Silence settled heavily inside the old-fashioned living room, a quiet that felt as if it had been waiting for years to be broken. The air was still, thick with dust motes drifting lazily through the golden light of the camera. Somewhere behind the lens, the faint sound of paper being turned could be heard — slow, deliberate, almost ceremonial.
The clown host's voice, crisp and curious, broke through the stillness. "When Lucas first entered the game, his panel attributes were only those of an ordinary person. But when he was a child... he could chop down an iron gate?" The host chuckled, his painted smile both amused and uneasy. "That's really interesting!"
He leaned forward, never forgetting his mission — to keep the story going. "So, what happened next? What measures did you take when you realized this child was... different?"
Across from him, the husband sat rigidly on the couch, hands clasped together so tightly his knuckles turned white. His face was pale, as if the interview had dug up something he'd long tried to bury. The fear in his eyes wasn't theatrical; it was the quiet kind — the kind that lingers.
Before he could answer, his wife took over. She seemed used to covering for him. "Although Lucas had some... mental irregularities," she began softly, choosing her words with care, "I always treated him as my own son. When my husband grew worried and wanted to send him back to the orphanage, I had to make a decision. A choice that I thought would be good for both sides. So, I enrolled him in a boarding school."
The clown host nodded politely. "Oh, you are such a good mother," he said, though his tone carried a faint mockery that only a professional performer could hide beneath courtesy.
She gave a small, bashful smile. "Lucas was shy. I thought if he spent time with other children his age, it would help him. Maybe it would make him happier... more normal."
The host tilted his head, the red of his painted grin catching the light. "And was the result what you expected?"
Her smile faltered, trembling slightly. "No... Lucas was very good, very well-behaved. It wasn't what people think."
The clown flipped through some documents, the rustle echoing in the quiet room. "That's interesting," he said, tone sharp as a knife. "Because I found that Lucas was expelled from school more than ten times. The shortest stay lasted less than a week. Why was that?"
The color drained from the woman's face. She froze, clearly startled by how much he knew. "Y-Yes, that's true... but every teacher who sent Lucas home told us the same thing — that Lucas was smart, polite, obedient even. They only said... their school wasn't suitable for him." Her voice trembled. "There was nothing wrong with Lucas!"
The clown turned to the husband. "Is that true, sir?"
The man frowned, still avoiding the camera. "That's... true," he muttered after a long pause.
The host clapped his hands once, theatrically. "Fascinating! Truly magical!"
The woman's eyes softened again as she continued, "We had no choice but to let Lucas study at home after that. Since then, there were no more... incidents. The sleepwalking stopped. Everything seemed peaceful for a while."
Her voice darkened. "Then came the Sunshine Orphanage accident. An employee was arrested... he was covered in growths, tumors, sarcomas everywhere." She lowered her head. "I think Lucas must have been influenced by that man. That's why he became... different."
She looked up again, her expression almost pleading. "But I never disliked his specialness. From beginning to end, I loved him."
The clown host smiled, though it didn't reach his painted eyes. "So, to you, Lucas was always a good child."
The wife nodded. "Yes. I even kept all his old photos. I didn't expect he'd be chosen for that thriller game while still in the hospital... After that, I never saw him again."
"Didn't you watch his live broadcasts?" the clown asked, raising a brow.
The wife's smile turned helpless as she glanced at her husband, who had curled up into himself like a frightened animal. "My husband doesn't want to see him again," she whispered. "So…"
The clown sighed dramatically. He wasn't interested in their marital drama; what he wanted was spectacle. "Then perhaps you can do something for the audience instead," he said, his grin widening. "Can you show us a photo of Lucas as a child? I'm sure everyone watching wants to see it."
The woman's face lit up, relief replacing her sadness. "Of course! Please wait a moment."
The promotional video cut here — a transition shot marked the shift. When the screen returned, the camera had zoomed in on a photo album resting gently in the woman's lap. Her hands trembled slightly as she opened it, her expression turning nostalgic.
"This one," she said softly, pointing to a faded photograph. "This was when Lucas first came to our house. He was so small... so cute, wasn't he?"
She turned the page. "And this — this was our first family dinner together. We were all so happy then..."
Her smile widened as another picture came into view. "And this one! Lucas's first trip to the zoo. He loved animals so much back then."
She kept flipping, her tone growing warmer. "Besides—"
"Sorry," the clown interrupted suddenly.
The woman froze mid-motion and turned toward him, confusion flickering across her face. "Of course. What's wrong?"
The clown's voice had changed — still polite, but colder. "Are you sure," he asked slowly, "that all the children in these photos are Lucas?"
Her brows knitted together. "Of course. I took every one of these pictures myself."
"Wait," the host said sharply.
There was a rustling sound from behind the camera. The woman blinked, startled. Her confusion deepened as the clown pulled something from his folder and laid it out on the table in front of her.
"Do you know who this is?" he asked.
She leaned forward to look. A pause followed. Her lips parted, but only uncertainty came out. "I'm sorry... I don't know him."
The host's tone trembled slightly as he spoke again. "This is a high-definition image of Lucas — from inside the game."
He held the printed still beside her old photos. The difference was shocking. The child in her album was bright, smiling, almost angelic — eyes full of sunlight and innocence. The one in the game footage was different: colder, sharper, haunted.
The resemblance was nonexistent.
The wife looked back and forth between the two sets of photos. Then, slowly, a strange smile formed on her lips. She lifted a trembling hand and pointed at the game photo.
"Lucas," she whispered. "That's my Lucas. I didn't make a mistake. He's grown up so much..."
Her voice softened into a kind of loving delirium. The camera zoomed in on her expression — equal parts tenderness and denial. The moment froze like a painting.
Then the screen went black.
When it lit up again, the couple was back on the sofa, facing the camera once more. The atmosphere had shifted. The host's tone turned brisk. "Since time is limited," he said, "let's end with two final questions."
He turned to them, his smile wide but empty. "As Lucas's adoptive parents, what do you think about his participation in the Thriller Competition?"
The woman hesitated. "I've heard of those horror games," she said finally. "People say many contestants... die. I just want Lucas to stay safe. He shouldn't show off. He should take care of himself."
Her husband said nothing. His gaze was fixed somewhere beyond the camera — cold, distant, almost lifeless.
"Last question," said the clown. "Please send your best wishes to player Lucas."
The woman smiled sadly. "Then... I suppose I'll say, 'Do your best, Lucas.' But truly, a gentle child like him shouldn't be in such a game. It's too dangerous... far too dangerous."
Her husband crossed his arms tightly, his expression contorted with discomfort. He twisted slightly, as if resisting invisible hands.
The woman looked down at the album again, her eyes glistening. Whatever she was thinking, the video didn't capture it — because at that exact second, the promotional clip ended abruptly.
The screen cut to black once more, leaving the audience staring at their own reflections.
For a few moments, there was nothing but silence. Then — as if the collective breath of millions of viewers returned all at once — the chat exploded.
"Wait, what?!"
"Don't end it there!"
"Show us the rest!"
"Who was the child in those photos?!"
The comments scrolled so fast the system could barely keep up. The mystery of Lucas deepened further — what kind of child could tear down an iron gate, be expelled from every school, and yet still be described as "obedient" by everyone who met him?
And now, his own mother could no longer tell who he truly was.
Behind the production curtain, the clown host removed his headset, his painted smile fading. "Cut it clean," he muttered to the editor. "The ambiguity's better than the truth."
But for those who watched the video — for the millions who paused on that frame where the two photos were shown side by side — a question began to spread across forums and feeds like wildfire.
If that wasn't Lucas in the photo album… then who was it?
No one had an answer.
And somewhere, deep within the endless data streams of the thriller game, a faint voice could be heard whispering through static — a boy's laughter, echoing softly, eerily childlike.
The audience shivered, goosebumps crawling up their arms.
The story of Lucas, once merely strange, now became something else entirely — a mystery that blurred the line between memory and madness.
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