Conquering the Stars and My Haters’ Hearts - Chapter 6

Ultimately, Anders decided against taking immediate physical action. Personally, disciplining someone like Xie Anning felt beneath his dignity. He figured it would be far more entertaining to torment him during the upcoming makeup exams—letting the boy enjoy a few days of false peace before plunging him into true despair.

To ensure his “prey” didn’t slip away, Anders specifically instructed the school administration not to pressure Xie Anning into withdrawing just yet. He even went so far as to pay Xie Anning’s exam fees, fearing the boy might give up and disappear simply because he was broke.

The administrators were baffled, momentarily wondering if Young Master Anders had developed some sort of “special interest” in Xie Anning. However, one look at the boy’s past reputation was enough to make them scrub that thought from their minds.

Elsewhere, Xie Anning was forced to retreat to a secluded corner to finish his lunch. The lingering effects of the [Truth Serum] meant that wherever he went, he was met with gasps of admiration. It was like living in a scene from an idol drama—novel for a moment, but exhausting as a constant reality.

If I had more money, I could just eat in a VIP lounge and avoid this hassle, he thought.

Driven by the mounting pressure to earn a living, he finally checked his livestream dashboard. The moment he logged in, his notification tray exploded, nearly freezing his interface.

Xie Anning: “?”

Xie Anning stared at the screen. “Did I do something incredible yesterday?”

[System]: Host, the opponent you defeated yesterday, Ferdinand, is a genius pilot who rose to fame in just one month of ranked play. He has a following of tens of millions. According to the Imperial Database I’ve accessed, he is a freshman at the Royal Military Academy and the second young master of the Egret family. He was born in… attended primary school at… his favorite food is…

“That’s enough!” Xie Anning cut the system off. “The basic background is fine, thank you.” The system’s data was more invasive than a census report.

[System]: In summary: because you defeated him, his fanbase spent yesterday insulting you. However, Ferdinand issued a public clarification this morning, which settled the controversy.

Xie Anning: “?”

Xie Anning sighed. A lot happened while I was asleep.

He realized that his massive viewer spike and the flooded inbox were entirely due to Ferdinand’s influence. In a way, he owed the guy a thank you, though he figured saving Ferdinand’s life had already squared the debt.

[System]: Analysis of your inbox: 20,000+ spam emails (insults and apologies), several love letters (including some with unsolicited ‘nude’ photos), thousands of friend requests, hundreds of low-tier advertising offers, and dozens of school recruitment inquiries.

[System Recommendation]: I have filtered the friend requests based on social status and talent; you may review them. The ‘bed-warmers’ have low stats and are not recommended for physical intimacy. The advertisements are low-class and would damage your ‘brand.’ However, over ten military academies have offered full scholarships and tuition waivers.

[System Notification]: The livestream platform editor has sent an urgent message regarding a formal contract.

“System, I really couldn’t do this without you,” Xie Anning admitted. Without the AI’s filtering, he would have deleted everything in a fit of overwhelmed frustration.

He glanced at the military academy invites. Even as a newcomer to this world, he recognized some of the names as top-tier institutions that students would kill to enter. Seeing these “golden tickets” would make his classmates green with envy.

However, Xie Anning had no intention of going. His constitution was too weak for military training, and more importantly, his heart wasn’t in it. Mechas were a fun game, but the front lines? No, thank you. He had other dreams to chase.

He deleted the ads and the “propositions.” Out of the friend requests, he only accepted Qiushui Changtian (Autumn Waters) and Ferdinand. Finally, he opened the message from the editor.

A contract was essential. Without one, the platform took 50% of all donations. For someone in Xie Anning’s financial position, that was unacceptable.

When he replied, the editor messaged back almost instantly. The tone was incredibly eager. The platform’s executives had been furious to discover such a high-potential talent wasn’t signed yet, fearing he’d be poached by a rival. The editor, having faced their wrath, was desperate to lock him down.

The terms offered were top-tier: Xie Anning would keep 90% of his donations, retain rights to his recordings, and have no mandatory minimum hours. He signed immediately.

[System]: I suggest Host opens a social media account. I can manage it to protect your privacy. No one will be able to trace your real-world identity.

Xie Anning praised the system internally. It truly was the ultimate multi-tool.

Imperial Capital Planet, High-Security VIP Ward

“Has he logged on yet?”

Ferdinand lay in his hospital bed, his face pale. A near-miss with a Mental Overload was no small thing. Fortunately, Xie Anning’s intervention had prevented permanent damage, but his family had insisted on a few days of hospital observation.

Ferdinand was currently a Level A, but he was young and had the potential to reach Level S. They couldn’t afford any risks.

Ferdinand had asked that same question a dozen times today, his tone betraying a hint of urgency he didn’t seem to notice.

His aide, eyes glued to the monitor, shouted excitedly, “Young Master, he’s online!”

“Is that so?” Ferdinand’s face remained a mask of cool indifference.

The aide was baffled. He had never seen the Young Master so restless over anything, yet now that the person was actually online, he acted like he didn’t care. “Young Master, would you like to watch his stream? You seem quite invested in this person.”

Ferdinand shot him a frigid glare. “Did I say I was invested?”

The Aide: “!”

It’s written all over your face, the aide thought.

Ferdinand—who usually looked down on everyone—had even defended “Call Me Daddy” on social media. That spoke volumes.

“I simply wish to repay the favor. Nothing more,” Ferdinand said in a clipped voice. Then, he added: “Bring the screen here.”

He stared at the starter mecha on the screen, his mind drifting back to the viral clip. The figure stepping out of the cockpit, though the face was blurred, he could still feel the phantom sensation of that warm, gentle power wrapping around his mind, soothing the chaos.

That trace of gentleness had left him with a lingering sense of yearning—a feeling that was as foreign to Ferdinand as it was complex. This was the first time in his life he had ever experienced such a tangle of emotions.

Xie Anning played through several ranked matches. It wasn’t every day he’d be matched against an opponent as formidable as Ferdinand; most of his challengers were of average skill. To the current Xie Anning, they were trivial obstacles, none of them lasting more than two minutes against his overwhelming suppression.

His viewership hovered in the tens of thousands. The mockery and skepticism of the previous day had vanished. Many had tuned in out of curiosity sparked by the viral scandal, while others were drawn in by the provocative room title.

But as they watched, a realization dawned on them: “Call Me Daddy” was the real deal.

In an Empire that worshipped strength, Xie Anning’s lack of a face reveal didn’t matter. His poise and performance spoke for him. While his handle was arrogant, the strong earned the right to be bold. Fans began flocking to him, flooding the chat with “Daddy!” and even changing their IDs to things like “Daddy’s Son” or “I Love Daddy,” turning the stream into a hotbed of memes.

The “voice-obsessed” fans were particularly entranced. Xie Anning’s voice was naturally soothing, and thanks to the [Voice Enhancement Potion], it had a magnetic quality that left listeners craving more. Since he wasn’t a commentary-style streamer and spoke sparingly, his fans felt like cats with an itch they couldn’t scratch, desperately donating and begging him to say just a few more words.

The system explained that this was only the effect of a low-level potion. Had he used the highest grade, a single sentence would have been enough to turn a listener’s bones to jelly.

Xie Anning, feeling a bit helpless under the system’s prompts, obliged with a bit of casual chatter. Since his technical knowledge of mechas was still shallow, he kept the conversation light and general.

As his scheduled streaming time drew to a close, his popularity plateaued. He couldn’t quite break the 100,000 mark, peaking at around 70,000 or 80,000 viewers. After all, he was still in the low-tier brackets where high-level play was rare. To the average passerby, the previous night’s drama looked like typical fan-war noise, so they hadn’t bothered to tune in to see how truly skilled he was.

Xie Anning wasn’t discouraged. It was only his second day, after all. He remained optimistic that as his rank climbed, the audience would follow.

Ferdinand, however, did not share this patient outlook.

“These numbers are pathetic,” Ferdinand remarked, his voice icy.

This was the man who had defeated him. For such a master to have such a meager audience felt like a personal insult to Ferdinand’s own prowess.

His aide scrambled to explain. “Young Master, he’s still just a rookie. These numbers are actually incredible for someone with zero marketing, no promotion, and no face reveal.”

Normally, a streamer would need events or gimmicks to stand out among the thousands of active channels. Without something “extra,” there was no reason for a casual viewer to choose one room over another.

“A 100,000-credit donation puts him on the front page, doesn’t it?” Ferdinand asked suddenly.

“Well, yes. Wait, Young Master, you don’t mean—”