"Her team lost the match, you know," a male voice said, "You can't push her around anymore." He was a young man, probably about nineteen or twenty in age. He flicked his longish blonde hair out of his face, revealing his dark blue eyes.
"Who says I can't push her around, my son?" An older man sat infront of a cluttered desk, he took a sip of an unknown wine from an expensive crystal wineglass. "Kent, you've still got a lot to learn before you're ready to inherit my company, and one of those things is that you can't have sympathy for anyone when you expect people to pay to watch your work."
"But you can't do this!" Kent leapt up in a rage. He swiftly took his own wineglass from him and threw it at him, just missing his head and shattering against the wall behind him. The loss of the glass didn't phase Mr. Liandri, he had more than enough money to buy another one.
"Son, I already have," Mr. Liandri said. "In the buisness world you've got to be ruthless-"
"And you expect torturing her will get you more publicity?" Kent inquired.
"It will," Liandri continued. "And it already has. Look at the reviews, the ratings!"
"But the people-"
"People love to watch other people suffer. It's all part of being human."
Kent gritted his teeth. "You're sick."
"That's not what the fans are saying." Liandri's own dark blue eyes looked over at his son calmly.
"It's what I'm saying, and I think you're a fucking madman. I can't forgive what you did to..."
"That wasn't well thought out, I admit. I expected her to put up more of a fight."
"And now, this... creation of yours. The hell were you thinking?"
"Don't you have a match soon?"
Kent looked at his father angrily, got up and went to leave. He stopped in the doorway. "Just so you know, I am ashamed to call you father."
Kent slammed the door as he left to signify is rage. However, this did not phase his father. Mr. Liandri picked up his wineglass and held it to his lips, a malicious smirk crossing his face.
"Don't be angry with me, you'll see her again soon enough, my son," he muttered.