Though paralyzed, still radiantly charming!

Chapter 83: Is that real?

“Why do I have to be on this kind of variety show?” Abigaile grumbled, slouched in the passenger seat, clearly displeased.

Dressed in a sailor outfit with a plaid skirt and her long hair tied back in a ponytail, her makeup gave her the innocent look of a high school cheerleader.

Beneath the innocent-looking plaid skirt were sheer black stockings that showcased her long, straight legs.

This was why she was known as the chameleon goddess.

With the right makeup and outfit, she could effortlessly switch from a sweet young girl to a glamorous lady.

Her agent, a woman in her thirties with a mature demeanor, was driving and glanced over with a resigned look. “If you want to be a top star, you need to make regular appearances on mainstream shows.”

Abigaile had been a sensation from the start.

Thanks to her versatile looks, she had amassed a huge following among the youth, making her a top-tier celebrity in the adult film industry.

But there was a hierarchy of disdain in the entertainment world.

And as an adult film actress, Abigaile was at the bottom of this pecking order.

No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t break into the A-list movie star circle.

“Those old ladies hogging the spotlight, and a bunch of mediocre newcomers too,” Abigaile complained, flipping through the guest list for the show. “And this show, just a bunch of clowns drawing attention with their ridiculous antics.”

Her agent shook her head. Abigaile’s real personality was the complete opposite of the gentle, humble, approachable image she portrayed.

At twenty-three, her early fame had made her dismissive of almost everything.

She was notoriously sharp-tongued.

Her popularity was purely a gift from the heavens. With her looks and figure, she would stand out even among idols.

Her inability to transition to mainstream roles was also due to her lack of ambition.

“Dick Splits Stone, what the heck is this?” Abigaile’s eyes widened as she read a page more closely.

She initially thought it was just a catchy name.

But the description confirmed it.

It was exactly what she thought it was.

“This is just ridiculous!”

Meanwhile, at the Dream Chaser Show, the passing staff members all kept their heads down.

They all knew that the female producer, whom her colleagues secretly called the witch, was not in a good mood lately, always looking stern and unapproachable.

“If the show is just going to be these kinds of stunts, we might as well apply to shut it down early,” said Isabella Davis, her face stern.

“I’m really sorry, Producer Isabella,” the director said, sweat beading on his forehead, barely daring to breathe. “We’ve invited Miss Abigaile as a guest on the show, and I believe she will definitely bring in more viewers.”

He glanced at Isabella while keeping his head down.

At 32, Isabella had already become a producer, her long hair pinned up neatly, dressed in a sharp women’s suit, exuding a commanding presence.

“What we lack are highlights,” Isabella’s expression darkened. “Our show is Dream Chaser Show, not a singing and dancing talent show. We want acts that make the audience say, ‘This person is really amazing,’ not just feeding into stan culture.”

“I’m sorry,” the director bowed even lower, hesitating before adding, “Actually, there’s a very special contestant this time, claiming to have returned from studying in France, skilled in various street performances.”

“Oh?” Isabella flipped through the program, spotting a sunny and handsome man.

Noah Davis, 23, skilled in various French street performances, like knife-throwing and fire-breathing.

“He looks promising,” Isabella’s eyes lit up. The man had a good look and a charismatic presence.

Although his acts were somewhat abstract, his appearance would likely be popular among female viewers.

He could indeed be a focal point for promotion.

She flipped another page, her expression turning curious.

Name: Ethan Jones, just turned 18. His act was listed under acrobatics, just like Noah’s, which is why they were grouped together.

But the act he was performing was truly abstract.

Opening a bottle cap in mid-air, Dick Splits Stone.

After a brief hesitation, she asked, “Have the preliminaries started already?”

“They’ve already begun,” the director replied. All participants had to go through a first round of selection, as some acts were too abstract or the performances too bold.

“We need a preliminary round for that reason.”

“I’ll go to the venue,” Isabella decided, putting down the program schedule.

…

At the audition venue.

Ethan sat in the audience, holding a tag with the number 97.

Blair sat next to him, watching a man on stage performing a robot dance quite skillfully.

Around them, about a dozen other groups were waiting their turn.

Only one in ten would actually get to perform on stage.

Blair noticed Ethan typing away on his phone and leaned over to ask, “What are you doing?”

“Writing a book.” Ethan showed his phone briefly, “It’s called ‘The Big Dick Enhancement Manual.’ If I get famous, I can sell this book during the hype and make some money.”

“Can you really enhance that… with exercise?” Blair asked, her expression a mix of curiosity and skepticism. “What if people buy it and it doesn’t work?”

“Don’t worry,” Ethan shook his head. “I’ll make it clear that anyone wanting to try the methods in the book must first ensure they’re healthy and well-nourished for a month, abstain from sexual activity, and sleep by ten every night.”

“What if someone with strong self-control tries it?” Blair was curious.

“Don’t worry, those kinds of people have already made it big and wouldn’t bother watching TV shows,” Ethan replied, his head down as he continued typing.

“Hey, hello!” A cheerful voice interrupted. “I’m number 96, right before you.”

“Hello.” Ethan looked up to see a young man in his twenties, quite sunny in demeanor.

“Number 96, please come to the stage,” a staff member called out.

“I’m Noah Davis, good luck!” Noah fist-bumped him before heading to the stage.

Ethan watched as Noah took off his shirt, revealing a muscular torso, and performed a sword swallowing act that drew cheers and easily advanced him to the next round.

“Number 97, please come to the stage.”

“It’s finally my turn.” Before going on stage, Ethan changed into specially made trousers in the dressing room, appropriate for television.

He couldn’t just go on stage with his legs bare.

These trousers had a 10-inch protrusion at the crotch to perfectly accommodate Ethan’s “Pecker.”

The fabric was thickened for some cushioning effect.

The judges, two men and a woman.

The woman was dressed in a sailor outfit with a plaid skirt, very attractive, and had been eyeing him since he stepped on stage.

Ethan immediately recognized her.

Abigaile Johnson, the AV goddess.

She looked just as stunning in person as in her photos, truly blessed by the gods.

Not just her, the other two male judges were also staring at his crotch, their expressions curious.

“Sorry, before you introduce your act, I have a question,” one of the male judges spoke up, his expression complex. “Is that real?”

“Of course, it’s real,” Ethan replied seriously, his gaze sweeping over them. “I’m open to an inspection, but I’m a bit of a germaphobe, so I only accept checks from beautiful women.”

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