After the Heartthrob Took the Cannon Fodder Script [Quick Transmigration] - Chapter 18

Burning Stars is a 5v5 MOBA game. Juezhou rarely plays it alone because every time he enters a solo queue, his teammates flame him until he’s a “dog.”

Juezhou was third in the hero selection order, and Shi Du was second. Shi Du asked, “Little Boss, what hero do you want?”

Playing with Shi Du, Juezhou was never polite: “Saint Nameless, Saint Nameless!”

“Okay.” Shi Du nodded.

Saint Nameless was a support hero released last season. His characteristics were a handsome character model but useless skills. Of course, there are pro-players who can make him fly, but when most players use this hero, they only drag the whole team down.

However, this hero is quite popular among support roles; when a pro carries a “noob,” the noob usually plays this one. After all, it makes no difference what a noob plays, and Saint Nameless’s skill effects are truly too cool.

[Eh? Little Boss actually picked Saint Nameless. Is Little Boss’s skill level really high?]

[The person above is clearly a newcomer. —_—]

[Having witnessed a game between Little Boss and Shi Du once, I shall silently shut my mouth.]

Yu Ye, who was first in the selection order, snatched Saint Nameless first. Shi Du frowned and sent a question mark. Yu Ye ignored him and said, “Third slot, I want Greenforest Ranger.”

Yu Ye is so childish, Juezhou frowned but didn’t answer. Considering Yu Ye’s mood, Shi Du proactively picked Greenforest Ranger, while Juezhou picked a hero Shi Du was good at.

During the exchange phase, the three swapped to the heroes they wanted, but Yu Ye’s expression remained quite sour.

[Is Yu Ye intentionally trying to attract the Little Boss’s attention?]

[Little girl, you’re playing hard to get.]

[The ‘dead’ ship I ship has finally reunited. Personally, I feel Yu Ye GG is like a pitiful man dumped by a scumbag, radiating resentment from head to toe.]

[I thought it was a tragic love script, but looking at Little Boss’s indifferent attitude, it seems Yu Ye is just imagining himself as the ‘Ex-Husband’ character.]

Some viewers didn’t catch the “dumped by a scumbag” part, but “pitiful” and “resentment” were definitely there. Yu Ye kept saying things to Juezhou like “Why aren’t you following me?” and “Why didn’t you take the buff I gave you?”—his voice carrying a hint of patheticness amidst the aggression and sarcasm.

Juezhou only heard Yu Ye insulting him for being a “noob.” He already had a bad temper, and regardless of the fact that it was a livestream, he quickly pulled out his phone to search for “sentences to scold people without using swear words” and read them out loud:

“Am I supposed to follow you so we can pick out a grave site in the jungle together?”

So fierce, so ruthless. Juezhou felt a bit of regret after reading it, feeling he had gone too far. Yu Ye gloomily pushed the water glass on his desk.

[Turns out there really is someone in this world whose scolding sounds like acting spoiled.]

[Sigh, so spoiled, so spoiled. Little Boss, scold me a few more times.]

[Does Little Boss scold people like that ‘at that time’ too? Just thinking about it makes me excited, sob sob sob.]

[SRDS (all things considered) Little Boss, the mouth isn’t for scolding, it’s for biting.]

Juezhou: ???

Why are there so many indecent people in Shi Du’s livestream room now? Getting “hard” just listening to people argue—are they all perverts? Fortunately, the moderator was still online and banned a dozen more accounts.

Juezhou had finished scolding before Shi Du tried to mediate: “Yu-ge, don’t mind it. Little Boss is sharp-tongued but soft-hearted.”

[Duzi-ge (Shi Du) has ‘biased mediation’ written into his DNA.]

[I didn’t see the soft heart, but I’m definitely hard. I really want to hold Little Boss’s mouth; if I kiss it until it’s swollen, he won’t be able to scold anymore.]

Shi Du picked the jungler role. As soon as the match started, he headed straight for the enemy jungle to steal camps. Juezhou controlled Saint Nameless and followed the top-laner. Not long after the start, the top-lane warrior sent a message in the public chat, begging Juezhou to go somewhere else.

Feeling aggrieved, Juezhou went to the mid-lane to follow the mage. A minute later, the mage and Juezhou were double-killed.

Shi Du spoke up pityingly: “Little Boss, come with me.”

As soon as he heard Shi Du say that, Juezhou immediately controlled Saint Nameless to stick to him. The viewers in the livestream room then clearly saw exactly how bad Juezhou was—

Three enemy heroes showed up. Shi Du successfully got a triple kill, but when he looked back, Juezhou had been killed by a jungle creep that had only one-tenth the damage of a hero.

“How loathsome,” Juezhou complained. “This jungle monster is too cunning, sneaking up on me while I was killing enemies.”

Shi Du: “Mm, it’s all the monster’s fault. Later, we’ll go kill it together dozens of times.”

Juezhou only said those shameless words because he was thick-skinned; hearing Shi Du agree made his ears turn red. He felt embarrassed and thought about switching accounts to throw gifts at Shi Du. Then he saw the bullet screen.

[Turns out my wife—wait, Little Boss—is a little loser. What should I do? I’m even more excited.]

[The person above, don’t steal someone else’s wife. My wife isn’t a loser, thanks. Every time Little Boss plays a game, I hug and kiss him from behind. You all misunderstood his bad play; actually, I kissed him so soft he couldn’t use any strength. The way my wife cries is so pitiful, biting his lip with the corners of his eyes all red, leaking so much water, but the cut on his lip was bitten by me. He wasn’t scolding because of Ye-ge just now, it’s because I was ‘ramming’ too hard.]

[Hehe, the person above is really daydreaming. Little Boss is bad because I was too forceful last night. My apologies to Duzi-ge, Ye-ge, and the other two teammates. Sorry, I’ll be gentler tonight.]

[Don’t fight. Can’t we just all go together? (bushi)]

Juezhou: …

He vaguely remembered his young uncle had shares in this livestream company. Next time, he must remind him to find more strict moderators—ideally, poach the moderators from Jinjiang Literature City. If they didn’t ban these messy people, Juezhou never wanted to click into Shi Du’s room again.

As soon as the game ended, Juezhou hurriedly logged off. Since this bedroom belonged to Zhou Chenyu and it was getting late, he haphazardly tidied the desk he had messed up, exited his account, and left the room.

The lights in the living room were off; only the orange fire flickering between the youth’s fingers was visible. Zhou Chenyu had been sitting in the dark for who knows how many hours, smoking continuously. The moment Juezhou stepped into the living room, Zhou Chenyu stubbed out his cigarette and opened the window to let the night breeze blow away the scent of smoke.

The two stared at each other in the dark for a few seconds. Zhou Chenyu proactively turned on the light and asked with a smile: “Finished the game?”

Juezhou stood far away from him, hating the smell of smoke: “Mm, I’m going back to sleep first.”

Zhou Chenyu curved his eyes, looking to be in a good mood: “Okay.”

“Oh, right.” Juezhou walked a few steps and suddenly remembered. He had found a bottle of medicine in Zhou Chenyu’s clothes this morning and placed it on the table. That medicine might be an essential item for Zhou Chenyu; it was better to remind him.

After hearing Juezhou’s words, Zhou Chenyu glanced at the medicine bottle on the table and changed the subject: “How much longer are you staying?”

Juezhou asked the System: [Is the Protagonist Top annoyed with me? Does he mean he wants to kick me out?]

The System pondered for a moment: [Probably.]

The mission required Juezhou to stay for a week, but he feared there might be some sudden new mission. He shamelessly pretended not to understand Zhou Chenyu’s meaning: “Mmm… I don’t know. Anyway, I won’t leave this week.”

“Okay.” Zhou Chenyu let out a soft chuckle and tossed the medicine bottle into the trash can.

The next morning, Juezhou was awoken by his alarm around 10:00 AM. A notification for his to-do list popped up on his phone:

[Today is the school anniversary. Remember to change your clothes in advance for the appointment.]

“Sigh.” Juezhou closed his eyes and dizzily put on his clothes, starting to regret agreeing to Mo Guan’s invitation. For a shut-in, proactively going out is simply too exhausting.

The anniversary event started in the evening. Juezhou’s name had hit the trending searches with Jiang Henian once before; to avoid trouble, he put on sunglasses and a mask before going to school.

Mo Guan specifically drove to pick him up and led the way into the backstage of the grand auditorium, saying as they walked: “For this arts performance, students from the neighboring college will also come, so the teachers are taking it very seriously.”

Juezhou chewed his gum and nodded. Rounding a corner, he saw two outstanding youths walking toward them side-by-side. One had a detached and silent aura, while the other was sunny and gentle.

The System reminded: [The Protagonist Shou and his roommate are here.]

Juezhou pulled up his mask and pretended not to recognize Xie Wenchen, following Mo Guan forward. Mo Guan continued his nagging: “Help me manage the order backstage. Those juniors and freshmen—they quiet down the moment they see you…”

Xie Wenchen suddenly looked toward Juezhou, no trace of light visible in his dark, sunken pupils. Juezhou quickened his pace and turned his head away.

The System sounded a notification: [New mission: Advance the plot. While Xie Wenchen’s roommate is present, secretly humiliate and tease Xie Wenchen. Mission Reward: 20 Oppression Points.]

…Juezhou now had two tasks to humiliate Xie Wenchen piled up, and each one was more “beastly” and lacked a lower limit than the last. Thinking from Xie Wenchen’s perspective—being mentally bullied and then bullied by a villain in front of a friend—it was truly shameful and embarrassing.

Seeing Juezhou suddenly stop, Mo Guan asked, “What is it?”

“Nothing.” Juezhou puffed out his cheeks.

The cannon fodder scum-top in the original work really loved causing trouble; no wonder he died so miserably later.

Xie Wenchen proactively walked in front of Juezhou and nodded politely: “Mr. Juezhou, good evening.”

“Why are you here?” Juezhou pulled up his mask, his tone impatient.

Hearing Juezhou’s voice, Xie Wenchen’s roommate lifted his head slightly, his gaze landing on Juezhou. “Hello, Senior Juezhou.” He was a sunny and refreshing youth, staring at Juezhou with a well-concealed look of surprise in his eyes.

Mo Guan explained from the side: “Oh, I invited Xiao Xie; he’s involved in some of the management. Juezhou, do you know Xiao Xie?”

“I wouldn’t say I ‘know’ him…” Juezhou frowned. If he said he was secretly keeping a young boy outside, not only would Xie Wenchen lose face, but Juezhou feared he would be drowned in spit first.

Mo Guan didn’t mind upon hearing this and waved enthusiastically to Xie Wenchen: “Xiao Xie, come find me when you’re done. We have a gathering later.”

Xie Wenchen thought for a moment: “Okay. Thank you, Senior.”

Mo Guan had met Xie Wenchen during a competition; his impression of him had always been that he was gloomy and spoke little—the type of person who would refuse all social activities. Receiving a positive answer, he was a bit stunned. He scratched his head, said goodbye, and led Juezhou backstage.

Sitting backstage were the juniors and freshmen preparing to perform, along with some of Juezhou’s acquaintances. He didn’t act like a stranger at all, slumping onto the sofa; if there hadn’t been girls present, his posture would have been even lazier.

He had superior looks and was walking with Mo Guan, so many people guessed his identity, but none came up to talk. Citizens of the Interstellar Era—even if they made explicit comments all day online—maintained a very good social distance from those around them in reality. Just as Juezhou’s information spread widely online, no classmates would directly come and ask Juezhou about Jiang Henian.

Mo Guan was right before—most of the juniors quieted down when they saw Juezhou was there. Juezhou was very satisfied with this; it seemed his “universally loathed little bully” setting was deeply rooted in people’s hearts. Several juniors standing near him even had trembling legs, red ears, and stammers.

The arts performances at the First Academy were very formal and traditional, consisting only of choir and poetry recitals. Even the plays were types like Thunderstorm that everyone was tired of; every year, the auditorium could only be half-filled.

This was Mo Guan’s first time in charge of the performance. He didn’t dare add entertaining segments but wanted to leave a good impression on the teachers, so he set his sights on Juezhou. He slowly moved next to Juezhou, his tone friendly: “Zhouzhou, see the cat-ear juniors?”

Juezhou (Coldly): “If you told me those ‘cat-ear juniors’ were actually male students who specifically didn’t shave their legs or beards, I wouldn’t have come here at all.”

Mo Guan (Flatteringly): “The lighting backstage is quite good today. Why don’t you sit up a bit straighter, and I’ll take a photo of you?”

Something’s fishy.

Just as Juezhou sat up straight with a face full of suspicion, Mo Guan held up his phone and snapped several photos. He joyfully selected the best one and, after a moment of pride, began showering Juezhou’s face with praise.

Juezhou knew he was good-looking: “Stop praising me. I’m starting to feel nauseous.”

Mo Guan didn’t continue bothering him. He joyfully did a somersault, ran off to borrow a junior girl’s account, and posted on the campus forum.

[Topic: Have everyone come to this year’s arts performance? Senior Juezhou is here too.]

Attached to the topic was the newly taken photo of Juezhou. In the photo, Juezhou was wearing a beige knit sweater, which made his fair, tender face look even softer. His mask was pulled down to his chin, and his long eyelashes caught a ring of light under the lamps. His features looked as if they were painted with the most expensive pigments. His expression was a bit overly cold, his fresh red lips pursed, his face practically writing the words “annoyed.”

The post quickly became a trending topic within fifteen minutes.

[Real or fake?? Did I see correctly? Doesn’t Senior Juezhou never participate in group activities?]

[Good heavens, calling the brothers in the dorm to rush over immediately.]

[Sob sob sob, finally saw a new picture of ‘Husband’.]

[Die, person above! Senior Juezhou belongs to everyone!]

[Thanks to the OP, what a kind person! This month’s computer wallpaper is set!]

Soon, the campus forum administrator found the post and banned the OP for “spreading photos of classmates” and deleted the thread. But the news had already spread like snowflakes through various groups, reaching the entire college in the blink of an eye.

Juezhou sat on the sofa for a while playing Synthesize the Little Sesame. Feeling a bit bored, he asked Mo Guan if he could go for a walk. Having achieved his goal, Mo Guan nodded contentedly: “Sure. The performance doesn’t start for half an hour. Come back early.”

Juezhou left the backstage and climbed down the stairs in the dark, finding that the auditorium seats—which were sparse just now—were now full of people.

Mo Guan actually used ‘cat-ear juniors’ as a lie to trick so many people?

Juezhou was amazed. He put on his mask and left the auditorium. The lights outside were on, with a few faint stars hanging in the sky. Juezhou still remembered the paths here, so he intended to stroll on the lawn outside the auditorium.

At night, one could see the colorful reflections of ripples on the distant lake. The cool breeze was light, and a faint fragrance of flowers was in the air; many art students would sketch here. He stopped behind a junior and looked down at the student’s drawing board.

The junior was likely a freshman; the basic colors and lighting were inaccurate, and there was a very obvious hole in the composition. He seemed to have noticed it and was scratching his hair in deep thought on how to solve it.

“Can I draw a few strokes?” Juezhou spoke up.

The junior was startled. After seeing Juezhou, his ears instantly turned red: “Senior Juezhou? Of course! I was planning to scrap this drawing anyway. You can draw however you like!”

[He’s so afraid of me; he doesn’t even dare to refuse.] Juezhou marveled.

The System: […Is that so? Congratulations, Host.]

Juezhou picked up the brush next to the board, dipped it in color from the palette, and began to sketch with ease. The junior had drawn the scenery of the distant lake; the form was standard, but the crucial colors were mediocre.

He drew with great concentration. The junior, who had been staring at Juezhou’s side profile with red ears, eventually shifted his attention to the board and let out a heartfelt exclamation of wonder.

No wonder the professors said Juezhou was a rare genius in a century.

With just a few casual strokes of paint added, the drawing was completely different from before. Juezhou didn’t fix the original color error but instead used that error to add other bold and intense colors. Inspiration practically jumped off the page.

The junior suddenly remembered that his professor once mentioned Juezhou in class; what he praised wasn’t Juezhou’s staggering talent, but his effort. In his three years since enrollment, he practiced almost every single day. Even for the most basic spheres, Juezhou had drawn hundreds or thousands of them. While other students would indulge themselves during holidays, Juezhou was always the first to “clock in” in the online class group every day.

Juezhou put down the brush and habitually wiped his face; the vermilion pigment on his fingertips smeared across his cheek. Cinnabar rolling onto snow—a boundless, exquisite color that was hard to describe in words.

The junior was almost hugging the drawing board as he looked, marveled that this artwork was actually mostly drawn by himself. Juezhou didn’t disturb him, standing to the side with his elbows hugged.

As the cool breeze blew, Juezhou moved his fingers; he suddenly had a bit of inspiration for his graduation project. The phone in his pocket lit up; it was a new message from Mo Guan.

[Mo Guan: Ancestor, help!!!]

Juezhou’s brow furrowed. He felt it wasn’t anything good and sent a voice message back: “What is it?”

[Mo Guan: The guy playing the piano had an accident and can’t go on stage now. Please, come and save the show!]

Juezhou indeed knew how to play the piano and had even won several awards. But—

He held up his phone, took a photo of the red pigment on his face, and lied without even lifting an eyelid: “See this? This is pigment that’s hard to wash off. How am I supposed to go on stage like this?”

Mo Guan, on the other end of the phone, was silent for a long time. Half a minute later, he sent a bunch of exclamation marks:

[!!!! Just like that!!! No need to wash it, it’s perfect!! Please, come quickly!!]