Chapter 305: Best Actor: Cu Chulainn!
When it came down to it, Gawain's little fiasco didn't actually cause any irreparable damage to the "Three Idiots" or Johnny's agency.
After all, the public isn't that stupid. The moment people saw Gawain looking perfectly normal at other events, it became obvious the rumor mill had been full of hot air.
Even Shūkan Bunshun knew their "scoop" was pure fabrication. If Gawain really had been botched by plastic surgery and left paralyzed, they wouldn't have wasted it online as clickbait—they'd have printed it in glossy ink as a headline-grabbing exclusive.
The reason they pulled this stunt was simple: they had it out for Type-Moon, and they just wanted to stir the pot.
It might sound absurd, but for sleazy paparazzi like these, the logic was straightforward—You're a celebrity. You didn't give me juicy scandal material. Therefore, you're in the wrong. So I'll manufacture something anyway.
Against such rabid mutts, Shinji didn't have much of a play.
Japan's culture thrived on prying into other people's private lives. Even if Bunshun got taken down tomorrow, there'd just be Weekly Summer Bunshun or Annual Bunshun Deluxe waiting to pop up with the same garbage.
The only real defense was to make sure his idols lived clean enough lives that shadows couldn't stick to them.
And, looking at it from a cold, pragmatic perspective, Gawain's "nerve-spasm incident" wasn't all bad.
The Three Idiots had, at least, seized the front page spotlight. Their road as idols would be smoother because of it.
But still—
"God, that gorilla was embarrassing. So embarrassing I can't even look at him."
Shinji was sure that for a long while, the moment anyone mentioned Gawain, the public would immediately recall that photo of his twitching, half-broken face.
"…Forget it. Let those three idiots rot. If nothing else, at least that face will live forever as a meme. Not a bad legacy for a summoned spirit."
Resigned to his fate, Shinji muttered under his breath as he carefully guided Cloris by the arm down the rain-soaked red carpet. The two of them looked half-drowned, rainwater plastering their hair and clothes.
Thankfully, they weren't celebrities obligated to stop every step of the way and pose for photographers with perfect poise. They simply strode quickly across the carpet, then ducked into the venue to change before the ceremony officially began.
When Cloris emerged in her fresh white gown, she happened to catch sight of Cu Chulainn disappearing down the hall in a hurry.
Shinji was leaning against the wall near the door, arms crossed, his expression brooding as though he'd just finished a hushed conversation with the hound.
"What's wrong with you?" Cloris asked, curiosity piqued.
Shinji lifted his head. The moment he saw her in that white dress, he smiled and took her hand, deliberately steering the topic elsewhere.
"The award results are about to be announced. Guess I'm a little nervous."
Cloris rolled her eyes. "Yeah right. What are you, an elementary schooler who can't sleep the night before a field trip?"
"Just think of me as not immune to worldly concerns," Shinji chuckled.
Truthfully, he'd be lying if he claimed he felt nothing at all.
It was like a hopeless student who'd slacked off all year—no matter how much he pretended not to care, when exam results came out, his heart still gave a twitch.
Not that Shinji's heart was thundering in his chest like a startled rabbit. It wasn't that dramatic. But he couldn't deny a pang of emotion.
"So, if I really do win something… should my speech be in English or Japanese?"
He grinned at Cloris, half-joking.
Italian, of course, wasn't on the table—he didn't speak a word. He did know some Latin, thanks to his magecraft training, but…
Who the hell gives an acceptance speech in Latin?
Cloris shake her head. "Honestly, no one really cares about acceptance speeches anyway. As long as you don't cross any lines, you'll be fine."
Shinji patted her arm and explained, "That's exactly what I told Cu Chulainn just now. I said—no matter what you ramble on about, as long as you wrap it up with a big fat 'Thank you!', you're golden."
"Ohh, so that's what you were whispering to him earlier," Cloris realized.
"And you know I'm right. Everyone in the audience is a pro. They've all sat through a thousand of these leader-type speeches. The moment they hear 'Thank you!', the applause will be thunderous."
"Mm stagecraft, huh" Cloris teased, and together they stepped into the venue.
The Venice Film Festival's closing ceremony wasn't much different from any other award show. Even the order of awards was more or less the same: small fry awards first, heavyweights last.
Most of the winning films were ones Shinji barely even remembered from his past life. Sure, Europe's "big three" festivals carried weight, but if you went by the quality of winners alone, Shinji still felt Cannes had the stronger credibility.
Worth noting though—this year's Technical Contribution Award went to the sci-fi flick Children of Men.
The presenter had made it clear that Children of Men won thanks to its groundbreaking cinematography. But Shinji and Cloris couldn't help sharing a different thought.
Come on. If this is a technical award, wasn't "Ultraseven X" way more deserving?
Which meant only one thing: the jury was probably saving a much bigger prize for Ultraseven X.
"What do you think it'll be?"
Cloris, who'd looked bored moments ago, perked up. She tapped her chin thoughtfully.
Cu Chulainn puffed up his chest with confidence. "Hah! Do you even need to ask? Obviously, it's gonna be me!"
"…We'll see." Cloris smirked.
By this point, Shinji's heart was a flat pond. Screenplay had already been announced; what remained were Best Actor and the Golden and Silver Lions. No matter which of the three Ultraseven X snagged, Shinji already had PR strategies lined up.
Venice gave out two Silver Lions—one for Best Director and one as runner-up for Best Film.
First came Best Director: Alain Resnais for Private Fears in Public Places.
Then the runner-up Silver Lion for Best Film: Golden Door.
On stage, the eighty-two-year-old Alain Resnais hoisted the Silver Lion trophy high, to thunderous applause. Beside Shinji, Denis Villeneuve clapped politely, his face stiff.
Shinji leaned over, murmuring encouragement. "Don't take it too hard, Denis. In the long run, you'll definitely outshine him in name recognition."
"…I hope so." Denis forced a smile, though he clearly thought Shinji was just humoring him.
After all, Alain Resnais wasn't just some old man. He was the Alain Resnais—the legendary director of Hiroshima mon amour, a titan in the world of arthouse cinema.
The moment Denis learned Resnais was attending this year's festival, he'd already given up on competing for Best Director.
There was just no comparison. Competing with Resnais was like competing with Shinji Matou for a box office weekend—basically Hell difficulty mode.
Honestly, Shinji didn't believe Denis would ever truly surpass the old man's stature. His words about "outshining him" were really just about future recognition, not artistic legacy.
But Denis was a member of the Type-Moon family. Big-budget productions were guaranteed to land in his lap, and the promotional machinery would make sure his name spread far and wide.
As Shinji predicted, Denis only needed a few more films under his belt before his name would outshine Alain Resnais among younger audiences.
At last, after the trembling old master shuffled offstage with his Silver Lion, the ceremony reached the highlight—Best Actor.
The moment the guest presenter stepped up, Cu Chulainn transformed. He was suddenly like an overexcited toy poodle spotting a mate, jittery and restless in his seat.
Unfortunately, the host and the presenter were in no hurry to ease his suffering. They bantered on stage for what felt like an eternity—at least a full minute—before finally opening the envelope.
"And the award goes to… Ultraseven X! Cu Chulainn!"
The presenter rolled his tongue slightly on the Gaelic name, and for a split second, Cu just froze.
Sure, he'd strutted around with confidence before, but in his heart, he hadn't truly believed he could win.
After all, his entire career since being summoned into reality could be summed up in one tragic meme:
Lancer died. Lancer died again. And guess what—Lancer died once more.
Endless defeats, endless humiliations. Among Heroic Spirits and magi alike, Cu Chulainn's standing wasn't just "low"—it was practically nonexistent.
Well, except for gentlemen like Diarmuid, who was too polite not to treat him with respect.
So when his name was actually called, Cu blinked in disbelief… then erupted into wild laughter as he leapt from his seat.
"YEEEAAAHHH!! I WON! I REALLY WON!!"
Applause roared all around. Only when Shinji hissed at him to hurry up did Cu finally bound toward the stage.
He accepted the trophy with both hands, his face glowing with boyish glee. It felt unreal, like a dream—but he was a hero of Celtic myth. Even flushed with excitement, he wasn't about to trip over a simple acceptance speech.
"I can't tell you how happy I am. Just a moment ago, I was whispering to Denis that there was no way I'd win. And yet—here I am!"
A perfectly humble opening. The kind that let the jurors nod approvingly. Confidence was fine offstage, but on stage? You had to show modesty. It was just like a thesis defense—act too cocky, and the professors would pick you apart for sport.
"Of course, I owe this to so many people. My friends, like Diarmuid and Arturia. Director Denis Villeneuve, who believed in me and cast me in this film."
Then Cu's tone softened. "But the person I want to thank most… is Director Shinji Matou. If he hadn't given me my first role all those years ago, I wouldn't be standing here today. Thank you, Mr. Matou. And thank you to everyone who's ever supported me."
Finally, with a deep bow, he capped it off exactly as Shinji had instructed:
"Thank you!"
Thunderous applause swept the hall. For a moment, it seemed as if Cu's heartfelt words had moved the entire room.
"Pffft—"
Cloris couldn't help bursting out in laughter, remembering the little coaching session backstage.
Her sudden giggle turned heads, drawing curious glances from nearby guests.
Face flushing red, Cloris stomped down—hard—on Shinji's foot with her high heel.
"OWW!!" Shinji howled, the sound far too genuine to be anything but real pain.
High heels hurt. A lot.
<+>
If you want to see more chapter of this story and don't mind paying $5 each month to read till the latest posted chapter, please go to my Patreon[1]
Current Chapter In Patreon: Chapter 363: Fate/Apocrypha Teaser Premieres[2]
Link to the latest chapter: https://www.patreon.com/posts/145877654?collection=31097[3]
https://www.patreon.com/collection/31097?view=expanded[4]
[1] https://www.patreon.com/collection/31097?view=expanded
[2] https://www.patreon.com/posts/145877654?collection=31097
[3] https://www.patreon.com/posts/145877654?collection=31097
[4] https://www.patreon.com/collection/31097?view=expanded