I Accidentally Became A Superstar

Risa finally sat down next to him, still suspicious of the vibrating bed and sultry lighting, but she’d calmed enough to pretend it was all normal.

She leaned over just slightly to read what he was writing.

And then, as some of the words registered in her mind, her breath hitched.

Her eyes scanned the page. Just a few lines in, and she already felt emotional.

“Do you…” she started, then hesitated. “Do you have experience in writing?”

“A little,” he answered. Well, he had some experience.

He wrote for a bunch of chapter-hungry tweens who have their parents’ credit cards. Back when he was Sanjae and their financial situation was getting worse and worse due to his condition, he wrote serialized fiction online.

His readers liked it when he uploaded three chapters a day. They also had very strong opinions. However, no matter how many hate comments he got, they always read. It paid decently.

His writing skills hadn’t deteriorated since then, so he was able to write pretty fast as soon as a concept entered his mind.

“You’re good at it,” Risa suddenly said.

“Thanks.”

“Is this… alright with you?” he asked, still scribbling without looking up. “This concept?”

Risa kept reading.

It was more than all right.

It was incredible.

The concept wasn’t complicated at first glance. An anterograde amnesiac—a girl who couldn’t form new memories—meets someone who wants to make her remember. He becomes a routine she accepts without question, a constant in her otherwise fragmented life.

But as the story unfolds, Zeno wrote a twist. The boy is dying.

At first, she didn’t understand how this correlated to their keyword, but the more she read, the more it made sense.

“I love it,” Risa finally said, eyes still glued to the page. “This is really, really good.”

Zeno didn’t reply.

He just quietly passed her the next sheet.

Risa’s throat tightened. Her eyes blurred a little.

She tried to hide it.

She sniffled softly, turning her face away, pretending to look at the weird chandelier above them instead.

But then Zeno turned slightly and raised a brow.

“Why are you crying?”

***

The three hours flew by faster than Risa could emotionally recover.

When the alarm blared again, signaling the end of the writing period, she was still dabbing the corners of her eyes, trying her best to look like a functioning human.

Now, they were back in the viewing room. All fourteen pairs were seated, spaced evenly in cushiony chairs arranged like a semicircle facing the large screen at the front.

The buzz was immediate.

Nearly everyone was chatting, whispering, and jittering. Paper scripts were being fanned, folded, and frantically reread. Some were reciting lines under their breath. Others were panicking that they hadn’t memorized anything at all.

Meanwhile, Risa was trying not to burst into tears again.

Ian plopped down next to her with a sigh, brushing cookie crumbs off his lap. “You good?”

She sniffled.

He turned to look at her, eyes narrowing. “Wait. Are you crying?”

“No,” she croaked.

“You’re absolutely crying.”

She quickly turned her head toward Zeno—who, for the record, was sitting two seats away and completely unmoved. He sat calmly, elbows on the armrest, legs crossed, eyes staring straight ahead while waiting for the mission to end.

Risa’s eyes welled up again.

Ian frowned in confusion. “What did he do to you?!”

She shook her head, pressing her lips together.

Zeno, unfazed, caught her glance. Then, he brought out some napkins from his pocket and handed them to her.

Suho looked between the two of them. “Zeno, what the hell did you write?”

Zeno shrugged. To be fair, he didn’t think the script was that good. It was fine. Functional. A tool, really.

He only wrote what he thought might work. That’s all he ever did.

He had yet to feel any kind of emotion about it.

Was it because of his condition? Because of who he was? Maybe. Maybe it was the system’s fault.

Maybe it was the mission. He even thought of just forgetting about it. What’s the use of following through with his missions? However, Zeno’s pride couldn’t take not following through with what he had started.

Still, the mission was ridiculous.

[Move at least twenty audience members to tears.]

So early on? And so many people?

He hadn’t even cried once in his life here. That wasn’t a complaint. It was just a neutral observation. Crying wasn’t his thing. He’d seen people cry over and over again. He came close once when Maxie was nearly dying, but he quickly realized that she would probably outlive him.

He looked at Risa, who was now blowing her nose.

Did she count?

Probably not. She was on his team.

Still, he mentally checked half a point. Maybe she could count as emotional collateral.

Before he could dwell on it further, the doors opened.

Everyone quieted as Bacon PD and Ari stepped inside, both holding clipboards and no signs of mercy.

“Hello, everyone,” Ari said with a polite smile. “That’s the end of your writing period. The staff will now collect all of your scripts. From here on out, we’ll begin the performances.”

“You will be graded seventy percent on writing and thirty percent on acting,” Bacon PD added.

A collective groan swept across the room. At least five contestants cursed under their breath.

“Writing?!” Billy whispered behind Zeno. “I thought this was Act on Top!”

“I don’t even know what I wrote in the third scene.”

Zeno leaned back in his chair.

This was fine. This was all part of the game.

Ari stepped forward. “We’ll be the only two judging this round because it is our area of expertise. We hope to see you do your best. And please pay attention to your opponents while waiting for your turn.”

Bacon PD clapped once. “Let’s start.”

Everyone sat up straighter.

Ari glanced down at the list.

“The first pair on stage…” she said, voice echoing in the room.

“… is Ian and Suho.”