I Accidentally Became A Superstar - Chapter 400 400: The Irony of Reaching the Peak

Zeno did not know how to describe the weight that had just fallen on his shoulders.

Director.

He had watched the stunned faces of the other contestants when Ryeo announced his name, and though part of him wanted to laugh in disbelief, the cameras caught the stillness of his expression instead. The truth was, he didn’t like it.

The last mission had took up most of his energy, and now he was expected to lead another team?

He wanted no part of it.

And yet, here he was, seated in a circle with his newly formed team—if they could even call themselves that. The “fair” method, as Ryeo and the rest of the staff had explained, was to let chance decide. No favorites, no handpicking.

Every contestant who wasn’t chosen as a director had been randomly sorted, one by one, until the groups were finalized.

Zeno hadn’t even blinked when the names rolled in, though he quickly realized “random” might’ve been the cruelest joke.

Hero sat to his left, eyes wide and gleaming as though Zeno had just been anointed a saint. The younger boy looked like he was moments away from bursting into tears of joy, clutching his knees tightly.

On Zeno’s right, Sangwon looked like he wanted to punch something. His glare burned holes into the side of Zeno’s head. Every twitch of his eyebrow screamed annoyance.

Across from him was Daniel, slouched in his chair with his arms crossed. He looked resigned—like he’d already given up on everything before it had even started. The sight of him in Zeno’s group again was comedic, as if fate was determined to watch Zeno suffer.

Then there was Oska, who, surprisingly, was the most normal of the lot. He sat comfortably, a soft grin on his face, unbothered by the tension.

And then came the string of names that would make any other contestant jealous—Misha, Risa, Billy, Ian, and Suho. All of them were considered good actors, the kind the audience adored. The remaining contestants were considered either popular or talented. These people were considered both.

Together, they formed what many whispered was the “dream team.”

But dreams weren’t always blessings. Sometimes, they were curses.

Zeno didn’t miss the way Phoenix’s jaw clenched on the other side of the room. The boy’s dark eyes burned with fury, his mouth twitching in disbelief as he looked at the lineup Zeno had been handed. It was written all over his face—unfair.

And maybe Phoenix wasn’t wrong.

After all, to the public, this was a competition for acting skills, but among the contestants, everyone knew it was also a battle of fame.

Popularity swayed votes. Zeno’s team already had the names the audience screamed the loudest for. For thirty minutes, Phoenix and his group debated fairness with the staff, but in the end, Ryeo dismissed it as “luck of the draw.” A month of preparation and performance—it would all come down to whether Zeno could hold them together.

Lucky him.

He pinched the bridge of his nose, suppressing the headache building between his eyes.

The silence dragged on until Daniel finally broke it.
”Aren’t you going to say anything?” he asked.

Zeno lowered his hand and exhaled slowly, staring at the floor. “Let’s first assign tasks.”

“Who knows how to write?” Zeno asked.

The reaction was instant. Every single person turned to him in unison, their eyes wide like the answer was obvious.

“You,” they said, voices overlapping.

Zeno pursed his lips.

“You wrote The Mind Beats the Heart,” Risa said, tilting her head with a small smile. “Everyone was crying because of that. You’re the best writer here.”

Hero clasped his hands together. “Zeno-sunbaenim, please lead us with your brilliance.”

Zeno’s eye twitched. “Fine. I’ll write.”

He rubbed his temple again, already regretting speaking. “Next. Cameras. Who knows how to use one?”

For a moment, there was silence. Then, almost in unison, everyone’s lips pursed tightly. Eyes darted away. A collective refusal to meet his gaze.

Zeno waited. Nothing.

“…Alright,” he said flatly. “Moving on. Lights. Who can handle that?”

Again, silence. A few shifted uncomfortably.

“Sound? Mixing?”

This time, they all looked down at the ground.

The wooden floorboards had never seemed more fascinating.

Zeno’s patience frayed like a thin thread.

“Editing?”

No one moved or spoke.

The corner of his eye twitched again. He stared at them all—their bowed heads, their expectant faces, their utter lack of initiative. A whole team of actors. Not a single one of them could touch a camera, much less edit footage.

Finally, Sangwon scoffed, shaking his head. “Does it matter anyway?”

Zeno’s gaze lifted. “What do you mean?” he asked.

“We’re popular,” Sangwon said bluntly, leaning back on the wall. His arms were crossed, his posture oozing arrogance. “We’re bound to win. Everyone knows it. The audience will eat it up.”

A few others nodded, murmuring their agreement. Hero, though nervous, chimed in with hesitant optimism. “He’s… not wrong. We just have to do something decent, and we can win. I hope we can take this time to relax.”

The agreement rippled through the group until it was unanimous. They were convinced. Their victory was inevitable.

Zeno, however, felt none of that certainty. If he were the person he was when he first came here, he would have agreed. That was true. Relaxing was the best.

However, his chest tightened with irritation. Ryeo looked at him with expectation when he handed him the role. It felt like a test of some sort. Along with that, Zeno has been feeling itchy these days. It only felt like this when someone was waiting for his downfall. He didn’t want them to succeed.

Just then, to add more to his burden, his system buzzed with a notification.

[New Mission: Participate in each task. Take up a role in every field of the movie!]

[Award: Increase Acting Grade]

Well, his fate had just been sealed. However, as he stared at his teammates, it appeared like they were already at the finish line.

He looked at his “friends” in the competition. Misha and Risa appeared quite confident, which Zeno found ironic since Misha always wanted to be down-to-earth. Ian and Hero, on the other hand, appeared like they were the happiest, but along with that, there was a sense of ease among them without any urgency. I knew they didn’t mean unwell about it, but again, it didn’t sit right with him.

Zeno rubbed his temple. Was this how it was going to be? A team of talented but complacent actors, drunk on the belief that their names alone would carry them?

The truth was—they weren’t entirely wrong. This was the brutal reality of popularity. Once someone had momentum, once they were on top, the world bent toward them. Mistakes softened, edges blurred, people excused what should’ve been unacceptable.

Zeno had seen it before in others—how the cheers of the crowd made them forget the weight of effort and the fear of not being good enough. When the applause was already guaranteed, why sweat the details?

It reminded him of the strange intoxication humans chased when they found themselves at the peak of something.

Being on top of the world had its own high, more potent than alcohol or any drug out there.

People in that position often forget that the climb was where the strength came from, not the view at the summit.

Zeno thought about it carefully. It was human nature. To want validation. To want the comfort of certainty. Once people got it, once they tasted being adored and admired, they didn’t want to give it up. They convinced themselves it was permanent. Eternal. That nothing could topple them. It was a dangerous delusion—the same one fueling his team right now.

A part of him almost wanted to ruin it and watch the disbelief dawn in their eyes when the “obvious winners” fell flat on their faces. Maybe then they would realize that talent wasn’t enough and relying on popularity had consequences.

He could already imagine Sangwon’s face if they lost—rage burning at the edges of his pride. He could imagine Hero’s wide eyes finally understanding that childlike charm didn’t always save him.

But Zeno exhaled slowly. He had enough cynicism in his chest to justify it, but deep down, he couldn’t bring himself to ruin something just for the sake of teaching a lesson.

He leaned back in his chair, fingers pressed against the bridge of his nose. His team was waiting for him to take the lead, not because they respected him, but because they believed he would naturally carry them.

He shook his head slowly. He already felt tired. He shouldn’t have won that poll! Who the heck voted for him?

Meanwhile, Zeno’s fans around the world were proud that he had won the poll, announcing they should win the subsequent votes from here on out.

Zeno drummed his fingers against the table.

None of his options felt right, and he already felt spent.

What was he going to do?

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by novlove.com