The decision to hold a trial was made very suddenly and with great confidence.
No one remembered who suggested it.
This did not stop everyone from agreeing.
"A trial will restore order," declared an official who had just tripped over nothing and taken that personally. "That's what trials do."
Several people nodded. They had no idea how trials worked, but they liked the word. It sounded organized. Structured. Final.
"Who's on trial?" someone asked.
There was a pause.
All eyes slowly turned toward Tung Tung Sahur.
He stood quietly, as he always did, holding his bat and looking like someone who had been blamed before and learned nothing from it.
"Yes," said the official, relieved. "Him."
"For what?" another official asked.
"We'll determine that during the trial," the first replied.
This was considered efficient.
A makeshift courtroom was assembled in the square using whatever was nearby. A long table became the judge's bench. Several crates were stacked into something that resembled authority. A broken sign reading CLOSED TEMPORARILY was repurposed as legal symbolism.
People gathered eagerly. Trials were interesting, and there had been very little else to do since the morning refused to exist.
Tralalero was instructed to stop playing music.
"I can try," he said nervously, sitting down and clutching his lute like a guilty child. The lute hummed anyway.
Patapim's vibration lingered faintly in the background, like an unresolved argument.
An official banged a hammer against the table.
The table banged back.
"I call this trial to order," the official announced.
"What order?" someone asked.
"The legal one," he snapped. "Not the sound-based one."
The table creaked in disagreement but remained silent.
Another official leaned over. "Who's the judge?"
"I am," said the first.
"Since when?"
"Since I said it confidently."
This settled the matter.
Tung Tung Sahur was escorted forward—not forcibly, but with several people pointing in the same direction until he moved out of courtesy.
"Do you understand the charges against you?" the judge asked.
Tung Tung Sahur looked at him.
The judge nodded. "Good."
A clerk stepped forward, holding several sheets of paper that had been blank moments earlier.
"The charges are as follows," the clerk began. "Disruption of morning. Aggravated sound resonance. Unauthorized standing. And—" he squinted at the paper, "—general unease."
"That last one's serious," someone muttered.
"Yes," the clerk agreed gravely.
A citizen raised a hand. "Is that all?"
"For now," the clerk said ominously.
Tralalero leaned toward the person beside him. "I thought this was about the song."
"It's about everything," the person replied. "You're just loud."
The judge cleared his throat. "We will now hear testimony."
A man stepped forward eagerly.
"I saw him," the man said, pointing at Tung Tung Sahur. "Standing there."
The judge nodded. "Go on."
"That's it."
"Excellent testimony," the judge said. "Very compelling."
Another witness stepped up.
"The sound started after he arrived," she said confidently.
"No, it didn't," someone shouted from the crowd. "It started before!"
"Well, it got worse after!"
"That doesn't prove anything!"
"It proves he was present!"
Arguments broke out immediately.
"Objection!" shouted an official.
"To what?" asked the judge.
"Everything," the official replied.
"Sustained," said the judge without hesitation.
Patapim's vibration pulsed slightly stronger, as if enjoying the proceedings.
Tralalero raised a hesitant hand. "Am I allowed to speak?"
"No," several people said at once.
He lowered his hand, relieved.
Tung Tung Sahur remained silent throughout, eyes reflecting the flickering lamps, unmoved by the accusations stacking up around him like poorly labeled boxes.
The judge leaned forward.
"Do you have anything to say in your defense?"
The square went quiet.
Tung Tung Sahur tilted his head.
The vibration paused.
Even Tralalero's lute held its breath.
For a moment, it seemed like something important might happen.
Then Tung Tung Sahur said nothing.
The judge nodded thoughtfully.
"That concludes the opening statements," he announced.
The crowd applauded, unsure why but unwilling to be left out.
Somewhere, far above, the night stretched comfortably.
The trial had begun.
Once the opening statements concluded—despite there not having been any—the trial entered what the officials confidently referred to as "the serious part."
This involved sitting differently.
The judge adjusted his posture to something he believed looked judicial. It did not help. The crates beneath him creaked ominously, as if threatening to resign.
"We will now examine the evidence," the judge announced.
A clerk stepped forward carrying a tray.
On it sat three items:
A bent spoon
A clock that was still sweating
A sheet of paper labeled PROOF in very neat handwriting
The crowd murmured appreciatively.
"That spoon was straight yesterday," a woman said.
"Was it?" asked a man beside her.
"Yes."
"Then that's suspicious," he concluded.
The judge pointed. "Clerk, explain the relevance of the spoon."
The clerk swallowed. "It's… unsettling, Your Honor."
"Objection," someone shouted from the crowd.
"On what grounds?"
"It makes me uncomfortable."
The judge nodded. "Overruled. That's circumstantial discomfort."
The spoon vibrated slightly, offended to be discussed without consent.
Next, the clock was presented.
"This clock," the clerk said, wiping sweat off its face, "has been showing inconsistent time."
"What time is it showing now?" the judge asked.
The clerk squinted. "It says 'soon.'"
A murmur rippled through the crowd.
"That's not even a number," someone whispered.
"That's how you know it's serious," someone else replied.
The judge leaned forward. "And how does this relate to the defendant?"
The clerk gestured vaguely at Tung Tung Sahur. "He was… near it."
"Were you near the clock?" the judge asked.
Tung Tung Sahur looked at the clock.
The clock shuddered.
"I'll take that as a yes," the judge said briskly.
Tralalero shifted nervously in his seat. "I feel like this is unfair."
A woman beside him nodded. "It is."
"Why are we still doing it, then?"
"Because it's already started."
That satisfied both of them.
The judge banged the hammer again.
The table banged back harder.
"Order!" the judge shouted.
The crowd quieted—not out of respect, but because several people had forgotten what they were talking about and needed a moment to recalibrate.
"We will now hear expert testimony," the judge continued.
An elderly man was pushed forward.
"I'm an expert," he announced proudly.
"In what field?" asked the judge.
"I don't remember," the man admitted. "But I've been alive a long time."
This was deemed sufficient.
"Explain the situation," the judge ordered.
The expert cleared his throat. "Well. Things were normal. Then they weren't. That usually means someone did something."
He pointed directly at Tung Tung Sahur.
The crowd gasped.
"Compelling," the judge murmured.
Patapim's vibration pulsed faintly, rattling the PROOF paper until it slid off the tray and onto the ground. Nobody picked it up.
Another witness stepped forward—a woman clutching a loaf of bread.
"My bread baked wrong," she said accusingly. "It came out… nostalgic."
"That's impossible," said the judge.
"I know," she snapped. "That's why I'm upset."
Tralalero leaned over again. "This feels personal."
"It always does by this point," the person replied.
The judge rubbed his temples. "Enough. We are getting distracted."
Immediately, someone shouted, "By what?"
"Everything," the judge replied honestly.
A group of officials huddled together to whisper loudly.
"He's definitely involved," said one.
"But we can't prove it," said another.
"Do we need to?"
They all paused.
"…No," the first said slowly. "We just need consensus."
They turned back to the crowd.
"All in favor of the defendant being responsible for something," the judge announced, "raise your hand."
Hands shot up hesitantly. Some people raised both, just in case.
"All opposed?"
A few hands rose, then lowered again when their owners noticed they were in the minority.
"The motion passes," the judge declared. "We will now proceed under the assumption that the defendant is at fault."
Tralalero groaned. "That seems legally questionable."
The judge pointed at him. "Do you want to be next?"
Tralalero shook his head vigorously. "Absolutely not."
Tung Tung Sahur remained silent, unmoving.
The bat in his hand hummed softly, syncing with Patapim's distant rhythm.
A clerk leaned toward the judge. "Should we ask him to explain himself?"
The judge considered this.
"No," he said. "That might complicate things."
The crowd nodded in agreement.
A man near the back frowned. "What happens if we're wrong?"
The judge smiled reassuringly. "Then we'll correct the record later."
"When later?"
"After it stops mattering."
This was received very well.
The judge stood. "We will recess briefly to decide what the verdict is."
"But you haven't finished the trial," someone protested.
"We've finished enough of it," the judge replied.
The officials rose, stepping aside to argue intensely in whispers that echoed louder than shouting.
Patapim's vibration strengthened again, reacting to the indecision.
The ground trembled.
Somewhere, a bell rang in judgment of no one.
Tung Tung Sahur looked up at the dark sky.
The night remained unchanged.
The trial continued, drifting steadily toward a conclusion nobody had planned but everyone expected to regret.
The recess ended without anyone announcing it.
The officials simply stopped whispering, straightened up, and returned to their positions as if the argument had resolved itself through exhaustion. One of them had switched hats with another at some point. Neither noticed.
The judge climbed back onto his crate. The crate leaned slightly to the right. The judge leaned with it. They settled into an unspoken agreement.
Tung Tung Sahur stood where he had been left.
Someone had tied a thin rope around him during the recess.
No one remembered doing it.
The rope was slack. Completely unnecessary. It served no purpose except symbolic restraint. Tung Tung Sahur glanced down at it once, then stepped forward.
The rope fell off.
A clerk rushed to pick it up, tripped over it, and became tangled in it instead. He lay there quietly, accepting his new role in the proceedings.
The judge cleared his throat and raised the hammer.
Before he could strike, the hammer slipped out of his hand, bounced once on the table, twice on the ground, and lodged itself neatly into a loaf of bread someone was still holding from earlier testimony.
The woman stared at it.
The hammer stared back.
She slowly sat down.
Patapim's vibration surged.
Not violently—curiously.
The air rippled. Papers lifted, rotated, and re-stacked themselves in a more aesthetically pleasing order. The PROOF paper slid back onto the tray, now labeled MORE PROOF.
Tralalero, seated off to the side, tried to stand.
The moment he did, his lute let out a single sharp note.
Everything froze.
Tralalero slowly sat back down.
Nothing happened.
He nodded to himself, sweat dripping down his face.
The judge, unaware of this delicate negotiation with reality, raised his hand.
"We have reached a verdict," he announced.
At that exact moment, a pigeon landed on the judge's shoulder.
The judge stiffened.
The pigeon stared at the crowd.
Then it relieved itself.
Directly onto the CLOSED TEMPORARILY sign.
The sign snapped off its crate and fell flat.
No one moved to pick it up.
The judge sighed and continued, pretending this had been incorporated into the process.
"The defendant—"
A low hum cut him off.
Tung Tung Sahur's bat vibrated more strongly now, resonating with Patapim's pulse. Small pebbles lifted off the ground and hovered uncertainly. A chair scooted backward on its own, bumping into another chair, which scooted back as well.
Soon, several chairs were engaged in a slow, silent retreat.
A man tried to sit.
The chair left.
He remained seated in the air for a brief moment, then fell straight down.
He did not react.
Neither did anyone else.
The judge squinted. "Is this relevant?"
Patapim pulsed harder.
The ground dipped slightly, like a breath being taken. Cracks formed and sealed themselves immediately, embarrassed to have been noticed.
Tung Tung Sahur adjusted his grip on the bat.
Not dramatically. Barely.
The effect was immediate.
The hovering pebbles snapped back to the ground. The chairs stopped moving. The vibration staggered, lost its rhythm, then recovered unevenly.
Tralalero took advantage of the pause and slid his lute away from himself with his foot.
The lute slid back.
He slid it again.
It slid closer.
They locked eyes.
Tralalero slowly covered it with his coat.
The coat hummed.
The judge finally brought the hammer down.
This time, it hit the table.
The table split cleanly down the middle.
Both halves fell away, revealing nothing beneath them except more ground.
The judge remained standing, hammer raised, balanced on nothing.
No one commented.
"—is hereby found," the judge continued carefully, "responsible."
Responsible for what was not specified.
Two officials moved forward to escort Tung Tung Sahur away.
They reached for him.
Their hands stopped an inch short, as if encountering invisible resistance.
They pushed harder.
The resistance pushed back.
One official leaned forward too far and fell flat on his face. He did not get up.
Instead, he raised a hand and gave a thumbs-up.
The other official stepped back slowly.
Patapim's vibration intensified again, but this time it felt uncertain, like it was reacting rather than acting. The pulse stuttered. The rhythm slipped.
Tung Tung Sahur took one step forward.
The vibration collapsed.
Not disappeared—collapsed, folding inward like a failed thought.
The air snapped back into place. Objects settled. The ground stopped breathing.
The silence afterward was heavy.
Tralalero exhaled shakily and dared to stand.
Nothing happened.
He took another step.
Still nothing.
He smiled.
Then the lute screamed.
Tralalero froze mid-celebration.
The sound cut off instantly.
Everyone stared at him.
He slowly sat back down again.
The judge wiped sweat from his brow with a sleeve that was no longer his.
"In light of recent developments," he said, voice trembling slightly, "the court will adjourn."
"Is that allowed?" someone asked.
The judge stepped off the crate.
The crate collapsed behind him.
"Yes," he said firmly. "It is now."
The crowd began dispersing awkwardly, unsure whether they were free to go or simply tired of standing. Some left walking forward and arrived sideways. Others faded into doorways that hadn't been there before.
Tung Tung Sahur remained alone in the square.
Patapim's presence lingered faintly, like static after a storm.
Tralalero peeked out from behind a pillar, met Tung Tung Sahur's gaze, and quickly ducked back.
The night remained.
Somewhere far above, something shifted again—slowly, deliberately.
The Sahur Cycle did not reset.
But it adjusted.
And whatever came next would not ask permission either.