has rules. The fewer people who know certain things, the better."
"Then why are you still coming to the meeting?"
"Separate things," Zhuoma said, pulling out a small notebook. "I'm here to work. Marvel is paying me."
Cassius shook his head. This woman's logic was always on another level.
Marvel's third-floor conference room was already full.
Director David Yates, producer Kevin Feige, three writers, the casting director, and the art director.
When Cassius and Zhuoma walked in, everyone turned.
"Cass! Heard you got caught in a shooting yesterday. You okay?"
Yates stood and shook his hand. The British director was short, wore glasses, and looked more like a university professor than a blockbuster filmmaker, but he had Harry Potter experience and knew how to run a set.
"I'm fine. Lucky."
Cassius introduced Zhuoma. "This is Zhuoma. Our Tibetan culture consultant and Sangye's niece."
Zhuoma shook hands with everyone, English smooth and confident.
The meeting began.
First order of business: final script approval.
Yates handed out printed copies. "We've incorporated all of Master Sangye's notes. Especially the mirror dimension battle. Much more philosophical weight, and it gives the action team more to work with."
Cassius opened his copy.
The final fight between the Ancient One and Karu had completely changed.
No more energy blasts trading blows. It was now like a chess match.
Every mudra the Ancient One formed came with an explanation of what he was protecting.
Every dark spell Karu cast came with a question about the price of freedom.
The dialogue was sharp. The action descriptions were precise. Even the Tibetan names and symbolic meanings of each mudra were noted.
"This version works," Cassius said. "But for the master role… I want to suggest someone."
"Who?"
"Jackie Chan."
The room went quiet for a second.
Yates adjusted his glasses. "Jackie Chan? Isn't he a little—"
"The master needs presence and real martial arts foundation," Cassius said. "Jackie has huge international recognition. He's already played an immortal master in The Forbidden Kingdom. He could also help with action choreography. We need some real skill in this movie, not just CGI."
Feige considered it. "Jackie's definitely an option, but his fee is high and his schedule—"
"We can reach out," Cassius said. "Even if he only does a few scenes, it would help a lot with the Asian market."
Yates looked at the art director. "Linda?"
Linda, in her fifties with thirty years in the business, nodded. "Jackie's image fits the wise Eastern elder. Plus he has natural humor. It could keep the character from feeling too heavy."
"Put him on the list," Feige said, making a note. "Any other suggestions?"
"Chow Yun-fat could work too," Zhuoma said suddenly.
Everyone turned.
"In Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon, his Li Mu Bai had that immortal, worldly-wise quality," she continued calmly. "And his English is good. Communication wouldn't be an issue."
Yates's eyes lit up. "That's not bad either."
The meeting ran two and a half hours.
Script details, casting direction, shooting schedule, budget allocation—everything was discussed.
When the last item wrapped, a line of text appeared in front of Cassius:
[The Ancient One: Shadow of Vishanti Project Evaluation Activated]
[Current Progress: 5% (Pre-production)]
[Performance Level: E]
[Director Satisfaction: D]
[Team Collaboration: D]
[Audience Expectation: E]
[Overall Rating: D—]
[Reward: Trendsetter +1%]
Cassius felt a flicker of surprise.
This was the first time the system had triggered a full project evaluation this early.
The initial numbers were brutally low.
And the reward was weak.
"Cass? What do you think?"
Yates's voice pulled him back.
"Sorry—what?"
"Training schedule for the martial arts work."
Yates repeated, "We're planning to start three months before cameras roll. Five days a week, six hours a day. Tibetan mudra fundamentals, tai chi, weapons training. Can you clear your calendar?"
Cassius thought about it. Right now only this project was moving forward.
He nodded. "I can."
"Good." Yates circled a date on his calendar. "Miss Zhuoma, about Master Sangye—"
"My uncle can teach the mudras," Zhuoma said. "But only the basics, and he needs a quiet space. No big crowds watching."
"No problem," Yates said, pleased. "We can rent a private training room."
Before the meeting ended, Feige added one last thing.
"Cass, this project matters. For you and for Marvel. It's our first real step into the magic side of the universe. If it works, we're looking at Doctor Strange, Masters of the Mystic Arts, and more. You understand what I'm saying?"
"I do," Cassius said. "I'll give it everything."
Feige stood. "Then we're done for today. Cass, stay a minute."
Everyone else filed out. Only Cassius, Zhuoma, and Feige remained.
Feige closed the door, his expression more serious. "I heard about yesterday. The company's already arranged security for you. They start tomorrow—twenty-four-hour rotation. And about Master Sangye… keep an eye on him."
Cassius raised an eyebrow. "Protection?"
"You know how the police closed the burger shop case?"
Feige lowered his voice. "The ballistics expert wrote a thirty-page report. Analyzed glass type, bullet caliber, humidity, even Earth's rotation. Final conclusion: extremely low-probability event."
He looked at Cassius. "Some things don't have scientific explanations. And Master Sangye—I checked his background. Clean. But a monk who's lived in Tibet for sixty years, speaks fluent English, understands film, and uses a tablet? That's not normal."
When they left the conference room, Zhuoma asked, "Does he suspect something?"
"Maybe," Cassius said, pressing the elevator button. "Smart people know when to play dumb."
As the elevator descended, the system panel appeared again:
[Core Team Assembly Updated]
[Key Supporting Role — Master: If Jackie Chan is successfully cast, Audience Expectation rises to C. If Chow Yun-fat is successfully cast, Audience Expectation rises to D.]
Cassius smiled.
The system was practical. Jackie Chan was worth more than Chow Yun-fat.
The next morning at 5:30 the alarm went off.
Cassius reached out and slapped it off, first thought: Why the hell did I agree to six a.m. training?
Yesterday Zhuoma had said Sangye would start teaching him mudras today.
He hadn't expected it to be this early.
He washed up and went downstairs at 5:50.
Morning mist still hung over the garden. Dew sparkled on the grass.
Sangye was already sitting cross-legged on a yoga mat, eyes closed, motionless as a statue.
Dorje stood beside him in the same posture, clearly fighting sleep. His head kept nodding forward.
Zhuoma sat in a wicker chair drinking coffee. She raised her cup when she saw Cassius. "Morning, Teacher Cass."
"Morning…"
Cassius yawned and walked over.
Sangye opened his eyes and checked his phone. "5:58. Right on time."
Cassius sat on the other mat.
"Today we start with the opening mudra for Vishanti's hand signs," Sangye said, raising both hands, palms up, fingers naturally curved. "This is the foundation. All white magic begins here."
Cassius looked at the gesture.
His heart skipped.
He knew this mudra.
In the instance, it was the very first one Yao's master had taught him. He had practiced it more than ten thousand times. The muscle memory was carved into his bones.
"Watch carefully."
Sangye slowed the movement—index finger curving slightly, thumb hooking, wrist turning thirty degrees. "The angle matters. One degree off and the energy flow gets blocked."
He demonstrated three times, then had Cassius and Dorje follow.
Dorje started immediately. His form was correct but stiff. Clearly practiced, but not yet natural.
Cassius took a deep breath and raised his hands.
Something strange happened.
His fingers moved on their own.
No thinking. No adjusting. They simply fell into the exact position.
Index finger at the perfect angle. Thumb pressure just right. Wrist turned exactly thirty degrees.
Even smoother than Dorje, who had been training for years.
Sangye stared at his hands and said nothing.
Dorje stopped, eyes wide.
Zhuoma set her coffee down, watching with interest.
The garden was quiet except for distant birds.
"Have you learned this before?" Sangye finally asked.
Cassius shook his head. "First time."
"Impossible," Dorje blurted, then realized he'd spoken out of turn and dropped his head.
Sangye stood and walked over, studying Cassius's hands closely. "Do it again."
Cassius did.
This time he moved slower, but his fingers still found every position with perfect precision.
It felt like his body had already memorized the movement and was only now being allowed to use it.
Sangye watched for a full minute, then nodded. "Fate."
He sat back down. "Some people train for ten years and never reach what others achieve in a day."
"Dorje, keep practicing the basics. Cassius, I'll teach you the next one."
Dorje looked genuinely crushed.
But he didn't argue. He just lowered his head and kept drilling the first mudra.
Sangye moved on to the opening sequence for the Vishanti shield.
This one was more complex—six distinct finger changes in three seconds.
"Watch the breath," Sangye said. "Inhale as the fingers open. Exhale as they close. Imagine energy flowing in through the fingertips and gathering in the palm."
He demonstrated slowly so Cassius could see every step.
Cassius watched, then closed his eyes.
Memories from the instance rose.
The morning in the scripture hall when Yao had first successfully formed the shield mudra. Sunlight streaming in. The golden hexagon unfolding in front of him.
He opened his eyes and raised his hands.
Inhale — fingers spread.
Exhale — close.
Six changes in three seconds. On the final position, his palm grew faintly warm.
He couldn't see a shield, but he could feel something moving.
Sangye's expression turned serious.
"Again."
Cassius did it again, faster and smoother this time.
Dorje had stopped completely and was staring.
He had trained on this mudra for three months before he could manage it in five seconds.
Cassius had done it in three on his first try?
That wasn't possible.
"Enough for today," Sangye said, waving a hand. "Practice these two until they're second nature. Tomorrow we add the third."
Training ended at seven.
Sangye went inside to meditate. Dorje stayed in the garden, clearly motivated by what he'd just seen, and drilled even harder.
Cassius and Zhuoma went into the kitchen.
Kristen was already up, making breakfast—eggs, bacon, toast.
"How was training?" she asked.
"Not bad," Cassius said, pouring orange juice. "The mudras are interesting."
"More than interesting," Zhuoma said, grabbing yogurt from the fridge. "My uncle has taught a lot of people. You're the first one he's ever called 'fate.' Dorje took a full week to nail the first mudra."
Cassius didn't reply.
He had a pretty good idea why.
Four hundred and fifty years of experience from the instance hadn't brought magic back with him.
But it had brought the muscle memory.
And the feeling.
It was like a professional race car driver who lost his memory but still knew exactly how to drive the moment his hands touched the wheel.