NOVEL WEB Chapter 5: Chapter 5: The Great Skill Hunt
The sun's first light slipped through the tattered curtains of Alexander's room, accompanied by the now-familiar monotone voice of the system.
"New task initialized: Improve all entertainment-related skills to Level 1. Time limit: 1 month. Failure will result in a 3-month skill lock penalty."
Alexander groaned, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. "Entertainment skills? What do you mean by that?"
"Skills required for success in the industry include Writing, Acting, Directing, Cinematography, Editing, Voice Acting, and Set Design. All must reach foundational mastery within 30 days."
For a moment, he stared at the ceiling. "So, not only do I have to learn these skills, but I have to excel at all of them in a month?"
"Correct. Small, consistent steps lead to significant progress."
Alexander sighed. "Alright, fine. What's the plan?"
The system quickly laid out a detailed schedule. His mornings would be spent practicing acting and voice modulation, afternoons reserved for writing and set design, and evenings split between cinematography, directing theory, and editing. Sleep was limited but mandatory for efficiency.
"No pressure," Alexander muttered, dragging himself out of bed.
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By noon, Alexander found himself in front of a mirror, practicing his acting. His expressions felt exaggerated, his voice too stiff.
"You call that grief?" he said to his reflection, trying to mimic a heartbroken character. He cringed at his performance.
"Emotion must come from within," the system offered.
"Easier said than done," Alexander grumbled.
When frustration threatened to derail his progress, he decided to shift gears. Grabbing an old notebook, he started writing a short screenplay. The story was clunky, but it was a start.
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Over the next few days, Alexander's routine began to take shape. By afternoon, he would be sketching basic set designs for imaginary scenes while the orphanage kids peeked over his shoulder.
"What's that supposed to be?" one of them asked, pointing to a rough drawing of a futuristic control room.
"It's for a movie I'm imagining," Alexander explained. "Someday, people might watch this on a screen."
The kids giggled. "We want to be in your movie!"
He smiled. "Alright, but only if you can act."
By evening, Alexander turned the orphanage into his first makeshift set. Using the dim light from the courtyard and his phone's camera, he recorded the kids pretending to be space explorers. The shots were shaky, the acting over-the-top, but Alexander was learning.
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One evening, after hours of editing his amateur footage, Alexander decided to take a break. He turned on the TV in the common room just as the entertainment news came on.
"Rising star Luna Grace storms off the set of Eternal Lights after a heated argument with director Ivan Cole. Sources claim the actress refused to shoot a pivotal scene, citing creative differences."
Alexander chuckled. "Hollywood's full of drama, huh?"
The orphanage kids gathered around, intrigued by his reaction. "What happened, Alex?"
"Just some actress throwing a fit," he said. "Nothing new."
They giggled, begging him for more gossip, and Alexander found himself recounting exaggerated tales of actors, directors, and their off-screen antics.
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By the third week, Alexander noticed improvements. His acting felt more natural, his sketches more detailed, and his editing less clumsy. His screenplay drafts began to include layered characters and sharper dialogue.
While sitting under the old tree in the courtyard, he directed the kids in a short scene he'd written—a heartfelt goodbye between two siblings. The younger actors struggled with their lines, but their sincerity tugged at Alexander's heart.
"That was amazing, guys!" he said, clapping his hands.
"Do you think we'll be famous someday?" one of them asked.
Alexander knelt down, looking them in the eyes. "If you work hard enough, anything's possible."
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The final days of the month came fast. Alexander threw himself into his work, determined to meet the deadline. He practiced voice acting by narrating bedtime stories, recorded himself performing dramatic monologues, and edited the footage into a coherent short film.
When midnight arrived, Alexander sat in front of his laptop, exhausted but proud.
"Task complete. All entertainment-related skills improved to Level 1. Reward unlocked: Full script of Home Alone."
A digital copy of the script materialized on his screen. Alexander grinned as he scrolled through it.
"System," he said, leaning back in his chair. "We actually did it."
"Affirmative. Progress noted. Continue refining your abilities for future challenges."
The screen reflected Alexander's tired but triumphant face. This wasn't just a task—it was a foundation for his dreams. As he shut his laptop, a thought lingered in his mind.
"What's next?"
The days following Alexander's triumph felt like a blur. He had hit a milestone, but the system didn't give him a moment to bask in his success.
"New task initialized: Develop a creative pitch for an original film concept. Time limit: 14 days. Reward: Advanced training in pitching and networking."
"A pitch?" Alexander asked, leaning back in his chair. "I've barely scratched the surface of filmmaking, and now I'm supposed to sell a whole concept?"
"Pitching is an essential skill," the system replied. "Creativity is important, but so is convincing others of its value."
Alexander sighed. He felt the weight of this challenge. The orphanage wasn't exactly a hotbed of inspiration, but he had to start somewhere.
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The next morning, Alexander took a long walk around the orphanage grounds, seeking inspiration. He passed the kids playing soccer, Mrs. Helga yelling at them to be careful, and the worn-out playground equipment that had seen better days.
Then it hit him.
"What if…" he mumbled to himself, "…it's a story about a group of kids who discover something extraordinary right here in a rundown place like this?"
He rushed back to his room and started jotting down ideas. The story began to take shape—a group of underprivileged kids stumbling upon a mysterious artifact that turns their world upside down.
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Over the next week, Alexander worked tirelessly to develop the concept. He wrote character bios, sketched scenes, and outlined the central conflict: the kids must protect the artifact from greedy adults while learning to trust one another.
The system chimed in periodically with tips.
"Conflict drives a story. Explore the stakes—what happens if the kids fail?"
"Every character needs a unique voice. Avoid making them one-dimensional."
With every suggestion, Alexander revised and refined.
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By the eighth day, he had a rough draft of his pitch:
"Title: The Forgotten Treasure
Genre: Adventure/Family
Logline: In a crumbling orphanage on the brink of closure, a group of kids discovers an ancient artifact that grants extraordinary powers. As they bond over their shared secret, they must outwit a cunning businessman who will stop at nothing to claim the artifact for himself."
The system's assessment was blunt: "Concept shows promise but lacks emotional depth. Focus on the relationships between the characters."
Alexander sighed, rubbing his temples. "Emotional depth, huh? Alright, I'll dig deeper."
He rewrote the pitch, adding layers to the characters' backstories. The protagonist, Leo, was a natural leader hiding his fear of abandonment. Mia, the tech-savvy girl, masked her insecurities with sarcasm. Even the antagonist, Mr. Crawford, had a compelling reason for wanting the artifact—his desperate attempt to save his failing company.
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By the twelfth day, Alexander decided to test his pitch. Gathering the kids in the common room, he explained his idea.
"So, what do you think?" he asked nervously after finishing.
The room was silent for a moment before one of the younger kids piped up. "I like it! Especially the part where the artifact makes them fly!"
Another added, "But why would they trust each other so quickly? Wouldn't they fight first?"
Alexander nodded, taking mental notes. "Good point. I'll work on that."
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The final day arrived, and Alexander stood in front of the mirror, rehearsing his pitch. The system provided real-time feedback.
"Speak with more confidence. Pause for emphasis. Make your passion evident."
By midnight, he submitted his pitch to the system.
"Task complete. Reward unlocked: Advanced training in pitching and networking."
Alexander felt a surge of pride. The system's acknowledgment meant a lot, but what truly mattered was that he was beginning to see himself as a creator.
"What's next?" he asked, his voice steady and determined.
"Next task: Write a full-length script for The Forgotten Treasure. Time limit: 60 days. Reward: Access to professional screenwriting software."
Alexander grinned. This time, he was ready.