How could a theater door hold back the fury of a mob?
Even though these people didn't actually know why their anger was aid at Crown — well, since nobody was saying it was wrong, it had to be right. So everyone wanted to confront the clown.
They kicked down the theater doors and surged inside, shouting Crown's na, denouncing his "cris."
And it was precisely then that the three Players finally got their first look at the real Joy Theater — the first ti after crossing so many doors.
The layout was actually quite simple. At the end of the audience corridor stood a round stage draped in red curtains. Semi-circular rows of seats rose in tiers behind it — enough to seat perhaps a hundred.
But today, a flood far exceeding a hundred souls cramd every inch of space, cornering Crown on center stage.
He had probably never imagined his Joy Theater would host so many "audience mbers." Sadly, none of them were seated. None held anticipation for the next act.
Their eyes held only fear, panic, fury, and confusion. When those emotions collided, they needed an outlet to stay calm.
And in that process, Crown the clown beca the chosen lucky one.
Everyone hurled abuse from below the stage, but nobody dared climb up and confront him face to face. Perhaps deep down they knew that such a confrontation was itself too "clown-like" — they refused to set foot on the clown's stage and risk becoming clowns themselves.
They could only ride the wave of public outrage, venting the fear they had nowhere else to put.
Crown huddled at center stage, terrified. He'd barely left his theater in days. Beyond noticing the cold getting worse, he had no idea what was happening outside.
Only when he pieced together fragnts from the cacophony of insults did the full picture form: his puncturing of that window-paper had truly brought disaster upon San Dales.
His face went whiter. His terror deepened. The helpless clown was a leaf of a boat beneath a tidal wave — about to capsize.
This ti Ai Si genuinely couldn't stand it. She shoved past the residents, about to charge the stage and give San Dales the truth — but Zhang Jizu moved. Bypassing Cheng Shi, he caught her hand and shook his head with absolute calm.
"Can you still stand this?"
"History's course doesn't change for one person's anger. By the ti you hear this past, its future is already written.
So if you're unsure whether He would approve of your tampering with His past... then hold on a little longer.
Unless you're certain it would please Him."
'He...'
Zhang Jizu didn't na anyone. But all three knew who He ant. At the word, Cheng Shi's lips curled into a loaded smile.
The argunt cald Ai Si down. She had her share of self-interest, and Zhang Jizu was right — she needed to consider that lord's feelings about this chapter of history.
Would He welco soone "rescuing" Him?
Was Crown's helplessness rely a fa??ade — was that lord orchestrating sothing?
Once that thought took root, action beca impossible. Frowning, she slapped the San Dales resident who'd turned to question her behavior, then quietly fell back in line to witness this ice-preserved history.
Predictably, mob fury blazed hot but cooled fast. When the crowd realized that screaming at a clown who offered zero rebuttal would do nothing to reverse San Dales' crisis, the abuse inside the Joy Theater gradually died down.
Anger ebbed from every face. Despair crept back into every pair of downturned eyes. Sighs rose and fell. The "heated" theater seed blown out by a blizzard — leaving only helpless cold and a deep, marrow-deep terror.
San Dales appeared to have lost all hope. The world's last "pure land" seed finally ready to embrace the so-called apocalypse of the gods.
But then — the clown on stage raised his head.
He looked at his despairing "countryn." He looked at the sorrow etched on his "friends." And he staggered to his feet.
Weak but resolute, step by step, he walked toward the red curtain.
His movent quickly captured the entire room's attention. Every stunned gaze followed him. Nobody knew what the clown was doing — yet his actions drew them in, making them want to see what lay behind the curtain.
Crown was desperately weak. And yet, of the three priests down below, not one threw him even a fraction of a healing spell.
As he stumbled forward, he rallied what strength he had left.
Yes — even after being pumled by a tsunami of terror, he gritted his teeth and continued spreading... joy and hope.
"Don't be afraid, everyone... Even though our world... is fake... San Dales... is fake...
That ans... the apocalypse of the gods... is fake too... doesn't it?
Since the gods never brought an apocalypse... that ans... faith still works... right?
So friends... if we can reclaim our faith... then as believers of so deity... wouldn't He bestow His blessing... and help us... help San Dales survive this catastrophe?
After all, no matter how wise the scholars beneath our feet... they can't fight a god, can they...? Especially when they themselves worship one... a god called Truth..."
As he spoke, Crown reached the curtain's edge. One hand clutching the fabric, he was about to pull it aside — when a voice rose from the crowd. An official-looking figure asked the question nobody dared ask.
"Crown — these observers you spoke of... do they really exist?"
The three Players scoffed simultaneously.
'Oh, the irony.'
'If the question still had no answer at this point, then on what pretext had the mob stord this theater?'
But Crown didn't quibble. He nodded, deeply solemn.
"Yes... they truly exist... right beneath our feet.
I stumbled in among them once and saw it all... I — we — the whole of San Dales... even at double the population... couldn't hope to resist them...
They belong to a vast nation called the Tower of Logic... they spent millennia of wisdom creating San Dales to harvest insights that would bring them closer to their Benefactor...
If so... friends... why can't we have a Benefactor of our own?
Under a Benefactor's protection... San Dales will never fall, will it?"
"But we've never believed in any god — who would protect us?!" soone shrieked in terror from below.
If not for the raw fear in that voice, the three Players would have assud Crown had planted a shill.
The cue was almost too perfect. The montum was entirely in the clown's hands now.
Crown gripped the curtain and smiled — a standard clown's smile pasted onto his ashen face. He looked out over the sea of "audience mbers." And in this mont — this mont when San Dales was cloaked in fear, a mont that future historians would surely record — he perford the most perfect unveiling of his life.
"This is what I wanted to tell you... Next... allow
to introduce... a deity...
He... is my Benefactor... who holds dominion over 'joy' and 'trickery'...
He has... a bit of history with Truth... and once brought the Tower of Logic's experint to ruin...
He... is the only god who can save San Dales... and the destination of our faith...
He is..."
Crown tore back the curtain — revealing the theater's most precious treasure to every soul present.
"My Lord — Deceit!"
...
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