In an open clearing near the O'Dazzly family tent, two boys stood facing each other, the ground beneath them their training floor and the morning sky their roof.
"I'll agree to teach you," said Malvin, rolling up the sleeves of his worn ash-blue shirt. "But there's a condition."
Waltz raised an eyebrow. "What's the condition?"
"You have to teach me something too. It's not fair if only you get something."
Waltz smiled. "So, like a barter?"
"Something like that."
"Alright! I can teach you how to do facial expressions, stage comedy… how to bow while flying." He did a dramatic hop and tumbled to the ground theatrically.
Malvin simply watched. He didn't laugh… but a small smile did appear. "Crazy, but not bad."
Waltz stood up, brushing off the dust. "But before we start, I want to know… your full name? Where are you from? Who are you?"
Malvin was silent for a moment, then answered shortly, "Malvin."
That was all.
Waltz waited, but nothing followed. He nodded slowly. "Alright, Malvin. I'm Waltz O'Dazzly."
Without further questions, they began training. Malvin taught him how to stand, the basics of attack and defense - informal, unstructured, but clearly based on real experience.
Days passed.
Their training became a routine, like a silent dance between two friends. Waltz learned quickly, though he loved adding comedic flair to every move. Malvin, usually serious, began to laugh more easily at Waltz's antics.
The one-year age gap meant little in their sparring, but in behavior, Waltz began to see Malvin as more than a friend. He started calling him "Brother Malvin" spontaneously - and though it felt awkward at first, Malvin eventually didn't object.
Malvin's presence became normal within the O'Dazzly family. He ate with them, helped pitch tents, and sometimes even helped coach Waltz's younger siblings for performances.
One breezy evening, they sat atop a wooden crate, watching the sunset.
Waltz asked quietly, "You've never told me who you used to be. Don't you have a family?"
Malvin looked down. For a long time. He took a deep breath.
"I… came from a family that once had everything. But it was all taken away. My father was executed. My entire family… burned alive."
Waltz was silent.
"The only one who saved me… was killed right before my eyes. I'm still alive… because he pushed me into a river."
Waltz said nothing. He just sat close, shoulder to shoulder.
Malvin looked up. "Don't ask again. But… thanks for not treating me like some street kid."
That night, Malvin sat in the front row of the O'Dazzly performance tent, among the audience. Torchlights flickered. The curtain opened.
Waltz and his family began their act - jokes, funny expressions, songs, and satirical dances. But that night, something sharper cut through: bold satire aimed at the rulers. Wooden puppets resembling the king and his advisors were played with biting wit and flair.
The crowd laughed. Some coughed nervously, afraid.
Malvin laughed. But his eyes welled up slightly. Not from sadness. But because, for the first time since the tragedy, he truly felt happy.
"They mock the government in public… and they're still standing."
"Maybe… this is how we fight back."