Chapter 40: Last night
My status page was starting to look noticeably better with each passing week. Just a couple of months ago—back when I first arrived in this world—it had been nearly empty. Aside from the supernatural acting skill granted upon arrival and my early acquisition of writing, the rest of the page had been bare. It looked like potential, sure, but not much more than that.
Now, it was different. Now it looks like progress.
Not only had I built up a respectable base of beginner skills through the lottery—each one potentially useful in its own niche—but I had also added another high-level skill to my inventory. Chess Mastery, at the Industry Professional tier, stood just beneath my supernatural acting ability. According to the system's classification, this rank was the peak of what could be achieved through human effort alone. It was where the best of the best sat—those who had dedicated their entire lives to perfecting a single craft.
If my understanding was accurate, then I was now somewhere in the range of players like Hikaru Nakamura, D. Gukesh, or perhaps even Magnus Carlsen. It was a strange thought. Chess had never been at the center of my ambitions, but the idea that I could sit across from players of that caliber and hold my own—maybe even beat them—was oddly humbling.
Still, perfection was something else entirely.
The supernatural acting skill had shown me what it meant to transcend human limitations. It wasn't just talent—it was immersion so complete that your identity bent around the character. It allowed for something beyond conscious control. I imagined that perfection in chess, if it existed, wouldn't just mean making the best move every time. It might involve perceiving the game in a way no human mind was ever built to handle—hundreds of branches, layered tactics, the capacity to simulate entire endgames in seconds.
And to be honest, I didn't want that.
One thing I'd started to learn about this system was that nothing came free. Power came with quirks. With unpredictability. Supernatural acting had already made me question myself a few times—especially when fully immersed in the role of Scott McCall. I could adapt to the character, sure. I could carry the emotions, live in the skin, mimic the memories.
But what happens when that character isn't a teenager navigating high school?
What happens when I take on someone darker, or more unhinged, or deeply conflicted in ways I haven't yet touched?
What happens when I play a character I don't like?
The Harry Potter audition had been fine—Cormac McLaggen was arrogant, prideful, but ultimately harmless. Still, it had left me with a lingering awareness that the deeper I went into this system, the blurrier the line between acting and being would become.
That was why, even with the potential to push other skills into the perfect category, I didn't want to. I didn't need perfection in everything. In fact, I didn't even want it. I was content to let acting remain my single supernatural trait—the defining core of my public persona, the one skill that would carry me in entertainment for years to come.
Everything else—writing, music, chess, streaming, even sports—I was happy to leave at the human limit. Industry professional was more than enough. It gave me credibility, competitive edge, and confidence without the fear of losing myself in the process.
So far, I've managed to balance things well. Scott McCall had been in my system for weeks, and I hadn't lost track of who I was. But I also hadn't taken on a second major role yet. And when I did—when I stepped into the robes of a Hogwarts student and lived inside another character's head, even temporarily—I didn't know how that would feel.
Would the system let the identities overlap? Would I start dreaming like someone else? Would I still come out of it completely as Jace?
I didn't have answers. But I did have caution.
And as much as I enjoyed pushing my limits, I was starting to understand the importance of choosing where those limits should stay.
It was already pretty late into the night—1 a.m., maybe a little past. I was still awake, eyes glued to my laptop screen, though my mind was already starting to drift. That was when I heard the soft creak of the trailer door opening. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught Crystal peeking her head in, just enough to scan the room. It was something she'd been doing for the past few nights. Sometimes to check if I was asleep, sometimes just because she didn't feel like heading back to her own trailer.
Whether I was asleep or not never really changed the outcome. If I was out cold, she'd come in quietly and curl up beside me without saying a word. If I was still awake, she'd walk in like it was the most natural thing in the world. Tonight was the latter. She noticed I wasn't sleeping, slipped in, shut the door, and immediately flopped down beside me. Without saying anything, she wrapped her arms around me and rested her chin on my shoulder.
Her eyes dropped to my laptop screen, which was still open on the chapter dashboard. She tilted her head slightly, reading through the page before she asked, "You finished mass releasing Volume One of Lord of the Mysteries?"
I gave a small nod as I adjusted us into a more comfortable position so we could lie down properly. We'd grown closer over the last few weeks—both on and off set—and moments like these had become quietly routine. Her presence had started grounding me, helped me make smoother transitions between who I was and the roles I had to play. Still, a part of me knew that this comfort would get more complicated in the long run.
Especially if Teen Wolf followed the same plotlines I remembered. If Scott and Allison eventually broke up in the show—and deep down, I knew they would—it was going to mess with me. More than it should. The emotions the system stirred up when I acted weren't something I could fully turn off. They bled into real life, and the longer I lived as Scott, the more his heartache could become mine.
I just hoped that if the fanbase liked my acting enough, I'd gather enough weight in the industry to shape the direction of the show, even just a little. In Hollywood, actors with enough popularity could start influencing scripts—not rewriting entire arcs, of course, but enough to make suggestions that stuck. That was the sort of leverage I was aiming for.
One change I knew I wanted was to lean harder into Scott's potential. The whole concept of the True Alpha had so much power behind it, and yet, in the original show, he always seemed to come up short against most supernatural threats. It felt wrong. If you're supposed to be the leader of a pack, the one who rises through sheer will, then that should mean something.
And then there was Allison. I didn't expect them to stay together forever—it was a drama after all—but maybe I could help keep them together longer, give their story more weight. Their romance was part of what carried the emotional stakes of the early seasons. Dragging it out wasn't just sentiment—it was smart storytelling.
As I was caught up in my thoughts, Crystal shifted slightly and looked up at me. "What are you thinking about?"
"Just how I'm going to miss this quiet," I said, letting myself sink further into the cushions. I pulled her gently on top of me, and she adjusted easily, resting against me with a soft sigh.
"What do you mean?" she asked, her fingers playing lightly through my hair.
"This—us," I said. "Right now, it's just the two of us. Even with everyone around, it feels quiet at night. But next week, once I move into the new place with the others, it's going to be loud. Crowded. Non Stop filming, laughing, yelling… It's going to be chaotic when you visit."
She paused for a moment. "Who said I'm going to visit?"
I looked at her with a straight face. "I don't remember giving you a choice."
She rolled her eyes, but smiled as she dropped her head onto my shoulder again and hugged me tighter.
I was just starting to drift into a comfortable haze, her warmth pressed against me, when the door slammed open.
"There you guys are!" Dylan's voice echoed through the trailer like a fire alarm.
He looked utterly unbothered by the sight of us halfway cuddling on the sofa. If anything, he seemed almost pleased with himself. Crystal barely moved, only groaning in quiet protest.
"Jace," Dylan said with exaggerated urgency, "I think it's time."
"For what?" I mumbled, not bothering to hide my exhaustion.
"Our rematch, obviously," he replied like it should have been obvious. "I've already invited everyone. They're all heading to your trailer."
Crystal groaned again and sat up slowly, her expression somewhere between a glare and a pout. She didn't say anything, but it was clear she thought Dylan had just ruined the moment.
"Why are we having a rematch?" I asked, rubbing the back of my neck.
"Where's your competitive spirit, man?" Dylan shot back. "We lost last time. I haven't been able to sleep since. And tonight—it's our last night of shooting for the season. What better way to celebrate?"
I sighed, looked at Crystal, and saw her smirk as if to say you brought this on yourself.
"Fine," I said. "But if we lose again, you're explaining it to her."
…
Authors note:
You can read some chapters ahead if you want to on my p#treon.com/Fat_Cultivator