Should a pickpocket choose his victims carefully? That was the question Baston found himself asking as he ran. He was not nobles, not merchants, and not even the well-fed academy students who walked with coin purses heavy enough to jingle. He was not special from outside yet someone had
chosen him. A student so poor he barely qualified as a commoner. Someone whose
entire fortune amounted to a single dinner coupon folded carefully inside his sleeve. And that was precisely why Baston refused to let it go.
The alley was narrow, barely wide enough for two men to pass without brushing shoulders. Damp stone pressed close on either side and the smell of rot and old rain clinging to the walls. Baston's breath burned in his chest as he ran. Hs short legs were pumping harder than he ever had during physical training. His robes flapped awkwardly, threatening to trip him but he didn't slow.
"That coupon is my dinner…"
At this time, he did not care about his dignity. He only cared about his survival. Ahead of him, the pickpocket moved like smoke. He was thin, quick, and slipping through turns without hesitation. Whoever the man was, he knew the area far too well. Baston barely noticed when the familiar academy streets vanished behind him, replaced by cramped passages and sagging buildings that leaned inward like conspirators. He didn't realize how far he'd gone.
Not far away, Alicia sat beneath warm lantern light, delicately cutting into a slice of honey cake. The restaurant was small but clean. Its windows fogged from the chill. It wasn't luxurious by noble standards but it was the best the district had to offer. She didn't mind such treatment. After all, Prius Academy had its own problem after the explosion. It was still being investigated, forcing the students to eat somewhere else.
Prius Academy occupied an awkward position. It was too remote to attract elite noble families and too respectable to be dismissed entirely. That was precisely why Alicia had chosen it. In the capital, every
smile hid a calculation and every conversation was a negotiation. Here, the
pressure eased.
Her fork paused in midair as movement outside the window caught her eye. A familiar silhouette rushed past, breathing hard while chasing someone through the side street.
"Baston?"
Her gaze sharpened. The boy was unmistakable. He had awkward posture and uncoordinated stride but his expression was tight, focused, and almost desperate which was quite new. As for the man ahead of him, why was he chasing someone like that? The explosion in the cafeteria flickered through her thoughts like a half-remembered nightmare. The academy's silence afterward, the sealed reports, and the teachers' unease. Alicia didn't believe in
coincidences. She then rose from her seat.
"Prepare to follow him…" she said quietly.
Two knights detached themselves from the restaurant's shadows without question. Assigned discreetly, they had learned not to ask why. Alicia also didn't explain. She only watched Baston disappear into the twisting
alleys and felt an uneasy pull in her chest.
If Baston was involved in something dangerous again. She didn't finish the thought. The fat boy cornered the pickpocket at the end of a dead alley. The building ahead was half-collapsed and its windows were dark and broken. The man skidded to a halt, glancing back and clicking his tongue in
irritation.
"Tch..."
Before Baston could shout, the man hurled something back at him and vaulted through a shattered window in a single smooth motion. Baston barely caught the object. His fingers closed around the crumpled dinner coupon.
He stared at it, chest heaving, then sagged against the wall in relief.
"It was still usable…"
The paper was bent, creased, and ugly but intact. He smoothed it carefully as if it were something sacred.
"I almost starved for this thing…"
Footsteps echoed behind him. Baston turned and froze. Alicia stood at the alley entrance. Her expression was composed but sharp. Two armored knights flanked her, hands resting casually near their swords.
"Why is she here?"
His mind scrambled for explanations.
"She saw me chasing the thief… Then, she brought help… Yes, that makes sense…"
"Where did he go?" Alicia asked calmly.
Baston hesitated. If he told the truth, the knights would think he'd wasted their time. Worse, they might demand explanations he couldn't give. The coupon was already hidden back in his sleeve so there was no need to after the man.
"He vanished," Baston said carefully, "One moment he was there and the next thing, he was gone."
It wasn't entirely a lie. The knights exchanged glances and moved without waiting for orders. They were scanning the walls, the ground, and the broken structure ahead. Indeed, they were quite professionals. That was when the ground gave way. The knight's sword struck stone hardly.
"BAM!!!"
The floor collapsed inward, revealing a stairwell descending into darkness. Baston stared at it in disbelief.
"Why is there actually a hidden passage here?!"
Alicia's lips curved, not in amusement, but interest.
"Well," she said softly, "That answers one question."
They descended cautiously. The room below was small. It was sparse with only a bed, a cabinet, and a single wooden chair placed neatly at the center. It was very empty.
"There's no one here," one knight reported.
"I sense no living presence," said the other.
Baston swallowed. His mind raced. This wasn't supposed to happen. He'd intended to bluff or misdirect. Instead, reality itself had
decided to cooperate with his lie in the worst possible way. He had no other choice but to keep bluffing. He stared at the chair.
"Who are you?" Baston asked suddenly.
The room went still. The knights frowned. Alicia soon narrowed her eyes but found nothing in the darkness. Then, an applause
reverberated around the room.
"Clap… Clap... Clap…"
A man suddenly appeared in the chair as if he had always been there. A porcelain clown mask smiled broadly, painting frozen lips in
eternal cheer. He wore a tailored suit, immaculate and old-fashioned. His posture relaxed and polite.
"I'm impressed," the clown said lightly. "You found me."
Cold washed through the room. The knights reacted instantly. Steel rang as both swords cleared their scabbards, positioning themselves between Alicia and the clown. Mana stirred faintly around their armor,
defensive enchantments was activated on instinct.
"State your name!" one knight demanded, "Now!"
"Ha… ha… ha…"
The clown's laughter came out light and airy like bells in a tomb.
"If you want to know my name…" he said, "You have to state yours first."
The nearest knight's jaw tightened, "I'm…"
"Don't!" Baston's voice snapped through the room.
The knight froze mid-word, eyes flicking toward Baston with open irritation as if the fat boy had just forgotten his place. Alicia,
however, went still. She was not confused but alerted.
She had read enough sealed reports and old warnings to know one thing that names mattered. Though it was not clear, she still believed it. The secret rules that was not in polite society but in rituals and curses. In
contracts that did not require ink. This was the means of dark wizards.
Baston realized what he had done a heartbeat too late. He'd spoken too quickly, too sharply, and not like a frightened student. Alicia's gaze cut toward him. Baston forced himself to swallow and soften his expression, letting panic show instead of certainty.
"It's…" he began then stopped as if searching for words, "It's a trap. Don't… Never answer it."
The clown spread its hands.
"Why so serious?" he purred, rising from the chair with theatrical grace, "I ask your name. I give mine. It's fair. It's polite."
He took one step toward them. The knights tensed and their blades was lifted. Baston's pulse thudded. It was too close. He couldn't let the puppet approach too far. If it moved with perfect confidence, Alicia might sense the invisible thread. If it moved too stiffly, the knights would notice the unnatural gait.
He adjusted the flow of mana carefully like pulling a marionette across a stage while pretending the strings that didn't exist. The
clown tilted its head.
"Are you afraid?" he continued, voice turning sweet, "That I'll whisper your name into the darkness… And something in the dark will
whisper back?"
Alicia's fingers curled slightly at her side.
"Step back," she said.
The clown paused. Slowly, he put a hand over its chest.
"Oh, my…" he sounded wounded, "You break my heart."
Then, the mask's smile seemed sharper.
"But I guess you're right," he said brightly, "I could curse them."
Baston felt Alicia's knights shifted again, sharpening their protective instincts. Their formation tightened around her without being told. The clown then clasped its hands.
"If only they spoke, then they would die terribly…" he said gleefully, "Not immediately. No, that's boring. They would wake up smiling and then, they would choke on their own neck. Perhaps, their shadows also would strangle them in their sleep."
A cold shiver crawled up Baston's spine. He had written those words. He had given the puppet that line to sell the performance. Yet,
hearing it out loud here, in the dark, with real people flinching made his stomach twist. Alicia's eyes narrowed over the threat.
"You're exaggerating!" she said.
The clown's head snapped toward her.
"Am I?" he asked lightly.
It raised a finger. The lanterns on the walls flickered once. Just one small trick and a harmless flex. But it was enough to make the
knights' shoulders tense as if they had felt a breath against their necks. Baston swallowed. He must be careful. If he overdid it, he would turn a bluff into a situation he couldn't control. If he underdid it, Alicia would call it a cheap act. Either way, he was walking on a rope above a razor. Alicia spoke again, her voice was still controlled.
"You said you would tell your name if we told ours."
"Yes," the clown chirped, "That's how introductions work."
"And if we don't?"
The clown shrugged, "Then you stay strangers. And strangers are disposable."
One knight's grip tightened until the leather creaked.
"My lady…" he said quietly, "We should withdraw…"
Baston's eyes flicked toward the stairs. Yes, leaving now was good. Leaving meant the puppet could dissolve and the lie could end but the clown's acting was very convincing. Everyone feared once they showed their
back, death would face them. The inconvenience occurred. The clown wanted the victims to go yet the victims were paralyzed in fear.
Baston felt the old book's warmth against his side again. It did not turn a page. It was just being attentive. It was watching him juggle.
It was judging his performance. His mouth felt dry. He needed to steer the scene back into control. So he did what he always did. He made the lie bigger.
"Where's the man from earlier?" Baston asked, forcing his voice to steady, "The pickpocket... He should come down here."
The clown blinked slowly as if thinking hard.
"I don't know," he said at last, "There was no one here before you arrived except me."
He spread its arms, continuing his acting. It kept convincing the others. His performance was very real.
"If you're asking about a dead man…" the clown added, almost thoughtfully, "Then perhaps there was one."
Alicia's knights stiffened instantly.
"You killed him?" Baston demanded.
The clown hummed, "Maybe yes… Maybe no…"
He paused then he smiled again, "I can't seem to remember."
That was the right tone. It was careless, childish, and cruel. The knights looked ready to strike. Alicia's gaze sharpened further,
scanning the clown's posture, his breathing, and the way he shifted weight. She was searching for tells, not just his danger or his truth. And Baston hated how perceptive she was. The clown's hands folded neatly behind its back.
"You're all so tense," he said, "I gave you a simple trade. A name for a name. And you act like I asked for your hearts."
"That's because you did," Alicia said softly.
The clown laughed again.
"You nobles have such poetic paranoia."
One knight took a half-step forward, "I will cut you down."
Baston felt his mana thread wobble. Not from fear but from strain. Holding a puppet this detailed and this expressive while also
monitoring two trained fighters and a noble girl who could sense mana patterns felt like it was trying to juggle knives while walking through fog.
He needed an endpoint. A clear hook or something that forced them to talk instead of attacking. The clown then clapped its hands once. It was quite loud. The sound bounced off the stone walls and struck the room like
a gavel.
"It's kind of boring," he said and the cheer in its voice was wrong since it was too bright and too sharp, "So let's play."
Alicia's eyes narrowed, "Play?"
"Yes..." the clown sauntered back to the chair and sat again with his legs crossed as if hosting a tea party, "One question for one answer."
He leaned forward, "If you can't answer, you just say, it's a secret.'"
The clown lifted three fingers, "The one who says more will lose."
The knights exchanged a look.
"Lose?" one of them repeated.
The clown's mask tilted.
"Lose…" he echoed softly, "Such a simple word. You don't need details since details ruin suspense."
Alicia did not move, "And if we refuse to play?"
The clown's posture relaxed further as if the entire world belonged to him.
"Well…" he said, "Then, it's too bad…"
He tapped the armrest, "This place will blow up then with all of you here."
Baston's heart lurched. He had planned to threaten them into compliance, yet he was afraid of their reaction. The words were too real. It was the kind of promise that made people choose desperate measures. Alicia's
eyes flicked toward the stairs behind her again. Then, the cabinet and the corners of the room. She was calculating.
"She believes it…" Baston realized with a sinking feeling.
Because she had already lived through an explosion once, she believed the clown. She avoided the first one. And now, she wondered if she could avoid the second one. The clown continued, cheerful as ever.
"It won't include me anyway," he said, "Because the pieces here will be made of you."
Silence swallowed the room. Alicia's knights subtly shifted, placing themselves closer to her. Alicia's gaze returned to Baston slowly and carefully. Like she was looking at him for the first time. Not as a classmate, not as a
helpless boy, but as someone who had led them here.
Baston forced himself to breathe, keeping it together. The old book warmed again as if pleased by the rising stakes. Baston realized it was too late since his drama had succeeded. Alicia was convinced there was
something hidden here. The only problem now was how he could escape from the
performance he created.