Chapter 924 - Human Error
Familiar and unfamiliar faces alike lit up with excitement, weaving together into a shimmering curtain of light that exploded into the night sky. In that instant, everything else dimmed, as if this very spot was the center of the world.
Then, Renly raised his right hand, giving a casual wave. "Hey, I heard that too."
The chants of "Young Master" faltered, the enthusiasm momentarily giving way to surprise. Eyes met in uncertainty—should they keep chanting, seize this rare moment for conversation, or simply scream?
A knowing smile played on Renly's lips as he studied the faces before him, committing them to memory—each one a Don Quixote. Then, he caught sight of a massive cheering banner and couldn't help but chuckle.
A bit ridiculous. A bit shy. A bit awkward. A bit exhilarating. For Renly, this was a first.
His smile seemed to break the tension, and the crowd erupted once more. Excited screams and shouts of "Young Master" filled the air, bringing the awards ceremony back to life.
After a brief pause, Renly stepped forward, greeting familiar faces—Hope, William, Graham, Tessa, Tyron. Then, his eyes landed on someone unexpected. "Lauren?"
Lauren Messler. The same Lauren who had been injured during the Lincoln Center premiere of My Cancer. After her discharge, Renly had checked in on her recovery through Nathan, but they had never met again—until now, at the Oscars.
"Yes!" Lauren beamed. "Good luck tonight!"
Her simple words made Renly nod with a grin. "I could use some luck tonight."
His eyes darted around. "Anyone have a pen and paper? I can't stay too long—I've got a party to attend."
A party—clearly referring to the Oscars, but said with such a casual air, as if they were at an airport or a beach in Malibu, and he simply had somewhere else to be. His humor sparked laughter throughout the crowd.
Hope produced a carbon pen from his pocket but couldn't find suitable paper. Regular sheets were too flimsy without support.
Renly took the pen and then the cheering card from Hope's hands. Seeing the simple words written on it, he chuckled. Then, flipping it over, he scribbled two quick lines. With that, he handed everything back to Hope and waved. "Thank you all for coming out tonight. Everything has been perfect. Now, I have to head to the party. If you're interested, you're welcome to join us."
His smile was bright, his mood lighthearted, and in his luminous gaze, it seemed as if a galaxy of stars twinkled.
Hope watched Renly walk away, his heart swelling with indescribable emotion. Young Master heard it. Young Master heard it! Unable to contain himself, he threw his hands up and shouted, "Young Master heard it!"
"Hope, Hope! What did he write?" someone from the crowd called out.
Hope turned over the cheering card, revealing the words:
Who cares if another light goes out, in a sky of a billion stars? It's blinking, it's blinking. Yes, I care. —Renly Hall
A poem? A lyric? A proverb? An opinion? No one knew for sure. But the sweeping handwriting carried weight, and each person interpreted it in their own way.
Even in a sky filled with stars, each light is unique—some dim, some bright, some fleeting, some everlasting. And yet, they all contribute to the brilliance of the night sky.
Who among them would dare to be a light in the world of Don Quixote?
"Aaaaah!" The screams erupted again, raw and unfiltered. The crowd raised their cheering signs high, their voices merging into an electrified roar, a release of pure, uncontainable passion.
Hope, William, the five hundred Don Quixotes, and soon the entire venue—everyone was shouting, their excitement surging like wildfire. The red carpet, the cameras, even the A-list celebrities present—none could compete with the sheer force of the moment.
Not George Clooney. Not Brad Pitt. Not Angelina Jolie. Not even Steven Spielberg.
The fiery enthusiasm ignited the night sky, setting Hollywood Boulevard ablaze with fervor. The Oscars had reached an unprecedented high, etching this moment into the annals of history.
The audience screamed. Reporters clamored. Even the most seasoned entertainers turned their attention toward Renly. The balance of focus on the red carpet tilted, all eyes converging onto him.
In that moment, there was only Renly.
Brad Pitt, standing before the cameras, felt his smile stiffen. Thirty years in Hollywood, countless award ceremonies—and yet, he knew exactly what was happening. The crowd's attention had shifted, and he was left standing in the shadow of another man.
He clenched his fists slightly, forcing himself to remain composed. He wasn't a twenty-year-old kid anymore.
This wasn't normal. Something was off. A deliberate mistake.
Someone had orchestrated this.
Brad's mind raced. Who was behind it? The answer was obvious: Harvey Weinstein.
Harvey, who had a personal vendetta against Renly. Harvey, who had orchestrated power plays all season long. Harvey, who had likely intended for Brad and Angelina to overshadow Renly—only for the plan to backfire spectacularly.
But Harvey hadn't lost anything. Instead, he'd fueled the flames. Brad and Angelina, humiliated, would now harbor resentment toward Renly. And at the end of it all, Harvey could sit back and watch the chaos unfold.
To further confirm Brad's suspicions, Jean Dujardin had yet to appear. The timing was too perfect. First, Renly and Brad clashed, then they both took hits, and now the stage was set for Dujardin to shine.
"Shit," Brad heard Angelina mutter beside him, her arm muscles tensed. Her glare at Renly was searing, as if trying to set him ablaze with sheer will.
Harvey had played them all.
Brad knew Angelina well—she wouldn't let this slide. Neither would he.
Feigning composure, he leaned toward Angelina and murmured, "It's a trap."
She glanced up, eyes searching his face, before nodding slightly in understanding.
Brad took a deep breath, exhaled slowly, and turned back to the red carpet host, Robin Roberts. With an easy smile, he said, "Hey, look, my personal favorite new-generation actor has arrived. How about we invite him over for an interview together?"