CHAPTER 211: CHAPTER 210: NO FACESLAP? NO DRAMA?

Rex just straightened his jacket again, blissfully unaware of the brush with scandal, and focused on the massive gates ahead.

Various beauties loitering near the gates turned to glance at him, throwing flirty glances, playful smiles, and subtle waves—each hoping to catch his attention. But Rex paid them no mind. If it was some other situation, he may have stopped to appreciate the great canyons and valleys, but today wasn’t just about partying. He had a mission—literally. The system’s task loomed over him like a silent coach holding a clipboard, and he didn’t have the luxury to waste time flirting.

As he approached the entrance, the guards standing at attention immediately straightened. They had seen him, alighten fom one of the most rare luxury car in the world, so rare that even their employer, with all his wealth and influence couldn’t get his hands on. So, they knew that he was someone important—or at least, someone who should not be trifled with. Their gazes briefly flicked to Lena, their brows twitching subtly as they registered her.

Lena, catching their expressions, lifted her chin slightly with the smug confidence of someone who’d just beaten the system. Her eyes sparkled with a barely contained ’Ha! Try and stop me now!’ look, a silent taunt aimed at the very same guards who had manhandled her just minutes ago.

The guards didn’t say anything. Maybe they didn’t recognize her, or maybe they were smart enough to pretend they didn’t. After all, it took a special kind of idiot to challenge a girl who had clearly caught the eye of someone like Rex—a guy who practically screamed ’Don’t mess with me’ in every polished inch of his existence.

Either way, they stepped aside politely, gesturing them through with a curt nod.

They politely asked for the invitation, which Rex took out with casual ease, handing it over like it was no big deal—as if he did this sort of thing every weekend. The guards examined it briefly, scanning the details with professional precision before their expressions shifted ever so slightly. One of them gave a subtle nod, while the other straightened even more.

"Everything’s in order," the taller one said, his tone slipping into something far more respectful. Then, both guards gave a small bow of acknowledgment.

"Enjoy your evening, sir," they added in near unison, the kind of synchronized politeness that only came from years of high-end event training.

Rex nodded calmly, like a man who’d been to dozens of parties more extravagant than this. On the outside, he looked the part—polished, poised, and supremely confident. But on the inside? That was another story.

Rex lingered a second longer, a tad too dramatically, staring at the guards as they nodded him through without a single hiccup.

His steps faltered ever so slightly. ’Wait... that was it? No dramatic confrontation? No icy stare-down? No classic ’This invitation looks fake, sir’ routine?’ Where’s my signature humiliation scene? My righteous comeback arc?"

"Huh? Just like that?" he thought, blinking twice. "Not even a basic challenge? No ’you can’t go in with that face’ plotline?"

His expression slowly shifted into a blank stare as a realization hit him.

His gaze dulled into a hollow stare. "Am I... not the protagonist anymore? "Am I... not loved now?" Or has the narrative forsaken me? Did my screen time get cut?"

He stood there like a man betrayed by the universe’s genre logic.

He sighed dramatically, ignoring the curious looks he was getting from a few bystanders.

Suddenly, he turned to face the void—or more accurately, the fourth wall—and barked out,

"Hey! Author! Can’t you write properly? Where’s my dramatic scene, huh? The classic moment when the guards stop me, I grin like a smug protagonist and yell, ’You’re courting death!’ Then I reveal I’m the Dragon King or some ultra-hidden heir and everyone gasps in slow motion. Where is that?"

A translucent dialogue bubble lazily descended from the top of the screen, scribbled in tired handwriting. It was the author’s voice—clearly on the verge of burnout.

"Don’t look at me like that," it read, with visible exasperation. "I’m not writing another overused cliché.If I shove in one more face-slap-sudden-reversal-rich-heir reveal, the last handful of readers still clinging on will riot—and I don’t have the time or emotional bandwidth to deal with that."

Rex crossed his arms. "You mean to tell me I went through wardrobe, hair, makeup, AND character development, only to be let through the gate without a single snide remark? Not even a ’You’re not on the list’ just so I can unleash my righteous fury?"

The tired voice sighed. "Do you know how hard it is to write this stuff? You’re out here enjoying the world, eating delicious food, pretty girls, god-tier charisma, and riding a car worth more than my soul. while I’m here, half-dead hunched over a keyboard, stress-eating cold instant noodles, crying over Google Docs, and battling deadline anxiety."

The voice continued grumbling. "And let’s not even talk about the pirate sites. You think this dialogue will make it to the real readers? Half of them are freeloading somewhere with pop-ups and malware while I’ve been hospitalized twice and lost my last meager bonus to burnout. And now I’m arguing with my own fictional character who has cheekbones sharp enough to slice through my paycheck. Life is suffering."

Rex blinked. Stunned by the existential meltdown happening in his story. That was... more information than he expected. He tilted his head and whispered, "Damn."

Then, with surprising solemnity, he gave a thoughtful nod. "Fair."

He paused, tilted his head, and suddenly turned toward the sky—or more precisely, toward the invisible narrative camera hovering somewhere above the plot.

"Ahem, ahem—what kindred soul have I unknowingly provoked?" Rex said dramatically, one hand clutching his chest like a melodramatic theater actor. "Dear Author, fear not. I believe our beloved readers—just as handsome, cool, and ridiculously generous and rich in spirit, if not in actual bank accounts,as I am—will support you. With showers of gifts, luxury cars, dragons, maybe even a magic castle or two. Anything beyond that... well, that’s out of reach for humble peasants like us."

A disembodied voice cleared its throat skeptically. "Really? You mean it?"

"Yeah, really! I swear it on... on my handsome face!" Rex insisted, throwing in a wink for good measure. "So relax, and just keep writing me cool, flashy, overpowered, irresistibly charming. Oh, and while we’re at it—can I get a beauty already? It’s been 200 Chapters, but the story is super slow and I haven’t even held a new girl’s hand. Let alone, y’know... touched her soul or whatever. I’m a young man too, with... needs. Come on, throw me a bone. Or at least a date."

A pause.

Then a sigh from above. "Ahem... Sorry about that. I got carried away. I was having too much fun writing, I wanted my readers to experience a different kind of story with deep immersion and details. But don’t worry, I’ll seriously think about your request. In fact, I have a long outline of many exciting plots already in mind, I just wanted to write a different kind of urban story, but it seems like not many people appreciate plot like this. So, I’ll speed up the plot appropraitely."

"Thank you so much dear author."

"Also," Rex added quickly, his voice dropping to a shy murmur, "if—when—you do give me a beauty, just a small request—can we keep things, y’know, private? No live broadcast of my romantic developments, please. I’ve also got some shame left."

The voice chuckled ominously. "Oh, that’s not up to me," it replied darkly. "That depends on the readers. If they’re shameless and want to watch, there’s not much I can do."

Rex’s eyes widened in horror. "Don’t tell me... our readers aren’t that shameless, right? ...Right?"

He looked around nervously, as if expecting a poll window to pop up midair with ’Yes’ already at 96%.

Then, with a long-suffering groan, he added, "Alright, alright... But just so you know, if I get live-streamed doing anything remotely romantic, I’ll be suing you for emotional damage. You hear me, Author? Emotional. Damage."

Okay, okay, no need to be so dramatic, I’ll seriously consider this and ask our readers about their opinion, it all depends on their opinion, I can’t do anything about that.

"Then there’s no need to worry, I have faith in my readers." He said smugly.

"Okay, okay enough chit chat, now go, readers are already getting impatient."

"Roger’s that."

With that, he turned back to the party entrance like nothing happened, leaving behind the shattered ego of a weary writer.

His mind was already racing a little—not with nerves, but anticipation. He’d never been to an event of this scale before, and part of him couldn’t help but wonder if he’d trip up. Not literally—his walk was immaculate—but socially. Still, he reminded himself this was what all that system training had prepared him for. Game face on.

With one last glance at Lena, who was trying to match his composure but still looked like she’d just won the lottery, Rex stepped forward. And together, they crossed the threshold into the glittering belly of one of Hollywood’s most exclusive parties.

(End of Chapter)