11. Wonderland (17)
11. Wonderland (17)
The final day of our intensive training camp had arrived.
I woke a little earlier than the others and started on breakfast. By rule, no one outside our group was permitted inside the building, so all the cooking fell to me.
Skill was never the issue. With the Skillbook's support, I could match any first-rate chef.
The real problem was the recipes.
The Skillbook only enhanced manual dexterity; it didn't actually expand my knowledge.
I'd never so much as fried a slice of Spam in my life. No matter how divinely inspired my knife work or wok technique appeared, it wasn't going to produce a decent meal on its own.
So I relied on Yurakne, guiding me through the Sound Room.
-Is the sauce turning a mellow brown?
-Then turn off the heat and slice the meat you set aside at the edge of the griddle.
-In the remaining oil, sauté the asparagus and onions.......
She gave instructions remotely, and I followed along.
Ingredients were never a problem — place an order and anything arrived. Thanks to that, every meal we enjoyed matched anything we could've eaten outside, without the slightest shortfall.
Even Lord Fantastic, who found fault with everything and never missed a chance to nitpick, didn't breathe a word of complaint about my cooking.
On this last morning, I made each person their requested favorite. The kitchen was surprisingly large — perhaps because the building had once housed a bakery — spacious enough to prepare several dishes at once without crowding.
I'd just set the long-simmering dishes over the flames and stolen a moment to catch my breath when Yurakne's voice came through, steeped in embarrassment.
-T-Troupe Leader......?
-Yes?
-I wanted to ask something. You know, that, uh, temporary treatment....... Can you......manage it a few more times?
I mentally tallied the remaining Starlight and answered.
-From what's left, I'd estimate about fifteen hours. But why the sudden question......?
-Ah, ahaha....... Fifteen hours is plenty. It's been nearly two weeks since you left......so, I mean, didn't you miss me at all?
That was when I caught on. I let out a hearty laugh and shook my head.
-Of course I missed you. A lot.
-R-Right? Hee hee. Well then, when you get back......shall I prepare your favorite late-night snack?
Her voice, usually that of a bashful girl, had abruptly shifted into something sultry and knowing. The image of her licking her lips while studying me flickered through my mind. No matter how many times I witnessed that transformation, it still caught me off guard.
I gave it some thought.
Once I finished the experiment with the red-color transformation, there wouldn't be any pressing research left. What remained of the Starlight could reasonably go toward some physical enjoyment with her.
But the timing was poor.
-Our exam is in ten days, remember.
-Ah.......
-I need to conserve my stamina.
-R-Right? Hooom.......
She puffed out her cheeks, then let out a sigh.
I couldn't help a small laugh at how cute she sounded.
-Yura, you've seen it every time we go to the plaza. That incredibly tall building.
-That place? What was it called again......ah!
A small exclamation escaped her as she placed it — the only building in this city with an electric elevator.
-How about we go there after the exam?
-You mean that hotel? I-I'm in! We're definitely going!
And so, I finished the meal prep right on schedule.
Satisfaction was plain on the faces of everyone who sat down to eat.
The final dress rehearsal, held that morning, wrapped up without a single hitch.
At lunch, we laid out a Kiev-style ceremonial table, and every performer who would take the stage paid their respects before it.
It was, they said, a ritual observed when premiering a posthumous work — something meant to soothe the spirit and ward off misfortune from the performance.
The Duke arrived late in the afternoon, escorting a small group of immaculately dressed scholars.
"These are experts in antiquities and manuscripts from the Imperial University. While I watch the performance, they will examine the original and verify its authenticity outside. I've delayed this to prevent the script's contents from leaking."
"Don't tell me we've practiced all this time only for them to declare it a forgery."
Ella muttered the words toward me under her breath.
The Duke couldn't see, but his hearing was sharp. He turned toward her with a gentle smile and shook his head.
"I am quite certain it is genuine, Miss Ella. An acrobat of your caliber must have sensed it while rehearsing — Christian's heavy shadow."
"Ah, of course. His distinctive fingerprints show up all over it. The opening sequence, for instance......."
"That part? Ha ha, I thought the same. And the passage where acrobatics and song overlap......."
"Exactly! For me, especially the section where......."
The two Christian enthusiasts launched into an animated dissection of the script.
Clara watched the scholars carry the original manuscript of the Illusory 13th out of the hall and whispered uneasily.
"T-Troupe Leader, if that turns out to be fake......what happens?"
It was Hobbs who answered.
"What happens? The Duke, for one, and all eleven of us with him, get publicly humiliated. 'What, you practiced for two whole weeks and couldn't tell it was a forgery?' That sort of thing. People'd point fingers just walking down the street. Might even get chased out of the business."
"Uuugh."
Clara's face drained of color. Her teeth chattered as she shot me a sidelong look.
I glanced at Hobbs, who was cackling, and sighed internally.
Clara's naive manner made her an easy target for teasing here, too.
But knowing her circumstances, I couldn't just laugh along.
Without regular treatment, she couldn't survive. Her illness had once driven her to consider suicide.
Now, a single compliment could puff her up until she was preening with pride; one prank sent her into flustered panic.
Still, I understood. All that foolish behavior was her way of soothing her own anxieties.
So while I let other jokes slide, I couldn't stand by and watch a gag that would feed her unease. I flashed her a quick, reassuring smile.
"Don't worry. Troupe Leader Hobbs was exaggerating."
"R-Really?"
"Yes. Absolutely. It'll cause some talk, sure, but it won't interfere with our work at all."
A relieved breath escaped her.
"That's a relief, then."
The greetings concluded, and we moved into full performance preparations.
The performers changed into their costumes, and each troupe leader headed to their station.
The Duke, supported by his secretary, entered and took his seat. I checked the bottle of Starlight Powder installed beneath the audience section, then stepped off the stage.
The secretary closed the hall door and left.
Lord Fantastic gathered the performers.
"Is everyone ready?"
They nodded.
"Good. Let's begin."
The six of them made their way onto the stage one by one.
<The Five Acrobats> opened with the principal cast assembling on stage together, the story unfolding from there through the protagonist's recollections.
I moved to the back of the stage, operated a few mechanisms, and plunged the entire hall into darkness.
Moments after complete black swallowed the space, the drummer struck his drum — a low, small sound that slowly built in speed and volume.
In time with it, I gradually brightened the stage lights.
Clara, cast as the jester, threw her voice to the rafters. The curtain rose on <The Five Acrobats>.
The overture passed, and the story moved to the day the protagonist left her hometown.
Her father, a country lord, kept a two-story hovel as his official residence. Generous souls might call him an unpretentious noble, but the truth was simpler: he'd wagered the deed in a card game and lost it.
The protagonist was the youngest daughter of that household, with three older sisters and one older brother above her.
The story began on a storm-lashed night, with the lord's entire family gathered in the parlor, deep in conversation.
Minova worked the drums, conjuring the atmosphere of a cabin shuddering under the gale.
Thud.
The stage shook.
He seemed to be striking harder than he had during rehearsals.
"Good heavens, brother — is the house going to blow away in this storm?"
Clara's voice rang out, brimming with theatrical alarm.
Naturally, no reply came from her scene partner. This was a one-woman show.
She genuinely sounded frightened.
The stage hadn't shuddered this violently during any of the run-throughs.
"Don't let your imagination run away with you, you say? But look at this — reeeally......d-d-d."
Thud-thud.
The stage lurched again.
The equipment in front of me wobbled dangerously.
From the waiting room, I caught Ruelo's whining and the uneasy exchange of murmurs between Ella and Reina.
They, too, seemed to find the situation strange.
I braced the equipment, holding it steady to keep it from toppling.
Isn't he hitting those drums too hard?
I craned my neck around the side of the stage, trying to get a look at what was happening.
Darkness swallowed my vision. Every trace of light on the stage vanished at once.
A thunderous, world-splitting roar engulfed us.
Screams echoed from every direction.
"Wha—!"
"What the hell—!"
A flash of red seared across my sight.
A sickening sensation of falling wrapped around my entire body.
My consciousness plunged downward, following my body into the depths.
***
Wonderstein couldn't tell how long he'd been out. It might have been a single blink; it might have been days.
He glanced around.
Still pitch-black. Nothing visible.
"Is everyone all right?"
No one answered.
They could all be badly injured — or worse.
He tried to scramble to his feet. The attempt failed immediately.
His palms slipped, and he crashed back to the floor. Something was wrong. His arms and legs were stiff and refused to extend properly.
A cold jolt of fear seized him.
If he, robust as he was, had taken this much damage, then the others might already be......dead.
An earthquake, a building collapse, a gas explosion.
Every gruesome possibility flooded his mind.
He stretched out an arm, grabbed hold of the nearest solid object, and hauled himself upright with painful effort.
Once standing, he could make out his surroundings in more detail than before.
A faint thread of light, seeping in through a distant gap in a doorframe, was just enough to illuminate the space.
"Hello?"
His own voice struck him as strange.
It was his, and yet it wasn't.
Perhaps his body still hadn't fully recovered.
He edged toward the light, step by careful step.
His legs wouldn't bend, but by moving them stiffly forward, one at a time, he managed to make slow progress.
Eventually, he reached the door.
He noticed then that the light spilling through was not steady. Reds, yellows, and oranges flickered and swirled in a restless, repeating pattern.
Careful not to lose his balance, he reached out and pushed the door open.
In that instant, a wall of noise — noise beyond anything he could have imagined — slammed into him.
His jaw dropped at the sight before him.
Against the dark evening sky, blossoms of flame in every color bloomed through the air.
Hundreds of fireworks were being launched simultaneously, one barrage after another in relentless succession.
Beneath that blazing canopy stood a colossal castle. It looked hundreds of meters tall.
What staggered him was not its size, but its composition. This was no ordinary fortress of stone and timber.
"Ha ha......."
A hollow laugh escaped him.
It was a single, enormous circus tent. Or more precisely, thousands — tens of thousands — of structures piled together into the shape of a circus tent.
"This is insane......."
He couldn't believe what he was seeing.
It wasn't the surreal atmosphere that shocked him.
It was the simple, impossible fact that he was standing here at all.
He knew this place.
Where Wonderstein, after killing Saint Valentina, used the Eye of Kirkeus to tear open a dimensional gate and invade at the head of a monster army.
The final stage of TT3.
This was the domain of the Demon God Kirkeus — Wonderland.