Chapter 3
If the man who killed the original owner of this body ever discovered the truth—
that Jack was still alive—
there would be no mercy.
No hesitation.
No second mistake.
And right now, Jack possessed only one thing that might allow him to survive.
A clown system.
The hospital room was quiet and dim, the soft hum of medical equipment filling the air. Jack sat on the bed, staring once again at the floating interface before him.
“Hm…”
His gaze moved across the skill list.
“Card Trick makes sense.”
“I already have the cards.”
“Magic Trick… also useful.”
Then his eyes stopped.
He paused.
“Oh?”
“Throwing Knives…?”
The description hovered in front of him.
Practical.
Direct.
Effective.
But the price made him frown.
“One hundred points…”
A tenth of a Talent.
Expensive.
Too expensive for something labeled Beginner.
Jack hesitated.
Only for a moment.
Then the memory surfaced again.
The silhouette.
The scent of ozone.
The realization that the city beneath him was hiding something far more dangerous than ordinary crime.
Performances were one thing.
Survival was another.
“…Fine.”
He confirmed the purchase.
The screen flickered.
Points deducted.
In an instant—
his balance dropped to zero.
Silence filled the room.
Then—
heat.
It surged upward from the base of his spine.
Burning.
Climbing.
Into his shoulders.
His forearms tightened suddenly, muscles coiling beneath the skin. Tendons pulled taut like a bowstring drawn to its limit.
Jack inhaled sharply.
“…What the—”
The sensation deepened.
Not pain.
Pressure.
Something was forcing its way into his body.
Into his nerves.
Into his muscles.
Knowledge—
etched directly into flesh.
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His fingers twitched.
Instinctively.
Naturally.
His right hand shifted slightly.
And suddenly—
it felt heavier.
Not because of weight.
Because of familiarity.
A blade.
Cold steel.
Balanced perfectly.
His wrist rotated slightly.
A subtle flick.
Effortless.
His mind began calculating without conscious thought.
Distance.
Angle.
Trajectory.
Spin.
Ten meters.
Wind direction.
Target center.
The lethal geometry unfolded within him with terrifying clarity.
Not learned.
Remembered.
But not his memory.
His breathing slowed.
His gaze sharpened.
If something stood in front of him right now—
he knew exactly where to aim.
Exactly how much force to use.
Exactly how to kill.
The heat gradually faded.
Settled.
Integrated.
Jack lowered his hand slowly.
“…Beginner.”
Even so—
it felt real.
In the end, Jack purchased three skills.
Card Trick.
Magic Trick.
And Throwing Knives.
He opened the Accessories tab next.
“With my remaining twenty-five points…”
He considered the options briefly.
“Throwing knives.”
Fifteen points.
The item appeared instantly inside his inventory.
Black steel.
Perfectly balanced.
Small.
Almost playful.
“And the rest…”
“A wand.”
The wand materialized in his palm.
Cold.
But not the rough chill of wood.
This was something denser.
Polished.
Heavier than it appeared.
Jack adjusted his grip.
His fingers closed firmly around the handle. The surface was smooth and carefully crafted, and when he rotated it slightly, a faint vibration traveled through the tip.
Not alive.
Not conscious.
Just a subtle resonance.
Like finely tuned metal reacting to movement.
The weight settled naturally into his wrist.
Comfortable.
Practical.
Not a toy.
Jack flicked the wand once.
Clean.
Controlled.
“…Good balance.”
No mystery.
No hidden power.
Just a well-made tool.
Ten points.
Gone.
In less than a minute, two hundred points had disappeared.
The interface updated.
[Best Professional Clown System]
[Host: Jack Wilson]
[Points: 0]
[Talent: —]
[Skills: Card Trick (Beginner), Magic Trick (Beginner), Throwing Knives (Beginner)]
[System Shop] [Inventory]
Zero again.
But no longer empty.
A knock broke the silence.
The door opened.
Doctor Richard stepped inside, wearing his usual professional smile.
“How are you feeling?”
“Better,” Jack replied.
“I can move normally.”
He sat upright.
“When can I leave?”
The doctor nodded.
“If you truly feel well, today is fine.”
“Most procedures are complete. Just a few personal steps remain.”
Relief washed through Jack.
Freedom.
“Thank you, Doctor.”
He hesitated slightly.
“I heard about the fire.”
Doctor Richard sighed.
“Yes. Many injured.”
“Victims are still arriving.”
“That sounds exhausting.”
“It is.”
A brief pause passed.
“And Alex has been disciplined,” the doctor added.
“You won’t have to worry about him.”
At the mention of Alex—
Jack felt a phantom ache pulse inside his skull.
The dropkick.
The humiliation.
Then he remembered something else.
The envelope.
Thick.
Heavy.
“Oh, we settled it.”
Doctor Richard chuckled softly.
“…Indeed.”
Shining City Mall.
Evening light filled the streets as Jack stepped out of a taxi.
Before entering the building, he opened the envelope and counted the money inside.
Five thousand Halley.
Enough to survive for two months.
Above him, neon advertisements flickered into life.
Translucent holographic panels hovered in the air, shifting and repositioning themselves as pedestrians moved through the street.
They tracked movement.
Adjusted angles.
Followed shadows.
Cold.
Efficient.
Watching.
Jack ignored them.
He reached into his pocket and felt the paper bills brushing against his fingers.
Real.
Textured.
Halley notes.
Not digital credits.
Not invisible numbers on a screen.
Paper.
Ink.
Weight.
In a city that increasingly relied on silent digital transactions, he was still paying with something that could burn.
The cashier scanned the notes.
A soft beep sounded.
Approved.
The holographic advertisements dimmed slightly.
But never completely.
They never disappeared entirely.
Food came first.
Then supplies.
Clothes.
Props.
Small necessities.
By sunset—
he was finished.
When Jack returned to his apartment building, he encountered familiar faces in the corridor.
Mr. John.
And his son, Emil.
“Good evening,” Mr. John greeted him with a smile.
“Shopping?”
“Yeah.”
“Where were you earlier?” Jack asked casually.
“City park. Emil wanted to play.”
City park.
Jack paused.
On weekends, the place would be crowded with families and children.
An idea began forming in his mind.
“Is it busy tomorrow?”
Mr. John laughed.
“Yes.”
“Very.”
Emil tugged on his father’s sleeve.
“Dad! TV!”
Mr. John chuckled again.
“Take care, Jack.”
“Goodbye.”
Inside his room, silence returned.
Jack opened his inventory.
The clown costume appeared.
Red.
Black.
Diamond patterns.
The mask slid over his face.
He stood in front of the mirror.
The reflection stared back.
But it wasn’t just Jack Wilson anymore.
The figure in the mirror stood straighter.
Taller.
Sharper.
The lines of the mask seemed crueler somehow.
The eyes—
colder.
More aware.
More dangerous.
This was not a man pretending to be a jester.
This was a jester wearing a man.
For a brief moment—
the reflection shifted.
A shadow appeared behind it.
A figure standing high above the sky.
Arms spread wide.
The world below him—
a stage.
Laughter.
Screams.
Blending into strange music.
Then the vision disappeared.
Reality returned.
Jack slowly removed the mask.
“…Stage name.”
He muttered quietly.
“Not Bonzo.”
“Never again.”
Too childish.
Too small.
He thought for a moment.
Then nodded slightly.
“…I’ve decided.”
“Grim Mirth.”
The name settled comfortably in his mind.
He stored the costume away and turned on the television.
The news was still reporting on the factory fire.
A gas explosion, they said.
No deaths.
Jack stared silently at the screen.
Gas explosion.
Convenient.
Then something in the background caught his attention.
A silhouette.
Still.
Watching.
His body froze.
Cold.
Numb.
His hands trembled slightly.
Inside his mind—
fear erupted.
Run.
Hide.
It’s him.
But his face—
did not obey.
His lips slowly lifted.
His cheeks tightened.
The grin widened.
Reached his eyes.
Predatory.
Instinctive.
Not chosen.
“…It was you.”
His mind screamed.
But the smile only deepened.
The reflection on the dark television screen grinned back at him.
His face wasn’t smiling.
Something beneath it was.
