Inside a massive room that looked like it was stitched entirely from fabric, the walls swayed gently with the breeze, as if the whole chamber was breathing.
Lanterns hung overhead, glowing in shifting hues, casting playful shadows across the space.
At the center of the room stood a long, grand dining table carved from dark driftwood, polished smooth and engraved with carnival symbols—stars, masks, and animals frozen mid-performance.
An extravagant feast was laid out across its length. Towering platters of seafood dominated the table: golden-fried leviathan rings, grilled sea serpent tail, butter-drenched lobster, rainbow clams still steaming from the pot, and spiral shells filled with spiced crab at.
The food was served by a procession of stunning won clad only in shimring veils of colorful silk that barely covered their bodies, accentuating their every movent.
They danced with each step, placing the dishes delicately and bowing with grace. After them ca handso n with strong builds and confident strides, carrying massive barrels of exotic wine and rare alcohol.
Their attire was just as minimal—only bright-colored sashes wrapped around their waists and tribal body paint covering their torsos.
Once the barrels were placed in position, the n departed silently. The won, however, remained, lined up gracefully behind the table. They waited for a signal.
The signal ca from the figure seated at the head of the table—the Clown.
He didn’t sit like a noble or even a proper host. No, he crouched on the chair in a squat, his knees bent, arms resting on them like a mischievous monkey king.
His face was painted in stark white, with deep red sars for lips and a star around one eye. His wild, frizzy hair was a ss of orange and pink, topped with a tiny tilted hat. His eyes glead with a strange light—sowhere between madness and curiosity.
To his right sat the Ringmaster, a tall, elegant man with sharp eyes and refined posture. His dark suit was tight and pristine, his top hat casting a shadow over his chiseled face. To the Clown’s left, the seat remained empty, though a small blue creature—cat-sized, with long ears and stubby legs—happily munched away at the food on the table like it belonged there.
"Welco to the Circus," the Clown announced, raising a wine glass with exaggerated flair. His voice echoed strangely in the tented chamber, theatrical and full of mischief.
Seated across from him were his guests—Tyler, Mana, Lily, Su Fei, Mathilda, Darla, and Alna. Each one sat upright, wary but composed, unsure whether this was a eting or a trap... or both.
"Hmm... the food’s good," Mana mumbled, already digging into a plate of grilled sea bass. She either didn’t notice or didn’t care about the odd atmosphere.
"Hahaha! I’m glad you enjoyed it. Please, eat more, eat everything!" the Clown cackled, waving dramatically.
He poured himself a glass of crimson wine and turned his gaze to Tyler. "By the way, you’re the boss of this White rchant Group, aren’t you?"
"Yes, I am," Tyler answered, setting down his utensils. "And... sorry about the incident with Dr. Juggler—"
The Clown cut him off with a snort. "Don’t let that bother you. That idiot always does that. Kidnapping guests, making a show out of it... even though we send him slaves to play with." He rolled his eyes, as if scolding a naughty pet. "He never listens."
Tyler reached for a piece of lobster and took a bite. The flavor was incredible—rich, buttery, and slightly sweet. He gave a nod of approval.
Across the table, Darla noticed and made a ntal note. Taka had told her once to always observe the reactions of those they served, to know what delighted them.
She observed every expression: Lily’s smile at the wine, Su Fei simply eating crabs in silence, Mathilda’s narrowed eyes scanning the perforrs, she just want to eat those girls and Alna’s quiet fascination.
After a while, the Ringmaster cleared his throat and spoke.
"Mr. Tyler," he said calmly, "we are in need of certain land-based products—herbs, pills, food supplies. We’d like to request regular deliveries to Fun Streak Island. While we are pirates, we do not steal from those we contract. We value our trade agreents."
The logic was simple. The Circus Pirates could plunder and loot other rchant vessels as they pleased, but once they established a trade agreent with a supplier, they honored it. Breaking that would an no rchant would ever dare return.
Tyler leaned back in his chair and raised a brow. "If it’s a profitable deal, I’m all in. And having the Circus as a custor ans my ships can move freely in these waters, yes?"
"Precisely," the Ringmaster nodded.
"Hahaha!" The Clown laughed loudly, leaning forward as he tapped his fingers on the table. "You’re smart. I like you already."
"Cough. Sorry, I’m damn straight," Tyler replied dryly.
The room fell into a brief silence.
Then, laughter erupted—wild and unhinged.
"HAHAHAHA! I love you, White! But only as a friend! HAHAHAHA!" the Clown howled, slamming his palm on the table. The vibrations made the wine glasses rattle and so of the seafood dishes slide an inch. Even the blue cat-creature paused to blink in confusion.
Ringmaster sighed and cast a sideways glance at Su Fei. His expression was unreadable, but there was a trace of disappointnt in his eyes. Now that the Clown had declared Tyler a ’friend,’ none of the Circus crew were allowed to ’play’ with their guests—especially not the rare and divine-looking Heavenly Fox.
He had hoped to ta her.
But captain words are rule.
┉┈ ◈ ◉ ◈ ┈┉
After the lavish dinner, The Clown personally took Tyler on a tour through the inner halls of the Circus Castle. The massive corridors were decorated with gaudy curtains, oversized masks, and chandeliers made of glowing balloons. Everything scread bizarre, and yet, sohow, it all fit together in the absurdity of this place.
"This is where we play with the slaves," the Clown said nonchalantly, gesturing to a room with red curtains and eerie music playing in the background. Then, with a wild grin, he pointed toward another corridor, "And this is where we play Candy Crush."
Tyler raised an eyebrow. "Candy Crush?"
The Clown kicked open a thick steel door. Inside, the room narrowed toward the top like a funnel. Suspended from the ceiling was a massive press with sharp ridges shaped like candy molds. Below, large colorful candies were scattered, along with several people tied to the floor.
With a loud tallic groan, the press slowly descended.
Crunch!
The sound was grotesque. Giant candies were shattered into syrupy mush, but so were the screams of those unlucky enough to be underneath.
The Clown clapped in glee. "Isn’t it satisfying? The squish of sugar and sinners alike!"
Tyler stood there, unmoved. His face remained calm, almost bored.
He wasn’t a hero.
He had no idea who those people were—probably pirates or criminals. Whatever they’d done, they weren’t his problem. His business was trade, that’s all.
"Let’s head to the Ga Arena next!" the Clown exclaid, grabbing Tyler by the arm. "And after that, I’ll show you the Ti Pass Room! They’re my absolute favorites!"
Tyler allowed himself to be dragged along. As strange as this man was, he found him oddly tolerable—entertaining, even. Maybe it was the eccentricity or the fact that the Clown treated him like a long-lost friend, but their bizarre companionship sohow clicked.
Back in the main hall, the Ring Master glanced over at the rest of Tyler’s crew. "Huh... Dr. Juggler wants his lab tent back."
Mathilda shrugged and reached into her storage pouch. "Oh, here it is." She casually handed over a small, folded piece of fabric.
The Ring Master blinked in surprise. "Just like that? No negotiation? No Reward?"
"Of course. We’re allies now, aren’t we?" Mathilda replied smoothly. "Besides, we wouldn’t let a tiny tent damage the bond between us."
What she didn’t say aloud was that she had already made a full copy of the tent with Tyler’s Copper Pot.
Back with the Clown and Tyler, the tour had shifted toward the workshop towers overlooking the sea.
"You know," Tyler began, "If you’re interested, I can help you build a teleportation hub. I know long-range teleportation is unstable in the Northern Seas, but smaller ones might work. We could connect this island to nearby villages or trade routes."
The Clown tilted his head, curious. "A teleportation hub, huh?"
He rubbed his chin with painted fingers. "You rchants sure are crafty. I hadn’t thought of that. Most pirates just want loot and rum."
"It’s practical," Tyler said. "Your supply lines would be faster and safer. Plus, if you’re serious about expanding, it’ll help you reach other islands quickly."
The Clown’s eyes shimred with ambition. "Honestly, I don’t plan on staying here forever. One day, I want to go further north—join the Search for Eternity like the great pirate legends. Maybe I’ll find so ancient treasure trove or a lost realm... Or maybe, just maybe, I’ll turn this island into a flying fortress and sail the skies myself."
"That’s quite the dream," Tyler said with a faint smile. "Best of luck with that."
The Clown suddenly threw his arm around Tyler’s shoulder. "You should join my crew!"
Tyler didn’t even hesitate. "No thanks. I’ll stick to being a rchant."
"HAHAHAHAHA!" The Clown threw his head back in laughter. "No hesitation at all! You’re sothing else, White! Most people take at least a second to pretend they’re considering it!"
The two continued walking through the strange and colorful halls of the Circus Castle. Balloons drifted past them and strange music echoed faintly through the corridors.
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