Chapter 39: Bastian and Montmartre’s Super Big Spray

The inside of the Castle was even larger than it appeared from the outside.

All around the Theatre were layers upon layers of private boxes, each one occupied by blurry spectators.

At the very center stood a gigantic stage, its floor covered in scarlet velvet carpet.

And at the end of the stage, the man wearing a half-mask sat before an enormous pipe organ.

His ten fingers danced across the keys, and each time he pressed down, the keys seemed to come alive, releasing a piercing scream.

“My Christine…”

The Phantom’s voice echoed through the hall, carrying a natural reverberation in surround sound.

He spun around abruptly, the exposed eye blazing with a frenzied flame.

“You’re finally here! For our final duet!”

Vivian glanced left and right.

“Who’s he talking to?”

The Phantom’s hand pointed directly at Vivian.

“Come! Put on your costume, and let us complete this grand finale!”

Vivian: “???”

“Hey man, you’ve got the wrong person, haven’t you?” Vivian pointed at her own nose.

“Enough nonsense.”

Cicero suddenly gave Vivian a shove from behind.

“This is the role assigned to you, catch.”

Cicero tossed over a bundle of brightly colored things.

Vivian caught it and nearly fainted when she looked.

It was an extremely ornate Rococo-style gown. Huge panniers, lace-trimmed cuffs, and that corset that looked like it could snap her ribs.

“I’m not wearing that!” Vivian threw the dress to the ground. “You can’t even take a step in this thing!”

“If you don’t play along, the rules here will reject you.” Cicero lowered his voice. “Then you’ll be left to be a water monkey in the lake.”

“But…”

“I can sing!”

A shadow suddenly darted out from the side.

Bastian raised his hand, face alight with excitement as he rushed to the edge of the stage.

“Let me do it! Phantom, sir! I’m your most devoted fan! I’ll play Viscount Raoul! Or… I can play Christine in drag! My falsetto is perfect!”

The Phantom’s lone eye swept a cold glance at Bastian.

“You, worthy?”

With a cold snort, a plank suddenly popped out of the stage floor, like a flyswatter, and smacked Bastian clear across the room.

“Ah—”

Bastian landed headfirst in the orchestra pit.

“You all have no appreciation…” came Bastian’s feeble protest from the pit, “This is the deconstruction of gender identity…”

Vivian watched the scene and swallowed hard.

“Um… what happens if I don’t put it on?” she asked timidly.

The Phantom’s fingers crashed down on the keys.

“DONG——!!!”

A crack split open beneath Vivian’s feet, and below was bubbling lava.

“Put it on! Rococo, and nothing else!”

Thirty minutes later.

Vivian felt she was about to suffocate; the enormous panniers made her walk like a roly-poly, swaying side to side if she lost her balance.

“How do I look?” Vivian, face black as thunder, hiked up the skirt and hobbled onto the stage.

“Not bad.” Cicero crossed his arms, commenting from below the stage. “If you’d stop frowning, you’d really look like a noble lady.”

While the Phantom turned away to adjust the pipe organ, Cicero slipped a revolver out from inside his coat.

“Take this.”

He quickly stuffed it into the many folds of Vivian’s dress.

“This thing always jams, it’s useless,” Vivian complained, feeling the hard lump at her waist.

“Good enough.” Cicero whispered, “If it’s useless, at least it makes noise.”

“Makes noise? Am I here to set off firecrackers?”

“Remember.” Cicero looked Vivian in the eye, uncharacteristically serious for a moment.

“You have to use your own way to disrupt his script. As long as his logic collapses, we’ll have a chance.”

“My way?” Vivian was stunned.

“Exactly.” Cicero’s lips curled up slightly. “Paranoids fear madmen the most.”

“You’re the madman!”

Just then, a blinding spotlight abruptly shone down on Vivian.

The Phantom’s voice resounded once again, filled with an indisputable authority:

“Sing! Sing out your accusation against this cruel world!”

Vivian stood at the center of the stage, squinting in the dazzling light.

“Sing… sing what?” Vivian’s mind was blank.

“Anything!” the Phantom roared, “As long as it’s about love and death!”

Vivian took a deep breath.

Love and death, right?

Fine.

She cleared her throat, trying to make her voice sound less like a duck.

“Two little tigers… two little tigers… running fast…”

The hall went dead silent.

The Phantom’s hand, poised above the keys, froze midair.

Even the blurry audience below seemed to tilt their heads in confusion.

“This is your accusation?” the Phantom’s voice trembled, “Tigers? Running fast?”

“That’s right!” Vivian said with conviction, “One’s got no ears, the other’s got no tail, these are disabled tigers! Isn’t that tragic enough?”

The Phantom: “……”

“Enough!”

The Phantom finally exploded.

“Since you refuse to cooperate…”

With a sweep of the Phantom’s hand, the entire stage came alive.

The massive crystal chandeliers above began to sway like swings, the chains groaning and clanking. Traps thundered beneath the floor, and countless sharp iron spikes shot up from the edges of the stage.

“I’ll show you real art!”

The Phantom roared, both hands pounding the keys like mad. The pipe organ spewed out black sonic blades, like a flock of ravens swooping toward Vivian at the center of the stage.

“Mother of—!”

Vivian tried to run, but that damned skirt tangled her legs so badly she couldn’t move. All she could do was roll in place, like a giant ball of yarn, ending up beside the grand piano.

“Bang! Bang! Bang!”

The sonic blades struck where she’d just been standing, shredding the expensive carpet into tatters.

“Cicero! I’m done! I quit!” Vivian hugged her head and yelled.

“Stop shouting! Look up!”

Cicero’s voice came from below the stage.

Vivian looked up and nearly lost her soul.

Directly above, a splendid crystal chandelier was slowly descending. Its target: Bastian, who was just climbing out of the orchestra pit.

Somehow, he’d changed outfits.

He now wore a ragged curtain as a cape, an iron-wire crown on his head, and brandished his beloved brass trumpet.

“Again with the same old tricks! Can’t you come up with something new?”

Faced with the falling chandelier, Bastian didn’t run. Instead, he spread his arms, basking in anticipation.

“Come! Let destruction come even fiercer!”

“You lunatic! Run!” Vivian shouted in panic.

But just as the chandelier was about to smash Bastian into pulp—

He moved.

He balanced on his left leg, wrapped his right around his neck, and bent backward at an unbelievable angle.

“Whoosh—”

The huge chandelier brushed past the tip of his nose and crashed down.

“BOOM!!!”

With a tremendous crash, the floor was punched through, shards of crystal spraying everywhere.

Amid the swirling dust, Bastian still held the “one-legged crane plus scorpion tail” pose, unscathed.

He even flashed a “V” sign at the Phantom.

“That’s what I call—the art of evasion!” Bastian shouted through the brass trumpet, “Way better than your tired old chandelier!”

The Phantom was stunned.

According to his script, the supporting male should’ve screamed pitifully, then turned into a bloody mess, heightening the tragic mood.

But what was this freak with his leg wrapped around his neck?!

“Unforgivable…” the Phantom gnashed his teeth, “You’re insulting my stage!”

Suddenly, countless black notes transformed into javelins, flying densely at Bastian.

“My Muse! Cover me!” Bastian yelled.

“Cover your head!” Vivian snapped back, but still raised the revolver.

“Bang! Bang! Bang!”

Silver bullets inscribed with runes clanged against the javelin-notes, bursting into silvery sparks.

But compared to the endless barrage of javelins, it was like a drop in the bucket.

“Time for my secret weapon!”

Bastian suddenly pulled something from under his ragged curtain—a huge firework sparkler?

“Let this gloomy underground see the colors of Montmartre!”

Bastian pulled out a lighter, eyes wild, and lit the fuse.

“Sss—”

“Whoosh—POP!!!”

Brilliant fireworks exploded across the underground palace.

The buzzing instantly drowned out the roar of the pipe organ.

The once menacing black note-javelins, upon touching the colorful smoke, dissolved instantly, turning into a blizzard of dancing scraps of paper.