Fainting wasn’t in my, Chu Zu’s, considerations.
I briefly examined this body and concluded: I was practically a superhuman.
Superhumans didn’t faint, even if they only slept fifteen minutes in two weeks and had a hole pierced through their palm.
After leaving the cell, I deliberately took a few minutes in a healing pod to patch the hole in my hand, and, as per “Chu Zu’s” habit, I took a quick combat shower before eting Luciano.
Up to this point, “Chu Zu” had no physiological issues.
The problem was my fragile mind.
I had to flesh out my character settings before seeing Luciano, or all subsequent plot points would race toward the original story’s path.
First was “Chu Zu’s” encounter with Luciano.
The original author hadn’t provided any related plot details.
A single line—“Since Chu Zu was picked up by Luciano Esposito from the lower district”—sumd it all up.
How was that acceptable?
Since I couldn’t “directly” change how others viewed or interacted with , I’d influence them “indirectly” through settings.
Moreover, from a creator’s perspective, “Chu Zu” was inherently flawed.
His goals kept shifting without a stable driving force, making all his actions seem purely deranged.
What provided a stable drive?
The past.
How to nd the story like Nuwa nding the heavens without altering the main plot?
I, Chu Zu, was good at this.
After receiving the original story’s data, I’d been rapidly brainstorming how to complete the narrative.
Now, I had a solid plan.
Opening the system’s Neon Crown setting collection, I steadied myself and got to work!
Before adding settings, the system warned:
“The mont you write the premise for a supplentary plot, everything that didn’t originally happen to you will happen.”
“You cannot control others’ actions or words. You can only change the Side character himself. You must personally drive the supplentary plot.”
“In others’ eyes, it’s just text, a past, a mory, but you must experience and bear it yourself.”
“Are you sure you want to do this?”
I was very confident and first added: Congenital insensitivity to pain.
The system, though slightly exasperated, didn’t sound an alarm.
The settings I added couldn’t be too absurd.
“Chu Zu knocks out the world with one punch”—if I dared write that, the system would let taste what a “world-knocking punch” felt like.
After writing that line in the setting collection, the lingering pain in my palm vanished instantly.
Satisfied, I flexed my hand and continued writing fluidly in the collection.
When I finished detailing the premise of my encounter with Luciano, the system issued a prompt identical to before.
“Target novel Neon Crown background settings added.”
“New plot will load as personal experience. Host, please prepare.”
“Loading a new plot…”
This ti, I was ready.
I quickly cleared my mind to prepare for contingencies.
But personal experience differed vastly from the earlier data dump.
I lost control of my body.
When I regained it… I was small, colliding with a man.
In a blink, he was stomping and beating to vent his anger.
I said: “…”
System: “This is the appearance you wrote.”
I said: “I know, it’s fine. The collision was good, and it didn'
t hurt. I’m a genius—acting skills lacking, congenital insensitivity cos through.”
System: “…”
Though the later plot wasn’t written into the collection, it unfolded as I’d expected.
“Chu Zu” is officially connected with Luciano.
Personal experience was entirely different from text-and-image combinations.
I could sll the expensive scent on Luciano.
It was hard to describe the feeling.
The sun was just right, the hug too tight, giving the winter-vest-clad boy a new interpretation of that scent.
“He slls like the future.”
I said to the system, sowhat delighted.
“Now I’ve got a better grasp of this character. It’s reasonable for ‘Chu Zu’ to betray, and when Luciano truly dies, the motive for ‘revenge’ is set.”
The system flashed six dots in my mind, then responded with strong professionalism.
“I thought… at least this counts as a pleasant mory? But you’re already planning Luciano’s death…”
“A pleasant mory doesn’t contradict flipping later,” I said.
“That’s how novelists are. The warr the opening tone, the more detailed, the smoother the later betrayal. If the start is empty, the flip isn’t betrayal—it’s just derangent.”
The system found my reasoning sound, agreeing with a “Yes” while logging my words into its learning database.
“It seems you’ll craft a cold-outside, warm-inside character, fully driven by emotional tension,” the system mused.
I paused, slightly puzzled: “No, who’d dwell on emotions in a novel like Neon Crown?
Isn’t this an action-packed, growth-oriented story? Did I miss the genre?”
The system flashed another six dots in my mind.
Before we could talk more, the supplentary plot ended, and I was back in the bathroom.
My fragile mind began to shut down.
“Due to no ti differential, all your supplentary experiences took less than a second in the normal tiline. You may need a mont to adjust.”
I had no ti to adjust.
I knew Luciano tracked all of “Chu Zu’s” movents, including where and how long I spent.
Normally, Luciano wouldn’t scrutinize, but with my new settings, nothing was certain until I t him.
Propping up my near-exploding mind, I added one final setting to the collection.
After writing, the system was utterly baffled, silent for a while, its chanical prompt glitching briefly with static.
“Hide the last setting I added. I don’t need to know it either.”
My mind was chaotic. Only after writing did I think to confirm.
“Can you hide that setting? Ideally, make forget it too—” I stressed, repeating, “‘Chu Zu’ doesn’t need to know this.”
The system said dryly: “Possible, but given your current instability, further brain operations might not hold. You could faint anyti.”
Faint, then faint.
So I really fainted.
“I suggest handing Chu Zu to the lower district. He just dealt with resistance in thirty-six lower-district zones. They’ll take care of him thoroughly.”
“This will also give you a legitimate reason to sweep the lower district, helping you find Tang Qi’s hideout.”
“If you’re worried about Chu Zu waking mid-process, creating flaws, I can inject sedatives and muscle relaxants.”
Luciano looked down at the man on the ground, saying softly: “Jeeves, shut up. This ti, I an it—shut up.”
“Command received.”
Luciano didn’t put in a healing pod.
He promised to give the best of everything, so he should honor one of his rare promises.
In this era, most diseases could be cured by machines.
If machines failed, organs were replaced—after all, even brains could be half-digitized.
The only terminal illness was an undetectable genetic defect.
Either prepare to upload your data when symptoms appear, or wait to die.
Knowing the Tang family’s biotech tampering, the Esposito family secretly kept private doctors to handle organ-replacent diseases.
But these doctors, whose annual cost could feed thousands in the lower district, couldn’t find the cause of my coma.
After every possible test, I was deed healthy.
I managed myself well, and my innate gene expression ensured superhuman physique.
The doctors, sweating, swallowed “cannot rule out latent genetic defects” and concluded: “Insufficient rest, ntal stamina not matching physical.”
Luciano’s ruthlessness was no secret in either district.
If his bloodbath of the family had faded with ti, his recent annexation of two major families besides the Tangs and his iron-fisted suppression of lower-district unrest were enough to show his thods.
Luciano Esposito was a ruthless figure who valued results over process.
The result was, the doctors were helpless with my condition, nearly blurting out the foolish “put Chu Zu in a healing pod, just in case.”
“Mr. Chu Zu needs rest. If you’d give him so ti…”
“Give him ti?”
As if hearing a child’s unreasonable tantrum, Luciano shook his head helplessly, asking?
“He ssed up, and I should wait for him to rest. Is that what you an?”
No doctor dared answer.
Luciano looked at the man lying quietly on the bed.
He rarely saw with my eyes closed for long—his diligent subordinate, his most reliable security.
During the fiercest days of the family inheritance fight, Luciano still slept soundly, knowing soone would wake at the slightest stir.
Those red eyes, unlike chanical red glow, would open anyti, scanning everything for the shadow’s master.
On blood-stained nights, with neon lights never ceasing, my flesh was Luciano’s only dreamlike haven in a chaotic world.
Luciano felt he couldn’t keep thinking this way, overtaken by strange emotions.
Resisting the urge, he continued: “I don’t keep useless things. You and he are the sa. Am I clear?”
“But…”
Luciano didn’t spare another glance, turning away.
He still had to handle the aftermath of the other three major families.
Each day without capturing Tang Qi or getting the codes, his position grew unsteady.
All or nothing.
A simple choice.
Recently, the upper district’s pollution control had issues.
Artificial rain mixed with purifiers left the streets nearly empty, only unyielding neon clamoring in the rain.
Luciano went downstairs to a hovercar at the curb, the driver minimizing the distance to five ters.
This ti, no one held a black umbrella for him.
Raindrops fell on his head, his shoulders.
The purifiers were harmless, yet Luciano felt as if burned.
He dove into the car like an escape, briefly leaving everything tied to behind.
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