The System Mistook Me for a Cat-Chapter 227

After Chu Tingwu, a total of five people successfully completed the "Antarctic Cup" challenge.

The awards ceremony was scheduled a week later on Napier Island.

Since almost everyone was nursing injuries—even with breaks along the way, traversing over 2,800 kilometers nonstop would wear down even the toughest individuals—the latter half of the journey became a test of sheer willpower.

However, Chu Tingwu clearly didn’t fall under the category of "ordinary humans." While the others checked into hospitals, she merely rested for a day before bouncing back and flying home.

Chu Tingwu rushed back to see Er-Wu-Wu (Two-Five-Five), only to find the house empty. After dropping off her luggage, she headed straight to the Guangsha Training Base on the outskirts of Shangjing City.

When she arrived, she happened to catch the freestyle snowboarders mid-training. Er-Wu-Wu, wearing a helmet, hadn’t gained any winter fat—instead, the cat had built a bit more muscle over the season.

The moment Chu Tingwu appeared, the feline mother seemed to catch her scent, though her reaction was delayed, as if she couldn’t quite believe it.

Chu Tingwu didn’t even stop to greet anyone else, immediately diving in for some quality cat-snuggling.

Burying her face in Er-Wu-Wu’s belly in the lounge, she finally felt the settling warmth of truly being home.

When she looked up, Coach Wen was walking over.

The two had previously exchanged messages online, but this was their first face-to-face meeting. Coach Wen didn’t interrupt her cat-cuddling session, simply shaking her hand and saying sincerely, "Congratulations."

Since the competition was self-organized, it had stirred significant attention online—along with plenty of bizarre speculation. Though the event was fully recorded, leaving no room for doubts about fairness, rumors still circulated. Some claimed Wu Voice Group had a 200-person team dedicated to hunting down online defamation against their boss. Dubbed the "Black-Clad Guards," this group allegedly sued without negotiation, earning a reputation as "internet ruffians."

System: *The name "Black-Clad Guards" actually sounds pretty cool!*

Chu Tingwu had skimmed the work chat recently and noticed many employees had added "Black-Clad Guard" as a prefix to their names.

Chu Tingwu: "=="

Of course, only industry insiders could grasp just how absurd Chu Tingwu’s performance had been.

Coach Wen had previously organized video sessions for analysis, but the conclusion was unanimous: impossible to replicate. Experts could spot the nuances—certain moves were only achievable by those with freakish talent. That level of recovery, stamina, and focus wasn’t something training alone could produce.

Unable to resist, Coach Wen asked, "Could we take a look at your medical report?"

Chu Tingwu had one on hand—after all, she owned a hospital. Though the report, generated by the System, tweaked human limits slightly upward and wasn’t entirely truthful.

After the coaching team passed it around, they fell into silence.

Once discussions wrapped up, they glanced out the window to find Chu Tingwu playing with the cat.

Perhaps fatigued from all the recent skiing, she didn’t suit up as the coaches expected. Instead, she sat outside the training area, cradling Er-Wu-Wu and watching the others practice. The normally aloof tortoiseshell cat, now disheveled from all the petting, lay contentedly in her arms. Whenever an athlete nailed a scoring trick, Chu Tingwu would lift one of the cat’s paws—

*Paw bloom!*

Though cats couldn’t use equipment, Er-Wu-Wu hadn’t been idle during her stay. Shao Lingwu had moved off-campus next semester, renting in the same neighborhood as Teacher Zhang. Every morning, he’d drop Er-Wu-Wu at the training base before class and pick her up after school.

The base didn’t typically house cats, but felines were far lower-maintenance than dogs, self-cleaning and independent. Er-Wu-Wu wasn’t there to train—she treated it more like an extracurricular activity to burn off energy.

Once, when Coach Wen stepped into the lounge for a break, he pushed open the window to find five cats lined up on the wall, basking in the sun.

Coach Wen: *…Where did these cats even come from?*

*Do you all just materialize out of thin air?*

Er-Wu-Wu wasn’t just recruiting minions, though—she also skied.

The cat preferred snowboarding, treating it like skateboarding. The dedicated slopes were quieter than skate parks, offering plenty of space for snow-rolling fun.

Once Er-Wu-Wu realized she was more of an "auditing student," she began sitting in on Coach Wen’s lectures (to learn) and even proactively paid "tuition."

Coach Wen: *Why is Coach Zhang’s thermos in my office… with bite marks on the strap?*

Er-Wu-Wu "meow-purred" twice, touched noses with Chu Tingwu to check on her kitten, then launched into a recap of her recent escapades. Chu Tingwu decided, at that moment, to pretend she didn’t understand cat language.

Coach Wen, however, didn’t seem interested in settling scores—he was far more eager to recruit her as an assistant coach.

Though young, untrained professionally, and uninterested in joining the national team, Chu Tingwu’s reputation and skill were undeniable. After multiple attempts, Coach Wen finally secured her commitment.

The assistant coaching role was broad, but as a university student, Chu Tingwu wouldn’t handle data logging. Instead, she’d help Coach Wen with weekend training sessions.

Chu Tingwu: "Does this count toward my practicum credits?"

Coach Wen: "…"

*Fine. Yes, it does.*

With the agreement set, she started immediately, familiarizing herself with the team—though her primary method of recognition was scent, faster than visual memory.

By evening, Shao Lingwu arrived to pick up the cat. In the car, the System briefed Chu Tingwu on "work updates."

Negotiations with Disney were progressing smoothly.

Disney had produced many animated films based on real people, though not always as protagonists. Here, Chu Tingwu would be the undisputed lead—though the plot was still undecided.

A film centered on her carried risks, but Disney cared only about securing a compelling story.

And Chu Tingwu’s life offered no shortage of material.

System: "Their team plans to attend the 'Antarctic Cup' awards ceremony to discuss the script with you in person."

Chu ​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌‌‌​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​​‌‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​​‌​​​​‌‌​​​​​‌‌​​​​‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌‌‌​​‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​​​​‌​​‌‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌‌​​​​‍Tingwu: "That’s fine, but isn’t the ceremony… hybrid? Online and offline?"

Napier Island, located just outside the Antarctic Circle, relied on tourism but had limited capacity. Many participants—whether they’d completed the challenge or withdrawn due to injuries—were still stranded there for recovery. To accommodate them, the awards were held on-site.

With most viewers unable to attend, no tickets were sold. Locals could drop by if they pleased.

The system went all out by booking the only football stadium on Napodi Island. The day after the local football team's match, it would host their awards ceremony.

Just then, she happened to see a message from her cousin—family members were asking if there would be a video of the ceremony and whether they could watch a recording.

Chu Tingwu replied: "There will be a video, and I’ll save e-tickets for you all."

While they couldn’t attend in person, they could watch it using a holographic immersion pod.

The Napodi Island stadium only seated a little over 20,000, but with holographic pods, they could sell over 60,000 tickets. Chu Tingwu had reserved some for friends and family in advance, though she didn’t expect them all to sell out—

After all, this was just an awards ceremony, not a concert or some grand event. There wouldn’t even be live performances, and the winners had already been announced—it was just a formality. If people were interested, then… huh?

Shao Lingwu turned to her: "Even though we announced the ticket sales time beforehand, they sold out in just over a minute… Should we release more?"

Chu Tingwu: "It must be because the tickets were too cheap =="

Since it wasn’t a concert, the tickets cost less than double digits—half the price of a local football match.

But what’s so exciting about an awards ceremony?!

Shao Lingwu: "Maybe people think there’ll be extra activities? It is an awards ceremony hosted by Wu Voice Group, after all."

The last event their subsidiary organized was the national finals of *Cat Studies Unmastered 2*.

Chu Tingwu: "..."

What kind of activities could a simple awards ceremony possibly have?! People really had too much misplaced faith in their company.

With that thought, Chu Tingwu prepared to return to campus.

However, when she appeared back in her dorm, her roommates were startled.

The new dormitory at Hua University of Science and Technology was funded by the system. Though still a modest four-person room, it was more spacious than the old building, with an elevator for convenience. Chu Tingwu wasn’t particularly close with her roommates—she hadn’t stayed on campus much since the semester started—

But on the surface, no one could tell.

Since she was fairly well-known, her roommates already knew a lot about her. Meanwhile, thanks to her sharp senses, she could easily memorize their distinct scents, deduce their habits, and gauge their friendliness… especially since one of them seemed to be a fan.

Thanks to her fan’s help, she found the textbook she needed for her practical class.

Freshman year was mostly foundational coursework, but they still had a few hands-on classes requiring field trips and data collection. From the dorm to the shuttle bus, people kept greeting Chu Tingwu along the way.

One roommate instinctively glanced back, worried she might feel uncomfortable, but Chu Tingwu remained perfectly composed—she even knew half the people by name.

Her fan roommate patted the other on the shoulder and whispered, "Don’t worry, Chu’s used to it!"

She’d already been a minor celebrity back in high school.

But after saying that, the fan suddenly realized Chu Tingwu could probably hear her and froze, embarrassed.

Chu Tingwu just smiled at her.

—Though not too different from high school, now that she’d returned mid-semester with higher stats and a bigger reputation, it was unlikely she’d find close friends like before.

With that in mind, the next day, after finishing her tasks, she headed to Qinghua University’s cafeteria and met up with her old friends.

Zhou Qiang was studying economics there, while An Shiyan was in materials science. Zhou seemed fine, but An Shiyan looked a little drained—

"My gut’s telling me I won’t end up working in this field after graduation."

Zhou Qiang patted her left shoulder sympathetically.

Being at the top in a small town didn’t mean much in a place like Shangjing City, where geniuses were everywhere. After struggling through a semester, she’d given up and focused on side gigs instead.

An Shiyan: "I joined the campus stray cat protection club—I handle their social media stuff. And big cities are great—I’m teaching myself video editing now. Once I’m good enough, I’ll make some videos for my favorite creators."

Big cities had more opportunities—more conventions, more free time (relatively speaking). She even felt she could squeeze in some cosplay now. Happiness!

After a moment’s thought, Chu Tingwu pulled out—

*Simulated University Life*

Chu Tingwu: "I saw this game on Huanyu Platform. It’s got decent downloads, but the details are a bit lacking, and the branching paths are limited."

It seemed to be an indie developer’s project—nothing groundbreaking in design, but surprisingly well-researched. Players started as high school graduates, picked a major, and then *actually* simulated university life.

Right from the start, you were handed a stack of textbooks. Attend lectures, slack off, take exams, earn credits, do lab work, design projects, group assignments… and finally, a thesis.

At its core, it was a standard life sim, similar to those click-to-progress games where you guide a character from infancy to graduation. There wasn’t much need for it to be a semi-holographic format.

But Huanyu saw its potential—

This wasn’t just a game. It worked better as a semi-immersive "educational" experience.

For most people, university choices could define their future, yet those decisions were often made carelessly: *"This major has good job prospects, so I’ll pick it," "Literature sounds nice," "My parents want me to be a teacher, so teaching college it is."* Full of expectations yet utterly unfamiliar, many just went with the flow—only to spend years regretting it.

A game like this might not change everything, but Chu Tingwu believed that if such games existed, at least some people’s lives would take a different turn.

An Shiyan: "It’s not like I *hate* materials science or anything…"

But before college, she’d genuinely thought she’d learn to handcraft "badges" (merch pins).

It was just… the sheer number of geniuses around her made it impossible to compete.

"And most of my classmates are *so* young… plenty of twelve- or fifteen-year-olds already in university…"

There was even a senior with a name that screamed *old money* who was two years younger than her—sixteen and already being whisked away by a professor to work, practically guaranteed a direct path to a Ph.D. under some industry heavyweight.

Meanwhile, she was still dreaming of making merch pins.

Chu Tingwu patted her right shoulder consolingly.

An Shiyan: "I *see* you two smearing cake crumbs on my clothes…"

Zhou Qiang looked away, while Chu Tingwu smiled innocently—the very picture of *"Who, me? Cat ears didn’t catch that."*

An Shiyan: I *know* you can hear someone whispering from the rooftop. Stop pretending!

Though utterly exasperated, An Shiyan didn’t forget to enlist her friend’s help. After Chu Tingwu finished her meal, she dragged her along to rescue a cat that had fallen into the underground pipes at their university.

They spent two days trying, but the cat, a former stray, was far from friendly—it bolted at the sight of the rescue pole.

Chu Tingwu crouched down and called out softly. The faint stench of the kitten hit her first, followed by the slightly spoiled smell of leftover food. Clearly, Qinghua University students had been feeding it, but the cat hadn’t eaten much. Listening to its heartbeat for just a moment, she could tell it was likely sick—even through the ground, she could easily discern its elevated body temperature.

The kitten remained wary.

An Shiyan suggested, “Can you mimic a mother cat’s call to lure it out?”

This kitten was the offspring of a stray that had recently wandered onto campus. The mother had been heavily pregnant when found, making spaying impossible, but after giving birth, she abandoned the litter outright—as if she’d found a lifetime of free meals at the school and left without a backward glance.

For Chu Tingwu, this was no challenge. She lay there, coaxing the kitten while students gathered to watch. Snatches of conversation reached her ears—

“The tickets for that awards ceremony sold out way too fast! Couldn’t Wu Voice Group have priced them higher?”

“It’s just a digital ticket. It’s not like you *have* to watch.”

“But I can’t afford a 4,000-yuan drone, and a 40-yuan ticket is cheaper than some movie tickets. Not being able to spend money is driving me crazy… What if Wu Voice raffles game activation codes at the event? Maybe even an exclusive in-game wing from *In Progress*?”

Chu Tingwu looked up. “*In Progress* doesn’t have wings. It’s just a regular awards ceremony.”

The student blinked. “How would you know—holy *shit*!”

Realizing who she was talking to, the student froze between excitement and restraint, hesitating to ask for an autograph. She instinctively held out her hands—

Chu Tingwu: “?”

She deposited the scruffed kitten into the student’s palms. “Thanks, hold this for a sec. I need to clean my hands.”

The student: “…”

The cat *reeked*.

Life in the underground pipes had left the kitten filthy, but An Shiyan soon took it to a vet for treatment. Even after washing up, Chu Tingwu could still catch whiffs of the odor. She sighed.

“Anything else that needs catching?”

Since she was already here, she might as well neuter every stray cat near Qinghua University.

Few cats in the university district remained unsterilized, so Chu Tingwu’s “hunting grounds” quickly expanded beyond campus. Unlike the streetwise strays of Jincheng, the pampered felines of Shangjing had never faced such a dark day—first confusion, then wide-eyed horror as they lay on operating tables, tongues lolling, silently screaming betrayal.

*Meow!?*

Unfortunately, Chu Tingwu couldn’t read minds.

She usually only napped on campus, returning home afterward. Today’s free time came courtesy of an empty afternoon schedule. But when she pushed open her front door, Er-Wu-Wu—mid-approach—paused and slunk back to his throne on the cat tree.

…Something felt *off*.

Shi-Kuang, meanwhile, launched himself upstairs in a single bound, seeking refuge in Teacher Zhang’s arms.

Teacher Zhang: “Hm?”

But Chu Tingwu was faster. As the cat neared the second floor, a gust of wind signaled her arrival—she’d vaulted over the railing mid-ascent, bypassing the stairs entirely.

The 𝘮ost uptodat𝑒 novels are pub𝙡ished on freeweɓnovēl.coɱ.

Her announcement:

“Two days until the awards ceremony~”

Teacher Zhang laughed helplessly. “Alright, alright…”

She’d “attend.”

Her eyes, overused in youth, had regained faint light perception thanks to new medication, daily care, and acupuncture since returning to Shangjing—though “watching a ceremony” remained beyond their capacity.

Unless, of course, it was a semi-holographic event viewable via immersion pod.

On the appointed day, Chu Tingwu boarded a flight—the only attendee traveling domestically to Napo Island.

Thirty minutes before the ceremony, all participants gathered backstage.

Six award winners stood among the nineteen invitees. Rex noticed the modified stadium exterior upon arrival, its center stage deceptively ordinary beneath the strange equipment.

Ten minutes prior, ticket holders received login alerts—though most were already waiting.

The one-hour ceremony, timed for dinnertime in Hua Country, was deliberately concise.

Yet when the players emerged from the tunnel, the sky had plunged into full darkness.

The stadium stood nearly empty, save for the invited presenters—a stark contrast to typical events.

But the attendees had braced for this. Rex gestured for Chu Tingwu to lead, which she did without protest.

MacPherson Aide, organizer of the Texas Endurance Race, waited at the podium. Seemingly aware this wasn’t a standard awards show, he merely smiled at Chu Tingwu from afar.

Confusion rippled until Louise spotted the audience seats flickering to life—

Then thousands of translucent “snow globes,” barely larger than palms, rose throughout the stadium.

Like tiny, illuminated planets.

Louise squinted—each orb contained a *person*.

Simultaneously—

Immersion pod users found themselves inside cockpit-like bubble vehicles, “piloting” disabled as the system auto-navigated them through the ceremony’s livestream.

The stadium hadn’t sold physical tickets. Instead, surrounding scanners captured real-time 3D models of attendees and the venue, feeding them into a temporary game instance.

Players saw augmented reality projections of the audience, while remote viewers experienced the event through their pods—no travel required.

The floating orbs allowed “seating” even in midair. Spectators could see each other, and their voices reached the stage—

The players’ reactions proved it.

Tickets weren’t limited to Hua Country, though domestic pod ownership skewed the crowd. Thus, chants of “Chu Tingwu!” rang loudest.

Teacher Zhang watched from her orb as Chu Tingwu waved toward her. Nearby, another player spoke to her before the presenter cleared his throat—

The ceremony began.

The host announced six names.

The Antarctica Cup Challenge, though a competition, was also a "challenge"—as long as participants could complete the course, conquering—no, breaking through their own limits with sheer determination, they would be considered victors.

They had triumphed in their personal battles, and though their results varied, each deserved their own honor.

The guest presenter was MacPherson Aide, with representatives from the International Long-Distance Skiing Association, the Antarctica Conservation and Development Council, the Hua Country Polar Research Center, the Wu Voice Group, and… Disney Pictures in attendance.

When the host introduced the last one, the audience couldn’t help but feel a little bemused.

The others made sense, but… Disney? What were they doing here?

But the thought was quickly forgotten. Interestingly, from this unique viewing perspective, the audience could get much closer—because they themselves had shrunk, the real people seemed magnified many times over. Inside the snowball cockpits were miniature screens, and everyone watched as the presenter handed the trophy to the sixth-place finisher, Flora.

The host announced her race time and played a highlight reel. As Flora accepted the trophy, she suddenly caught sight of a faint, ephemeral silhouette ahead—

A spectator realized:

[Isn’t that the Antarctica map from *In Progress*? The one teased forever but never playable?]

At that moment, atop the mountain peak, everyone seemed to see a massive shadowy stele, mirroring Flora’s movements from the highlights.

The host chuckled, "The Antarctica Cup won’t be a one-time event. Everyone can become a climber in the future and leave their mark. Though we can’t erect physical monuments in Antarctica, every finisher’s footage will be preserved on the in-game map."

In the future, *In Progress* wouldn’t just feature skiing—other sports would be added for players to experience.

Beneath the stele were the words "First Edition" and "Time: xxx."

Flora smiled. "If I come back to challenge myself again and beat my own time, can I place a new stele higher up?"

Of course.

So when the trophy reached Chu Tingwu, everyone noticed her stele wasn’t at the summit.

She stood just slightly higher than the others, but clearly, the path ahead remained.

Guest presenter Aide smiled.

He handed the trophy to Chu Tingwu, then looked around at everyone before saying solemnly,

"Thank you all for bringing us such an exhilarating competition."

He didn’t presume that Chu Tingwu had drawn inspiration from the Texas Endurance Race to create this challenge. Had he been ten—no, even five—years younger, he might have joined in himself.

Alas, his prime had passed, but he was overjoyed to see new challengers emerge—ones who not only defied the rules he’d set but also organized even more grueling and extreme trials.

Though he couldn’t participate, witnessing it in his lifetime filled him with… gratitude.

Those who had withdrawn midway also received commemorative medals. As the crowd gathered—

Chu Tingwu raised the trophy.

Only then did the audience realize the award ceremony was nearing its end. The competition had been lengthy, and not everyone had watched it all, but after seeing the highlights, many were eager to revisit the livestream. The reel couldn’t possibly capture every thrilling moment… Wait, what was that on the screen now?

[Control your snowballs to collide, creating dazzling bursts of light to cheer for the athletes!]

Hold on—

**"Boom!"**

The sound was like fireworks. Quick-fingered spectators immediately steered their snowballs into others’, and where they met, brilliant colors erupted like miniature pyrotechnics. Some even discovered that consecutive collisions could "level up" the explosions, making them larger and more intricate.

But with nearly 80,000 snowballs present, it didn’t take long for everyone to catch on. **"Boom! Boom! Boom!"** Countless lights burst forth simultaneously, startling the athletes into stepping back—thankfully, an invisible barrier kept the snowballs from getting too close.

But Chu Tingwu overheard—

[This is just a massive, real-time, holographic bumper car game!]

[Master Chu, you said the award ceremony wouldn’t be chaotic! Aaaah, I’m so glad I snagged a last-minute ticket!]

What amusement park bumper cars could compare to this? For the same price, they got an 80,000-player, fully immersive version! No complicated controls—just fly around and crash into anything! The air was filled with screams and laughter!

Everyone was going wild!

Chu Tingwu wanted to protest, but when she turned, she met the Disney representative’s resentful gaze:

They could’ve been in the audience too. If they’d known it’d be this fun, they wouldn’t have missed it!

Chu Tingwu: "…"

Maybe the system did it on purpose?

What does this have to do with the little cat?!