Game 24: The Clone, the Bells, and the Golden Joke
"Of course it's gone."
Han Tae-yang (한태양) stood in front of the shattered display, arms folded, face bent like he'd just found out the convenience store raised ramen prices. The case that once held the iron sword with Emperor Qian Long's inscription was empty, glass shards glittering on the museum floor like a spilled galaxy.
He let out a sigh that sounded like he was carrying not just disappointment but centuries of unpaid rent.
"Yeah, why am I even surprised? This is my life. Every time I finally get to the prize, somebody already ate the cake and licked the plate clean."
The hall was different from the lower levels. Dust didn't choke the air. The ground wasn't marked by boots or blood. No looters. No corpses. No struggle. This floor looked untouched, holy almost, like the air itself carried judgment. The light filtering down wasn't the sickly blue of the barrier glow but golden, bending strangely as if the relics whispered to it.
Yet the sword, the main attraction, was gone.
He clicked his tongue, muttering, "So… someone beat me here. Slipped past, finished their business, then left the barrier like a doorman that only opens for VIPs. Smart. Efficient. Also, the kind of guy I'd punch in the face if I ever met him."
He crouched, running a hand across the marble tiles. The faintest scorch marks brushed his fingers. Not from Min-jae's lightning. Different. Older. Whoever came had planned for this. Tae-yang's brain spun out a picture: some faceless pro-gamer type, glasses glinting, monotone voice, casually disabling traps while sipping iced coffee.
"Yeah, it's always the over-prepared nerds," he muttered. "The type who'd speedrun their own funeral if given the chance. Left no risks for themselves. Just dump the hard work on the next idiot."
His jaw clenched, but the corner of his mouth twitched.
"…Guess that makes me the idiot. Nice."
The silence swallowed his words, pressing in from the high walls of the museum hall. Relics glimmered faintly in their sealed cases, like eyes watching, amused.
He straightened, rolled his shoulders, then smirked. "Alright. Time to even the score."
He placed two fingers against his shadow, voice dropping into mock-grand tone.
"Come forth."
The floor rippled like ink spilling across water. From his stretched shadow, a figure rose, tall and slim, clothed in the same tattered hoodie, sneakers, and cocky grin. Clone Number One.
The clone blinked, stretched like a man waking from a nap, then looked at Tae-yang with the exact same mischievous eyes.
"Bro. You called me just to stand around again? What am I, your unpaid babysitter?"
Tae-yang grinned. "Nah. You're my unpaid spy. Slightly different job description. Less Netflix, more lurking in the dark."
The clone scratched his cheek, unimpressed. "Wow. Living the dream."
"Shut it." Tae-yang jabbed a thumb toward the barrier behind him. "Old Man Beard-Sensei out there? Keep watch on him. Don't let him notice you. Report if he tries anything fishy."
The clone tilted his head. "So basically, stalk an old man."
"…Yeah."
"You realize if anyone saw me, they'd call the cops, right?"
"This is a dead museum full of magical artifacts. There are no cops."
"Exactly. Which means if I get caught, I'm getting roasted by grandpa's lightning beard. That's worse than prison."
"Relax," Tae-yang said, patting the clone's shoulder with mock comfort. "You've got my personality. That means you're shameless enough to wiggle out of anything."
The clone's grin spread. "True. Guess if he zaps me, I'll just scream 'surprise Pikachu face' and hope he dies laughing."
Both of them chuckled, the sound bouncing through the hall like two brothers conspiring in a crime they both knew was stupid.
"Alright," Tae-yang said, pushing him toward the shadowy archway leading back. "Go. Don't be seen."
The clone melted into the shadows, footsteps vanishing like smoke. His voice echoed faintly before fading out completely.
"Man, if I die, I'm haunting you first."
"…As if you're not already haunting me," Tae-yang muttered.
The hall fell quiet again. He bent down, hands skimming the floor, eyes sharp.
If the sword's gone, there must be something left. Nobody comes this far for just one toy. There's always a hidden stash, a secret layer. The kind of thing game designers leave for players like me… the broke ones who don't pay for DLC.
He searched every inch. The cracks in the stone. The tiny markings near the base of the stands. Even the smell of the air changed, dust, iron, faint gold tang.
His monologue picked up where he left off, half-muttered, half-performed like he was lecturing invisible students.
"See, whoever came thought they were clever. Took the flashy sword, left the crumbs. But jokes on them, because what they stole…" He lifted his hand dramatically, as if holding something. "…is nothing but a second-class artifact. A glorified letter opener."
He crawled closer to a sealed stand, fingertips brushing faint carvings. His heart beat faster as the energy under the stone hummed.
"Meanwhile…" His voice dropped low. "…I'll be the one to find the real prize."
There it was.
Nestled inside a glass-like casing, glowing faintly with a golden aura, lay a bangle set with tiny bells, each one shining like it had been dipped in sunlight. Beside it, resting on a bed of shimmering fabric, an ingot so polished it seemed to breathe light.
Tae-yang's grin split his face. "Jackpot."
He reached out, and the glow pulsed, spilling golden light across his fingers, warm and heavy like melted coins. He lifted the ingot, its weight surprising, like holding history itself. The bells on the bangle jingled softly, a sound so clear it cut through the heavy air.
The sound wasn't just music, it carried weight. Old festivals. Ancient temples. Crowds bowing as priests raised these same bells under blazing suns.
For a second, Tae-yang swore he could see it: Persians in white robes, sandstorms whirling behind them, fire altars burning high, their voices chanting in languages older than stone. The museum's sterile hall flickered into desert and sky, visions bleeding over reality.
His hand trembled.
This isn't just treasure. This is fuel. This is the missing puzzle piece.
The system, never late to ruin dramatic flair, chimed.
> [ Ingot Acquired. Compatibility: Perfect. ]
[ Bell Resonance Detected. Soul Frequency: 89%. ]
Tae-yang exhaled, chest buzzing with excitement.
"My unique innate skill," he whispered, almost reverent. "Finally… the last piece."
He laughed softly, giddy. "With this, I can build it. The most powerful skill. My ace. My cheat code."
His eyes flicked to the relic notes scribbled in his mental notebook, the insane crafting recipe he'd pieced together from scattered clues.
"The materials are clear now. The ritual offering tray of the Persians. The right eye of Tutankhamun's mask. And now…" he lifted the ingot higher, golden light spilling across his hoodie. "…this."
The relics pulsed. The bells jingled again, sharper this time. The ingot hummed, light splitting brighter.
Then.
A message blazed across the air, words carved in golden script, burning into the walls like fire.
> [ Artifact Resonance Detected. ]
[ The Ritual Tray and Tutankhamun's Right Eye Have Responded. ]
The hall trembled.
The other relic cases flickered, glass shuddering. The air thickened until it pressed against his lungs. Somewhere deep inside the museum, something answered the call.
The relics have responded. They have answered the call.
Tae-yang's grin faltered, his breath catching.
"…Oh, hell no."