Chapter 810: Not All Effort Is the Same

The girl looked down at herself but didn’t noticself-improvemente anything wrong. It was her first time doing something like this, so she felt awkward and a little shy.

That shyness was what set her apart from the others. Look at the girls around—most of them could hardly wait to take off even their underwear and throw themselves at someone. The girl standing beside Lynch was still shy.

She used to be proud, which made her bad at pleasing men.

After all, whether they were outstanding or not, boys had always flocked around her. She was used to being flattered, not to flattering others.

“I… I don’t know, Mr. Lynch,” she said, standing in front of him as his hand moved from her hair to her shoulder.

For a moment, her eyes showed hesitation, an instinct to pull away. But reason stopped her.

Goosebumps rose under Lynch’s fingers. It was amusing.

“Let’s go somewhere else. Too many people here…”

Lynch withdrew his arm. His right hand curled naturally, thumb resting on the first joint of his index finger, positioned just below his shoulder at waist level—near his belt. This posture left his elbow slightly bent and angled outward, creating a triangle under his arm.

The girl instinctively slipped her hand through the crook of his arm, gently resting it on his forearm. This was almost second nature.

The way people placed their hands, and how much they touched—while seemingly casual—actually followed rigid social norms in the Federation, more so than even in Gephra.

In Gephra, a misstep might earn you a chuckle. In the Federation, the same mistake could land you on the front page of a newspaper.

Of course, it could also be seen as one of the few ways ordinary citizens got to “consume” the upper class. In that sense, the Federation wasn’t all that different from Nagaryll. Both societies had effective systems for keeping the lower classes content with their place.

The house was large. Guided by the butler, they found a secluded side lounge.

Or rather, it had always been prepared for Lynch.

It had a TV, a small bar, a table set with snacks, and even a discreet door—there was no need to guess where it led. Everything one could think of had already been arranged.

“I never asked—what’s your name?” Lynch asked as he walked to the bar, pulling out two glasses. The wine rack was a honeycomb design that took up an entire wall, with a bottle in each cell.

Clearly, the designer had put thought into it. The layout was stylish yet space-efficient. Many people would love such a wine rack.

“Want something to drink?”

Lynch picked a bottle. The amber liquid swirled inside the glass, forming little bubbles that quickly vanished.

He uncorked it. The strong aroma of alcohol escaped the narrow mouth of the bottle.

He poured some for himself and looked to the girl.

She hesitated, but eventually nodded. A little alcohol might help with whatever came next. “I’ll have what you’re having.”

Lynch brought both glasses to the sofa and handed her one. “You still haven’t told me your name.”

“Naily…” She cradled the glass in both hands, fidgeting slightly—clearly nervous.

After saying her name, she took a small sip, and her cheeks flushed.

It was obvious the drink was stronger than she expected—not because of the actual alcohol content, but because she wasn’t used to liquor like this.

“Naily?” Lynch repeated, sipping his drink with a relaxed posture. “Nice name.”

The contrast was stark: she was tense, he was completely at ease.

Naily kept holding the glass tightly, as if it offered her some form of protection, something to help calm her nerves.

She pursed her lips, then suddenly asked, “Mr. Lynch… earlier, you said I still had some flaws. What are they?”

Lynch smiled but didn’t answer. Instead, he brought up her journey to Lardimore, listening attentively as she recalled and reflected.

By the end, she looked lost.

Sitting there, her entire demeanor changed—like she had just… awakened to something?

After all her effort and persistence, the reality in front of her made it all seem meaningless—fragile and powerless.

She even regretted leaving her underdeveloped hometown to chase dreams in Lardimore. More than that, she regretted coming here, dressing herself up like a cheap gift, and handing herself over to someone else’s appetite.

She fell silent.

Lynch watched her expression—the confusion, the inner turmoil. It was a fascinating thing to witness.

Her face didn’t need to move much—just subtle shifts in her pupils said enough.

Watching people was interesting work. He didn’t interrupt her moment of realization. He simply sipped his drink, as though waiting for something.

After three or four minutes, Naily emerged from her long thoughts, a bit downcast. “Sorry, I zoned out.”

She still hesitated. Sometimes, self-awareness hits in just a single moment.

Then Lynch finally spoke. “Seeing you reminded me of another girl.”

Seriously, could anyone be more of an asshole than this guy? Could there be a worse thing to say in this situation?

Still, no matter how asshole-ish his words, Naily had to listen.

She stayed quiet. Lynch looked at her and added, “You definitely know her…”

“Who is she?” At this point, even if she didn’t want things to continue, she had to answer. It was just polite.

Lynch raised an eyebrow, exuding confidence. “Penny. You know—they call her…”

“The new queen,” Naily finished his sentence without missing a beat.

Since Lynch’s relationship with Penny became public, everyone in their circle had been talking about her.

Many who envied Penny claimed she had no real talent—that she rose only because she slept with Lynch. That without him, she’d be nothing.

What kind of performance can a nineteen-year-old girl give? People praise her just to flatter Mr. Lynch, and she really thinks she’s the leading figure of the new generation of actresses?

Naily had heard this kind of talk countless times. She had watched several of the films Penny starred in. To be fair, the girl was quite talented, but nowhere near worthy of a title like queen of the new generation.

What truly earned her that title was Lynch’s influence, which reached everywhere.

With just a hint of approval from Lynch, the powerful production companies in Lardimore would lay out red carpets from their headquarters straight to Penny’s doorstep, kneel at her feet, and beg her to sign a massive contract.

Naily was jealous of Penny. With such incredible resources, nearly every script that suited her would first check if she was interested before moving forward.

It was said that even when she wasn’t working, there were at least ten scripts waiting for her every day.

Meanwhile, Naily, despite studying and working so hard, had never even touched a real script.

At best, she’d be crammed into a company shuttle with a crowd, taken to a set, told where to stand, what expression to make, what gestures to do—and then it was over after one quick take.

Most of the time, her face never even made it to the final cut.

And Penny? She was everywhere. That was real success.

Was she resentful?

Yes, she was.

Was it unfair?

Extremely unfair.

Lynch looked at her expression and smiled. “You have a fatal flaw—you’re not decisive, and you don’t really see the world for what it is.”

“Or maybe you’ve never pushed yourself. You always leave yourself an escape route. That way, you’ll never know what you’re truly capable of.”

He had noticed this from the beginning. He set his glass down on the table.

“The thing I hear most often is, I’ve worked so hard, why haven’t I succeeded?”

“People like that always think the world is unfair. But they never realize—effort isn’t all the same.”

His tone was gentle and soft, yet distant and cold, like a god looking down at the world. Everything was just a game to him.

He brushed the girl’s hair off her chest, lifted his finger, and gently tapped her shoulder. “Gold ore and iron ore are both minerals. Do they have the same value?”

He stared at his fingertip as it slowly moved downward. The girl’s body trembled slightly.

“Both are working hard—you’re practicing acting in front of a mirror in a closed room, and you might not land a lead role in a whole year.”

“But some people—just one word, and they’re drowning in lead roles.”

“You might think that’s the biggest injustice. But how do you know they didn’t work just as hard—or harder—than you?”

“Their concentration is different.”