Starlight Chronicles: Rise to Hollywood

"I haven't cried since I was six. Well except when I accidentally murdered myself. I don't like crying you know, I'm ugly, I look even uglier when I cry, my voice sounds womanly and just….." he trailed off, deeply wondering why he was talking to the voice in his head.

[You are not upset]

"At you? No."

[Interesting. 95% of the time, the host react volatile towards the system.]

"Your past hosts didn't take too kindly to having their past trauma being thrown to their face huh?" Ethan scoffed, seated on the ground.

[Affirmative. Some took rather extreme measures such as taking their own lives to "spite" the system as it was put]

"I'm not killing myself to spite a talking voice in my head."

[Interesting]

"You think? I probably should be mad, but when you cry so much you kinda just feel numb? I'm more curious what you gained from that, can't exactly cry about my dad when–"

[Negative. The system has encompassed the feeling you had during your emotional breakdown]

Ethan jolted, looking away from his floor, a little piqued. "I'm sorry what?"

[The system has encompassed the feeling you had during your emotional breakdown. Emotional simulations have a 68% higher success rate when using authentic triggers.]

Ethan frowned, his eyebrows drawing together as he processed the words. "Wait, so you… copied how I felt? You're using me against me?"

[Affirmative.]

"That's—" He paused, trying to find the right word, but his thoughts were a scrambled mess. "That's twisted. Seriously messed up."

[The system prioritizes efficiency. Emotional depth is critical for the host's success. Utilizing past experiences allows for rapid improvement.]

He dragged a hand down his face, exhaling loudly. "You know, if you weren't a literal program, I'd probably punch you right now."

[Host's frustration is noted. Would physical exertion assist in calming the host's mental state?]

Ethan glared at the air in front of him like he could actually direct his anger at the disembodied voice. "No, it wouldn't. What would help is you not messing with my head like that. You don't just—" He stopped, his voice faltering. "You don't just take that part of me and use it for some… some stupid acting practice."

The silence that followed was deafening, the system seemingly waiting for him to continue. He didn't, though. He didn't have it in him.

Instead, he leaned back against the wall, staring up at the ceiling. "What even is the point of all this?" he muttered. "I'm not cut out for this whole 'greatest actor' thing. You've seen my track record. I'm barely scraping by. And now you're throwing… that at me? How is this supposed to help?"

[The host's emotions were genuine. The system detected growth. While the host's performance requires refinement, the ability to connect authentically is a foundational skill.]

"Growth," Ethan echoed bitterly. "You think dragging me through my worst memories counts as growth? I didn't even say anything worth using! I just cried like a—" He cut himself off, his throat tightening.

[The host's tears were not a failure. Vulnerability is integral to impactful performances.]

He scoffed, his voice hollow. "Vulnerability, huh? You think an audience would want to see that? A grown man bawling his eyes out and fumbling for words like a kid?"

[Audiences resonate with authenticity. They seek connection. The host's emotions are his greatest strength, not his weakness.]

Ethan didn't reply. He didn't trust himself to. The knot in his chest hadn't gone away, and his mind kept replaying his father's face in the hospital bed. The faint squeeze of his hand. The way the machines went silent.

He swallowed hard, closing his eyes. "I don't think I can do this," he said quietly. "Not if it means reliving that over and over."

[The host's strength is underestimated. The system will provide guidance. Greatness is achieved through perseverance.]

Ethan laughed bitterly. "You keep throwing that word around—greatness. Like it's something I'll just stumble into if I keep walking forward. But what if it's not? What if I'm not meant to be great?"

The system didn't respond right away, the silence stretching on long enough that Ethan almost thought it had shut down.

[The host's journey is not predetermined. Greatness is not granted. It is earned.]

Ethan's head tilted slightly, something about the phrasing catching him off guard. "Earned, huh?" He let out a tired sigh. "Guess I'll have to keep going, then. Not like I've got any other choice."

[Affirmative. The system is ready to proceed whenever the host is.]

"Yeah, yeah," he muttered, standing up and brushing himself off. "Give me a minute, though. I'm not ready to break down in front of a fake audience again just yet."

He walked over to the window, staring out into the almost dark street below. For once, the system didn't press him for a response. And for that, he was oddly grateful.

It only took a few minutes before the silence was broken again.

[Does the host wish to continue now?]

"Oh for fucks sakes, run the damn simulation," Ethan groaned, rolling his red eyes from excess crying.

[Beginning simulation]

The world around Ethan dissolved into a swirl of light and shadow, rearranging itself into a room. 

Soft music played in the background, the kind that tugged at your heartstrings without asking for permission. 

A small café materialized around him—the kind of place with mismatched chairs and faded wallpaper, where dreams and regrets lingered in the air.

And there she was.

Clara. He wasn't sure how he knew who she was, it just felt like he was supposed to know.

Her auburn hair fell in soft waves, catching the golden glow of the setting sun streaming through the café windows. She was seated at a corner table, her hands wrapped around a steaming cup of coffee. She looked up at him with a mixture of hope and fear that twisted something deep in his chest.

Ethan's throat went dry. This isn't real, he reminded himself. But the way she looked at him, her lips parting slightly like she was waiting for him to say something, made his defenses crumble just a little.

"Ethan," Clara said softly, her voice barely above a whisper. "You're late."

Her line. Right. The script.

He blinked, searching for the words. They were there, lodged in the back of his mind, but his tongue felt like lead. "I… I got caught up," he managed, his voice raspier than he intended. He swallowed, forcing himself to focus. "I didn't think you'd actually show up."

Her eyes narrowed, hurt flickering across her face before she quickly masked it. "You said you wanted to talk. I figured I owed you that much."

Ethan sat down across from her, his movements stiff, unnatural. He was painfully aware of the script in his mind, the lines he was supposed to deliver. But every time he opened his mouth, the words stuck.

"Look," he said finally, leaning forward. "I know I screwed up, okay? I know I don't deserve—"

But then it hit him.

The encompassed emotion.

It slammed into him like a tidal wave, raw and unrelenting. The ache in his chest, the sting of regret, the helplessness of watching someone slip away—it all came rushing back. His breath hitched, and for a moment, he couldn't speak.

"Clara…" His voice cracked, the name barely audible. He wasn't even acting anymore. The lines were gone, replaced by something deeper, something real. "I… I'm sorry."

Her expression softened, but there was still a guardedness in her eyes. "Sorry doesn't fix things, Ethan. It doesn't erase what happened."

"I know," he said quickly, his voice shaking. "I know it doesn't. But I need you to know that I—I never wanted to hurt you. I never meant to—" His words caught in his throat, tears threatening to spill.

Clara stared at him, her gaze searching his face like she was trying to find the truth in his words. "Then why did you leave?"

"I—" He paused, his mind scrambling for an answer that didn't sound hollow. The pain was too real, too overwhelming. It wasn't Clara he was speaking to anymore. It was his dad. It was everyone he'd ever let down.

"I was scared," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "I was scared of losing you, of not being enough, of… of everything."

Her lips parted, but she didn't say anything.

"I know I can't fix it," Ethan continued, the tears spilling over now. "I know I can't undo what I did. But I'm here now. And if you give me one more chance—just one—I'll spend the rest of my life making it up to you."

Silence hung between them, heavy and suffocating.

Clara reached out, her fingers brushing his. "You can't change the past, Ethan. But maybe… maybe you can change the future."

And just like that, the café dissolved.

Ethan was back in the empty room, his heart racing, his cheeks damp.

[Performance noted. Emotional resonance achieved. Host's potential has increased.]

Ethan didn't respond. He couldn't. He sat there, his chest heaving, his mind reeling.