Author's Note: Every single chapter title alludes to a movie or a television series that I have watched and enjoyed immensely, and would whole-heartedly recommend to you all.
I have a p-word now, so if you feel like reading 8 advanced chapters for $6, or 5 advanced chapter for $4, then feel free to join. Link is in this fic's summary, or you can just search 'Archonstine' on patreon... whatever floats your boat!
Also, join my discord will ya? For movie and tv-show recommendations and character images. And also it's the one place where I ask you all for suggestions. The link is in this book's bio.
P.S, donate some power stones while you're at it. And maybe... write up a review?
MC (POV)
"-creation of the three-strip Technicolor camera provided a momentous boost to the films in 1930s. This era that continued till the 50s was defined by the three-strip Technicolor. Technicolor could now offer studios a full range of colors as opposed to the red-green spectrum of previous films. Now, can anyone here tell me how?" Mrs. Joanne gazed towards the students, her eagle-sharp eyes searching for hands in the air.
When naturally, she caught mine.
"Yes Richmond?"
I put down my appendage and proceeded to rattle off, "The new camera simultaneously exposed three strips of black-and-white film, each of which recorded a different color of the spectrum."
"Correct, good answer. Now can you tell me another advantage this camera had over its predecessors?" Her eyebrows raised in anticipation as she awaited my answer.
Naturally, I did not disappoint, "Technicolor's advantage over most early natural-color processes was that it was a subtractive synthesis rather than an additive one: unlike the additive Kinemacolor and Chronochrome processes, Technicolor prints did not require any special projection equipment. Unlike the additive Dufaycolor process, the projected image was not dimmed by a light-absorbing and obtrusive mosaic color filter layer. Very importantly, compared to competing subtractive systems, Technicolor offered the best balance between high image quality and speed of printing." I finished, as I focused on making notes again.
"Perfect! Though the subtractive synthesis line was taken almost verbatim from your assignment on Technical Histories, well-reasoned nonetheless."
Ah, it seemed she noticed. To think my professors, address such importance to my written assignments, then again…
[Academic Writing Lv. 84: Proficiency in composing scholarly and formal written documents]
Hmmm, lv. 84 huh?
Pretty good, considering that lv. 100 is the max limit. But it'll easily take me over a year more to reach that particular height, and that's going by my best cast scenario. Kinda hard to come up with an accurate estimation, even with my INT and WIS working in tandem.
Gotta say, I'm kinda bummed out that I can't max it sooner. But then again, this skill does encompass several other broad aspects in this area.
[Enabling 'Comprehensive Overview' of skill 'Academic Writing']
…
[Academic Writing Lv. 84/100
Ø Research Proficiency Lv. 81 – You are an exceptional researcher, adept at finding and evaluating sources effectively.
Ø Information Organization: Lv. 86 – You are a master of organization, capable of creating impeccably structured and logically coherent documents.
Ø Citation and Referencing: Lv. 83 – You are proficient in various citation styles and can expertly cite sources while avoiding plagiarism.
Ø Argumentation: Lv. 88 – You can craft highly persuasive and compelling arguments with ease.
Ø Grammar and Style: Lv. 84 – You possess impeccable grammar and style, ensuring your writing is clear, concise, and stylistically appropriate.
Ø Editing and Proofreading: Lv. 85 – You excel at editing and proofreading your work, minimizing errors effectively.
Ø Critical Thinking: Lv. 87 – You are skilled in critically analyzing and evaluating information and arguments.
Ø Specialized Knowledge: Lv. 90 – Your expertise in your chosen field is exceptional, showcasing deep knowledge and understanding.
Ø Peer Review: Lv. 79 – While you can provide feedback, your peer review skills are relatively lacking.
Ø Thesis and Dissertation Writing: Lv. 82 – You are seasoned in writing extensive research projects, with your specialization slightly surpassing your general writing proficiency.
]
And there you go. With focus, commitment, and sheer fucking will, I cultivated each skill individually, before compiling them into a unified one.
You see, one of the major limitations of the gamer is that, you can only activate one active skill at a time, never two.
I can effectively go nuts with as many passive skills as I want, cause they're passive, as in they work 24/7.
And to ensure my professors receive nothing but top-notch efforts, I had to find a way to use all skills simultaneously to ensure my writing meets the highest standards because, why the hell not.
I had spent quite a few afternoons in the library researching on hypothetical skill sets that could be categorized efficiently. Suffice it to say, I did not make any headway.
Luckily for me, the gamer it seems, understood my predicament perfectly, providing me with a way to achieve the best results in an efficient manner.
It's been over a year, since I've been able to compile related skills as long as they are above level 50.
An entire year. Oh, what all I've managed to do this year.
Let's see, I have consistently been topping my class in every conceivable subject and field of study, obviously. None of my fellow future colleagues can hold a candle to me.
All my professors simultaneously adore me and are jealous of my sweeping intellect, and with my CHA, I've got most of them eating out of the palm of my hand. They don't engage in blatant outbursts of favouritism, mostly due to my insistence to be treated the same way as my classmates, but that doesn't stop them from showering me in all kinds of praise every single day.
You know, I know Voldemort was the big baddy of Potter-verse, but one does tend to admire how flawlessly he navigated the social minefield of Hogwarts and amassed his following despite possessing the social status equivalent of being a Jew in the 40s. I'm not saying he is not an evil son of a bitch, but I can relate to him a little more than I do with the 'boy who lived'.
Anyways, I've even joined a clique or two around the campus. Of course, I don't spend a lot of time with them, considering almost every single group sits around and drinks beer in their free time, with the odd bottle of whiskey every now and then.
And even though I'm sure they like me a lot, I can see how weird it would be from their perspective to drink alcohol and cut back in front of a 14-year-old. I mean, at my age they were in middle school, with pimples covering their faces and spending half their time awkwardly stalking their crush with barely any hopes of getting laid.
That's not to say I spend no time with them, I do join them a few times a week in a café around the corner, though mostly on FR nights.
The FR, stands for film review. They believe that as budding film-makers, they should spend a night every week just engaging in a good spirited discussion regarding any new releases or some classics, just to stay on top of things.
And frankly I appreciated them even more for it. Not cause it provided me a new avenue to polish my debating skills. Nope, I just had fun flexing my superior thinking and providing in depth explanations on the spot, just to hammer in how smart I truly I was.
Sigh, it did wonders for my ego. Those nights really showed me how far ahead I was than my peers.
"Alright class! That's all for today. Now remember, although your midterm presentations officially commence in two weeks, if you complete your 'Short' by next Monday, then please send a copy to my office and I'll get back to you with in 2 days, 3 maximum. It'll allow you to make some last-minute changes before the panel discussion, where you'll be marked most stringently." Mrs. Joanne said in a subdued voice as she packed up her bag.
Soon, my classmates exit through the door and step into the bustling hallway. Now normally I would've followed them but…
"Mrs. Joanne?"
"Yes, Ricky?" She looks up, clearly confused as to my continued presence in the classroom.
That's when I place a VHS tape on the desk before her, awaiting her reaction.
She didn't disappoint. "Is that-" She began, her eyes widen slightly before I interrupt her, "It's my 'Short'. 4 minutes, 26 seconds. I've been ready with it for days now." I finished, forcing a slight blush on my cheeks.
"Oh! That's wonderful Ricky! I am so proud of you! Now I know I said next week, but I'll take this with me right now and review it as soon as possible. Meet me in my office at 4 after your classes end tomorrow. Ok?"
I could practically see the glimmer of pride in her eyes, as I take a moment before nodding my head.
"Terrific! Now get on Ricky, I believe the Trojans are meeting in… 15 minutes! God, hurry up! You don't wanna be late now, do you?"
"No, I don't, than you very much Ma'am for reviewing my project early. I'll get a move on then." I said, before scurrying out of the building and walking at a brisk pace towards my parked bike.
Mrs. Joanne was right, I do not want to be late to the meeting.
Now everyone on the campus calls our Football team the Trojans, because that's literally their name. USC Trojans.
But in this context, she meant the editors and journalists of the student newspaper of USC, 'The Daily Trojan'. Yep, you heard me right.
Almost a year ago, I was alerted to the need of a student journalist to cover the sports news for the newspaper through one of my friends. Naturally, I saw the opportunity to develop my skills further and make a name for myself, and thus applied for the post.
At first the editors were skeptical at best, and some of them were downright dismissive after seeing my age.
It took a live coverage of a baseball game, and a half hour interview session, before I finally managed to convince them to give me a chance.
Sure, researching about games, and commentaries in general took some time out of my schedule, but it gave me something that just could not have been gained through grinding.
That little something is legitimacy. My articles and sports column were some of the best they ever had, and my in-game analysis put several so-called 'pundits' to shame. In fact, my march madness coverage was received so well, that I won an award hosted by the California College Media Association for Best Editorial.
That was my first ever state level award and the only one, for now. I'll be sure to gain far more later down the line.
I swiftly embark on my bike, and start peddling like a madman, knowing I won't have time for a coffee along the way.
[Cycling Lv. 39]
Hmmm, that's pretty good, considering I only use my bike as a form of commute and never ride for recreational purposes.
No worries, I'll max it out before my time at the college ends. Probably.
…
…
Trenton Campbell (POV)
Knock! Knock!
"Hey Ricky! It's me. Trent." I shout at the door, "Open up!"
"One sec." I hear a muffled voice closing in, before the door opens.
And there he is, the little miniature robot. Ricky Stirling himself.
"Come on in." He said, before making his way back to the study table atop which sat a desktop with its screen lit.
"Close the door behind you." He said, with a quick turn of his head.
I latched the door shut before making my way to his table.
"Soo… Ricky." I began, "How's life? How're classes? Go on, tell me. Aced any tests recently?"
He turned his head towards me and looked straight into my eyes, like he was gazing into my soul or something.
All was quiet for a few seconds, before he broke the silence, "I'm a little busy Trent, so make it quick. What do you want?"
Fucking hell was he actually looking into my soul?! Seeing no way out of this, I decide to open up.
"Ok listen buddy, the weekend's coming fast, and I know you leave Saturday evening before coming back on Sunday afternoon. Have I got that right?"
"Yeah, I visit my father every weekend, you know this. So, what's new?" He raised an eyebrow.
"What's new, is that umm, hey just to switch tracks for a second, you remember Melissa, right? We've been going out since two, three weeks now, I think. Anyways, we've made plans this Saturday for… let's say a picnic. Anyways, we've talked it out, and there is a very real possibility of me getting laid-"
"Sure, I'll leave the key under the doormat." He cut in with a smug expression, "Remember, you owe me one… well actually you owe me six now. Man, you better start carrying around a life jacket, cause you're drowning in debt right now." He finished with a smirk; I could practically see how much he loved watching me squirm in front of him.
I scoff at him, "Oh please… I owe you four at best. I think you're forgetting the time I sneaked you out of the campus for the late night showing of 'Prowler'. I broke curfew and risked expulsion; I think that counts as two favours at the very least."
He leaned back in his seat; his face filled with some sort of serene confidence as I passionately made my case.
"Oh, I remember. First of all, that doesn't count as two. And second, you're forgetting the time I sneaked in two bottles of vodka past the campus security for your little 'gathering'. That more than cancels it out I believe."
I let out a breath of resignation, "I was hoping you weren't gonna bring that up. Alright, six it is. I know when I'm beat. So, what do you want?" I finally popped the question, knowing he won't go overboard with this. He'll probably just have done some menial shit that he's too lazy to do himself.
He cleared his throat, "So, I kinda forgot to tell you this. D-don't take it personally even my dad doesn't know about this, but a couple of weeks ago, I started writing a book, and just yesterday, I put some finishing touches here and there, you know. A little spell-checking, some editing, filling in the kinks, you know?"
Hold on. What?! He wrote a goddamn book? In a few weeks? "I-I'm sorry what the… what the fuck Ricky? You're not gonna get to breeze past this so easily, nope. You're gonna sit here and tell me what you wrote about. I mean this-this doesn't just happen, you had to have planned this for months now, right?"
"Well-" He scratched the back of his head awkwardly and looked away his right, "A month. Singular. Honestly, I got an idea, and it wasn't leaving my head, so one fine day I started typing. And this," He said pulling out a floppy disk, "is the result of several sleepless nights. One full length fantasy novel ready to go." He waved the disk around in my face before flinging it across the room.
My eyes widened in horror as I followed its trajectory, as the disk spun around in an arch, before losing its momentum and bounced off the couch. It did not fall to the floor. No Sir, it bounced off the cushion and sat on the coffee table's edge, balancing itself perfectly.
"You know," I began somberly, " Someday, it may not be for the next few months, but someday, you'll owe me a favour instead of the other way around, and I'm gonna have you teach me how to do that." I finished, making sure he saw how fucking serious I was about this.
Cause this wasn't a one-time incident. As much as I hate to admit it, this cute little 'trick shot' as he called them was not a fluke in any way. You see Ricky here; he had a flair for being dramatic. Not the show and pomp kind, but rather the 'actions speak louder than words' kind. So, every chance he got, whether someone asked him to pass a coaster across the table, or throw a can in the dustbin, every single time he made it a spectacle of the highest order and he did effortlessly.
Worst part was, that by now it was practically second nature to him. He doesn't even have to look in the direction of where he's flinging objects and somehow, he always makes it, no matter what. And then when we're all busy picking up our jaws off the floor, he acts like it's no big deal and goes back to doing whatever he was before he made the damn shots.
His 'trick shots', were actually what got him invited to his first frat party ever, and boy oh boy. Let's just say a few beer pong world records were set that day and leave it at that.
"Yeah sure, like that's ever gonna happen." He snorted derisively.
Wait and watch little bastard. Wait. And. Watch.
"Ok so anyways, you wrote a book man! That's awesome! I-I heard fantasy; what kinda fantasy you talking about? Like historical shit? Or you ventured into Sci-Fi?" I switched the topic, knowing I could never win an argument against this little fucker.
"Well, it's hard to classify it into a subcategory so let's just go with fantasy. But essentially, it's this unholy combination of several mythologies from an American perspective. But that's not important, see I'll tell you and everyone else more about it next Monday anyways, what's important though, is that I need a little help on your side. And you owe six, so there's no way you're getting out of this." He spoke cheerfully.
"Okay, what'cha want me to do?" I asked, preparing myself for the worst.
"Oh, just uh, you see I'm gonna show the manuscript to my dad this weekend so I need a hard copy of it." His tone turned more cheerful every second, "So YOU, will have to make your way to the printers tomorrow and get me a spiral bound of it."
"Just to confirm, that's it right?" I asked, trying to spot the catch but unable to, "Just print out 100 pages and bring you the spiral bound? Ok, I'll need cash beforehand for that, the in-charge is really anal about payment being made beforehand."
He smiled, "Here's the cash." He said pulling his hand out his pocket and handing me a thick wad of tens.
Wait.
Hold the fuck on.
Tens. TENS?!
"Ah, you spotted the catch huh?" He smirked merrily, no doubt enjoying the dread I was feeling at that moment.
After a second, I opened my mouth, "Ricky. Buddy. How many pages did you say your book was?" I asked, knowing I wasn't gonna like the answer.
"Oh, not a lot. Just 435."
…
"Excluding the cover page, author's foreword, a few citations, index, and the acknowledgement. So, in total, I would say in the ball park of 450."
…
"Ricky, it's 450 pages. It'll take hours."
He chirped right back, "Oh half a day actually. I know, I calculated. So have fun, and make sure there ain't no mistakes, otherwise you'll have to do it all over again. Also, use the inkjet printer."
He continued having that smug smile on his face. His cute chubby little face. His adorable, extremely punch-able little face.
"You can't punch me Trent. I understand, truly I do. It's really tempting. But think about Melissa. You don't wanna cancel your plans for the weekend and disappoint her, do you?"
Stop smiling you son of a bitch.
I said nothing more, mostly cause I didn't trust myself to not start spewing the vilest shit I could come up with if I opened my mouth.
I grabbed the cash, walked over calmly to the floppy desk before pocketing it, and made my way out of the door.
"Goodbye Trent!" I can hear you chuckling you son of a bitch. "Look forward to your day at the printers. I assume you won't have time for anywhere else after you're done!" And with that parting shot, I slammed the door shut.
Sigh.
I'm gonna kill him someday. I don't know when. I don't know where. But out there is a shovel with his name on it and I'll use it for its intended purpose.
Damn, I gotta cool down. Hmm, perhaps a cup of joe will prepare me for the ordeal I'm about to face.
This fucking book... wait. I forgot to ask him the name. I fish out the floppy disk out of my pocket and there it is. Written on top of it in big bold letters.
'American Gods'.