Sunday night.
Jester was stiff. Laying on his unmade bed. The town outside his window still hummed with an unnatural, almost feverish energy. Excitement. Anticipation.
The Oakhaven Gazette's special edition had done its job. Hope had infected the populace like a rampant, positive virus. It was good, he supposed.
But it meant privacy was hard to come by. Going out to purchase camera recorder. Or even just meeting Vale... They felt like a distant luxury for today.
Everyone he met was either bombarding him with countless questions. Discussing their chosen objects. Or frantically asking his help to search for materials.
He lay on his back. Staring at the ceiling. Recording himself or asking Vale to watch him enter the Toonworld... It just wouldn't work today. But he had a backup plan.
The idea for a simple experiment had formed in his head earlier that day. He grabbed a standard textbook from his bedside table. A theoretical book on Transcendent Power Classes.
He carefully placed it on his chest. If his body vanished, the book would drop. When he returned... if his body was back, the book should be underneath him. Crude. But effective.
If the book stayed on his chest, he would need to do other tests.
With a deep breath, he focused. He summoned the Toonworld Watch to his clutch. The sleek, brass pocket watch materialized in his palm. He activated it.
A rush. A swirl of colors and sounds. Then... He was back to the Toonworld.
Nightclown stood on familiar grassy ground. Not that far from the ornate, goofy gate leading into the Toon Forest Village.
His grey fur was a mess. Bits of vibrant green, shocking pink, electric blue, and more colorful ink stained his blue T-shirt and joggers. The remnants of his previous encounter with the Mushroom Bombs.
He wrinkled his nose. He smelled faintly like grape bubblegum.
He walked towards the village gate. His small hare feet padding softly. As he approached, the massive bulldog guard blocked his path.
He was wearing a ridiculously oversized helmet and a stern expression. He stepped forward. Spreading his cartoonish palm. Stopping Nightclown.
"Hold it right there, Bub!" The bulldog rumbled. "No entry to the Toon Forest Village for unkempt citizens. You look like you wrestled a rainbow and lost. You need to get yourself cleaned up."
Nightclown looked down at his ink-splattered form. He had forgotten about the stains. The guard had a point. Even if it was delivered with the subtlety of a runaway train.
"Right, sorry about that." Nightclown said. Raising his hands in a placating gesture. "Didn't realize it was still so… vibrant."
The bulldog snorted. He reached behind his back and pulled out a cartoonish garden hose. Its nozzle resembled a grinning fish. He aimed it squarely at Nightclown.
"Standard procedure, Bub!" The guard stated. Grinning widely. "Messy ones get a courtesy rinse. Less mess for the village elders to complain about."
Before Nightclown could object, the guard squeezed the trigger. A violent torrent of water burst from the fish-shaped nozzle. Impossibly strong and wide.
It hit Nightclown like a solid, invisible truck. The force was immense. But it carried no pain. Only a surreal, cartoonish stripping sensation.
The colorful ink peeled off his fur and clothes in thick, undulating sheets. Like paint flaking from an old wall. It flowed away into the ground. Disappearing without a trace. Leaving Nightclown's fur sleek and clean. His blue outfit pristine once more.
He still felt a weird tingly sensation. Like a hundred tiny hands scrubbing him at once.
"There!" The bulldog guard grunted. Releasing the trigger. The water instantly vanished, hose and all. "Now, move along!"
Nightclown blinked. "Thanks, I guess." He grinned. Feeling surprisingly refreshed.
And then, instinctively, he shook his body violently. Scattering sprinkles of water all around. Within seconds, he was... dry again.
The Toonworld physics were something else. He bypassed the guard and hurried through the gate.
He needed to get going. The Wild Nunchaku wasn't going to craft itself. His destination... The West Mine.
Navigating the Toon Forest Village was quicker this time. Fewer distractions. More purpose.
He cut through the bustling market square. Past stalls selling oversized lollipops and bouncing fruit. Past toon cats haggling with squirrel merchants.
Soon, he emerged on the western edge of the village. Where the landscape quickly changed from lush forest to craggy, reddish-brown hills.
The West Mine was hard to miss. It wasn't a conventional mine entrance. Instead, it was a colossal, perfectly circular hole in the ground. As if a giant, invisible cookie cutter had scooped out a section of the earth.
Around its lip, dozens of anthropomorphic badgers moved in and out. Their striped faces were grim with concentration.
Each wielded a comically oversized pickaxe. Clanging against the rock walls of the pit. Dust plumed into the air with every swing. Inexplicably shaped like tiny, sparkling stars.
Nightclown watched them for a moment. They seemed perpetually busy. Marching into the mine with a determined gait. Then emerging moments later. Wiping sweat from their brows. Rubbing their backs and looking tired.
He spotted a badger with a surprisingly fluffy tail. Resting on a rocky outcrop. Its pickaxe, a standard-issue oversized cartoon mining tool, lay beside it.
"Excuse me, friend!" Nightclown said. Approaching cautiously. "Mind if I borrow that for a bit?"
The badger grunted. Opening one eye. It was small and bloodshot. "Pickaxe? You wanna mine, Kiddo? Be my guest. Just don't break it. And don't touch my lunch pail."
He gestured to a small, checkered tin beside him. Then closed his eye again. Clearly uninterested in further conversation.
Nightclown grinned. "Thanks." He picked up the pickaxe. It felt light. Almost weightless. Despite its exaggerated size.
He bounded towards the nearest section of the mine wall. A rich seam of dark gray rock.
He swung the pickaxe. The impact was accompanied by a satisfying CLANG! and a shower of those star-shaped dust motes. A chunk of rock popped out like a cork. Perfectly cuboid and smooth in cartoonish way.
Another swing, another chunk. He worked with a steady rhythm. The cartoonish nature of the mining making it feel less like labor. And more like an interactive game.
CLANG! CLANG! CLANG!
He kept an eye on his inventory. [Stones (x1)]... [Stones (x2)]... [Copper Ore (x1)]. A reddish-brown block. Surprisingly heavy.
He kept mining. [Stones (x15)]... [Iron Ore (x1)]. A dark grey block. Much denser.
And again. [Stones (x20)]... [Copper Ores (x2)].
He continued. Focused. Time seemed to warp in Toonworld. Tasks that should take hours were condensed into minutes. He knew his hour limit was ticking. But the mining itself was strangely meditative.
The badger, still snoozing, periodically snorted. Other badgers, seeing Nightclown casually mining, simply ignored him. Too engrossed in their own work.
There was no territorial dispute. No competition. Just the shared, eternal grind of toon mining.
Finally, a glint of genuine silver caught his eye. He struck with careful precision. [Silver Ore x1]. A shimmering, impossibly reflective block. This was a good find.
He checked his inventory... [Stones (x32)] [Copper Ores (x4)] [Iron Ores (x6)] [Silver Ores (x1)]
More than enough iron ores. He returned the pickaxe to the sleeping badger. Who merely snuffled in response.
With his materials gathered, Nightclown headed back to the Toon Forest Village. The path felt shorter. His steps felt lighter.
He skirted the market. Heading directly for the blacksmith's forge. Gorhammer's establishment was unmistakable. A sturdy building. constructed of thick, dark-brown timber logs. Reinforced with crude iron bands.
A massive sign hung right over the entrance. Depicting a stylized hammer striking an abstract piece of metal.
He pushed open the heavy wooden door. Inside, the air was thick with the smell of hot metal and charcoal.
Mr. Gorhammer, the anthropomorphic gorilla, was exactly where Nightclown had left him. Hunched over a huge anvil. Hammering a glowing red bar of metal with a hammer the size of Nightclown's torso. Sparks flew like tiny, angry fireflies.
"Back already, Bunny Boy?" Gorhammer grunted. Not looking up. His voice was a low rumble. "What do you need? Another manual? Or did you actually find those twigs and rocks?"
Nightclown stepped up to the counter. Pulling out the required items from his inventory. He placed two tough and dark [Ironwood Branches]. And one [Iron Ore] block. All were placed on the wooden surface.
Then, he counted out fifty coins. The standard crafting fee. They clinked softly.
Gorhammer finally stopped hammering. Straightening up with a groan that seemed to shake the entire building.
He lumbered over to the counter. His massive, hairy hand scooping up the materials. He examined the ironwood branches. Testing their rigidity. Then gave the iron ore a dismissive tap.
"Hmph! Good enough, I suppose." He muttered. More to himself than to Nightclown. "Wild Nunchaku, right? Still want that flippy-floppy stick thing?"
"That's the one." Nightclown confirmed.
Gorhammer nodded slowly. He took the materials to a smaller, secondary anvil. He placed the iron ore in a roaring forge. The flames turning it molten red in seconds.
With a pair of tongs, he pulled it out. And shaped it into two small, perfectly symmetrical iron caps. With surprisingly delicate movements.
He then took the ironwood branches. Trimming them with a sharp cleaver. The wood parting with a satisfying crunch. He drilled holes into the ends of the wood. Then fitted the glowing iron caps. Which cooled instantly. Fusing seamlessly.
Finally, he took a short flexible chain from a rack. Measuring it with a practiced eye. With a few precise twists and crimps, the chain was attached to the iron caps. Linking the two ironwood shafts.
The entire process, from raw materials to finished product, took less than a minute of real-world time. Yet, it felt like a full, expertly condensed crafting sequence.
A final, decisive SNAP echoed through the forge as the last link settled. The weapon glowed wite for a few seconds, before it turned normal.
Gorhammer held up the finished product. It was a pair of elegant, dark wood nunchaku. Linked by a short, sturdy chain. They felt solid. Well-balanced.
"Wild Nunchaku! Here!" Gorhammer declared. Placing it on the counter. "Don't come crying to me when you whack yourself in the face with it. Novices always do."
Nightclown picked up the weapon. Grinning widely. A notification appeared in his HUD...