Chapter 220: The Final Performance
Haruto didn't bother declining the offer.
For a long time now, he had coveted that exact brand of suffocating, malicious aura that his older sister, Yukari, wielded so effortlessly. Not only did it look incredibly imposing, but it was also ruthlessly practical. If he could elevate his own aura to Yukari's terrifying standard, he could easily weave that raw malice into a devastating Talisman Card.
Unfortunately, cultivating such a sinister presence usually offered no shortcuts. It wasn't as if he could shamelessly beg Kaguya or Mokou to beat him half to death as a makeshift experience farm, nor could he spend his days trailing behind them, whispering petty curses like a vengeful spirit.
He genuinely hadn't expected a cheat item like the ghost core to fall right into his lap.
While this condensed resentment didn't originate from him, malice was a highly malleable energy. It could be devoured, digested, and smoothly fused into his own spiritual signature. Once he finally nurtured his personal brand of dread, he could simply swallow this foreign core to forcefully amplify his power.
Just as he opened his mouth to press for more details on the core's mechanics, Kaguya lazily interjected.
"A warm reminder from this princess," she drawled, resting her cheek against her palm with a teasing lilt. "If you keep dawdling and chatting, that poor fellow up on the stage is going to lose his miserable little life~"
Haruto shifted his gaze toward the brightly lit platform.
The stoic, expressionless player stood dead center, locked in a silent, unblinking standoff with the grotesque Clown. The man had somehow scraped through the first survival game, but the second round was a twisted game of Simon Says. It demanded the flawless imitation of a complex sequence of movements. The catch? The physical actions weren't enough; the facial expressions had to match the Clown's manic visage perfectly.
Objectively speaking, the player's luck wasn't terrible. The physical routine was simple enough. His fatal flaw, however, was his chronic, stone-faced paralysis. His facial muscles simply refused to twitch.
Watching his teammate freeze up, Lin Que broke into a cold sweat. He turned to Haruto, his voice tight with panic. "Can we still intervene? What do I need to do to save him?"
"Relax. No need for all that," Haruto replied casually, waving a dismissive hand.
With a subtle flex of his will, a miniature, eye-covered Gap tore open in the empty air mere inches from the stoic man's ear. Channeling the absolute authority of his Boundary manipulation, Haruto leaned back in his seat and whispered directly into the spatial rift.
"For the next half hour, the boundary between 'paralyzed'and'expressive' is inverted."
With a sharp snap of his fingers, the crimson rift zipped shut, vanishing without a trace.
Up on the bloodstained stage, the stoic man blinked in mild confusion. A strange warmth flooded his rigid jawline. Tentatively, he forced the corners of his mouth upward—and to his absolute shock, a wide, exaggerated grin stretched across his face. A surge of wild relief washed over him as he immediately threw himself back into the macabre performance, matching the Clown's manic expressions beat for beat.
Haruto, however, paid no further attention to the imitation game. His sharp gaze methodically swept through the shadowed rows of the audience and pierced the heavy velvet curtains of the backstage area.
He was hunting for the true mastermind—the Circus Troupe Leader.
Yet, even as the formerly stoic man successfully mirrored the final twisted grimace and scrambled off the stage to safety, the elusive Troupe Leader remained hidden in the dark.
Haruto clicked his tongue. If the boss refused to show his face early, they had no choice but to wait for the grand finale. According to the bloody intel gathered from the previous batch of doomed players, the Circus Troupe Leader would personally lead his entire menagerie of horrors onto the stage for a final, theatrical bow at the conclusion of the three-day performance cycle.
But the Clown's segment wasn't over just yet.
The lanky, painted monster dragged its elongated finger across the terrified crowd, its painted smile stretching wider until... the pale digit locked dead onto Haruto's section of the bleachers.
Them again?
Haruto's eyelid gave a violent twitch.
Instead of calling out a specific seat number, the Clown reached behind its back, produced a battered wooden sign, and rapidly scribbled a line of chalk. It flipped the board for the audience to see.
[That handsome-looking young man]
Haruto's expression turned incredibly complicated. On one hand, the ghost had excellent taste. On the other hand, being singled out by a murderous circus freak wasn't exactly a badge of honor. He honestly didn't know whether to feel flattered or utterly speechless.
Beside him, Kaguya let out a soft, amused snort. She patted his shoulder patronizingly. "Haruto, the monster is praising your looks. Why not just graciously accept the invitation? Hurry along now, get up there."
But before the immortal princess could finish her gloating, the Clown's chalk scraped against the wood again, adding a second line beneath the first.
[And the beautiful lady in the princess dress next to him]
"Pfft—" Haruto choked on his own saliva, violently coughing to mask his sudden burst of laughter. He casually slung an arm around Kaguya's stiffening shoulders, flashing her a brilliant, shit-eating grin. "Did you hear that? The lovely monster is praising your peerless beauty. Hurry up and grace the stage, Your Highness."
Kaguya's playful smirk instantly shattered. Her face darkened into a thunderous scowl as she elegantly rose to her feet, smoothing out her skirts before marching down the aisle with the terrifying grace of an executioner.
As soon as she stepped onto the creaking wooden floorboards, the Clown flipped to a new sign.
[You may choose one companion to join you]
Reading those chalky white letters, a sudden, chilling premonition gripped Haruto's spine.
Oh, no.
Without a single microsecond of hesitation, Kaguya whipped around and pointed a slender, accusatory finger straight at his nose.
Haruto's smug grin vanished, replaced by a scowl that rivaled Kaguya's earlier expression. He trudged down the bleacher stairs, grumbling under his breath. The law of conservation of happiness was truly absolute—laughter never disappeared; it merely transferred from his face to Kaguya's.
As he stepped up beside her, Kaguya patted his shoulder with mock sympathy, her eyes gleaming with vindictive amusement. "Don't fret. This princess will graciously carry your dead weight today."
The Clown tossed the old board aside and hoisted a fresh one.
[The game is simple]
[Mutual imitation: you imitate me, and I imitate you]
[If you fail to complete the action, you suffer the penalty]
[If both sides successfully complete the action, then both sides will endure this round's penalty together]
Haruto's eyelids gave another violent twitch. A familiar creepy stage, a familiar set of twisted rules, a familiar imitation game... Hiss. The sheer déjà vu was giving him a headache.
Down in the audience, Lin Que and his surviving teammates collectively exhaled a massive sigh of relief. They had personally witnessed Kaguya's absurd, cheat-like vitality. Even if her head were violently severed from her neck, the immortal princess would probably just complain about the mess.
Haruto crossed his arms, staring down the painted freak. "Let me guess. What's your relationship with that twisted girl from the Extreme Imitator game?"
The Clown's painted smile didn't waver as it held up a new message.
[She was my younger sister]
The chalk scraped rapidly, leaving behind a trail of jagged dust.
[She broke the rules of the game, so she deserved to die. But you were the ones who killed her. Therefore, you also deserve to die]
Ah, a classic revenge plot, Haruto mused silently. He had genuinely started to believe that he and Kaguya just possessed astronomically terrible luck to be targeted by the circus freaks two days in a row.
Haruto didn't feel a shred of fear. In fact, he casually took a half-step back, effectively using Kaguya as a human shield. If this ghost wanted to play a game of extreme bodily mutilation and life-force sacrifice, it had picked the absolute worst opponent in the multiverse. He was genuinely curious to see how long a mere circus ghost could out-regenerate a Hourai Immortal.
[Penalty — Lose five kilograms of weight within ten minutes]
The Clown violently stabbed the wooden sign into the stage floorboards.
Without warning, the monster raised both hands and gripped the sides of its own head. It turned its back to the silent crowd, its shoulders tensing before it twisted its neck with brutal, mechanical force.
CRACK!
The sickening, crisp sound of snapping vertebrae echoed through the big top as the Clown's head rotated a full 180 degrees, its painted face now staring directly at Haruto and Kaguya with a mocking, upside-down grin.
However, in the very next second, the ghost's triumphant smile completely froze.
Without a single ounce of hesitation, Kaguya reached up, grabbed her own flawless jawline, and violently wrenched her head 180 degrees backward. The sound of her cervical spine shattering was deafening.
"Is that it?" Kaguya's voice squeezed out from her severely mangled throat, dripping with utter disappointment.
The Clown's eyes widened in horror. It hastily twisted its head back to its proper orientation, the arrogant brightness of its smile dimming considerably. Taking a cautious step back, the monster extended an arm, gesturing for Kaguya to initiate the next round.
Kaguya didn't bother with words. She simply gripped her dark hair with both hands, planted her feet firmly, and yanked upward.
SQUELCH—CRACK!
With a horrific tearing of flesh and bone, she cleanly plucked her own head off her shoulders. Blood sprayed into the air like a macabre fountain. Holding her severed head under one arm like a morbid bowling ball, Kaguya's detached face let out a peal of manic, arrogant laughter.
"Come! Let's see you imitate this princess!"
The Clown stood absolutely paralyzed.
Down in the bleachers, the surviving players were equally petrified, their jaws practically hitting the floor.
Wait... she just ripped her own head off?!
Just like that?!
Are we absolutely sure she's a human player and not the ultimate boss of this horror instance?!
The Clown's lanky body trembled. It clearly hadn't anticipated such sheer, unadulterated madness. Still bound by the rules of its own game, the monster took a deep, shuddering breath, gripped its head, and pulled with all its spectral might.
Riiiip.
The Clown's head tore loose, but it lacked Kaguya's clean execution. Several thick, grotesque strands of muscle and sinew remained stubbornly attached to its collarbone, leaving the head dangling awkwardly against its chest. It was a sloppy, unpracticed imitation.
Having barely fulfilled the requirement, the Clown frantically jammed its head back onto its neck stump. Dark, foul-smelling smoke hissed from the wound as it slowly and painfully knitted itself back together.
Seeing this pathetic display, Kaguya scoffed. She leisurely lifted her head, aligned it with her bloody neck, and pressed down. In the blink of an eye, the gruesome wound vanished without a single scar, leaving her pale skin as flawless as porcelain.
The entire circus tent plunged into a deathly, suffocating silence.
At this point, the players were seriously questioning reality. Who was the real monster here?
The Clown's signature painted smile had completely collapsed into a grimace of despair. Its lanky frame swayed precariously on the stage. It was glaringly obvious that if it was forced to decapitate itself a few more times, its spiritual core would shatter entirely.
Refusing to play another round of Kaguya's suicidal Simon Says, the Clown pointed a trembling finger at the penalty sign. Conceding the match, it decisively grabbed its own shoulders, violently tore both of its arms from their sockets, and tossed the severed limbs onto the bloody floorboards to meet the weight requirement.
Haruto turned his gaze toward Kaguya, expecting her to handle their side of the penalty, only to be met with a deeply resentful glare.
"I endured all the heavy lifting just now," she complained, crossing her arms. "Shouldn't paying the penalty be your responsibility?"
Suddenly, her dark eyes flashed with a mischievous glint. Her lips curled into a wicked, teasing smirk as she closed the distance, leaning intimately close to Haruto's ear. Her slender hand slid down his waist, her fingers tracing a dangerously low path.
"You know... bodily liquids count as weight too," she whispered, her breath tickling his neck. "Don't tell me you want this princess to lend you a hand in extracting them?"
"Cough, cough, cough!" Haruto nearly choked on his own breath, hastily taking a large step back to escape her wandering hands. He decided not to push his luck. Relying on Kaguya to tank every single trap was indeed getting a bit too shameless, even for him.
He summoned a sharp blade of boundary energy, fully prepared to slit his own wrist and bleed out the required five kilograms. But before the blade could bite into his skin, Kaguya grabbed his wrist, rolling her eyes in utter helplessness.
"Forget it, forget it. Put that away. This princess will handle it."
With a dramatic sigh, she reached deep into the spatial pockets of her wide kimono sleeves. Like a magician pulling endless rabbits from a hat, she began dumping items onto the stage floor. Stacks of limited-edition manga, glowing magical potions, half-eaten bags of potato chips... she even tossed out the heavy, bloodstained brick Haruto had gifted her earlier.
Within seconds, a literal mountain of junk had piled up on the wooden boards.
"Five kilograms. Is that enough?" Kaguya demanded haughtily.
The armless Clown stared at the pile of manga and snacks, its painted face twitching in sheer disbelief. After a long, agonizing moment of hesitation, it slowly nodded its head in defeat.
Clearly terrified that Kaguya might suddenly decide to initiate another round of extreme decapitation, the Clown abruptly terminated the interaction segment. It didn't dare point its finger at another soul in the audience for the remainder of its act.
Time ticked by, and the final performance eventually drew to a close.
Just as the bloody intel from the previous players had predicted, the heavy velvet curtains parted one last time. The elusive Circus Troupe Leader finally stepped out from the shadows, leading his entire grotesque menagerie of twisted performers onto the center stage.
They lined up, preparing to take their grand, theatrical bow.
Down in the audience, the atmosphere instantly shifted. Every surviving player tensed, their hands gripping their weapons as they held their breath. The final moment had arrived, and they were ready to strike.
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