Chapter 20 – Ratings, Rivalries, and a Ridiculous Wardrobe Malfunction

Narrator: Noa tries to regain some semblance of control by pitching a serious, thought-provoking art project.

But the producer wants more "Reno Madness." At the same time, a rival network creates a knockoff character "Remo," who is somehow even more chaotic and aggressively shirtless.

Reno, threatened, challenges Remo to an on-air art duel. What was supposed to be a calm panel talk turns into a paint fight on live TV. Noa finds herself stuck between networks, egos, and the slow collapse of reality, all while trying to hold onto her sanity (and Reno's pants).

Noa's forehead was becoming intimately familiar with her desk.

Every time something went wrong, it met her desk.

Every time Reno opened his mouth, it met her desk.

And today, her forehead was basically leasing real estate on the desk surface.

"He's going viral, Noa!" The producer's voice sparkled with glee. "The performance with the glitter and the pants explosion? It's already trending in six countries."

Noa groaned. "I pitched a piece about creative isolation in the digital age. You turned it into a strip-paint circus."

The producer grinned. "It's art, baby. And now we've got competition."

He spun the screen around. On it, a clip was playing—another chaotic figure spinning with sparklers, shirtless, screaming poetry into a fan.

"Meet Remo," the producer said. "He's... like Reno. But with abs you could legally park a bicycle on."

Noa blinked. "Someone copied Reno? Why?"

The producer leaned forward. "Because chaos sells. Now, we need something bigger. Something louder. Something messier."

Noa raised an eyebrow. "You want a chaos-off."

"Exactly. An art duel. This weekend. Live. Ratings will explode."

She considered briefly bashing her head on the desk again.

Reno, upon hearing the news, was entirely too excited.

"So he's like me," he said, pacing the apartment in glittery socks, "but less... emotionally supple."

"He screamed into a rice cooker for three minutes on TikTok," Noa said. "Does that count as supple?"

Reno gasped. "He's a fraud. A dollar-store me."

Noa sighed. "It's a panel show. You're supposed to talk, not body slam him into acrylics."

Reno narrowed his eyes. "Talking is battle. Paint is my weapon. The canvas... my battlefield."

"You need pants," she added.

He looked down. "Oh."

The studio was filled with too many lights and too many people with too much caffeine in their systems.

Reno arrived wearing a cape.

"Why are you in a cape?" Noa hissed.

"Every great warrior wears a cape."

"Name one."

"Thor."

"That's a myth."

"So am I."

Remo, meanwhile, stood across the stage dressed like a Renaissance statue who had gotten lost at a rave. His abs glistened under the lights. His eyebrows were sculpted to a threatening degree.

"Let the duel begin!" someone shouted.

The rules were unclear.

There was a canvas. There were paint balloons. There was a timer. There was, inexplicably, a fog machine.

Reno started with a dramatic pose and flung blue paint in an arc that hit the wall, the floor, and half of a camera operator.

Remo countered with a high kick and a spray bottle of neon green dye.

Audience members wore ponchos.

Noa wore regret.

"Is this... performance?" a confused art critic whispered.

"It's something," Noa said.

Fifteen minutes in, both men were shirtless (again), the canvas looked like a toddler's nightmare, and someone had spilled glitter into the fog machine.

Reno declared he was "redefining masculinity through vertical brush strokes."

Remo yelled, "I am masculinity!" and did a backflip.

The camera zoomed in on Noa's face.

She smiled weakly. "Please buy our merch."

After the commercial break, the audience was asked to vote by clapping.

It was deafening.

Reno bowed.

Remo curtsied.

Noa wondered if she was hallucinating.

Backstage, Remo offered Reno a glittery handshake.

"You're chaotic," he said.

"You're disturbing," Reno replied.

"Let's collaborate."

Noa screamed internally.

The segment went viral. Again.

Commentators debated whether it was genius or garbage.

A university offered to write a paper about it.

Reno asked if he could use the footage to get a Netflix special.

Noa poured herself a glass of wine and drank it through a straw.

At 2 a.m., Reno climbed onto the couch beside her.

"Did I win?"

"You didn't die," she said. "That's a win."

He leaned his head on her shoulder.

"Art is exhausting."

She patted his hair. "Try wearing pants next time."

"I make no promises."

They fell asleep like that—paint-smeared, mildly famous, and completely unprepared for what would happen next.

Somewhere, a marketing team was already planning Reno vs. Remo: The Musical.