Chapter 20: Wait, Did You Actually Open It?

“Tian Dao, why are you spacing out during dinner like this?”

In the cafeteria, Kalolin couldn’t help but ask, watching Tian Dao absently eat while staring into space.

She couldn’t shake the feeling that he wasn’t just daydreaming—he was looking at something.

But with nothing in front of him but empty air, Kalolin had no idea what he could possibly be seeing. Was he staring at thin air?

Of course, he wasn’t.

At that moment, Tian Dao was using the system’s phantom screen to watch the fourth episode of The Prequel of the Stars: Embers.

And this episode was all about Chen Kong’s moment of glory.

Even though he’d already lived through it once, experiencing it now from an omniscient perspective—watching the series he’d personally helped create alongside everyone else—was oddly fascinating.

“Nothing much,” Tian Dao said, barely glancing up, offering a clumsy excuse. “Just thinking.”

He returned to watching the episode, completely absorbed.

Kalolin sensed he was brushing her off, but she couldn’t pinpoint a flaw in his reasoning.

So, with a shrug, she gave up and returned to her meal.

Meanwhile, as the episode reached its climax—Chen Xing boldly defying all opposition and choosing to face the enraged Earth Lizard—tension in the narrative began to soar.

“Run, Kong. Keep running—just keep hiding for the rest of your life.”

“Your cowardice and weakness will one day cost you everything you hold dear.”

“But you can run. I can’t.”

“Because if even I step aside, who will you run to? Who will protect you?”

“So even if the next step leads straight into the abyss, I must walk forward—because there’s no one standing behind me.”

“So get out of my way, coward. Don’t block my path.”

On screen, Chen Xing finally spoke the long-buried words she’d kept hidden in her heart—directed at the brother she’d always protected.

And seeing her crimson eyes blazing with the fierce, solitary resolve of a lone wolf—enhanced through the animators’ masterful artistry—Tian Dao couldn’t help but feel a jolt of awe.

Because in that moment, every ounce of her disappointment in Chen Kong, every burden of responsibility she carried, was laid bare in her gaze.

The emotional depth stood in stark contrast to her previously dominant, unyielding persona—delivering a visceral punch to viewers.

Predictably, the moment sent the live chat into chaos.

“Ugh… So the sister was carrying the weight all along? I’m broken.”

“Why did I lash out at you? Because I love you too much.”

“My sarcasm is just my armor.”

“Converted from hater to fan. Thought she was too arrogant before—but now I see her pain.”

“Get out of my way, coward! So badass!”

Tian Dao stared at the flood of messages scrolling across the screen—and suddenly, his food lost all taste.

He’d expected Chen Xing’s popularity to skyrocket after this scene.

But he hadn’t realized just how devastatingly powerful the combination of a beloved female lead and a fiery monologue could be.

For the seasoned audience, it was overpowered—a perfect storm of emotional resonance and cinematic flair.

Still, he hadn’t been entirely passive.

He’d already taken steps to balance the moment.

“Hey, Chen Xing,” he called out, voice cutting through the scene like a blade.

“What do you mean ‘no one stands behind you’? Are you seriously underestimating me?”

“Remember—you’re second. I’m the Vertex of the Stars.”

On screen, Chen Xing clutched the candy Tian Dao had thrown her, turning to face him—her expression a whirlwind of emotion.

To emphasize the weight of their fated rivalry, the production team blurred the background, focusing the camera solely on the two of them—locking eyes in a moment that felt both inevitable and epochal.

The sheer intensity of that silent confrontation sent the audience into a frenzy.

“Oh my god, this is so hot! Lock it in!”

“Holy crap! Two fans, one blissful moment!”

“The composition is flawless! The blurred background? Pure genius!”

“Wait… why does Tian Dao’s line feel off? Is that a warning sign? Please don’t do it!”

“Production team—please be kind! If you hurt Tian Dao, I’m sending you a knife!”

Thanks to Tian Dao’s sudden intervention, what was meant to be Chen Xing’s solo moment became a dynamic duet between her and him.

And due to the subtle weight of his words—his declaration of standing in front of everyone, shielding them from danger—Tian Dao subtly outshone Chen Xing in this pivotal scene.

Chen Xing’s line was about protecting one person—her brother.

Tian Dao’s was about defending everyone—a collective promise, a universal duty.

The difference was undeniable.

In this single, masterfully executed moment, Tian Dao didn’t just steal the spotlight—he redefined it.

Chen Xing’s popularity surged, yes—but Tian Dao’s rose even higher, eclipsing hers.

The spotlight, once solely hers, now belonged to both—yet Tian Dao was the one drawing the most attention.

After the moment passed, the hesitant protagonist Chen Kong—once reluctant to step onto the stage—finally made his choice.

He stepped forward.

And just as everyone expected, the enraged Earth Lizard unleashed overwhelming power in this second trial—dominating Chen Xing’s team from start to finish.

Chen Kong, meanwhile, was utterly useless.

He couldn’t help his teammates. He couldn’t even move properly—standing frozen like a statue in the back.

The ultimate dud.

The audience exploded.

“I can’t believe this guy is the main character? What kind of joke is this?”

“Seriously, why not just change the lead? If Tian Dao or even Chen Xing were the protagonist, this show would be a phenomenon. Not this lukewarm mess.”

“The worst protagonist ever.”

Just as rage filled the chat, Chen Kong’s mind flickered—into a memory.

But unlike Tian Dao’s emotionally charged flashbacks, this one was a disaster.

He relived every time he’d been mocked, bullied, and humiliated in the base.

And through inner monologue, he confessed his desire—to quit, to run away.

The audience’s fury reached boiling point.

“Your teammates are fighting for their lives, and you’re thinking about escaping? What kind of hero are you?!”

But just as the chat prepared to erupt into a torrent of fury, a single memory surfaced—Tian Dao’s words, echoing in his mind:

“Remember—when you feel trapped, ask yourself: why are you still alive?”

That line changed everything.

The somber background score shifted—suddenly rising, bold, triumphant.

And in that moment, the audience’s anger melted into anticipation.

Because something had changed.

Chen Kong, once trembling with fear, now stood tall—his eyes sharpening, his resolve hardening.

For the first time, he looked like a protagonist.

“Wait… is he actually… opening up?”

“Crap, the underdog’s turning the corner?”

“Seriously—no matter what moment of transformation happens, Tian Dao always shows up at the perfect time. Is he secretly the director’s favorite?”

“Could it be…?”

(End of Chapter)

Chapter end