Transmigrated as a Cannon Fodder Reject, Then Became a Movie Star Chapter 21: New Narrative Trajectory

In the Wrenford family garden, Sierra lounged in a wicker outdoor chair, the kind with a curved back and woven holes that let the breeze slip through. In front of her sat a low glass table, arranged with glossy fashion magazines, a fruit platter stacked with grapes, apples, waterlon slices, oranges, bananas, and dates, and a tall glass of juice sweating faintly.

She was sitting cross-legged, scrolling idly through her phone when a new notification pinged. With a sigh, she dragged her finger down the screen to clear them all at once. But her long acrylic nail betrayed her—tapping one by mistake. The phone opened the post imdiately.

The caption jumped out first:

{Exclusive: hit-and-run? Or attempted murder? Watch till the end 😳}

The video began to play. At first, it looked like the recorder was filming the café across the street. Then, suddenly, they shifted, and the phone’s cara caught the sidewalk, the passing pedestrians, and the intersection ahead.

A startled voice behind the cara muttered: "What the—?"

Sierra’s breath hitched. Through the shaky lens, a sports car barreled past the speed limit straight toward a familiar figure crossing the road. For a second, the figure froze. Then she jerked sideways—barely in ti.

Erisia.

The na whizzed through Sierra’s mind, her grip tightening around her phone until the case creaked.

Please hit her. Hit her. Make her die. Make her disappear forever.

The thought slid quickly and unconsciously, her gaze locked on the screen with venomous intensity.

The car roared forward, almost upon Erisia—when another figure yanked her away from its way. Both crashed hard against the curb, but even that didn’t stop the driver. The car screeched into reverse, surging at them again. Yet sohow, impossibly, the pair escaped a second ti, rolling free as the car lost control and slamd into a roadside pole with a tallic shriek.

The video replayed itself automatically. Sierra’s nails dug into her palm until her knuckles blanched.

It was at that mont that Mrs. Wrenford stepped out onto the patio.

"Sierra darling, I ca—" Selena began, but she paused mid-sentence, turning to her daughter.

Noticing Sierra hadn’t even registered her presence, she gave a bemused smile and shook her head, assuming Sierra was absorbed in sothing amusing. Leaning closer, she peered over her daughter’s shoulder.

She watched the video play again. Not even five seconds in, Mrs. Wrenford’s expression shifted in rapid succession—surprise, disbelief, then a flicker of contempt.

"That snake was in an accident?" she frowned harshly,

Before Sierra could respond, a maid hurried across the garden, slightly breathless. "Madam, the Brightfall Police Precinct just called the mansion. They said Miss Erisia was the target of an attempted hit-and-run. They asked if you "...wanted to co to the police station."

"This stupid, annoying girl. Wonder what she did for soone to want her life," Mrs. Wrenford said coldly once the maid finished relaying the details of the call. Her tone was absent of worry, not a flicker of maternal instinct betraying her composure—only disdain, as if Erisia’s near-death was nothing more than an inconvenience.

She extended her hand without looking. "My phone."

The maid placed it obediently into her palm. Selena dialed briskly, waiting only a few beats before the familiar voice of the family’s lawyer answered.

"Mrs. Wrenford, what a surprise. How are you—"

"Spare the pleasantries," she cut in, her voice clipped. "I don’t have the patience for them. I just watched a video of Erisia nearly being run down in the middle of the street. The police have already called. They want us at the station."

There was a pause, the faint shuffle of papers on the other end. Then the lawyer cleared his throat, carefully. "Understood. What would you like to do?"

"You’ll handle this. Keep it contained. The fewer ripples, the better. This accident is already saring our family na, and I won’t have any more drama—especially not concerning her. It’s better if everything is settled at the station. Quietly. No headlines, no gossip. Am I clear?"

"Yes, ma’am," ca the crisp reply.

Selena ended the call without another word, her face smooth and cold, as though she’d just instructed soone to fix a scheduling.

Then Selena turned her attention to Sierra, who was still staring at the frozen screen, her phone clenched so tightly it was a wonder the glass didn’t crack. Her expression was calm on the surface, but her mind churned with venom—each thought darker than the last.

"Darling, the video’s stopped playing. Why are you still staring at it? ... Sierra. Sierra?"

Sierra jerked her head up. When her eyes landed on her mother, her lips pulled into a small, sugary smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

"Y-yes, Mom?"

Selena studied her. "Are you alright?"

Sierra’s smile widened a fraction too much, the edges brittle. "Yes, I am. Really, I am."

⸻

At the station, things moved quickly. The driver sat slouched in the interrogation room, arms crossed, eyes filled with defiance. No matter what the officers asked, he stayed stone-faced and silent, chewing his inner cheek.

Erisia and her rescuer had already given their statents. Finally, she could focus on the screen flashing with a prompt and a new recomnded mission in front of her.

[ Main Fate Event Triggered: Car Accident ]

[ Original Outco: Fatality of Host Erisia. ]

[ Current Status: Host survived. New narrative trajectory created. ]

[ New Link Established: Cassian Rowe. ]

[ New Mission Unlocked ]

➣ Type: Recomnded Mission

➣ Title: Maintain Survival Arc

➣ Objective: Investigate and resolve the attempt on Host’s life.

➣ Conditions:

 — Co-operate with Brightfall authorities to uncover the orchestrator.

 — Trace the driver’s instructions to the origin point.

 — Confirm and expose the mastermind’s identity.

 — Secure public affirmation of truth.

➣ Duration: 20 days maximum.

➣ Reward: Standard-tier ability enhancent (details classified until completion).

[ Advisory Addendum ]

— Previous narrative records: Adrian Yale was responsible for Host’s demise. Current probability index: 80% likelihood he remains the orchestrator.

— Optional Tactical Guidance: Strengthen ties with Cassian Rowe. Probability models indicate his involvent functions as an effective deterrent against further imdiate hostile events.

— Declining mission acceptance will increase the Host’s danger index by 42%.

[ Mission Status: Pending Host Response ]

’Seriously? What’s with the host thing? And why is it so long?’

[That is because it was a tutorial.]

’Right... So I guess you are going to help this ti around too?’

[If you require my support during your missions, I will assist you to the best of my ability.]

She sighed and closed her eyes, leaning back in the chair. ’Good, that’s better. Let’s finish here first, and then we will discuss.’

As paperwork shuffled and officers moved in and out, the stranger leaned closer with a disarming warmth.

"I don’t think I properly introduced myself. Cassian. Cassian Rowe."

Erisia blinked her eyes open. The na registered instantly—the System had burned it into her mind earlier. "...Right. The singer."

He chuckled sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. "Yeah, that’s . But don’t hold it against —I’m not usually in the business of dodging cars. You’re handling this pretty calmly."

"I’ve had practice," she murmured dryly, absently stroking Rein, still curled tight against her chest.

Before Cassian could answer, the door opened. A tall man in a navy suit strode in, his steps asured, his expression polished. He wore the kind of smile that was crafted, not felt—charming on the surface, hollow beneath.

"Miss Wrenford?" he said smoothly.

He hadn’t even finished his introduction when the System flashed bright across her vision:

[ Na: Tennyson Erson ]

[ Occupation: Wrenford Family Lawyer | Senior Partner at Erson & Hale LLP ]

[ Family: Married; three children; one mistress; no illegitimate child. Old money ties through the Hale family; rumored connections with several judges. ]

[ Status: Corrupt practitioner. Long-ti Wrenford fixer. Known for silencing witnesses, manipulating case files, and arranging quiet settlents. Keeps a slush fund for bribes and scapegoats. Loyalty: money alone. ]

"Tennyson Erson. The family’s lawyer," he said, extending his hand with a smile that never reached his eyes. "I’ve spoken with the officers. Why don’t we have a word?"

Erisia didn’t bother to mask her disdain. She ignored his hand and simply tipped her chin toward the interrogation room.

"After you."

He went in, and she followed.

Once inside, Tennyson launched straight into business. "Mrs. Wrenford has made her wishes clear. This matter should be tidied up quickly, with no further complications. I’ll ask the driver a few questions. If he cooperates, he won’t see prison—he’ll be compensated. Everyone walks away satisfied."

Erisia narrowed her eyes. "Compensated? He tried to kill ."

Tennyson smiled thinly, as though her objection were quaint. "Attempted vehicular homicide, if you want the precise term. But trials are ssy, Miss Wrenford. Headlines are even ssier."

Erisia frowned. Then, unexpectedly, she let out a laugh. "And that’s exactly what my dearest mother told you, isn’t it?"

"Yes," Tennyson said smoothly, slipping into a self-righteous tone. "Miss Erisia, you must understand. Mrs. Wrenford only wants to avoid unnecessary scandal. Bad press harms the family—and by extension, you. But rest assured, we will uncover why this man targeted you."

Erisia’s smile didn’t reach her eyes. "Then go ahead. Let’s hear it."

Tennyson turned to the driver. "Listen. You can keep silent, but it won’t serve you. Answer truthfully, and I’ll make sure you’re taken care of."

The driver stayed silent, jaw tight.

With a faint sigh, Tennyson pulled out a check and slid it across the table. The driver’s eyes flickered despite himself. "This is just the beginning. Cooperate, and you’ll walk out a free man. If not—" his voice hardened, "prison will be the least of your problems."

Erisia’s voice cut in, "And what exactly do you think you’re doing?"

"My job," Tennyson replied smoothly.

Her laugh was low and mocking. "Your job? If that’s your job, then I don’t want you as my lawyer. You can leave. I’ll handle this myself."

Tennyson stiffened, his polished mask cracking for the first ti. "Miss Erisia, I was sent here by Mrs. Wrenford. I must see this through."

Suddenly, the System humd again:

[ Temporary Mission Generated! ]

[ Title: Bury the Truth, or Unearth It ]

[ Objective: Prevent Tennyson Erson from silencing the case. Ensure record of attempted murder remains intact. ]

[ Rewards: 1 System Credit | Skill Fragnt: Persuasion Adaptability ]

[ Failure Consequence: Public narrative suppressed. Future threats increase. ]

Erisia’s jaw tightened as she glanced at the driver. His arrogance flickered into unease under her steady stare.

’I will gladly complete this mission, Echo.’

She sneered, "My would-be murderer is sitting right there, and instead of pressing him for answers, you’re offering him hush money. The daughter nearly dies, and the mother sends her fixer to sweep it under the rug." Her voice hardened. "Well, I’m not fucking having it."

Then, without warning, Erisia’s face crumpled. A wail tore from her throat—loud, raw, startlingly realistic. Tears welled and rolled down her cheeks, her shoulders shaking as if she had finally broken down.

[This is a surprisingly good use of your lessons, Erisia.]

The System’s dry approval echoed in her head, but outwardly, she looked every inch the hysterical victim.

Tennyson froze, caught completely off guard. "Miss Erisia—what, compose yourself—"

The driver flinched, shifting uncomfortably in his chair. "The hell’s going on—?"

Erisia clutched Rein tighter against her chest, rocking slightly as she wailed. "They tried to kill ! And now you—now you want to pay him off? Do you think my life is worth a few zeroes on a check?!"

The interrogation room door cracked open; an officer peeked in, alard. "Is everything alright in here?"

Erisia raised her tear-streaked face, her voice trembling but clear enough to carry:

"No. It’s not alright. My own family sent a lawyer to cover this up. Isn’t that obstruction of justice?"

The officer blinked, eyes darting from her to Tennyson, who suddenly looked much less composed.