Chapter 38: Back to the set and another time Skip
After a while of casual conversation and light teasing, my mom turned to Crystal with that mischievous glint in her eye. "Do you want to see what Jace's childhood room looked like?"
Crystal didn't even hesitate. "Of course," she said brightly, already pulling out her phone, her camera app open and at the ready like she'd just been handed a golden opportunity. She glanced back at me with a playful smirk that said I am absolutely documenting this, and I just sighed as the two of them made their way upstairs, already deep in chatter and laughter.
That left me downstairs with my dad. For a second, it was quiet, not uncomfortable, just... the kind of silence that lingered between two people who didn't quite know how to shift into the next part of the conversation.
"So," he finally said, leaning back a little, "what else have you been doing? Acting aside."
I nodded. "Been writing a little. Wrote a song recently for an up-and-coming artist."
"Oh?" He looked interested. "That's nice. You'll have to send me the link once it's released."
"I will," I promised. "It's not out yet. Probably will be in a couple of weeks."
He nodded, satisfied. Then I continued.
"I also auditioned for the Harry Potter movie."
His eyes widened a little and he raised one eyebrow. "That's really good, son. Genuinely proud of you. What role?"
"If I'm not wrong, they're shooting Half-Blood Prince right now," I said. "I'm auditioning for Cormac McLaggen."
He nodded thoughtfully. "Makes sense. It's a good role. Not too many lines, but solid exposure. You'll get a chance to be seen by people who matter—plus, being on a project of that scale, in another country... it opens doors."
I smiled at that. "Yeah," I murmured, "a completely different side of the world."
If only he knew.
If only he knew that I had already lived there once. That in my previous life, I'd spent decades in the U.K., working, living, becoming someone else entirely. I had walked those streets, understood their customs, learned the ins and outs of the system. But here and now, that life didn't exist. Just a memory, faint and sharp all at once.
"I also started a YouTube channel," I added casually, shifting the conversation forward.
He looked interested again. "You did? What's the name?"
"I'll send you the link," I said, waving it off. "It's nothing major just yet, but it's growing."
He nodded again, and we sat there a moment longer before I reached into my pocket and slid something across the table toward him.
My debit card.
He glanced at it but didn't touch it right away. Just stared.
"I know you're not going to use it," I said quietly, "but I'd appreciate it if you kept it. Just for emergencies. You don't have to work anymore."
He didn't respond immediately. My dad had always been the type of man who worked not just for income, but out of principle. There was pride in his routine, in earning his way. He wasn't just an employee; he was often the backbone of whatever team or department he was a part of. The idea of stepping back from that—of not needing to hustle—was almost alien to him.
He finally picked up the card, turned it over in his hand, and then gave me a small nod.
"I'll keep it," he said. "But this is more for you than for me. Because I know you. You wouldn't stop until I took it. That stubborn streak—you got it from your mother."
I smiled faintly. "Fair enough."
"So," I asked, shifting topics again, "where are you eating tonight?"
He leaned back in his chair and cracked a small smile. "That new Italian place—Giovanni's? Place with the woodfired pizzas. Your uncle Raymond swears by their pasta."
"Sounds good," I said. "Make sure you order dessert. It's your birthday—you get to go full calories today."
He chuckled. "Maybe I will."
….
Just as planned, we stayed at my parents' place until around 6:00 p.m. It was about time for Crystal and me to head back, and my parents were also getting ready to attend my dad's birthday dinner with his friends and their spouses. I say "families," but really, it was more of an adults-only gathering—just old friends, good food, and probably a lot of the same stories they'd been telling each other for years.
Lunch had been a heavy one. My mom went all out with steak—perfectly seasoned, seared just right, and served with mashed potatoes and roasted vegetables. For a home-cooked meal, it hit harder than I expected. It reminded me just how long it had been since I sat at that dining table and ate something that came from her kitchen.
Now, Crystal and I were standing by my car, getting ready to head back. The sun was dipping lower on the horizon, casting golden hues over the driveway and front porch.
"It was really nice meeting you, dear," my mom said to Crystal, her tone warm and genuine. "Please stay in touch with me, okay? My son isn't the best at calling or texting regularly, so I'll need someone to keep me updated."
"Of course, I will," Crystal replied with a polite smile. "I'd love to."
My dad, not one for long goodbyes, gave me a simple nod. I returned it with one of my own. That was our way—minimal words, maximum understanding.
Then my mom pulled me in for a hug.
"Stay safe, okay?" she said softly.
"I will, Mom. You too," I replied, giving her a gentle squeeze.
Once again, I looked at my dad. "Happy birthday, Dad. I hope you enjoy the rest of your day."
"I already had a good day, son," he replied. His voice was quiet, but content.
Crystal and I got into the car, buckled up, and pulled away from the driveway.
"Did you enjoy yourself?" I asked as I glanced over at her.
Crystal immediately burst into giggles, the kind of laugh that was light and almost childlike. She pulled out her phone and turned it toward me.
"I took so many pictures," she said proudly, swiping through them. "You were so cute as a baby. What happened to you?"
I gave her a deadpan look. "Wow. Just... wow."
She grinned, entirely unbothered by the jab.
As we continued driving, I pulled out my phone and searched up the restaurant my dad had mentioned earlier—Giovanni's. I knew they were planning to go there, and while my parents never expected anything from me, I figured a small gesture wouldn't hurt.
Crystal watched with quiet curiosity as I dialed the number. After three rings, someone picked up.
"Hi, this is Giovanni's," the hostess greeted.
"Hi there," I replied. "I wanted to check if you have a reservation under the name Morlisson Harper?"
There was a brief pause as she checked. "Yes, we do. Party of eight for 7:30 p.m."
"Perfect. I'd like to pre-pay the bill for them. I'll give you the card details shortly, and please make sure to send a couple of nice bottles of wine to the table."
"Oh, of course, sir," she said, clearly a little surprised but pleasant. "That can be arranged."
I handled the details with the staff member, gave them the card information, and made sure everything was settled before hanging up.
Crystal looked over at me as I placed my phone back in the cupholder.
"That's nice of you," she said softly.
"I know," I replied, keeping my eyes on the road. "Just another way of saying thanks. For everything."
She leaned back in her seat and smiled.
(Author's note: Chat is this Rizz?)
Another week passed by almost without notice, and with it, another 100,000 Entertainment Points landed in my account. Things were moving faster than I expected. The Teen Wolf shoot was nearing its end—only a few scenes remained—and though I was busier than ever, I found myself bonding with the cast a lot more. There was more downtime between shoots now, and it gave us all some breathing room to relax, talk, laugh. The people who once felt like coworkers were starting to feel like actual friends.
On the other side of my life, things were picking up as well. We had officially moved into the new apartment—the content house—with the entire gang. I wasn't there all the time, obviously, but the others had already started posting to their individual YouTube channels. I was footing the bill for editors for now. It was an upfront investment I was willing to make, especially because our main group channel had already gone live with its first few videos.
The type of content we were putting out reminded me of an old channel from the future called Just Kidding Party. Board games, jokes, light chaos, and friendly roasting—it brought that same kind of natural vibe I'd always enjoyed watching. There were even some prank wars beginning to stir between the others, though luckily I spent most of my time elsewhere, so I dodged the worst of it. For now.
The song Baby was also progressing steadily. Marketing for it had already started in a quiet, behind-the-scenes way. Teasers, short clips, whispers across fan pages. The release would be soon. I wouldn't be singing in it, but I'd written it, pitched the melody, and crafted the vision. I was even promised a cameo in the music video—something Ethan had smartly negotiated. It would be a blink-and-you-miss-it appearance, but still, exposure was exposure. All of it would add to the growing storm of attention gathering around my name.
Meanwhile, my own YouTube channel had finally been approved for monetization. I now had revenue flowing in—still small, but steady. And that was all I needed. The system rewarded consistency. I knew that well. I'd planned to do a mass upload soon to finish off Volume One of Lord of the Mysteries. We were almost at the final arc. The ending was already outlined, just waiting to be written.
My mother, of course, had not stopped pestering me for spoilers.
If there was a Hall of Fame for readers who couldn't wait for weekly updates, she'd be in it. The number of times she texted or called asking for "just a hint" was borderline impressive. But I had long ago perfected the best tactic to handle it. One I used as a corporate lawyer in my past life—when you didn't want to answer a question, you simply didn't.
No reply. No confirmation. Just silence.
It worked every time.
Life, at that moment, was good. A little hectic, sure, but good. I was preparing mentally for the UEFA Champions League Final, which would take place in May. And I had a smart idea I'd been holding onto: I'd be flying to London soon for the Harry Potter in-person audition. If I timed it right, I'd already be in the UK during the Final. That meant I could actually go and watch the match live—and more importantly, place bets.
With the 100,000 EP I'd just earned, I used the system's bronze lottery once again. It was my fourth spin out of the required five.
This time, I unlocked a beginner-level skill in 3D animation.
Was it useful? Not really. Not yet. The extent of my newly acquired knowledge allowed me to create a janky stickman who could awkwardly juggle a football. It wasn't winning any awards, but it was a step—another small piece of the puzzle.
And most importantly, it brought me one step closer to unlocking the silver lottery tier.
Each week, each upload, each step forward—it was all momentum. All I had to do now was keep pushing. The rest would follow.
…
Authors note:
You can read some chapters ahead if you want to on my p#treon.com/Fat_Cultivator