America: From a Fallen Child Star to the Head of the University of the West

Sean Penn's speech was surprisingly effective. When he stepped off the stage, the guests who had previously avoided him suddenly became enthusiastic.

"A brilliant speech, Mr. Pan!"

"That really speaks to our feelings."

One by one, men in expensive suits surrounded him, handing out business cards and trying to strike up a conversation. Sean maintained his standard smile, responding to each one. But out of the corner of his eye, he glanced at the tops of their heads.

[-5], [-10], [0].

It's all pretense; where is their true feeling?!

These people don't care what he says; they only care about his current popularity. He's the one who rides on other people's popularity, not the one who lets others ride on his!

Sean quickly grew tired of this pointless socializing. He made an excuse, took his wine glass, and retreated to a sofa in the corner of the banquet hall.

There was already someone sitting on the sofa.

He was an old man who looked to be almost sixty years old, wearing a somewhat outdated gray suit. He sat there quietly, without a wine glass in his hand or looking at anyone, as quiet as a puppet forgotten in a corner.

The puppet's favorability towards him was surprisingly high, at 50.

As soon as Sean sat down, the puppet suddenly spoke.

"My child, you possess the true skill of judging people."

The old man did not turn his head; his gaze remained fixed on a point of nothingness in the center of the banquet hall, as if there were something there.

Sean paused for a moment, thinking that it was good that it wasn't some kind of dark psychology.

He smiled and said, "Sir, are you talking to me?"

"Is anyone else here?" The old man slowly turned his head. "You were on stage just now, and although you were smiling, there was no smile in your eyes. You were scrutinizing them, as if you were looking at a group of pork waiting to be sold."

"That's the survival rule Hollywood taught me," Sean shrugged. "In that industry, if you can't tell who's trying to use you and who's trying to destroy you, you won't survive past the first season."

"Hollywood?" The old man curled his lip in disdain. "That's a kindergarten. The people there are too naive; their desires are written all over their faces. You definitely didn't learn these things from there."

He raised a finger and pointed to the people in the distance, clinking glasses and chatting.

"Here, child. Here there is no desire, only self-interest. Here, everyone is your enemy."

Sean took a sip of champagne, and a line suddenly flashed through his mind: "Don't hate your enemies, it will cloud your judgment." (From The Godfather)

A glimmer of light flashed in the old man's eyes.

"A person without enemies has no character," he immediately retorted, "from Paul Newman."

Sean, intrigued, chimed in: "When I turn an enemy into a friend, don't I destroy the enemy? — Abraham Lincoln."

"If one cannot have both, then being feared is probably better than being loved—Machiavelli," the old man retorted without hesitation. "What do you think, Mr. President?"

"I don't think it's impossible to turn enemies into friends. As the saying goes: 'Gentle words on the lips, a big stick in the hand,'" Sean said with a forced smile. "From Theodore Roosevelt."

Finally, the old man was the first to stop this contest of famous quotes.

"Then tell me, child," he asked suddenly, "who are your friends? Who are your enemies?"

Sean instinctively wanted to echo the famous line, "Who are our enemies? Who are our friends? That is the first question of the revolution."

But he held back. Because he then realized that the old man wasn't quoting, but asking a question.

Sean fell silent. In this world of fame and fortune, filled with figures like -20 and -30, this question was difficult to answer.

Seeing that he didn't speak, the old man asked an even more pointed question.

"If your enemy is in trouble, would you help him?"

"This..." Sean hesitated for a moment. Although he quoted extensively from classical texts, he did not completely agree with what had just been said.

"What if helping your enemy brings you greater benefits than helping your friends?" the old man asked immediately before the other could finish speaking.

Just as Sean was about to answer, a sudden commotion erupted outside the banquet hall doors.

"Oppose the tyranny of the rich!"

"Give the money back to the community!"

"Liar! Thief!"

The sound grew louder and louder, even drowning out the symphony playing indoors.

"The big one is here," the old man said softly.

Sean stood up and looked towards the gate: he saw several security guards sweating profusely as they held the gate shut, while hundreds or even thousands of people seemed to have gathered outside.

"You are..." Sean looked at the old man.

"George Kelly, that's my name." The old man straightened his collar and said calmly, "But now, I'm just an old relic abandoned by the times. Don't worry about me, child. Go see if your enemy needs help."

Sean gave him a deep look, then turned and walked toward the door.

……

The entrance to the banquet hall was in complete chaos.

Through the floor-to-ceiling windows, you could see a dense crowd of people outside. They were holding signs and chanting slogans, completely surrounding the Ritz-Carlton Hotel.

Among these people were Black, White, and Latino individuals, all appearing to be ordinary working-class people. Clearly, Sean's video had a more impactful effect than anticipated, with the angry crowd heading directly to this upscale haven frequented by celebrities.

Philadelphia Mayor Howard, her usually stern face now deathly pale, spoke into the phone: "Where are the police? Why haven't they arrived yet? I need the riot police! Immediately!"

This is no longer an ordinary citizen; we must take strong measures!

State Attorney General Harrison stood to the side, looking as if he had swallowed a fly.

"Mr. Harrison!" Sean approached, his face full of concern. "Are you alright?"

Harrison was furious at the sight of that face, but he had to maintain his composure: "Oh, Mr. Pan. As you can see, things are getting a little... out of control."

"Thank you for your previous support," Sean said with a smile. "I think I wouldn't have been able to get in here without you."

"Don't mention it," Harrison said. "Listen, I'm going back to Harrisburg in a few days. Your case will be handled directly by the district attorney from now on. Take care."

"Are you planning to run away?" Sean raised an eyebrow. "Given the situation outside, are you, the state's highest law enforcement officer, going to desert?"

"What deserter? I was just busy with official duties!" Harrison glared at him. "Besides, this is the city police department's responsibility! Look at the mayor, she's already mobilized riot police."

"We can't call in the police," Sean said immediately.

"What?"

"Look at those people outside, and those reporters with their cameras," Sean pointed out the window. "If the police use tear gas or batons tonight, the mayor and your political career will be over. That's exactly what some people want to see."

Harrison was well aware of the consequences, but what other options did he have? After all, he wasn't directly responsible.

"I think the police will stay calm."

"Journalists might not."

"Then what do you suggest we do?"

"I have a way," Sean said, pulling out his phone. "But I need your... cooperation."

Before Harrison could react, Sean had already dialed Matthew's number.

"Hey, Matthew? Where are you? Listen, I need Sarah to do me a favor."

"Yes, order pizza! The one we always eat at in the campaign office."

"How many? Let me think..." Sean glanced at the crowd outside, silently estimating in his mind, "Three hundred. No, five hundred! All large! Flavor? Not Italian, but the most filling! American sausage, super supreme, double cheese!"

"You wanted to eat this yourself, didn't you!" Harrison muttered to himself, while Howard also noticed their actions.

"Tell the boss to deliver it within half an hour, and I'll give him double the tip!"

After hanging up the phone, Sean turned to Harrison and the mayor, who both looked completely bewildered.

"Gentlemen, instead of letting the police shove those angry citizens with shields, why don't we bring them pizza to comfort them?"

"You mean..." Howard's eyes widened, "that we're going to deliver takeout?"

"It's about being people-oriented," Sean corrected. "It's freezing outside, and everyone's been chanting slogans all day; they must be hungry. At this time, a hot pizza is more effective than any riot shield. That's called compassionate law enforcement; that's called listening to the people's voice. Isn't that what you're best at?"

Harrison and Howard exchanged a glance. While it sounded absurd, it seemed far better than bloodshed?

Half an hour later.

Several delivery trucks broke through the police cordon and stopped in front of the hotel.

When the car door opened, the rich aroma of cheese and tomato sauce wafted into the cold wind, causing a slight commotion among the previously tense crowd.

Then, something happened that shocked everyone.

State Attorney General Harrison, Philadelphia Mayor Howard, and Sean Penn, among others, personally carried out pizza boxes.

"Everyone, everyone!" Sean grabbed a megaphone without hesitation and shouted, "I know you're all angry! I know you have many demands! But no matter what, health is the foundation of everything! It's so cold, you must be tired of shouting, right? We can't be enjoying ourselves inside while you're starving outside!"

"Come on, eat something first! You'll have the energy to keep yelling when you're full!"

The crowd was stunned.

This script is wrong! Shouldn't the police be coming out and beating people? Why are they serving pizzas instead?

"Is this... an American sausage?" A protester in the front row sniffed.

"Fresh out of the oven, be careful, it's hot!" Harrison reluctantly handed over a box. "Here you go... uh, bro?"

The tense standoff turned into a bizarre open-air picnic.

Reporters' flashes went off wildly, but this time they captured not bloodshed, but a touching scene of harmony between officials and the people.

……

Afterwards, in the hotel lobby.

"My God," Mayor Howard slumped into his chair, completely losing his composure, "I thought tonight was going to be the end of me. Thank you, Sean. Really."

"Don't thank me." Sean wiped the grease off his hands. "Thank House of Cards. I've seen this episode."

"Who cares about all that, as long as they shut up." Harrison let out a sigh of relief, regaining some of his authority. "The bill? I'll pay for it. Consider it my small contribution to Philadelphia's safety."

"Mr. Harrison is so generous!" Sean gave a thumbs up and immediately pulled a crumpled receipt from his pocket. "The delivery guy just gave it to me."

Harrison glanced at it, checked the numbers, then took out his checkbook, signed the numbers and his name with a flourish.

Sean happily pocketed the check.

"Then I won't disturb you two any longer."

He looked around, trying to find the old man named George Kelly, but the corner was empty, and the old man had long since disappeared.

"What a strange old man."

Sean shrugged, then hummed a little tune as he walked out of the hotel.

After Sean had walked away, Harrison picked up the receipt and examined it closely.

"Wait, Joey's Pizza... five hundred large pizzas... totaling..."

Harrison's eyes widened suddenly.

"Twenty-five thousand US dollars?! Did I just sign that many?"

He turned to Howard: "Fifty dollars for a pizza? Does that place use gold dust and truffles for the crust?!"

Howard also came over for a look. "I think I've eaten at that place before... but I remember a large pizza only cost twenty-five dollars."

"That bastard!"