Mike and Jordan sat frozen, staring blankly at the scene before them. Their brains refused to process what they were seeing.
The presidents of the student guilds across the universities—normally proud of their second-row placements—were now being shuffled to the back. That alone was absurd. But Jason Carter wasn't seated in the second row at all.
No—he was sitting dead center in the VIP row.
That row was reserved for sponsors, the representatives, or members and Management staff. The kind of people whose average age was well past forty. Not for a twenty-year-old student.
And yet, Jason wasn't just tucked into a corner. They'd seated him right in the middle. Even the officials of the Bureau had shifted aside to make room for him.
"W-what… what the hell is going on?"
Mike rubbed his temples. "This has to be a dream, right? Or I'm hallucinating. Tell me I'm hallucinating."
Eathan let out a hollow laugh. "Nope. That's real. The Third Bro's actually pulling it off."
Luce, meanwhile, felt like his entire chest was collapsing in on itself. He couldn't accept it. Not only was Jason suddenly sitting among them, but Jinyi's eyes never left him. The admiration in her gaze felt like knives stabbing Luce straight through.
At that moment, Jordan spoke up lazily, as though it explained everything."Don't you guys know? Jason's loaded. What's so surprising about this?"
The others blinked, stunned.
And after a moment, it started to click.
Jason had never looked the part—his clothes carried no visible brands. But now that they thought about it… every time he showed up, his fits seemed subtle yet impossibly well-tailored. They weren't normal clothes—they were bespoke, enchanted one-of-a-kind pieces worth more than they could ever guess.
Mike sighed heavily before finally sitting down in their own seats. For a moment, all they could think about was Jason. But then their eyes landed on the girls nearby—Jinyi, Grace, Alice, and the others who had chosen to sit close by.
They froze again.
And then smiled.
Jason might be unreachable, but this… this was still an opportunity.
Jinyi was a dream far out of their league, the kind of goddess only Jason seemed capable of pulling into orbit. But the other girls? They weren't any less attractive, and sitting side-by-side with them in the front row was the kind of stroke of luck most guys never experienced in three years of college life.
Their hearts shouted inwardly at Jason: Respect. Truly, respect.
Meanwhile, the entire hall had noticed Jason's placement. The murmurs spread quickly through the student crowd.
"Who's that kid? He looks way too young to be up there."
"No way he's just a student. Even staff don't get front row. He's sitting with the Bureau?"
"Has to be second generation."
"Second generation my ass—ordinary heirs don't get those seats. That's Council level!"
Backstage, the student performers were just as bewildered. The live broadcast feed showed the seating clearly.
Among them sat Mia—representing there univarcity—along with a few others.
"Wait… isn't that Jason Carter?"
"Yeah! He's a student like us! How in the hell is he sitting there?"
"I heard he's filthy rich. Must be that."
"No… no way. Rich doesn't make Bureau leaders step aside."
Mia's brows lifted slightly as she spotted him on the feed. For a brief moment, surprise flickered in her eyes. But she quickly closed them again, exhaling slowly. She had no intention of wasting her energy on Jason Carter. Not yet.
Mia closed her eyes to conserve energy and focus. She had to be in her best condition for the next performance.
The prize money for this competition was huge, and she wanted it badly.
Her family was comfortably middle-class. They could afford lessons when she was younger, and she had studied piano under some great teachers, even attending masterclasses. But they weren't wealthy enough to bankroll her entire dream career.
If she wanted to keep studying music at a higher level, it would have to be on her own merit. Her parents couldn't shoulder that financial weight anymore. If she wanted to pursue a career in the arts, she had to carve her own path—otherwise, she would spend the rest of her life relying on her family, and that wasn't an option.
The $10 grand prize of this talent show could become her "first step to her goal." Not only would it give her immediate resources, it would prove she could stand on her own.
As for Jason Carter suddenly being seated at the VIP leadership table? She had been mildly surprised, sure, but it wasn't her business. She had bigger things to focus on. Jason's world didn't matter to her—music and her dream did.
So her impression of him remained unchanged. Since their initial acquaintance, her favorability hadn't shifted in the slightest.
The talent show began in full swing.
Nearly half the acts came from the prestigious academies of the eight participating universities. Performances ranged from ballads, rock bands, interpretive dances, and classical pieces, to comedy skits and even theatrical swordplay demonstrations by students from the Knight's Academy.
When Mia's turn came, she sat before the grand piano and performed a Canon in D, reinterpreted with delicate flourishes. The melody rose and fell like sunlight through glass, leaving the auditorium hushed until the applause thundered across the hall. She had delivered one of the strongest performances of the night.
Jason, watching from the central VIP seat, gave a small approving nod.
After Mia, another contestant stepped onto the stage—Oli, a girl with striking beauty of a different kind. Unlike Mia's frosty aura, Oli carried a soft, gentle presence that drew people in.
Jason glanced at the roster projected on the crystal display board and paused. Oli—one of the people the system had marked as "potential favorability." She was among those destined to play a role in his strange journey, though he had never quite understood how her favorability had risen in the first place.
As the music started, Oli began a classical dance. Her movements were fluid, almost hypnotic, with elegance that made even those unfamiliar with dance appreciate it instinctively.
Many in the audience leaned forward, captivated.
Jason found himself thinking wryly: Now I get how ancient kings lost themselves to beauty. If I were a monarch, I might not make it to morning court either.
More acts followed—powerful rock ballads, magical illusion displays, and even a dwarven folk-dance troupe—but it was clear this festival was a roaring success.
When the performances ended, Hawthorne, approached with the results prepared by the panel of judges.
Of course, this wasn't just a festival—it was a competition. Which meant a winner had to be chosen. But Jason knew how things worked. The so-called "judges" had little power; in the end, it was the sponsors and management who dictated the outcome.
Jason wasn't particularly interested. He wasn't here to control outcomes—just to increase his favorability with key people and enjoy the event.
Still, when Hawthorne handed him the results, Jason's brows furrowed.
The first-place winner wasn't Mia. It wasn't Oli. Instead, the champion's name read: Grace Turner.
Jason thought hard. Grace Turner? He vaguely remembered her performance—it had been singing, and she was talented. But compared to Mia's piano or Oli's dance, her skill hadn't reached that same level. Champion? No way.
This reeked of inside dealing.
Jason's frown was enough for Hawthorne to catch the signal. With a calm expression, Hawthorne walked over to the judges' table, where a panel of robed adjudicators sat alongside enchanted crystal orbs and scoring parchments.
"Excuse me," Hawthorne said with a polite but firm tone. "Mr. Carter is not satisfied with this ranking. There are… inconsistencies. Perhaps you should reconsider the placements."
One of the younger adjudicators, a pimply-faced scribe barely out of apprenticeship, scowled. "We've already submitted the scores. What's the meaning of interfering with the official result?"
Hawthorne leaned closer, lowering his voice just enough to be dangerous. "The meaning is this—you and I both know the rankings were tampered with. If you want to talk about unspoken rules, fine. But before you cling to them, weigh carefully who you're crossing."
The table went silent.
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