Greatest Idol C6 Brainstorming

I sighed in resignation. What's done is done. The contract was signed—Lux and I were both masters of each other. At least I'd avoided becoming his "puppet" entirely.

Changing topics, I voiced another concern. "About this viral video—if it's such a success, why am I only 'average' now? Shouldn't I be more... desirable?" I narrowed my eyes at Lux. "Or are you hoarding the Fame Energy, leaving me with scraps?"

Lux raised his tiny hands in mock surrender. "Easy with the accusations. That would trigger serious contract penalties." He straightened his wings importantly. "The split is clear—when you generate fame, you get sixty percent, I get forty. If I somehow generated fame—which I obviously can't—I'd get sixty and you'd get forty. That's the deal. You earned this fame, so you got your sixty percent."

"But still..." I muttered. Something didn't add up.

"Here's the weird part," Lux continued. "Something else seems to be siphoning off the Fame Energy you generated. It's subtle, barely noticeable." He puffed up proudly. "But as a great Nephilim, I can sense it—like someone's collecting a tax on our earnings."

I stroked my chin thoughtfully. "What could be drawing off our energy?"

Lux sighed. "Could be residual Fame Energy loss—like spiritual evaporation." His eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Or... you're already bound to another Nephilim who's claiming their share."

"I've told you before—you're the only Nephilim I've ever signed with," I insisted. "It's probably just natural energy loss."

Lux nodded slowly. "Probably just residual loss. I'm working blind here—my previous puppets generated Fame Energy through traditional channels like TV and film."

He tapped his chin thoughtfully. "TikTok fame might be inherently inferior. From what I've observed, these short-form videos are essentially disposable. People watch for sixty seconds, then scroll away to the next fleeting entertainment. The energy feels... thinner somehow."

"Makes sense..." I paused, curiosity getting the better of me. "What about your previous puppets? Can you still bind others even though I'm your master now?"

Lux's expression soured. "No, thanks to your clever contract manipulation. Even though we're equals, I can't form new puppet bonds." His tiny teeth ground together at the admission.

In the bathroom, I stripped down and studied my reflection. The subtle changes continued—my usual softness had given way to lean definition, particularly across my shoulders and arms. Not exactly athlete material, but enough to make me stop slouching.

The shower steam fogged the mirror, but I could still see the minute changes happening in real time. Must be the viral video—every new view generates Fame Energy, slowly transforming me bit by bit.

The thought brought a smile as I finished my shower.

After my shower, I still found my transformation surreal. One viral video had changed so much already.

Wonder how my coworkers and Samantha will react to this? I smirked at the thought.

Though I was still far from unrecognizable, the changes were significant. A new possibility flickered through my mind—if I could keep generating Fame Energy at this rate, I might be completely transformed by the time senior high started.

Lux interrupted my musing, hovering before me. "Now that you're not exactly ugly anymore, what's your next move? Can't keep playing the sad outcast card."

I froze. Damn. I was so caught up in the changes, I forgot about that.

"You're right," I admitted. "I'm stuck in this awkward middle ground now—neither ugly enough for sympathy nor handsome enough for thirst traps. Relevance just got a lot harder..."

"Finally figured that out, huh?" Lux chuckled, settling on my desk.

Ignoring him, I wracked my brain for content ideas. My old strategy was clearly out, forcing me to dig through memories of future trends.

Cooking content? My eyes drifted to my pitiful excuse for a kitchen. I knew basic recipes, but nothing worth filming.

Then it hit me—my cramped apartment and meager circumstances could be perfect for a different angle. The struggling independent youth trying to make it.

I shooed Lux off my desk, drawing an indignant "Hey, that was rude!" from the tiny being.

Grabbing my notebook, I started jotting down content ideas. "Motivational independent lifestyle" and "Relatable doomer content" went at the top of the list. Then I added more terms that wouldn't make sense for years: "devious licks," "no cap fr fr," "core aesthetic," "unhinged behavior," "throwing it back," and "main character energy."

I kept writing, filling the page with future slang and content trends that hadn't been invented yet. Some of these wouldn't catch on for years, but being first had its advantages.

"Hey Lux, what do you think of these?" I held up my list.

He peered at the paper, his tiny face scrunching in confusion. "I don't understand any of this nonsense."

I had to laugh. Of course he wouldn't—these phrases wouldn't exist for years. That was exactly what made them perfect. By the time everyone else caught on, I'd be seen as the originator rather than a follower.

With Saturday stretching ahead of me and no work to rush to, I could focus on content creation. I settled on a comedic take about living as a broke independent man.

Two hours of script-writing later, I had my shots planned out—camera angles, facial expressions, timing, even little background details that would sell the joke.

"Ready to be my cameraman?" I asked Lux.

He grabbed the phone with an exaggerated sigh. "If I must."

"And keep steady—this camera's already terrible. Any shake will make it worse."

"Yes, yes," he muttered.

We started with a slow pan across my sad excuse for a kitchen. I arranged my mismatched bowls into an artfully precarious stack, like some avant-garde sculpture.

Next, I mounted a single fork on the wall with blue tack, then stepped back to admire it like a curator at the Louvre.

I crossed my arms and nodded with exaggerated satisfaction at my "masterpiece."

"Cut," I called after three beats. Reviewing the footage with Lux, I cringed at my performance. "That looked way too stiff. Let's try again."

Bringing twenty years of life experience to TikTok was one thing. Acting natural on camera? That was a whole different challenge.

By the third take, Lux was visibly irritated. "Look, let me direct you, okay? Your performance needs... help."

But even with his guidance, my fourth attempt at playing "rich and cultured" fell flat.

"You're terrible at this," Lux groaned.

I shrugged. "Never knew acting would be this hard."

"But you acted before!" Lux protested. "Your viral video as the mistreated ugly worker—that was acting!"

"That wasn't exactly acting," I chuckled. "That was just... being myself."

"Exactly!" Lux perked up. "All you need to do is become the character you're playing. Really inhabit the role."

He gestured enthusiastically with his tiny hands. "You're supposed to be rich and cultured despite being poor, right? So truly imagine yourself as that person."

"I'm just trying to make a funny video," I started. "It's not that serious—"

"If you want it to be funny," Lux cut in, "then you need to be absolutely serious about the character. That's what makes it work."

I sighed deeply. "Fine." Closing my eyes, I focused.

I am a refined gentleman of culture, tragically trapped in a poor boy's circumstances.

With this mindset, I approached the scene anew. My movements became more deliberate as I arranged the mismatched bowls into an elegant tower. Each placement precise, as if handling fine china.

I mounted the lone fork on the wall with the reverence of hanging a priceless masterpiece. Stepping back, I crossed my arms and nodded with the satisfied air of a museum curator.

"Cut," I called, turning to Lux. He gave me a tiny thumbs up.

Reviewing the fifth take, I had to admit it worked better. My movements were appropriately theatrical, and my expression perfectly captured that mix of sophistication and delusion. Who knew the tiny Nephilim would make such a good acting coach?