The private stage in the west wing had once been used for marionette plays.
Tonight, it belonged to Jungho.
No audience filled the tiered seats. Only a circle of twelve—nobles in dark cloaks, some wearing masks, others sipping wine behind ornate fans. The King had requested a "novelty." The Fool would oblige.
Jungho stood alone on the wooden stage, dressed in his usual patchwork. The bells on his cuffs had been silenced with wax. A single lantern burned overhead.
[Quest: A Whisper of Velvet]
Begin performance. Laughter not permitted.
He took a breath.
Then he moved.
A stumble. A fall. A twitch of his ankle that looked like a mistake—but wasn't.
He rolled to his feet. Mimed surprise. He cupped his ear, turned left, then recoiled, as if slapped by an invisible hand. He spun. Tripped again. Wobbled. Collapsed to one knee.
But no one laughed.
Instead, they leaned forward.
He conjured a rope from his sleeve—mere string, really—and tied it into a noose, then into a butterfly. He placed the string over his heart.
Then slowly, deliberately, he pressed two fingers to his lips, and zipped them shut.
Gasps rippled through the audience.
Not a word. Not a chuckle.
Jungho bowed deeply.
The lantern flickered out.
[Quest Complete: A Whisper of Velvet]
You have made them feel without laughter.
Fool's Credibility +4
New Recognition Gained: "Silent Stage"
You are no longer bound by auditory expectations.
When he opened his eyes, the room was empty.
A breeze touched his neck.
He turned.
A man stood in the aisle.
Not noble. Not servant. Black coat, silver trim. A cracked mask on his face—white, with a smiling expression carved only on the right side. The left was blank and fractured like glass.
"Clever," the man said, voice low. "Most fail by trying too hard."
Jungho said nothing.
The man stepped forward. Held something in his palm.
A mask.
Bone-white.
Blank.
But not smooth. A faint crack ran from the left temple to the cheekbone.
"I'm not here to recruit you," the man said. "I'm here to see what kind of crack you'll earn."
He dropped the mask at Jungho's feet.
Then turned and walked into the darkness, disappearing between the curtains like smoke.
Jungho picked up the mask.
It was light. But cold. Not like porcelain. More like... memory.
[Item Acquired: Initiate's Cracked Mask]
An empty face. A silent challenge.
Wear to accept the eyes of the unseen.
He didn't put it on.
Not yet.
But he didn't leave it behind either.
That night, from atop the palace's western tower, Princess Arin looked out across the capital. Her fingers held a small silver monocle—enchanted, a gift from the Queen.
Through it, she had watched the performance.
She hadn't laughed.
She had exhaled.
"Not bad," she murmured.
Behind her, a shadow moved.
"Your Highness," a voice said. "He received the mask."
Arin nodded once.
"Let's see how long he can wear it."
-------------------------------------
While Jungho read the crimson-edged card beneath the flickering candlelight, across the palace in the east wing, another figure observed—neither noble nor servant, but something in between.
His name was Velas, the King's court strategist. Not a man of swords or spells, but of parchment and poison ink.
He stood alone in his map room, a low-ceilinged chamber cluttered with kingdom models and iron figurines. At the center stood a crude wooden effigy of the capital—complete with a miniature throne, council benches, and an amphitheater painted black.
And beside it now, a new piece.
A jester figurine, dressed in red.
Velas turned the piece slowly in his fingers.
"A fool in black who juggles knives and mirrors truths," he muttered.
On the long scroll to his left, a list of names:
Count Dervan – Wine sabotage suspected.
Bishop Myros – Target of satire, emotionally compromised.
Princess Arin – Meeting confirmed. Motivations unclear.
Jungho – Status: Wild Variable.
He circled Jungho's name with red wax.
A knock.
Velas didn't turn. "Come."
A young acolyte entered, bowing low.
"My lord strategist. Your eyes were correct. Princess Arin summoned the fool tonight. Observatory tower."
Velas smiled faintly.
"And?"
"No guards. No witnesses."
He pressed a hand against the side of his face, pensive.
"The Princess is reckless."
He moved to the window. From here, the observatory tower was visible in the distance—its upper dome glowing faintly in the moonlight.
"Begin observation protocol," he said. "If they conspire, we record. If they split, we divide."
The acolyte bowed again.
"And inform the Queen's agents. Let her believe the idea was hers."
"Understood."
Once alone again, Velas turned back to the board.
He added another figure beside the red jester: a white pawn marked with a single crack across its face.
"Two masks on the board now," he whispered.
Then he extinguished one candle.
And the figure of the throne disappeared in the dark.