Chapter 12 — Echoes of the Gong

  Ning nung… ning nung… Gong.

  The sound echoed through darkness.

  Deep.

  Resonant.

  Unavoidable.

  Jack jolted awake.

  His heart pounded against his ribs—fast, uneven. For several seconds, he lay still, staring at the dim ceiling, waiting for the sensation to fade.

  It didn’t.

  It felt as though the vibration lived beneath his skin—behind his eyelids—echoing in places it shouldn’t exist.

  In.

  Out.

  Again.

  Slowly, his pulse steadied.

  “…Did I fall asleep?”

  The exhaustion from yesterday was gone. His body felt strangely light—almost hollow. As if part of his weight had been left behind in that porcelain mask.

  Yet faint remnants lingered.

  Sometimes—

  very faintly—

  he could still hear the melody.

  He moved his fingers.

  Stiff.

  Not painful. Just… unnatural.

  As if his muscles remembered a dance his mind refused to acknowledge.

  In the bathroom, he washed his face and looked into the mirror.

  Thin red marks lined his forehead and cheeks—traces from the long-nosed mask he had torn away the night before. His fingertips remained cold, slightly numb, as though the echoing gong were still buried deep inside his nerves.

  “…What kind of costume was that?”

  “It looked like royal clothing…”

  He exhaled.

  Just remembering it drained him again.

  The puppet.

  The music.

  The loss of control.

  No wonder he had collapsed.

  “I should eat first.”

  The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  Downstairs, Jack prepared a simple breakfast—bread and coffee. Nothing complicated. Nothing cursed.

  Outside the apartment, several housewives chatted near the entrance.

  “Did you hear that music last night?”

  “Oh! You heard it too?”

  “I thought I imagined it.”

  “It was beautiful, wasn’t it?”

  “Calming.”

  Jack paused quietly while eating.

  “For a moment,” one woman continued, “I felt completely at peace.”

  A brief silence followed.

  “But also… strange.”

  “Yes,” another agreed. “Like something wasn’t quite right.”

  One woman grew quiet. Her gaze unfocused.

  “It almost made me want to become part of it.”

  The others frowned.

  “What did you say?”

  She blinked, startled.

  “N-Nothing. I just meant it sounded nice.”

  The conversation resumed as if nothing had happened.

  No one questioned where the sound came from.

  No one searched for answers.

  As though instinct itself warned them—

  Some truths were better left untouched.

  Animals, however, reacted differently.

  Dogs had barked endlessly through the night.

  Birds scattered without direction.

  Stray cats abandoned their usual territory.

  Restless.

  Uneasy.

  Fleeing.

  Somewhere in the distance, a dog continued barking long after the others had gone quiet.

  As if something invisible had lingered around the apartment complex.

  Something they could sense—

  but humans could not.

  Back inside, Jack sat on the couch. The television flickered meaninglessly in front of him.

  “What now?”

  Last night he had planned to train Fear Carrier and earn points.

  Instead, he had nearly lost control of his own body.

  “I can’t use the Grim Mirth costume yet,” he muttered. “If something happens again, the identity collapses.”

  He checked his wallet.

  “And Dr. David’s money is almost gone.”

  Silence settled after he turned off the television.

  Jack picked up his phone and began scrolling.

  Comedy clips.

  Random content.

  Livestreams.

  One stream caught his attention—a popular content creator chatting casually with viewers.

  Viewer count: 4,143.

  Jack stared at the number.

  “…Four thousand people.”

  If that many watched him—

  How many points would that be?

  He remembered his viral video had produced nothing.

  “Hm… maybe distance weakens Fear Carrier.”

  “At least no one would get hurt if something went wrong.”

  His eyes narrowed slightly.

  “And donations would solve my money problem.”

  The idea lingered.

  Tempting.

  Risky.

  Logical.

  Jack immediately began researching how livestreaming worked.

  Camera setup.

  Account registration.

  Streaming software.

  “For the camera, my phone is enough.”

  “The laptop can read chat.”

  “The tripod…”

  He glanced around the room.

  “Ah. Found it.”

  Only one problem remained.

  Content.

  “Card tricks?”

  “Acrobatics?”

  He shook his head.

  “I’d rather not show my face.”

  Then—

  He remembered the puppet.

  A slow grin formed.

  “Hahaha…”

  “I’ve got it.”

  After buying supplies and a quick lunch outside, Jack returned home before evening.

  He registered a new channel.

  H&T — Happy Time.

  Ironic.

  His first performance would be a puppet show.

  Two wooden dolls stood on the small stage: a grandfather and a grandson. Cheap toys. Lifeless wood.

  His remaining money reached zero.

  There was no backup plan.

  Jack stared at the setup.

  “…Please work.”

  Because if this failed—

  he would be forced to take bigger risks.

  The camera activated.

  Only his hands appeared on screen. Nothing else.

  He connected Puppeteer.

  Right hand—grandfather.

  Left hand—grandson.

  The movements were stiffer than the Cursed Puppet’s. Yet unnaturally precise. To ordinary viewers, it would appear as skillful manipulation. But each bow carried a faint elegance—an echo of the dignity demanded by last night’s crown.

  Jack inhaled slowly.

  “Hopefully nothing weird happens.”

  He pressed Start Streaming.

  The red indicator lit up.

  Connected.

  Stable.

  Viewer count—0.

  Quiet settled around him.

  “…Not even one.”

  Seconds passed.

  Heavy.

  Slow.

  He adjusted the puppets.

  “Calm down,” he murmured. “Someone will join.”

  Another glance.

  Still zero.

  “Is this gamble going to fail…?”

  Then—

  A notification appeared.

  1 viewer joined.

  Jack straightened instantly.

  Professional.

  The puppets lifted together and bowed.

  Without hesitation—

  Two voices emerged from the silence—skillful, hollow, and perfectly synced.

  “Hello everyone.”

  “Welcome to the Happy Time Show.”

  And somewhere deep inside his mind—

  a sphere pulsed.

  Watching.

  Waiting.

  To see—

  whether happiness could still earn applause.