Chapter 213
Chapter 213
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Translator: crow
Chapter Title: 213. Song Arin Enters the Fray
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Song Arin couldn't believe the scene unfolding right in front of her.
Something felt off.
As she parted ways with the man and glanced back, she spotted a thread clinging to his back.
It was so thin that only someone experienced with threads like her could have noticed it.
That's why Song Arin gave chase.
Something was wrong.
He was clearly walking, but his speed wasn't that of a normal walk.
She reached out a hand as she followed behind the man, who moved even faster than a sprint.
It was time to call for backup.
"Is it really true that a containment object demanding a gourmet's fingers has appeared?"
"No."
She was running as she answered the irritated voice of the black-haired man coming through her smartphone.
"For now, where should I head?"
Calmly, she relayed their location,
And added,
"I'll be there in three minutes."
Three minutes?
As far as she knew, the black-haired man's place wasn't that close.
No. That wasn't important right now.
She hurriedly ended the call and dialed the next person.
"I'm on my way."
"Chaeyeon! Hurry!"
An emotionless voice rang in her ear, followed by the black-haired man's voice coming through the receiver—something she probably shouldn't have heard.
Why was this one with the black-haired guy, too?
No, this wasn't the time for that.
She hastily spun threads in her mind.
Spinning threads was a conscious effort for her.
She still wasn't adept at controlling them and had to handle them delicately.
The thread she cast stuck to the man's back.
Song Arin let out a sigh of relief as she trailed behind him.
With the thread attached like this, she could follow him no matter what happened.
"...This is insane..."
But that might have been a miscalculation on her part.
Countless threads had suddenly appeared, binding the man.
The sheer number far exceeded what she could manage.
Could Song Arin herself break through those threads?
There was no need to deliberate.
It was impossible.
Clutching just that one thread, she charged toward the man.
"Damn it, this guy...! Always pulling this crap right when things seem fine...!"
Gritting her teeth and muttering, Song Arin yanked the thread. The man twitched at the same time, but her resistance didn't even buy her a single second.
She bit her lip.
All she could do now was cling to that thread and chase after him with everything she had. Nothing more.
Then, midway through.
"Hah... hah..."
The man stopped.
Forcing out ragged breaths up to her chin, she looked ahead.
...
She momentarily forgot what to say at the sight before her.
There was Song Arin herself.
Wearing a ridiculous hat and clothes fit for a theater troupe leader.
If it were just the outfit, she might pass for someone playing along at a troupe performance.
...
But the eyes were different.
There was no trace of humanity in the expressionless face, and the emotionless gaze wasn't even looking at a person anymore.
And then, the man was dragged toward her.
...
...
The two—no, one person and one monster—exchanged words,
And the man was sucked straight inside.
Into the curtains, onto the stage, shrinking away.
"No!"
Without thinking, Song Arin shouted and lunged forward.
"...Me?"
The version of herself in ridiculous clothes stared back at her.
"...Give him back. That man."
"I didn't call you."
The figure spoke in her exact voice. No, the troupe leader continued without even acknowledging Song Arin's presence as remarkable.
"He was drawn here."
"...What?"
"More precisely, that man—"
Boom!
Before the troupe leader could finish, a massive shockwave slammed into the monster.
But as if unbothered, the troupe leader swung an arm, and countless puppets sprang out to form a barrier, blocking the attack.
At the same time, black hair fluttered as needles rained down on the monster.
Crack!
One puppet was impaled by a needle and collapsed. Yoo Daon, who had been staring at the troupe leader with emotionless eyes, turned her head and locked eyes with Song Arin.
"Hello!"
She smiled as if nothing had happened.
...
"Wow... so this is it. Hmm. Evil Arin?"
Muttering familiarly, Yoo Daon eyed the monster blocking her needles.
"Evil me is way uglier than this. Even if Jaeheon saw it, his illusions probably wouldn't shatter, right? I'm jealous."
"...What are you?"
The troupe leader muttered, looking displeased at Yoo Daon.
"Hmm. I get why Evil Arin feels that way now!"
Ignoring the glare, Yoo Daon beamed at the troupe leader.
"Evil Arin must be overflowing with inferiority—"
Before Yoo Daon could finish, countless threads wrapped around her neck.
Snap!
With a gruesome sound, Yoo Daon's neck snapped ninety degrees.
Boom!
At the same time, another massive shockwave crashed into the troupe leader, and Yoo Daon with her broken neck fell limply to the floor.
Crack... crackle...
As bones reassembled with grinding sounds, Yoo Daon rubbed her neck and rose, muttering.
"Our personalities are equally shitty, huh?"
"Nice taunt."
"Thanks!"
Jang Chaeyeon leaped in, speaking calmly, while Yoo Daon grinned brightly at the troupe leader.
...
The troupe leader, staring blankly at the three of them, let out a low sigh.
"No time for this."
...
"He's dreaming right now."
Whoosh!
The troupe leader swung her hand, and countless puppets charged at the three.
"We have to go."
The troupe leader muttered. Jang Chaeyeon swung her hand, pushing back the puppets and clearing a path.
"Go."
At her word, Yoo Daon and Song Arin rushed toward the troupe leader.
The two barreled through the horde of puppets,
As the curtains began to close.
They'd be too late at this rate.
Song Arin gritted her teeth and pushed off with her legs.
"Heave-ho!"
With a bright shout, Yoo Daon shoved Song Arin's back hard.
Song Arin lost her balance and pitched forward,
And at the same time, a gentle wind carried her body flying ahead.
"I gave you a push."
Jang Chaeyeon's voice rang in Song Arin's ears.
"Arin! Hurry!"
Yoo Daon smiled up at her.
"You—"
Before Song Arin could finish.
"It's her own business."
Yoo Daon stared straight at her and continued.
"She should handle it herself, right?"
Her voice held no emotion at all. Then,
"I'll follow!"
Yoo Daon waved with a smile.
That was the last scene Song Arin saw.
*
Stay calm.
He'd been through worse.
He'd experienced drowning in an endless loop, stared down the end of the world.
Thinking about it now, becoming a puppet was a new one.
In other words.
...
He was flustered.
The biggest problem was that no clear way out presented itself.
No. That wasn't it.
...
He was alone.
No comrades nearby, no manual in his possession.
No, don't think pessimistically.
Assuming this was inside a stage, there had to be an audience watching.
How and why his body ended up like this could wait.
The moment he gave up, it was over. He couldn't stop thinking.
He fiddled with a splinter that had fallen from above, lost in thought.
The good news was that no threads were attached to his body.
Meaning no one—specifically, the troupe leader—was controlling him.
And that's what he needed to focus on.
A troupe leader not controlling him.
Conversely, the host with threads on its body.
What was the difference?
What made one a perfect puppet while he wasn't?
Crackle!
As he pondered, the sound of a TV turning on echoed.
[Hello!]
The sun had already reached midday.
[Today's lunch broadcast. Today... Oh dear.]
The host chattering animatedly at the screen suddenly covered its mouth as it looked toward his position.
More accurately, it performed the motion of covering its mouth.
[What's wrong with your head!]
It stared at him, mouth still covered.
...
Watching the screen.
Knowing where he was.
Assume the center there was the studio.
[Excuse me?]
That wouldn't make sense.
No particular reason.
Just considering the camera angle made it obvious.
Because the camera wasn't moving.
Whenever he, the subject, moved, it was the host turning its head. Not him.
But TVs don't have cameras attached.
Think the opposite.
Whenever he moved, its gaze followed him in real time.
Right if he went right, left if he went left.
This wasn't the look of someone watching a camera.
[Has the excessive shock already robbed you of speech...?]
Ignoring the audience's guffaws, he kept walking.
<...>
It shut its mouth.
[I'm busy now, so I'll come back later.]
It spoke irritably.
Crackle!
The TV turned off.
He hadn't expected that.
Just a bit more observation would have sufficed.
...
He stared at the TV.
His reflection didn't appear on the screen.
...
He clenched his fist.
A creaking sound came from the wooden hand.
Boom!
He smashed down on the screen with his right fist clenched.
The TV shook violently.
Boom! Boom! Boom!
He kept pounding with his fist.
Until the TV shattered or his fist broke.
Crack!
Fingers splintered, wooden shards flying.
The shards grazed his face, but he kept swinging relentlessly.
Crunch!
Soon, the arm's joint dislocated.
The sight was gruesome, but he didn't care.
No pain registered in his hand, and cracks were forming on the screen.
He shifted his weight to his other arm and started hammering.
Boom! Crack!
How many strikes later.
Finally, a round hole punched through the TV.
...
He roughly widened the hole with one arm.
Riiip...!
Glass shards embedded in the wooden arm, fragments pelting his face.
Once the hole was fully enlarged, he finally realized.
In the empty space, the host puppet lay with its strings severed.
Behind it stretched empty audience seats and a crudely assembled set.
Unlike the intricately crafted puppets, the set looked like something slapped together by an amateur.
Now it made sense.
This had been a play the troupe leader staged just for him from the start.
And something had briefly pulled the troupe leader away.
Step... step...
Each footfall echoed as wooden feet scraped across the floor.
Time was short.
He had to reclaim his body before the troupe leader returned.
He hurried onward.
Into the unseen darkness ahead.
*