Chapter 14

  The laptop screen on the cracked wooden table still glowed faintly while messages continued to scroll across it—white text over a black background, endless and restless. The blue light washed over Jack’s tired face, making his pale expression appear even more hollow inside the dim apartment.

  He reached forward slowly.

  His hand trembled slightly before pressing the button.

  End Stream.

  The chat froze instantly.

  The endless scrolling stopped, leaving the screen silent and still.

  For the first time in hours, the apartment returned to quiet. There were no notifications, no laughter, no digital noise—only the low hum of the laptop’s cooling fan lingering in the air.

  Jack leaned back in his chair and exhaled.

  Then he reached for his phone, which had been mounted on a cheap tripod beside the screen. The back of the device felt unusually warm against his palm.

  Too warm.

  Almost hot.

  Like a heart that had been forced to sprint for two hours without rest.

  A faint scent of overheated plastic drifted through the air, mixing with dust and the wooden smell of the puppet stage in front of him.

  “Haaahhh… finally.”

  He wiped the sweat from his forehead.

  His fingers felt stiff. Numb.

  For a moment, it almost felt as if invisible strings were still tied to them.

  For nearly two hours he had been two different people.

  An old man.

  A child.

  Two voices sharing one body.

  Now, only silence remained.

  Then the system notification appeared.

  [Congratulations! Host has gained 700 points from the performance.]

  Jack stared at the message for a moment before slowly exhaling.

  “So as long as they watch live… I earn points.”

  Apparently, the system did not care whether the audience stood in front of him or watched through a screen.

  Street performances worked.

  Livestreams worked.

  Distance didn’t matter.

  But something still bothered him.

  “But 1,700 viewers… and only 700 points?”

  He frowned.

  “Even if each person gave just one point…”

  “I should have earned more.”

  A moment passed as he thought about it.

  “Why does this feel like tax?”

  He leaned back further in his chair and stared at the ceiling.

  “Maybe livestream emotions are weaker.”

  Watching through a screen simply didn’t feel the same as standing in front of the performer.

  Like watching a concert online instead of attending it in person.

  Less intensity.

  Less impact.

  Less value.

  Jack didn’t like that conclusion.

  But he accepted it.

  For now.

  Livestreaming was still far safer than activating Fear Carrier in public.

  Then he remembered something.

  The moment during the stream when everything had suddenly felt different.

  He opened the system interface again.

  [Best Professional Clown System]

  [Name: Jack Wilson]

  [Points: 815]

  [Talent: Fear Carrier Lv.1]

  [Skills: Card Trick (Expert), Magic Trick (Proficient), Throwing Knives (Proficient), Acrobatics (Beginner), Puppeteer (Proficient), Ventriloquism (Proficient)]

  [System Shop] [Inventory]

  Jack stared at the screen quietly.

  “Puppeteer… Proficient.”

  “Ventriloquism… Proficient.”

  They had improved.

  He began thinking through the skill hierarchy.

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  “Beginner. Proficient. Expert…”

  “What comes next?”

  His gaze moved to Card Trick.

  Expert.

  “Maybe… that came from my previous life.”

  He shook his head.

  But the strange sensation during the stream remained fresh in his mind.

  It had happened in the middle of the performance.

  Not afterward.

  “So that feeling wasn’t imagination.”

  “When Card Trick improved before, I didn’t feel it this clearly.”

  He thought about it carefully.

  “Maybe because those upgrades happened after the performance ended.”

  “And I only noticed them when using the skill later.”

  “But this time…”

  “It evolved while I was still performing.”

  Jack clicked his tongue.

  “If only the system explained things properly.”

  “No notifications. No detailed data.”

  “Just trial and error.”

  Eventually he closed the interface.

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  “As long as I can feel improvement.”

  “That’s enough.”

  He turned back to his laptop.

  The channel page was still open.

  Followers: 1,000.

  On the first day.

  Jack smiled faintly.

  “That’s good.”

  “And that guy… Tet.”

  “He really helped.”

  If the opportunity ever came, Jack decided he would repay the favor somehow.

  He opened the donation summary.

  After the platform took its cut, he had earned around 400 Halley.

  Enough to cover daily expenses for a while.

  “Not bad.”

  After that, he cleaned the small puppet stage, packed the equipment, took a shower, and ordered dinner.

  “What a peaceful day.”

  For once, nothing had tried to kill him.

  No police.

  No chases.

  No unexpected dangers.

  He lay down and quickly fell asleep.

  —

  While Jack slept peacefully, not everyone in the city could rest so easily.

  Inside Special Division 13 headquarters, a computer screen glowed in the dim light of a late-night office.

  “Ugh…”

  “Finding entertainment while working overtime hits differently.”

  Leo leaned back in his chair.

  Blond hair.

  Blue eyes.

  And clear exhaustion.

  Ever since he had been assigned to monitor Grim Mirth, overtime had become routine.

  The door opened and Hubert stepped inside.

  “Slacking off again, Leo?”

  Leo didn’t even turn away from the screen.

  “I’m working.”

  “Take a look at this.”

  He pointed toward the monitor.

  Hubert stepped closer.

  “H&T?”

  He frowned.

  “…A puppet show channel?”

  “Yeah.”

  Hubert crossed his arms.

  “What does this have to do with Grim Mirth?”

  Leo leaned back confidently.

  “Well… they’re both entertainers?”

  Hubert slowly turned his head toward him.

  The look was enough.

  “W-Wait,” Leo said quickly, raising both hands.

  “Don’t look at me like that.”

  “What I mean is…”

  He replayed a clip from the livestream.

  The wooden puppets moved across the stage.

  Smooth.

  Controlled.

  Almost too precise.

  “When I watched this channel, the movements felt unnatural.”

  “Very smooth.”

  He hesitated slightly.

  “…Even if they were still a bit stiff.”

  Hubert remained silent.

  Leo continued.

  “And there were no visible strings.”

  “No wires.”

  “No mechanical rigs.”

  He leaned forward.

  “Isn’t it possible the puppeteer is an Awakened?”

  “Or maybe even Grim Mirth himself?”

  The office fell silent.

  Hubert stared at him.

  “That’s it?”

  “That’s your conclusion?”

  Leo blinked.

  Hubert folded his arms.

  “Don’t turn someone who might have nothing to do with this world into a target.”

  “Just because something feels strange.”

  “It could be camera tricks.”

  “Editing.”

  “Angles.”

  “Lighting.”

  He stepped closer.

  “And most importantly…”

  “Don’t create theories just because you’re tired of overtime.”

  Then Hubert asked,

  “Besides that, any news about Grim Mirth?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Ever since Julia’s incident… he vanished.”

  Silence settled again.

  Hubert crossed his arms.

  “What do you think?”

  “Bad person?”

  Leo shrugged.

  “I don’t think so.”

  “At the park, I didn’t feel anything strange.”

  “Just… impressive tricks.”

  Hubert’s expression hardened.

  “Good or not—he hurt Julia.”

  “The captain won’t ignore that.”

  Leo sighed.

  “You’re right.”

  Hubert handed him a cup of coffee.

  “For your overtime.”

  Leo accepted it.

  “Thanks.”

  Hubert left the room.

  The door closed behind him.

  Leo turned back to the screen.

  The puppets bowed in the replay.

  Fluid.

  Controlled.

  “…Still feels weird,” he muttered.

  —

  Morning came.

  Jack opened his eyes.

  The sunlight felt unusually bright.

  “Ahhh…”

  “Finally, a calm morning.”

  He washed up and grabbed a simple breakfast of bread.

  After eating, he glanced at the clock.

  Still early.

  Too early.

  “What should I do until afternoon?”

  He lay on the floor in front of the television.

  On the screen, armored heroes stood beneath flashing lights as they transformed dramatically.

  Pose after pose.

  Lights.

  Sound effects.

  It always took a long time.

  Jack watched quietly.

  “…That’s inefficient.”

  If danger appeared suddenly, would he have time for a dramatic transformation sequence?

  Would he even have time to change into costume?

  He imagined the scenario.

  An unexpected threat.

  No warning.

  No preparation.

  “I might need to transform quickly.”

  “Or at least put on my costume faster.”

  Practical.

  Not flashy.

  A necessity.

  He continued staring at the screen for a while longer until the hero finally completed the transformation.

  Jack sighed softly.

  “Maybe later.”

  “I’ll think about it.”

  For now, he simply wanted to relax.

  Then the program switched to a commercial.

  An acrobatics training class.

  Cheap fees.

  Nearby location.

  Flexible schedule.

  Morning to noon.

  Noon to afternoon.

  Afternoon to evening.

  Jack blinked.

  “An acrobatics class… here?”

  “In a small city?”

  He considered it carefully.

  “Even if it doesn’t increase proficiency…”

  “At least I won’t look awkward.”

  “If something happens.”

  He nodded.

  “I’ll register.”

  “Start tomorrow.”

  “For today…”

  “I rest.”

  The sun slowly climbed across the sky before beginning its descent again.

  Afternoon faded into evening.

  Jack hummed softly while setting up the puppet stage.

  “Hm hmmm hmmm…”

  Curtains ready.

  Camera aligned.

  Connection stable.

  He pressed the button.

  The curtains opened.

  Two puppets bowed.

  “Hello everyone… Welcome to the Happy Time Show.”

  Three hundred viewers appeared immediately.

  [Haha, I’m first!]

  [I was late yesterday so I came early!]

  [I brought my little brother!]

  Jack smiled behind the stage.

  “Since you’re this enthusiastic…”

  “I won’t disappoint you.”

  The stream flowed naturally.

  Conversations.

  Teasing.

  Laughter.

  Donations trickled in.

  Three hundred viewers became one thousand.

  Then two thousand.

  “Hehehe…”

  “Since there are more people today…”

  “I’ll do something special.”

  Nimo cleared his throat.

  “When I was young…”

  “I was a martial arts master.”

  [Sure, Grandpa.]

  [I’d believe humans can fly first.]

  Dennis quickly defended him.

  “Grandpa can fight!”

  “At least when Grandma scolds him!”

  The chat exploded with laughter.

  “You useless grandson.”

  “Watch carefully.”

  Nimo widened his stance.

  Kicks.

  Punches.

  Combinations.

  Behind the stage, Jack used both hands in complex coordination while Dennis temporarily froze in place.

  The puppet moved with fluid agility.

  Precise.

  Natural.

  [How is that so smooth?]

  [Worth skipping class.]

  [??????]

  Donations surged.

  After finishing, Nimo wiped imaginary sweat.

  “So?”

  “Do you believe me now?”

  Dennis returned.

  “Wow, Grandpa…”

  “I thought you were bluffing.”

  More laughter filled the chat.

  Stories followed.

  Tales of martial arts mastery.

  The audience stayed.

  Donations continued.

  Two hours passed.

  Viewer count: 3,000.

  “Alright.”

  “We’ll stop here.”

  [Already?]

  [Stream longer!]

  [We’ll keep donating!]

  “Hahaha…”

  “That makes me happy.”

  “But we must rest.”

  “See you tomorrow.”

  “Bye-bye.”

  The curtain closed.

  The stream ended.

  [Congratulations! Host has gained 1,000 points from the performance.]

  Jack inhaled sharply.

  “Four digits.”

  Finally.

  He opened the interface.

  [Points: 1,815]

  His skills remained unchanged.

  “No increase.”

  “No feeling either.”

  “But what matters is today.”

  He checked the donations.

  1,000 Halley.

  Jack laughed quietly.

  “Today… really is the best day.”

  He cleaned the stage once more.

  Turned off the lights.

  Lay down.

  A faint smile remained on his face.

  Tomorrow he would begin training his body.

  Tomorrow he would take one step closer to the danger he had chosen for himself.

  Not by accident.

  Not by fate.

  But deliberately.

  He understood that clearly.

  But not tonight.

  Tonight—

  The clown rests.