13. Circus Charlie (5)
13. Circus Charlie (5)
The moment word spread through the auditorium that Ella had opened the box, the crowd erupted with the cheers and applause they had been holding back. Most of the contestants had already forfeited the Mini Game, so everyone had been waiting with bated breath for news from the arena.
The reaction was far more fervent than when the earlier teams had opened their boxes. There was an undeniable thrill in watching an underestimated underdog defy all expectations and succeed—a narrative that never failed to capture the public imagination.
But it would be wrong to dismiss the audience's support for the Monster Circus as mere underdog psychology. Ella's performance had been genuinely astonishing. Her resourcefulness and skill had drawn admiration even from Rekachev's professors.
No one hesitated to name her the star of the day's competition—and however grudgingly, the troupes who had faced her were forced to concede the point.
"Honestly, Ella was incredible. It's no exaggeration to say she dominated the whole event."
"Absolutely. But I'd say our members who competed in the Mini Game were just as impressive. They consistently placed fifth or sixth on average, didn't they?"
"That's true. This game isn't won by a strong search team alone."
"I've reconsidered things. I assumed they were just brutes coasting on their freakish looks."
"Well done, Monster Circus!"
Praise for the monster troupe members flowed just as freely. Some spectators even shouted out their individual names.
The troupe members themselves had no idea how to handle this wave of genuine support. It was a first.
They had left a good impression at the Rose Windmill Cabaret, too—but only in their capacity as 'monsters.' Even when they had posed for portraits, they had had to keep playing the part. Umon, cast as a lumbering brute too dim to string a sentence together, had been forced to growl and mutter about raw meat.
The patrons treated them like exotic animals. A few rude souls had even asked Ella and me how we had managed to 'train' these creatures. We answered that they had trained themselves.
Ultimately, the praise for opening new horizons for the Monster Circus had been directed solely at Ella and me. No matter how famous or popular the troupe members became, the enjoyment they could take in it had always been limited. To the average onlooker, they were simply monsters acting according to their nature.
But here, the attention pouring over them was not aimed at a monster persona. It was genuine acclaim for skilled acrobats. I understood better than anyone how vast that difference was.
Back in the orphanage days, I had been performing for crowds long before I ever took a stage with friends.
The Church of Omnipotence euphemistically called it 'fundraising activities.' It was begging. We would sit on sidewalks near universities or busy commercial districts with placards reading "Please Help My Friends" around our necks, selling memorial stickers—bought in bulk from a Chinese online marketplace at thirty thousand won per hundred sheets—for five thousand won apiece.
"Tsk, how do they even survive like this."
"Poor things, tut-tut."
"Here, take fifty thousand won. Keep the stickers."
"Good skin, well-fed too. Looks like this place actually raises the children properly."
I never enlightened them that for someone with limited mobility like mine, putting on weight during puberty was easier than breathing. The Church of Omnipotence staff required only one thing: that I mumble my thanks in a slurred voice every time someone handed over money.
The donors acted as though their contribution had purchased the right to pat my head or clap me on the back. It was utterly humiliating. I despised myself just as much for exploiting their goodwill for profit.
That lingering revulsion played no small part in why I had made the 'Torch Dancer' persona so aggressively cheeky when I began streaming. Playing the pitiable figure and raking in donations had felt no different from those days.
For the troupe members, being treated like monsters was the same thing.
I understood what they were feeling better than anyone. And I was proud—proud that they could finally receive this kind of applause from people, and proud to be their Troupe Leader.
"Yurakne, Bandik, Hansten, Dunedol, Sebram, Umon."
The members whose names I spoke turned to face me. I bent forward as respectfully as I could manage and addressed them.
"Thank you."
Silence. After a moment, I lifted my head to look at them.
Umon was openly weeping, tears streaming down his face, choked sobs escaping him. The Trimery Triplets clenched their jaws as though fighting back their own tears and refused to meet my eyes. Bandik started to say something, shook his head, and pressed his lips tightly together. Yurakne simply smiled at me, soft and knowing, and dabbed at the corner of her eye.
No words were needed. I returned a single nod in their direction.
The respite to savor victory was brief. Word soon arrived that an accident had occurred in Arena No. 2.
"Troupe Leader Wonderstein, I believe you should proceed to the entrance immediately."
"What's happened?"
"The staircase obstacle has collapsed, it seems. Contestant Ella appears to be trapped inside. Ah, and there's no need for concern regarding the competition itself. The moment Contestant Ella laid hands on the trophy, the Monster Circus's victory was already confirmed."
At first, we did not consider the situation particularly grave. Ella had already smashed through traps and obstacles far more vicious than this—a collapsed wall did not seem likely to have injured her.
Something felt wrong when I tried to contact her and no answer came. Cranking the volume to maximum made no difference. I should have been able to hear at least a groan or the sound of her breathing, but there was only silence.
Could a falling stone have knocked her unconscious? Or worse—?
Anxiety coiling in my chest, I pulled up the Member Management Window.
Name: Ella
Age: 17
Affection level: 30 (Next Reward: Affection level 50)
Title: Deputy Leader
Occupation: Beast Tamer
Traits
: [Inspira-Spirit Link], [Inspira-Hat Magic]
Her Status Window had turned gray—unlike the green-tinted profiles of everyone else. In the original TTT games, a grayed-out profile indicated that a support character was currently unavailable due to event circumstances.
Since arriving here, I had only witnessed a troupe member's profile turn gray on one other occasion.
Three months ago, just before departing Dvalchev. The troupe had been badly injured fighting the Zakanuba swarm, and Saint Valentina had driven Holy Needles into their bodies to accelerate their recovery.
Back then, I had kept the Member Management Window open all evening while monitoring Ella with particular intensity. I had been watching to make sure no strange new traits manifested after she had been stabbed by a Reaper's Scythe.
That was when I had seen several members' Status Windows shift. The moment a Holy Needle pierced their flesh, their profiles had gone gray.
I recognized it instantly from the game's system.
Gray. This character is currently unavailable.
Suspecting the worst, I had tried messaging them. Nothing. The Costume Room Function would not apply to them either. The Diagnosis Function, the same.
The Power of Light wielded by Orthodox priests could block the power of a Demon God. That was why exorcists, when arresting criminal Madosa, drove Sacred Stakes into their bodies.
Devolut, too, had disintegrated when struck by Valentina's Spear of Light. If this Status Window was a gift from the Demon God, then it was only logical that the Orthodox Church's power could neutralize it.
I had deliberately asked Valentina to insert Holy Needles into my own body as well, to test several hypotheses.
Sure enough, most of the Status Window's functions failed while the Power of Light actively pierced me. Devolut channeled near an embedded needle sparked and resisted before disintegrating altogether.
But my physical strength and regenerative capacity remained wholly unaffected. In fact, I had felt invigorated.
What the Orthodox power blocked, then, was only the Demon God's direct influence—not the biological alterations it had already achieved.
I had taken to calling this state 'offline.' Just as a locally installed game still runs even after the internet cuts out.
Rekachev School had once been a cathedral. If there were pockets within the building where sacred power still ran strong, it would explain Ella's current condition.
"Troupe Leader!"
Ahead, Yurakne was waiting for me. I had been so deep in thought that I had stopped pushing my wheelchair without realizing it. I signaled for her to head to Ella's location immediately, then gripped the wheels to follow.
Before I had gone far, someone grabbed the handles of my chair.
"Mr. Wonderstein?"
A young man's voice. I turned. He was roughly my height, but easily twice my bulk.
"Would you mind coming with us?"
Three more figures appeared. Two women who looked around Clara or Reina's age, and one man a few years older than Umon.
"Who are you?"
"We've detained Ella."
So the collapse had not been an accident after all.
And who the hell were these people?
Their gazes, fixed on me, were cold and thoroughly guarded. My leisurely calm in this situation seemed to strike them as suspicious.
"Understood. Let's go."
If they had Ella, I had no real choice. I complied readily.
While one of them pushed my wheelchair, the others positioned themselves to block me from view of the arena. The four moved in crisp, precise lockstep—the kind of coordination that spoke of serious training. They were not amateurs.
I considered alerting the troupe members, then held off. I needed to find out who these people were first. If they had come knowing about the Black Magician, the situation had to be handled without the others finding out.
The one stroke of luck was knowing that Ella was currently offline.
Once I reached wherever they were taking me, the Status Window's functions would be useless. I poured my remaining Devolut into physical modification and prepared a range of traits for contingency use.
***
The moment the emcee announced the test's conclusion, Reina stopped by the Golden Carnival encampment. She had come to retrieve the belongings she had brought with her that morning.
The troupe members each offered her a parting word of encouragement. The man who was supposed to be her father, however, never once glanced her way while deep in conversation with the sponsors. His attitude was so pointedly cold that the people speaking with him kept stealing uncomfortable glances at Reina.
Was this his way of showing he had no further interest in a departing fake daughter?
She could simply walk away, and that would be the end of it. But Reina, thinking this would be the last time, approached him and—on impulse—threw her arms around him from behind in a tight embrace.
"Gah—!"
Simon's expression froze as though he had just bitten his own tongue. Clearly, he had not expected her to go that far.
"Thank you for everything, Father."
With those words, she turned on her heel and walked away.
Simon's glare bored into her back, his glare bristling with hostility. His lips parted as if he meant to say something, then clamped shut. A scoff. He looked away.
'That's the last I'll ever see of him.'
Reina exhaled a long breath, equal parts relief and regret. No second thoughts, though.
She was a member of the Monster Circus now.
She hurried after her new companions, who had already left for the accident site, and stepped out of the auditorium. Even weaving through the dense foot traffic, she pinpointed Wonderstein's location with unerring precision.
'Troupe Leader?'
She noticed that he was moving in a direction completely opposite from the arena.