Chapter 15: Weaponizing Sympathy
The system didn’t give me a solution for that, which meant I really had to handle this mission on my own.
Maybe Henry knew someone who could fix this kind of thing and honestly, that didn’t sound like such a bad idea.
If I gave the memory card to him, he would definitely inform Lando about its contents without me having to say anything.
That way, I wouldn’t have to break my back figuring out how to make Lando see it.
"Wait ... is the whole point of this quest just to make Lando feel sorry for me?" I whispered.
[You could think of it that way, Host.]
[The system predicts that Lando’s favorability will rise faster if he feels sympathy for you.]
I bit my lip. It actually felt a little wrong to weaponize his sympathy for my own benefit. Besides, this was Helcia’s past, not mine, so his sympathy would be for her, not me.
But then again ... could I even separate myself from her now? I sighed. Please cut me some slack, alright? I was still in the middle of an identity crisis here.
"If I told Lando that I’m not actually Helcia, would I get a penalty?" I asked.
The system paused before answering. [No, Host. There would be no penalty if you revealed your rebirth situation.]
[But you should consider this, would he believe you?]
Right.
The worst-case scenario would be him sending me straight to a mental hospital if I told him I’d been reborn, and honestly, I couldn’t even blame him.
Even worse, his favorability would probably plummet to minus one hundred if he found out I was Helena Moore. My reputation was already destroyed, and people now only knew me as a homewrecker and a slut.
[Aside from that, why do you think earning his sympathy is wrong, Host?]
[You suffered in your past life because no one ever gave you any sympathy.]
"I ... I don’t know." I shrugged helplessly. "I just feel like it’s wrong."
Maybe it was because I grew up believing that whenever I felt miserable, I should look down and remind myself that someone else was always suffering more.
Looking back, it was such a strange way of thinking. Why should people only feel grateful when comparing themselves to those who had it worse?
Because of that mindset, I always felt like I didn’t deserve any sympathy at all.
[Your debt is currently $1,000,000, Host.]
[The system believes this is not the right time to feel guilty about gaining Lando’s sympathy.]
I smacked my forehead a few times, muttering to myself that money really was the root of all evil.
Once I finally cleared my debt and completed my missions, I swore I would pay him back—double, triple, whatever it took—because whether I liked it or not, I had ended up using him.
But for now, I had no choice but to survive.
After settling my mind, I sent Henry a quick message about the broken memory card. To my surprise, he replied almost instantly, saying he would take care of it.
Honestly, Henry worked more efficiently in one minute than my old manager had in years. That man wasted more time lounging around than actually helping me.
"Young Madam." In less than ten minutes, Henry was already at my door. "My acquaintance said he’ll need two days to repair the burnt memory card. Would that be alright with you, Young Madam?"
I shook my head. "That’s fine, just make sure it doesn’t take longer than three days."
I only wanted to spare one extra day in case this plan didn’t go the way I hoped.
"I’ll let him know, Young Madam." Henry slipped the memory card into a ziplock bag with his usual careful precision.
"How much do I owe you, Henry?" I asked, almost out of habit.
He gave me a calm, polite smile. "You don’t need to worry about that, Young Madam. The Young Master has already provided money for me to handle your needs, such as repairing this memory card."
I froze. What the hell was going on here?
Last time I checked, Lando’s favorability was only at fourteen percent, so why had he already done so much for me in just a single day?!
Now I felt guilty for not giving him anything in return.
"Oh ... thank you, then," I murmured awkwardly.
When Henry left, I sat back at my laptop and wasted no time diving into casting calls on social media and ad boards, but it wasn’t as easy as I hoped.
Normally, agencies handle this sort of thing. They had their little connections, their "insiders," who slipped them information about auditions, then they picked out which ones were suitable for me.
Now, on my own, I had to dig through all the open calls by myself, and of course, most of them were scheduled for after my lucky buff would already run out.
It wasn’t that I doubted my acting skills. No, I knew I was good. But in this industry, talent wasn’t always enough. Sometimes, you also need pure dumb luck just to get through the door.
The truth was, the entertainment world wasn’t the glamorous dream everyone thought it was. Behind the curtains, it was crawling with nepotism, favoritism, and sabotage, especially for actors like me, who had no powerful family name to protect them.
At least, that had been my experience back then. Sometimes I managed to secure the role I wanted, only for it to suddenly be given to an actress with stronger connections who demanded it for herself.
With no backing, all I could do was swallow the humiliation and nod along, because crossing those people could end my career overnight.
Yeah ... that had been my life.
Why was I always so damn stubborn anyway?
"Ah—what about this?" My eyes lit up as I clicked on a post. It was an open call for a cosmetics ad, looking for a model to promote a new eyeshadow line. "This company is actually pretty big ...." I leaned closer to the screen, scanning the details. "Wow, their ads are everywhere lately."
It was for a mid-range cosmetics brand—Rosélle Beauty—that had been rising in popularity over the last two years. The post said they were looking for a fresh face, someone who could appeal to younger audiences and make the brand feel more relatable.
That would be a perfect role for my current face!
Helcia was still so young, her features even softer and fresher than her real age.
I skimmed through the requirements, and my heart jumped. All they wanted was a bare-faced photo sent to their inbox, then I just had to wait for their reply.
I wanted to send it right away, but my face still had so many scars.
[Why don’t you take a look at your face now, Host.]
I frowned but said nothing. Instead, I quickly grabbed a small mirror.
My jaw dropped. "Holy shit!"
The scars had faded!