Chapter 31: Hit 100,000 EP!
Filming this episode turned out to be a strange experience. A lot of key plot points were packed into a few scenes, and the shift in tone made the work feel heavier.
One of the more unusual moments involved Scott kissing Lydia. The scene was tied to the full moon, with Scott losing control of himself. On set, the system's acting function activated as usual, and I moved through the motions naturally, completely locked into character.
But when the director called cut, there was a pause in me. I had followed the performance as Scott would, yet some of the emotions lingered longer than expected.
The guilt that Scott felt—about Allison, about Stiles—came through strongly. Even though Scott and Allison weren't together anymore, there were still feelings there.
And Lydia had always meant something to Stiles. That kind of scene carried weight that didn't vanish with a snap of fingers.
The rest of the episode focused on Scott's lack of control during the full moon. There was a sequence where I had to break out of handcuffs and act out a chase scene through the woods.
No lines, just instinctual movement, breathing, pacing. I could feel the direction in the script: aggressive, fast, unfocused. Tracking people without knowing why.
I remember the part where Scott watches Jackson and Allison in the car. That whole scene leaned on tension, not words. It worked well, but it was hard to shake off afterward.
Despite the intensity, we managed to wrap the shoot in three days. The team was efficient, and I think everyone was relieved to finish it in one block. With everything filmed, I had the green light to head back home. The shift from long production days to quiet again felt a little off, but I didn't dwell on it.
I also had something else coming up. In two weeks, it would be my father's birthday. That meant visiting home and seeing my parents—the ones in this world.
I hadn't seen them since arriving here, and the thought of that was in the back of my mind the whole drive.
It would be the first real meeting since this change. From the outside, I'd seem the same. I had access to the memories I needed, enough to get by without suspicion.
But I couldn't guess how they'd respond to subtle differences in how I talked or carried myself. That wasn't something I could fully prepare for.
Still, I had some time before that happened. I planned to keep working—finish up chapters, manage the YouTube channel, and keep an eye on progress for the song.
Actually, when it came to the YouTube channel, I'd been filming almost everything I did. I didn't have a content team shadowing me or anything dramatic—just a mounted camera in my trailer, another one I brought around in my backpack, and my phone when needed. It wasn't about setting up elaborate shots or skits.
Most of it was simple: grabbing meals with the cast, heading to the gym, commuting to set, getting makeup done in the morning, reading scripts on the couch.
All of it might've seemed mundane on the surface, but when pieced together, it gave a picture of what life looked like in this industry.
Short-form content didn't really exist yet—not the way it would a decade from now—so everything I was shooting was built with a longer format in mind. Daily routines, casual conversations, behind-the-scenes moments.
Stuff people in 2010 weren't yet oversaturated with. When edited properly, it all formed something akin to a "day in the life" vlog, and I knew from memory that this kind of authenticity was going to be a major draw for audiences in the years to come.
Once I finished filming each day, I'd dump the files into a shared drive and forward them to my editor.
I had only hired one guy at first, someone young and hungry, but I made it clear that he had the authority to build a team if the workload became too much.
The only thing I insisted on was that the quality of the edits couldn't drop. I didn't need fancy transitions or cinematic effects—just clean cuts, good pacing, and a sense of personality in how the videos came together.
And with that, we started doing daily uploads.
It was a grind. No question about that. But it was working.
While none of the videos were pulling in the kind of numbers the original one with Crystal had, they were still doing well.
The key was consistency.
Every upload kept the momentum going, kept new viewers discovering the channel, and gave returning fans something to look forward to.
Speaking of that original video—"A Day in the Life with Wannabe Celebrities"—it had continued to climb.
As of today, it has crossed 100,000 views. It had been six days since MTV gave it a promotional push, and since then, the growth had been steady.
Meanwhile, the other videos had been performing in a clear descending pattern, which made sense. The first vlog I uploaded right after the Crystal video now had around 30,000 views.
The one after that had 25,000, then 20,000, 15,000, 10,000, and finally, the most recent one was sitting at about 5,000 views. Add all that together, and across the seven videos, I'd racked up a total of 205,000 views.
It seems like they gained 5,000 views per day per video, which was a steady increase, but I am sure they will eventually stop after hitting a certain number.
The system had its own way of measuring things, but one pattern was now clear: every two views earned me a single Entertainment Point.
That meant just from YouTube, I had gained 102,500 EP. It was a number that genuinely surprised me when I sat down and did the math. Not because it was unbelievable, but because I hadn't expected it to add up so quickly.
This changed things.
I always assumed acting would be the main driver of EP. After all, that's what the system had invested in—Perfect Level Acting. But here I was, making nearly as much from simple, consistent YouTube uploads.
The implications were massive. It meant I didn't have to wait for new scripts or episodes to be shot. I could build points daily, passively, as long as I had footage and stayed on schedule.
If the EP system was going to reward every form of entertainment I provided, then I needed to treat each one with equal respect. The acting, the writing, the music—and now, the vlogging.
And unlike the other fields, YouTube gave immediate feedback. I could see what people liked. I could adjust quickly. Try something new tomorrow. It was fast, reactive, and scalable in a way nothing else was.
So, yes—it was a lot of work. But it was worth it.
I had already passed 100,000 EPs.
And it was time to do my first Lottery, with my own EP.
[ENTERTAINER SYSTEM – STATUS PAGE]
Host: Jace Harper
Age: 18
Entertainment Points (EP): 107, 500 EP
[SKILL INVENTORY]
(Sorted by Tier)
— Beginner:
None
— Intermediate:
None
— Advanced:
Writing- Lord of the Mysteries ( EP- 15,000)
— Industry Professional:
None
— Perfect:
★Acting ★
Supernatural Action – When used, the performer assumes the full qualities of the role. Presence and behavior adapt to match the intended character, enabling an authentic enactment beyond conscious control.
Teen Wolf (No EP gained yet)
Note:
(Extra category which comes from non-system skills but gained EP)
Youtube- 102, 500 EP
[LOTTERY SYSTEM]
Current Tier: Bronze
Next Roll Cost: 100,000 EP
Rolls at Tier: 0 / 5
Note: After 5 total rolls, cost increases x10
I had finally hit it.
The goal I'd been aiming for since the day this whole thing started—the milestone that marked a new phase in my journey.
100,000 Entertainment Points.
Weeks had gone by, packed with effort and creation. From scripting and acting on the set of Teen Wolf, to writing Lord of the Mysteries, and building an entire content channel from scratch on YouTube—I had clawed my way here through relentless output.
And now, I could finally use the system's lottery.
This wasn't like the welcome gift spin from the beginning. This was earned. Mine.
I tapped open the system interface and selected the Lottery System tab. A prompt appeared:
Would you like to use the Bronze Lottery Wheel?
Cost: 100,000 EP
I didn't even blink.
Yes.
As soon as I pressed it, space seemed to distort slightly around me. Just like before, a massive bronze wheel shimmered into view, suspended midair. The edges gleamed faintly under some invisible light source, and the segments etched across its surface blurred as the wheel began to spin.
Each click of the turning wheel echoed faintly. There must've been hundreds—if not thousands—of options available. I couldn't make them out. It was too fast.
Then it slowed.
The sound softened to a slow, deliberate tick… tick… tick…
And then—click.
The pointer locked into place.
Congratulations. You have gained: Live Streaming (Beginner Level).
There was a short pause as the wheel dissolved from view, leaving behind a faint shimmer of light that faded quickly. I opened my system panel immediately, scanning the update.
[ENTERTAINER SYSTEM – STATUS PAGE]
Host: Jace Harper
Age: 18
Entertainment Points (EP): 7, 500 EP
[SKILL INVENTORY]
(Sorted by Tier)
— Beginner:
Live Streaming (New!)
— Intermediate:
None
— Advanced:
Writing- Lord of the Mysteries ( EP- 15,000)
— Industry Professional:
None
— Perfect:
★Acting ★
Supernatural Action – When used, the performer assumes the full qualities of the role. Presence and behavior adapt to match the intended character, enabling an authentic enactment beyond conscious control.
Teen Wolf (No EP gained yet)
Note:
(Extra category which comes from non-system skills but gained EP)
Youtube- 102, 500 EP
[LOTTERY SYSTEM]
Current Tier: Bronze
Next Roll Cost: 100,000 EP
Rolls at Tier: 01/ 5
Note: After 5 total rolls, cost increases x10
I couldn't help but feel a twinge of disappointment.
After everything I'd done—all the hours of writing, acting, filming, planning—you're telling me all of that effort was only worth a beginner level skill?
I stood there for a few moments, staring at the system screen in silence. My eyes locked on the words:
Congratulations. You have gained: Live Streaming (Beginner Level).
It felt… underwhelming.
My very first spin, part of the welcome package, had rewarded me with an Advanced skill—Writing: Lord of the Mysteries—which had felt like a game-changer at the time.
That skill alone had helped me launch one of the most successful serial web novels in this alternate world. It validated my efforts, gave me momentum.
And now, after weeks of grinding and accumulating one hundred thousand Entertainment Points through sheer persistence and multitasking… this?
Beginner level live streaming.
It barely felt like a step forward. In fact, it almost felt like a pat on the head.
But as I took a breath and thought about it more clearly, I remembered something the system had told me during that very first spin: bronze-level lottery wheels rarely give anything higher than beginner-tier skills.
I had simply gotten lucky that first time. Extremely lucky.
This result wasn't a step backward. It was simply reality catching up to me.
The bronze tier was meant to be entry-level. A space to earn your stripes. And if I was being honest with myself, it made sense.
Most people—if they even had access to this system—would be working from the ground up. Bronze-tier rewards weren't supposed to be life-changing.
They were supposed to give you a nudge, a tool to build with.
Live streaming, while unimpressive now, was going to be huge in the future. Sure, in 2010 it was still niche. Twitch was only just getting started.
YouTube hadn't introduced live features yet. The infrastructure for massive digital personalities simply didn't exist on the scale it would ten years later.
But I wasn't planning for the present. Not anymore.
I had to take the long view.
As I looked back at the updated system screen, I found my thoughts beginning to settle.
I knew how the tiers worked now. Beginner skills were akin to someone who had been at the craft for a month or two—just enough to have basic awareness, but not nearly enough to stand out.
Intermediate was probably where a dedicated amateur would land after two or three years of focused practice. Think someone who plays the guitar well enough to do covers or perform at a school event, but not professionally.
Advanced was where most professionals started to plateau—after five to ten years of work. They'd have polish, experience, consistency. For something like piano, that would be a Grade 8 ABRSM level, or equivalent to someone who could perform in recitals or small concerts with confidence.
Industry Professional? That was where the world's best performers and experts lived. This was the domain of Grammy-winning musicians, world-renowned athletes, bestselling authors, prime ministers, and presidents. People who reached the peak of human capability in their field.
But Perfect?
Perfect was something else entirely.
Perfect wasn't achievable through effort. Not even by working for decades. It broke the rules of reality.
It was supernatural. When I acted with Perfect-tier ability, I didn't just act—I became the character. That was something else. Something almost divine.
So in that context, a beginner live streaming skill made perfect sense. I couldn't expect lightning to strike twice, not from a bronze wheel.
It just meant that I now had a tiny edge in a space that was going to become massive in the next decade.
And more importantly, this wasn't the end.
I still had four more bronze spins before I unlocked Silver Tier, and with that, access to better rewards and a much higher chance of getting intermediate or advanced skills.
This one underwhelming pull was just part of the process.
So yeah, maybe I didn't get something explosive today. Maybe beginner-level live streaming wasn't going to change my life overnight.
But it didn't really matter for now anyways.
…
Authors note:
You can read some chapters ahead if you want to on my p#treon.com/Fat_Cultivator