Chapter 362

Chapter 362: The Initiative

Some conventions are universally understood, such as not wearing the same outfit as the bride at a wedding, and at a funeral, it’s best not to match the deceased.

The former might lead to awkwardness, while the latter… is hard to say.

In any case, the moment the host saw the blonde man’s outfit, his mind briefly went blank.

But his professionalism saved him at that moment; the unclear syllable was quickly glossed over, and all eyes were on the man, clearly no one noticed his slip.

The host slightly adjusted his speaking pace, and the man seemed to match his rhythm, arriving at the waiting position just as the host finished speaking.

Everything proceeded according to plan. As soon as Sharma caught sight of the blonde, she stood up from her seat and straightened her ensemble, reminiscent of the Old Era, as she moved toward the waiting position on the other side.

The final batch of medals, a total of eleven, sat neatly in the center of the hall stage, held by a steady-handed professional, reflecting the light that poured down from above.

These eleven medals belonged to the unknown blonde, along with eight superpowered individuals and two ordinary soldiers who fought bravely near the west gate, which had suffered the most severe impact.

As the host finished his sentence, Lin Qingliu had already taken a step onto the stage, facing the cameras with a bright and sincere smile.

After a brief silence, cheers seemed to erupt from outside the hall and filled the space, the atmosphere igniting at that moment.

However, the host was a bit stunned—

He had merely paused for breath, expecting that his next line should be, “I invite Councilor Sharma to award our heroes,” but before he could say it, the blonde had already taken big strides toward the stage.

In a panic, the host forgot about hierarchy and hurriedly gestured for Sharma at the other end of the stage to move to the center quickly—symmetry is a form of aesthetic in ceremonies, no matter which world it is.

Sharma, who stood with great poise, head held high like a penguin in courtship, was suddenly surprised by the opposing blonde’s unexpected advance, prompting her to stride toward the center of the stage.

Logically, after realizing his mistake, the blonde should have slowed down a little; after all, he had made it, and if it was to save face, why attend in person? He wasn’t trying to embarrass himself.

But with his tall stature, Sharma felt as though the other person was deliberately competing with her—if she quickened her pace, the blonde did too; if she took longer strides, he matched her.

As Sharma and the blonde drew closer, she also noticed something else—the blonde was dressed somewhat similarly to her!

The two appeared to be engaged in a short race on stage, but unfortunately for the blonde, he ended up winning unfairly, arriving at the center first.

Yet it wasn’t a problem; everything was still under the control of the council members.

The other nine clever council members were intently watching this side, as if trying to completely dissect what kind of person the blonde truly was with every movement.

The greater the honor faced, the more a person’s true character revealed itself.

Many usually calm and composed individuals displayed genuine joy and an unconscious sense of inferiority when confronted with rewards far less significant than this.

Because receiving an honor is not just an accolade; it also reflects one’s status—

A high-ranking individual cannot award a low-ranking one, so regardless of acknowledgment, receiving an honor under the scrutiny of the crowd signifies acceptance of the hierarchy set by others.

Having arrived at the stage after the blonde, Sharma glanced at the man’s notably convincing face, suppressing her disdain to offer a smile.

Just as Sharma planned to say a few simple words and begin the awarding, she saw a hand reach across from her side.

Where did that hand come from?

She instinctively looked towards the blonde, but he had not turned to face front; he remained angled sideways to the audience, and he had already extended a hand toward the tray holding the medals!

What was he doing?!

In an instant, this question filled Sharma’s mind, causing her brain to enter a brief state of paralysis, nearly on the verge of collapse.

It was as if she began contemplating from the explosion of the universe to the birth of life, trying to interpret what she was witnessing from a macro perspective.

Just like some historical tales mentioned, there was once an emperor who crowned himself to highlight his uniqueness.

That’s it, that’s it!

This was the last act of defiance from this guy, just like a child in class afraid to argue openly and resorting to whispering silly remarks.

This guy in front of her had merely won a battle that was already going to be a victory; who did he think he was to award himself?

Such behavior served no purpose except to annoy others and provoke the council members, purely a clash of egos.

A hint of anger crept onto Sharma’s face, her anger-fueled gaze shifting to the staff member holding the tray, whose stature and appearance were impressive.

Yet the staff member seemed just as caught off guard by the turn of events, and most importantly, in the current live broadcast state, even as a bystander NPC, she was part of the face of Hope City, with no room to budge, let alone take a step back to evade the encroaching hand reaching for the tray.

Thus, a gleaming golden medal was smoothly taken from the tray by that hand.

Their shared glance and movements intersected only for a brief moment, but the audience below was fully aware of it.

Not just the audience below, but even those gathered around the collective projection, everyone who understood the unfolding events stood stunned.

Only those seated around the radio, hearing the quiet static, wondered if their radio was malfunctioning.

In the center of the hall stage, Sharma turned slightly, facing the man who stood half a head taller than her.

At that moment, her anger showed no signs of hiding; her eyes seemed to possess the ability to convey language, transmitting a clear message to the blonde across—a silent demand for the medal.

This was supposed to be her stage, but at this moment, the most important dish felt as though someone had spat on it in disgust.

Facing the deadly gaze, the blonde under the spotlight showed a rather innocent expression.

His facial muscles relaxed, and his eyes widened slightly, as if he could not comprehend Sharma’s anger at all.

In the next moment, the confusion in his eyes solidified into substance and formed a question that pierced Sharma’s ears.

It was neither mockery nor a retort, but genuine puzzlement.

He asked:

“What right do you have to award me?”