What is a mad jester?
That was the question I asked myself the moment I was made to act it out. Was it my chaotic nature? The mask I wore?
The games I could play? Or being more fluid than I would otherwise be?
The answer was yes to all of it.
I was already embodying what it meant to be a jester.
From the deck of cards in my pockets to imps lighting their rifles upon poor, innocent souls—this was what it meant to represent what I was. This was perfection.
Yet there was nowhere visible for me to take my act once the curtains closed the moment I embraced the persona of Death and Time.
The limelight was gone… handed to the jester's new replacements.
The grim reaper in black, with his hands over time, and the merchant yet to come—these were my awakened characteristics.
Stars that made any of my jester appearances look like a desperate actor peeking onto the stage between shows, trying to remind the crowd he still existed.
After my moment had long passed—
Refusing to die, when letting go would have ensured the legacy of my departure would fuel the audience for my return far more than begging ever could.
That was the conclusion I came to.
My persona had reached its peak performance.
If I tried to repeat the formula of its success, I would fall—without realizing the next stage of its evolution.
I smiled.
So how would I continue to play out my mad jester characterization without becoming stagnant?
It's simple… as I'd thought.
Absence is the greatest fuel for performers. Feeding the crowd with unease. Excitement. Confusion. Denial. They fester, waiting for the performer's return.
That was the best way to grow—
I let go of the balloons.
Then I moved to my lip stitches, unraveling them.
"Hahaha, did I scare you~?" I laughed in a youthful voice.
The puppet over my right hand burned.
"Sorry, sorry—I won't talk using Father's voice again—pfft—" I snickered, moving my fingers as I looked at the rats.
To let new performers take the stage.
"My name's Vinny, Vinny the ventriloquist~" I cooed.
The puppet reformed from smoke—but this time it became Yoyo's safety raincoat doll.
Squeak. Squeak.
Her rodent swarm answered.
My smile deepened.
"Let me tell you a secret."
"Father tasked me with getting rid of you~"
I whispered into the puppet's ear, one hand covering my mouth as I spoke loudly enough for the rodents to hear.
The puppet jerked back in shock.
"Don't worry… I thought you'd be fun. So I have a special way of getting around having to kill you. Since Father didn't specify how I should get rid of you… how about a game?"
I turned back to the rats and covered my mouth again.
The puppet looked around nervously.
"Um… a game? I-I…" it stammered, turning its head. "You were sent to kill me? No, don't kill me, Vinny! We're best friends! Vinny, don't kill me—oh no, oh no!"
I mimicked Yoyo's voice unseriously.
Then I closed my eyes.
"Shh, shh," I murmured, moving my hand away and scratching the back of my head. "I told you I know a way around killing you."
"All we have to do is make sure you're not a threat." I pointed a finger at her with a wink. "That's by you becoming my property. Though I need to beat you in a game first."
My eyes darkened.
"Here's how we're going to play. I'll make a riddle. If you can't solve it, one sixth of your rats becomes mine."
I turned the puppet toward the swarm.
"If you win, this glass box will open and you go free—but that's only if I haven't taken one sixth of your rats. In that case, you only get your rats back once I have none left under my banner."
"Then—and only then—will getting a riddle right mean the walls break."
The puppet finally turned the black parchment it had been holding.
I knelt, facing it toward the rats. Embers glowed across the surface, showing the rules I had set.
"So how about it?" I cooed, twirling a pen in my left hand toward the rodents.
"Do you want to play~?"
—
Yoyo's POV
The glass box felt smaller than it looked.
Every surface reflected her—dozens of tiny, trembling eyes staring back from every angle. Her swarm pressed against the invisible walls, whiskers twitching, claws scraping uselessly against smooth, unyielding glass.
A riddle.
One sixth of her rats per failure.
Her mind raced.
One sixth.
That wasn't just numbers. That was bodies. Consciousness. Pieces of her. Each rat wasn't disposable—they were her. Her senses. Her mobility. Her safety.
If she failed once, she'd lose part of herself.
If she failed twice—
Her fur bristled.
No. She couldn't think like that.
He wanted her to panic.
He wanted her to gamble.
Her eyes shifted upward toward him. He stood casually inside the box, twirling that pen between his fingers, the puppet dangling with exaggerated innocence.
He looked like he was enjoying this.
Of course he was.
She had to get it right on the first try.
There was no other option.
But could she?
Riddles required calm. Precision. Logic.
Her thoughts were scattering just like her swarm had earlier.
What if he twisted the wording? What if it had multiple meanings? What if it was impossible by design?
Would he even play fair?
Her claws tapped nervously against the glass.
One chance.
If she guessed wrong, she would feel it—the severing. The silence where a sixth of her once chittered.
Could she take that gamble?
Her rats shifted uneasily, some climbing over others, forming anxious ripples across the floor of the box.
But what was the alternative?
Refuse?
He had said Father tasked him with getting rid of her.
Game or not, she doubted he would simply let her walk away.
At least with a riddle, there was a path.
A chance.
Her breathing slowed.
Think.
He wants her to hesitate.
So don't give him the satisfaction.
He sighed dramatically.
"Well~?" he sing-songed, lowering himself into a crouch. "Indecision is so unbecoming."
He reached for the puppet's parchment—the black contract now half-dim.
He placed it gently before her swarm.
"If you want to participate," he said lightly, "just nod. I'll sign for you."
The pen spun between his fingers.
Yoyo stared at the parchment.
The embers across its surface flickered faintly, waiting.
If she nodded, she accepted the terms.
If she didn't—
Her gaze lifted to him again.
His smile hadn't changed, but his eyes had.
They were watching.
Measuring.
Her swarm trembled.
She didn't want to gamble.
She didn't want to lose even one part of herself.
But doing nothing was worse.
Reluctantly, her rats began merging—compressing, folding inward. Fur receded. Limbs fused. The swarm reformed into her small, raincoat-clad figure.
She stood unsteadily in the center of the glass box.
Her throat tightened.
Just one try.
Get it right the first time.
Her chin lifted a fraction.
And she nodded.
Slowly.
The pen stopped spinning.
"That's a good girl. Now, tell me—what name should I sign you as?"
"Yoyo—I mean, I don't have one…" she said quickly, refraining from speaking her real name.
"Is that so…" he murmured, drawing a simple rat on the parchment.
That was enough. She had already consented to him signing for her.
The parchment broke down into embers, slowly linking the two as he stood up.
"Riddle me this… I have a face but no mouth. In a shell of my own skin, I'm reborn. I live twice, carrying the worries of my first body. What am I~?"
Her expression dropped.
Her mind blanked at the first line.
No… I made a mistake, didn't I?
She clenched her fingers.
"A face and no mouth? Lives twice? What!?"
Her knees bent as she squatted, holding her head.
I don't get it!! It's over!!
She lowered her head, already feeling defeated.
"C-can you give me a hint if I tell you where I come from?" she asked, her eyes trembling.
Qiren stared down at her.
"Sur—"
"We come from the city garbage dump! There's a queen who assigns us jobs to collect things from around the city—trinkets, trash—and bring them back to her! That's it! Now give me a hint, please~!"
She jumped forward and hugged his leg tightly, pleading.
"I don't want to lose," she cried desperately. "Yoyo was wrong to agree to this game…"
Her head rubbed against his leg.
"Please give me a big hint. Please, please!"
Qiren hadn't expected her to stoop so low so quickly.
"Fine…" he said at last, running his fingers through her hair. "It has two wings that flap and glide, guiding it to light. Its name starts with the moon and ends with something that rhymes with 'month.'"
She stared at him.
Her lips trembled even more.
She clung tighter to his leg.
"I don't understand… I don't understand…"