A Novelist’s Guide for Side Characters to Survive

Chapter 4 “Rebellious enough? Depraved enough?”

I, Chu Zu, woke on the third day of my coma, my consciousness forcibly stuffed back into my body by the system.

“You had to wake up. These doctors were getting frantic, starting to consider electrotherapy. I worried your already strained brain would take a worse hit.”

I struggled to open my eyes, adjusting to the light while thanking the system.

The doctors around me were overjoyed, rushing forward to check and question me.

Taking the chance, the system, in its gentlest manner, synced me with what had happened around me these past few days.

“Luciano’s ruthless. Even fainting, I’m forced to wake and work…” I tsked inwardly, cooperating fully with the doctors, docile beyond belief.

The doctors nearly called the scene a medical miracle.

“Good thing you woke up. If you slept longer, Mr. Esposito would’ve packed you and us off to the lower district—”

Some doctor blurted this, only to be stopped by a colleague’s elbow.

I slowly raised my head from the bed, taking a few seconds to process the words.

After a brief glance at the doctors, I suddenly realized something, my freshly restored complexion turning deathly pale.

I opened my mouth but couldn’t speak, my red eyes gradually clouding, vivid yet empty.

Then, my weakness vanished completely, and I became the silent, cold shadow again.

I ripped off all the equipment, ready to get up.

This panicked the doctors, hands flailing before me.

“Mr. Chu Zu, wait! We’ve notified Mr. Esposito. Wait!”

I was still dizzy when I stood, but I knew it wasn’t physical and didn’t care much.

Shedding the “classic” hospital gown for examinations, I found my dirty clothes in the room’s corner wardrobe and put them on.

Ignoring all protests, I left the Esposito building.

The artificial rain hadn’t stopped.

I never bothered with an umbrella before—my body was tough enough, simple toxins ineffective.

But this time, under the eaves, I stared at the rain, dazzling with light pollution, my cold gaze sweeping around.

I stopped at the umbrella rack by the building, pulling out a black umbrella.

“Chu Zu” opened an umbrella for himself for the first time, a novel experience.

I stepped into the rain, even lingering in place for a moment.

The entrance cameras uploaded all footage to Jeeves’ terminal.

Then, the red-glowing surveillance watched the red-eyed man walk into the rain, his figure soon swallowed by the water.

At an angle I didn’t notice, every hidden camera along the way adjusted its range, audio maxed out.

“You’re not going to Luciano?” Seeing me just stroll under the umbrella, the system asked.

“Slacking off first.”

“…”

“Kidding. I need to assess the situation,”

I said.

“I’ve got a rough read on Luciano’s character. A bloodsucking capitalist—being on good terms with him is useless. He treats people like dogs, no matter how close.”

System: “Indeed.”

I could only say fainting was timely, sparing me a good beating.

Fainting to unconsciousness forced that shitty capitalist to play half a good guy… but only half.

Beyond Luciano’s attitude, I needed to know how others saw me.

“Even after betraying Luciano, I got support from his people in the late story. That’s not logical. I feel… revenge alone isn’t enough.”

I analyzed, “Of course, it’s possible Luciano’s other lackeys are brain-dead, treating 996 as a blessing. Little Luci’s been good at painting rosy pictures since twelve. Add some PUA, and it’s perfect.”

System: “…”

I mulled over how to contact other relevant people with the system for a long time.

The system told me that, due to my added settings, Neon Crown auto-filled related plot developments.

“Chu Zu’s” background was now quite fleshed out.

“You were taken to the upper district by Luciano at twelve, living in the Esposito mansion until seventeen, practically inseparable from him.”

“The Espositos control access between districts and maintain lower-district stability. At seventeen, Luciano sent you to the lower district for long-term missions until you were called back at twenty.”

“You’re now twenty-nine. In those nine years, except for brief stops at the Esposito mansion, you’ve been constantly on the move.”

“In other words…” the system hesitated, “you don’t have a home. Even if others wanted to visit, they couldn’t find you. They wouldn’t dare go to the Esposito mansion.”

I stopped, expressionless, raising my umbrella to look at the towering buildings, cursing inwardly: “Little Luci’s a real skinflint.”

Luciano was watching me through surveillance, a half-read report in hand.

When a subordinate delivered it, they hinted a response was needed within ten minutes, but Luciano stared at my dazed figure for longer.

The streets were nearly empty.

I’d just woken, my face drained of color after the doctor’s words.

The black umbrella blocked the light, my face dark but not gloomy, my expression too empty for other emotions.

I’d been formally trained since twelve.

Upper-district kids all trained, but I couldn’t fit in.

Dominant muscle strength, high agility, and extreme bone flexibility made sparring with Luciano like an adult beating a child.

Luciano got me professional trainers.

They taught me to hone human muscles to the limit, to protect, to kill, to use my pain insensitivity to become more precise than machines.

Yet, as I stood dazed on the street, a girl rushing to avoid the rain bumped me back two steps.

She fell, clutching her scraped, bleeding knee, crying loudly.

Luciano asked Jeeves: “His body’s still not well?”

“All test results are normal,” Jeeves said.

“Should I contact Mr. Chu Zu to see you? Fifty-three pending tasks are on his list.”

Luciano tapped the desk, silent for seconds, then said: “Send someone to bring him home.”

“Understood,” Jeeves replied. “The guest room closest to your bedroom, as usual?”

“…Doesn’t he have his own room?”

“If you mean Mr. Chu Zu’s room from twelve years ago, you turned it into a collection room after he went to the lower district. He occasionally stays in the guest room near your bedroom but mostly isn’t at the mansion.”

“Then the guest room,” Luciano said, mildly irritated, too lazy for expressions.

“Are you the butler, or am I? Get him back.”

“The fifty-three tasks?”

“Give them to him,” Luciano said, watching me coldly observe the crying girl under my umbrella.

“Tell him not to mess up again. Last time was the last.”

Jeeves executed the order, relaying Luciano’s instructions through one-way communication.

Wait for pickup, return to the Esposito mansion for rest, then start work.

And don’t screw up again.

System: “We were just planning how to contact Little Luci’s…”

Realizing it followed my nickname, the system paused, correcting: “How to contact Luciano’s other men, and he’s sending someone to us!”

I was still debating whether to help the sobbing girl, barely listening to the system.

After much thought, I didn’t help.

I stepped forward, bent down, and handed her my umbrella.

Her eyes widened, tears still pooling.

She heard me say coldly: “Take it.”

Terrified, she scrambled up, grabbed the umbrella, and ran through the puddles.

I was satisfied.

This fits my character.

“Chu Zu” couldn’t empathize with others’ pain or fear but knew rain wasn’t good.

After all, Luciano never got wet.

“Where’s Tang Qi?”

I asked the system.

The system quickly gave me an address, thoughtfully including the fastest route.

“You’re not resting to take on Luciano’s tasks?”

“No work,” I said, walking through the rain to the station, casually adding, “Little Luci’s probably watching. Contacting his people won’t get honest feedback.”

“New plan—head to the lower district to check things out. Tang Qi won’t meet me so soon. I’ll build some presence.”

System: “?”

“Look, I didn’t contact Little Luci after waking and dared to use an umbrella. Rebellious enough? Depraved enough?”

The system grudgingly said: “…For ‘Chu Zu,’ pretty rebellious and depraved.”

“Only Little Luci thinks so. He can’t stand me stepping out of his mold, even a bit, and it irks him.”

I smiled, “But I want everyone to think so.”

“Why…?”

I didn’t answer, abruptly asking: “Think I’m good-looking?”

System: “Huh?”

Bound to me for six months, the system realized it barely knew me when I got to work.

I had to admit my added settings and background were clever.

As a Side character, “Chu Zu” was so minor that being the final boss got readers cursing, “Who the hell is this?”

Originally, his reckoning by Luciano had little focus, the perspective quickly shifting to Tang Qi.

This plot tweak was within the system’s limits, and Luciano’s reaction to me stayed in character, all perfectly reasonable.

I avoided a beating, preserving the shaky dignity of a final boss.

But the system still didn’t get much, like my current question.

“I only glanced in the bath. I think I’m decent, not too weird. What do you think?”

System: “…Pretty good-looking… I guess.”

“Good,” I said.

“Villains can be vile, lose big, or age, but being young and ugly? That’s too classless. Look at Little Luci—pretty face, dog behavior.”

The system’s sparse data had no reply, silently logging my words for later study.

“You seem more novice than me,” I said, taking charge. “Isn’t our work progressing smoothly?”

System: “Please elaborate!”

“In Neon Crown, ‘Chu Zu’ gets flak for three reasons.”

The system started taking notes.

“One, his actions lack motive, aren’t clever, and seem dumb.”

“Two, his character’s blank, leaving little impression, no different from random goons.”

“Three, he lacks final-boss gravitas.”

System: “Right!”

“We’re tackling the first two, but it’s all for the third—landing on: ‘Why’s Chu Zu the final boss?’”

System: “Exactly right!”

“So we need to, without changing the plot’s course, make readers gradually feel: ‘Damn, Chu Zu’s got something.’ So the final reveal feels natural.”

System: “Yes, yes, yes!”

“But I’m just Little Luci’s dog now. Even if the master dies and the dog goes mad, biting everyone, it’d only earn praise as a loyal mad dog.”

“Not that a mad dog can’t be a boss, but it clashes with the fixed betrayal plot and lacks ambition.”

As I spoke, I reached the station.

I couldn’t appreciate this world’s aesthetics.

Beyond the city’s light pollution, functional places like stations were forcibly infused with upper-district “art.”

The entrance was a massive, twisted vortex frame, like a building warped by a giant’s hand, with no glass, resembling steel ruins from afar.

And it didn’t block the rain.

A few trains went to the lower district, the next one in five minutes.

The gate to the lower district was open, with sparse passengers.

I quickly reached the turnstile, passing iris verification.

The system waited for me to continue my lesson, but I played coy.

“Don’t worry, I’m crafting a boss to match Tang Qi. Even if his word count’s Side, he’ll be the story’s most fitting final boss.”

System: “…”

System: “…Alright.”