Chapter 1

I spent three years building my career as an original content creator. Then, my best friend stole my scripts, went viral overnight, and hired a smear campaign to claim I was the one who copied her.

The entire internet came for my head. My reach was throttled, and my live stream was a cesspool of comments telling this "plagiarism dog" to get off the internet.

That night, as I stared blankly at the ceiling, my phone screen suddenly flickered with a line of text―

【Viral Trend Prediction System successfully bound. A list of the internet's top trending topics for the next seven days has been generated.】

The first trend was set to hit the top of the charts tomorrow at noon sharp. At this moment, not a single soul on any platform had posted about it yet.

This was my only shot at a comeback.

1

I sat in my cramped apartment, staring at the computer screen for four hours without typing a single word.

It wasn't a lack of inspiration. It was because the comment section was unbearable.

"How does a thief still have the nerve to go live?" "Stealing Becca's scripts? Have you no shame?" "Reported. Don't mention it."

Becca Rhodes. My college roommate of four years and my only "best friend" during my three-year journey as a creator.

Two weeks ago, she came over for hot pot. While I was washing the dishes, she went through my phone, scrolled through my asset library, and filmed the drafts of a new video I was editing.

I caught her filming the screen when I turned around. She just giggled and said, "Your color grading is so pretty, I just wanted to learn how you do it."

I didn't think twice about it. The next day, her account posted a video―using my script structure, my storyboard logic, and my punchlines with just a few words changed.

Even the background music I spent three days hunting for was identical. She posted it six hours before I could.

Then, she hired a legion of bot accounts to flood the internet with the hashtag #RileyQuinnCopiesBecca.

I'm Riley Quinn.

I've worked on my account for three years, building a following of 180,000 subscribers, one video at a time. Becca only had 50,000 before this.

That one video pushed her to 400,000 overnight. Having tasted blood, she started coming over to "study" my unreleased drafts every other day.

She'd go home, post a "similar" version, and then buy bots to comment that "Riley is chasing Becca's clout again."

In three months, my following dropped from 180,000 to 90,000. She skyrocketed to a million.

Tonight, she posted again―using the script I showed her last Friday. It was a mirror image.

The comments were showering her with praise. Someone even tagged my handle in a screenshot, saying, "Caught another copycat in the wild."

I closed the browser and stared at the ceiling. My rent was due in five days.

My management agency sent a termination notice yesterday. Their reason? "Damaged image, unsuitable for further collaboration."

My parents called a few days ago, saying they saw posts trashing me online. They asked what was going on.

I didn't know how to explain it to them.

My phone buzzed. It was a bank alert―Balance: $347.

That's when it happened.

The screen suddenly lit up. It wasn't a notification light; it was a slow bleed of golden text appearing under the glass.

【Viral Trend Prediction System―Successfully Bound.】

I froze. Was I hallucinating from the lack of sleep?

【Host Bound: Riley Quinn. System Type: Platform-wide Trend Prediction. Function: All viral topics for the next seven days, accurate to the hour.】

【The system does not create content or interfere with algorithms; it only provides information. How you use it depends on your own skill.】

The gold letters faded, replaced by a comprehensive list.

《Top 30 Viral Predictions for the Next 72 Hours》.

The number one topic was―

"#TechLeadQuitsToRaiseBeesInTheMountainsMakesMillions#"

Predicted peak time: Tomorrow, 12:00 PM. Current heat index: 0.

Zero.

No one on any platform had mentioned this yet. But the system told me that in twenty-four hours, it would be the number one story in the country.

My fingers were shaking.

For three years, I had fought alone. For the first time, something was on my side.