The Actor's Emperor System

Chapter 8: The Commencement Ceremony, Traditional Martial Arts

That miserable Attention Value—just over two hundred points. You saw the steep price for the next two skills, right? Caleb Davis did, and he quickly slammed the System panel shut. Out of sight, out of mind. Simple strategy.

But that broken, humiliating reality stung him. It absolutely fueled him. He took all that bitter ambition and just poured it into his practice. Head down, all in.

He trained for three days straight. No breaks.

Caleb’s relentless effort paid off, big time. The Shaolin Boy Skill surged, promoting its proficiency from "Basic Mastery" to "Minor Accomplishment" (16/500).

The breakthrough brought another quick glimpse into 'Colt Cooper's' memory, the same as last time. This one was actually pretty boring: just the Eunuch grinding through repetitive, focused routines. Pure technique. Zero drama.

The real win, though, was the power boost. Holy cow.

His Inner Force was the primary beneficiary. It used to be this barely-there thread. Now? It had solidified into a dense sphere, roughly the size of a pigeon’s egg. Yeah, a pigeon's egg.

This meant his Inner Force wasn't just some health tonic anymore. It was a combat tool. Sure, he still couldn't shoot energy beams—this isn't Dragon Ball—but he could circulate the force around his body. Offensively, he could channel it on impact for that terrifying, invisible internal damage. Defensively, it worked like an innate shield, softening blows.

Honestly, with this power, Caleb was basically unmatched in hand-to-hand combat. No weapons needed. Nobody on Earth could touch him.

The only issue? The drain. The consumption rate was staggering. Go all-out, and that pigeon's egg of power would be gone in less than a minute. Then you're waiting an hour, maybe more, to refill. In RPG terms, he was a total glass cannon: high-burst, high-mana-cost warrior.

"It's enough," Caleb muttered to himself, flexing his fist and feeling the satisfying, taut power in his gut. He wasn't some hitman or MMA fighter. He was an actor. When was he ever going to need sustained Inner Force in his pathetic little life? A short mana bar? Totally fine.

He checked his phone: 8:00 AM.

The Group Leader had sent a warning: The Legend of the Martial World series was kicking off its commencement ceremony at nine. Attendance is mandatory for all cast members.

Caleb hustled. Quick shower, clothes change, and he was out the door.

This online drama was serious, packing a huge eight-million-dollar budget—massive for their market. So naturally, the ceremony was a huge, pretentious spectacle. They’d invited a circus of reporters, and the whole thing was an over-the-top ritual. Burning incense, worshipping gods, even draping expensive cameras in red cloth to ward off "evil spirits." Seriously.

Caleb, of course, had nothing to do with any of it. He was a nobody—a background Eunuch, paid to fill a seat.

Standing way off to the side, watching the main stars laugh and promise box-office glory on stage, the bitter, familiar soundtrack started playing in his head: the cynical lyrics of that Austin Clay song.

“That year I was eighteen, at the school dance, standing like an extra.”

“I swore then that everyone seated here must see me.”

The song finished. He zoned out for a little longer, waiting for the ceremony—which felt as long and tedious as a senator’s speech—to finally wrap up.

---

He slipped away from the main crowd, found a quiet, hidden corner, and lit a cigarette. He'd just taken his first deep puff when a voice broke the silence.

"Oh, smoking already?"

It was The Group Leader.

Caleb pulled out a premium Silver Star cigarette and offered it. The Group Leader accepted, squatted down next to him, and asked with a heavy drag, "First time at one of these things? What'd you think?"

"Not as engaging as O-God," Caleb deadpanned.

The Group Leader stopped, then let out a laugh. "You little jerk. Just say it was boring! Why you gotta bring up games?"

"It genuinely was dull," Caleb confirmed. He looked at the Group Leader. "Ceremony's done. When do we actually start shooting?"

"In a few hours, maybe." The Group Leader shrugged. He couldn't commit; he wasn't the director.

"You got your lines down, right? You comfortable with the script?"

Caleb nodded. "Memorized cold. Don't worry. Zero issues."

"Good." The Group Leader looked relieved. If Caleb, his guy, screwed up, the blame would roll downhill.

They finished their cigarettes, and the Group Leader took off to handle whatever minor emergency was brewing.

Caleb, realizing he had some quiet time, figured, why not? He settled back into his corner and began practicing his martial arts forms.

"Hey, are you... a martial artist? Is that Traditional Martial Arts, or just regular street fighting?"

A deep, questioning voice broke his focus.

Caleb looked up. A burly guy with dark skin was standing there, staring at him with intense curiosity.

Caleb frowned. "Who are you?"

"My bad. I'm James Jaxon, the martial arts choreographer for Legend of the Martial World."

Caleb's eyes widened slightly. "Ah, Brother Jaxon. Caleb Davis, playing 'Colt Cooper.' You need something?"

"Nah, I was just passing by. Got curious. Little Brother Caleb, what you were just doing—that's Traditional Martial Arts, isn't it?" James Jaxon looked absolutely fascinated.

Caleb felt confused. "Traditional Martial Arts?"

"Yeah, Traditional Martial Arts!" James Jaxon clarified.

Caleb frowned again. Why was he so specific? Just ask if I'm practicing martial arts. "Yes, it is. Why?"

"Why? Because it's incredible to see the real thing! Honestly, there aren't many genuine Traditional Martial practitioners left anymore," James Jaxon said with a wry smile.

Caleb's frown deepened. Wait, what? Why would the choreographer be so shocked? Weren't all those huge action stars practitioners? "What do you mean?"

James Jaxon replied instinctively, "I mean exactly what I said." Then, a strange look crossed his face. "Brother Caleb, you can't possibly be unaware of the current situation for the Traditional Martial Arts, can you?"

Caleb just shook his head. Four days. That's how long he’d had power. Four days spent almost entirely on training. He knew absolutely nothing about the actual martial arts community.

James Jaxon was instantly amused. A genuine heir to a powerful, ancient art who was completely clueless about its status. That kind of irony was rarer than a unicorn.

He found a nearby step, settled in, and prepared to give Caleb the full, depressing breakdown of the Traditional Martial Arts world.

---

(End of Chapter)