I mean… why does he care so much? Why spend money he clearly doesn’t have on something like this?” “She” asked.

  Her question hung in the air, prompting the team to glance back at Aaron, who was currently attempting to teach Tony the basics of Norse mythology using hand gestures and sound effects. Alfred frowned thoughtfully.

  “You know,” Alfred said after a moment, “he mentioned earlier that this is his first book. Maybe it means something to him. People don’t pour their hearts into things like this unless they’re hoping for… something. Maybe he wants to bring a little laughter into people’s lives. Or maybe he’s dreaming of striking it rich. Either way, it matters to him.”

  Cindy snorted. “That’s sweet and all, but dreams don’t pay the bills.”

  “No,” Alfred agreed, “but passion projects sometimes lead to unexpected opportunities. Look, I’m not saying this will save us, but it might remind us why we got into this business in the first place.”

  She nodded slowly, absorbing his words. From her perspective, it seemed simple: Aaron cared about his book, and that mattered. Whether he succeeded or failed wasn’t the point – he was trying, and wasn’t that better than sitting back and doing nothing?

  *****

  Back at the conference table, Cindy reluctantly typed Aaron’s description into the AI system. The screen flickered to life, displaying rows of data points and algorithmic parameters. Within seconds, the AI began spitting out ideas.

  The first suggestion appeared on the screen:

  “Unlock the Multiversal Potential of Your Inner Deity? – Race Through Dimensions of Infinite Possibility with Godly Golf Cart Carnage!”

  “What does that even mean?” Aaron asked, squinting at the screen. “And why does it sound like a car commercial?”

  Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.

  “It’s… aspirational,” Cindy replied vaguely, clicking through more options. Each new suggestion grew increasingly convoluted and nonsensical. One promised to “leverage quantum divinity for maximum ROI,” while another suggested targeting consumers with “mythological micro-moments.”

  By the fifth attempt, even Tony looked sceptical. “Uh, maybe we should tweak the inputs?” he offered hesitantly. “Or… turn it off and try again later?”

  Cindy ignored him, her frustration mounting with each failed iteration. Finally, she slammed her hands on the table, startling everyone – including the fly, which resumed its erratic flight path. “This isn’t working,” she snapped. “The AI keeps generating garbage because the budget is a joke.”

  Aaron winced. “Sorry. I, uh, said earlier that I didn’t have much.”

  “No kidding,” Cindy muttered under her breath.

  Across the room, “she” – who had been quietly observing the entire debacle – finally spoke up. Her voice was soft, almost hesitant, but it carried a clarity that cut through the tension like a knife.

  “Why can’t we just say that the book is funny?” she asked.

  Everyone turned to look at her. Cindy raised an eyebrow. “Funny how?”

  “Like… actually funny,” “she” explained, gesturing vaguely toward Aaron’s manuscript. “You said it’s chaotic and plotless and full of weird stuff, right? So why not tell people that? Why do we need all these big words and fancy phrases? Just say, ‘Hey, this book is ridiculous and fun. If you like laughing, read it.’”

  For a moment, the room went silent again. Then Aaron broke into a wide grin. “Yes! Exactly! That’s perfect!”

  Cindy opened her mouth to argue – to explain that marketing didn’t work like that, that clients demanded complexity, that simplicity wouldn’t sell – but nothing came out.

  Alfred, who had been lurking near the window, stepped forward. “She’s right,” he said quietly, surprising everyone, including himself. “We used to do that. Back when creativity mattered. When ads were supposed to make people feel something.”

  Tony frowned. “But AI is better at predicting what people want. Isn’t it?”

  “Maybe,” Alfred admitted. “But it doesn’t care about making them laugh. Or cry. Or think. All it cares about is data.”

  Aaron nodded enthusiastically. “So we’re doing it? Funny ads? Awesome!”

  Cindy sighed, rubbing her temples. “Fine. Let’s give it a shot. But if this flops, don’t blame me.”

  As the team reluctantly agreed to scrap the AI-generated nonsense and focus on crafting a simple, humorous campaign, “she” leaned back in her chair, satisfied. She hadn’t intended to challenge the status quo. She had just said what everyone else refused to. But sometimes, the simplest truths are the hardest to ignore.