Chapter 212
Chapter 212
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Translator: crow
Chapter Title: 212. The Show Must Go On
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"Ugh!"
Thud.
I woke up crashing into the floor.
...
I rubbed the back of my neck and looked around.
Strangely, I didn't feel any pain.
I dusted off my neck and got to my feet.
It was a small house.
...
Two rooms.
*Click!*
I opened one door to find a room with just a bed.
The living room had a sofa and a TV.
The TV was even one of those old cathode-ray tube models straight out of a vintage movie.
...
The kitchen—or what I assumed was the kitchen—had only a table and a fridge.
I opened the fridge.
...
Nothing inside.
No dishes or utensils to begin with.
Something was off.
I pressed a hand to my temple.
No headache.
"What the hell is this?"
I muttered, scanning the surroundings.
The cabinets were empty.
...
I headed to the bathroom.
No mirror where one should have been.
I turned on the faucet, but no water came out.
I went to the other room. A bed.
I poked the bed with my finger. Just the soft give of the mattress.
I looked out the window.
The sunset was beautiful.
...
I gripped the window with both hands and pulled, but it wouldn't budge.
What about the front door?
I eyed the front door.
Just a plain old front door.
"...Damn it."
That wouldn't open either.
It was like something solid was wedged against it from the other side.
...
I sat on the sofa and started thinking.
First off, what happened?
I met the Director.
Did Song Arin awaken as the Director in the meantime?
No, that couldn't be.
Yoo Daon had fully matured, but people don't change that easily.
So why did Song Arin, now the Director, end up here?
Why did the theater suddenly appear in the first place?
I reached into my pocket,
"...What?"
The empty sensation startled me.
I patted myself down frantically, but felt nothing.
No gun. Worse, no Manual.
...
Only then did the gravity of the situation sink in.
A place the Manual couldn't follow me to?
How did I end up here?
What did Song Arin—no, the Director—do to me?
I dredged up hazy memories.
Grabbed me by the collar.
Held me with strings and dropped me.
"Song Arin."
Then her voice from behind.
What happened to Song Arin?
I suppressed the rising worry.
She'd handle herself.
She's reliable when left alone.
For now, I needed to figure out how to get out of here.
Window's sealed. Door's sealed.
No way to force them open.
"...Ngh...!"
I grabbed the door and shook it, but nothing changed.
-Static...
How long had I been wrestling with the door?
Suddenly, static hissed from the TV behind me.
The screen flickered on.
[Good evening, residents. What a beautiful sunset.]
It was a puppet show.
A studio set. One figure holding a microphone.
No, not a person.
A puppet manipulated by strings spoke into the mic.
[Our Happy Village is, as always, living the joyful life.]
Wahaha! Laughter from the audience stung my ears.
[Think about it. How wonderful is it? No need to fight with others or even meet them. All we need is the thrill of media and these little tasks to pass the time!]
That's right! Voices from the audience seats. The puppet with the mic bobbed its mouth and laughed out loud.
[Don't you ever get tired of talking to people?]
Mm-hmm. Murmurs from the audience.
[Having to cater to someone you don't like, listen to stories you don't want to hear, all while worrying if they hate you.]
That's right! More voices.
The puppet nodded at the sound.
[Happy Village frees you from all those worries completely.]
[Yes, you.]
The puppet looked at the screen.
No. Straight at me, gripping the doorknob.
[How much have you worried? How much hurt have people caused you?]
...
Chills ran down my spine.
The puppet's glass-bead eyes gleamed as it stared right at my hand on the knob.
[Here, you can erase all those worries.]
[Just watch our fun show, laugh and chat along, enjoy your alone time.]
[What do you say?]
Silence from the audience seats.
...
I tore my eyes from the screen and looked at the door.
Wooden door. But it wouldn't open. Why?
The window?
I glanced outside.
The sun was still dipping low.
No.
...
The sun hadn't moved.
The view outside was identical to when I'd first looked—the same sunset.
Orange light filled my vision.
[Oh dear. But I understand. New residents always take time to adjust. They all do eventually.]
It continued as if reading my mind.
[You'll get used to it soon enough. Humans are creatures of adaptation, after all.]
Our eyes met.
[That's all for today! Great job, everyone! See you on the late-night broadcast!]
With those words,
the sun set.
Orange faded to black.
Then the lights came on.
Central control system? This isn't a prison.
Escape through the door was off the table.
I sat back on the sofa.
Creak.
Window: no escape.
Door: no escape.
Only way to communicate with the outside: the TV.
Unclear if it could hear me.
No Manual. Nothing visible.
"This is driving me insane."
If I assumed everything was being watched, anxiety would keep me awake.
Total isolation.
What the hell was I supposed to do?
I leaned back on the sofa, eyes closed in despair.
Sleep came faster than expected.
*
-Static...
The TV noise woke me.
[Good morning!]
Sunlight streamed in now.
Morning broadcast? The same host danced with the mic.
All strings attached, of course.
[Oh wow. You must've been exhausted to fall asleep on the sofa like that. Makes sense—first days are always tiring. Right, everyone?]
It had seen me sleep.
Cameras somewhere in the house, or the equivalent.
I stared at the TV, deep in thought.
Every move monitored.
Conversely, someone—or something—was watching my every move.
I had to reverse-engineer it.
Figure out escape by working backward.
[Such a serious face. Oh no, did you forget your joints?]
Wahaha. Audience laughter.
[Come on! Nothing beats morning gymnastics for shaking off the stiffness. Let's get started!]
Upbeat music played as the puppet danced.
Time for hypotheses.
Assume this is a giant puppet village.
Then I need to get out and find an escape route.
Problem: how?
Cross that bridge later.
First, find a way out.
After the lively tune, the host looked at me again.
[Come on, smile! You can't be happy until you smile!]
The broadcast cut out. Silence returned.
...
Time to try what I could.
Search the house first.
Under the sofa: not a speck of dust.
Under the bed: nothing.
Cabinets: empty.
Fridge: empty.
No cameras.
If no cameras, how was it watching me?
Too small to notice?
Or some unknown ability? No counter if so.
No god could just spy on thoughts at will—
"Ah."
A hypothesis hit me.
I rushed to the cabinets.
Rifled through the empty shelves like a madman.
Just dust.
If there was even one utensil, I could stab my chest.
No, not chest. Head. Eye. Lungs. Anywhere.
But no luck. No utensils.
To the bathroom.
No mirror.
No mirror above the sink either.
...
Think.
How long had I been here?
Impossible to tell.
Under a sky that changed at whim, no way to track time.
Had I felt hunger?
No.
Sleepy, yes. Hungry, no.
A horrifying hypothesis crossed my mind.
The strings that pulled me. The floating sensation.
If true, only one way to confirm.
I gripped the tiled wall.
Squeezed my eyes shut.
Braced to die. To smash my skull.
I yanked my head back and slammed it forward.
-Smack!
Something shattered, but
no pain.
-Tap tap...
Wooden splinters rained down from above.
"Damn it."
Now I saw my hands.
'Oh no, did you forget your joints?'
The host's chipper voice echoed in my head.
Hands full of wooden joints. Round body. Knees creaking as they moved.
I wasn't human.