Syl sighed inwardly and quickly took over the body, making The Joker stop those flirting moves that were somehow so practiced.
"We're on business, why aren't you being crazy right now?" Syl complained silently in her heart.
Retracting the spikes, Syl walked toward the door the maid had pointed to.
She wasn't worried about The Joker's face being seen; rather, she was more worried that too few people would know about The Joker.
The more people who knew what was done, the better Syl's plan could be realized. In this process, she always needed some "eyewitnesses" to spread The Joker's "achievements" everywhere.
Standing before the door that emitted earth-shaking snores, Syl glanced back slightly at the maid from before and found her clutching the stairs, nervously watching the floor below, seemingly helping Syl keep a lookout for anyone coming up.
She had completely sided with Syl. It seemed she had been following the newspapers all along; otherwise, it would have been impossible for her to recognize Syl at first glance and know what Syl was here to do.
Syl refocused her attention on the door in front of her, the golden lock right by her hand.
Syl slowly reached out, gripped the gilded handle carved with patterns, and gently turned it to the left.
"Click—" With a slight sound, the door opened, and Syl slowly pushed the wooden door open to look inside.
Among the somewhat old furniture and walls sat a large bed that looked no cheaper than Syl's own, along with a newly laid cashmere carpet. These two items looked completely out of place with their surroundings.
Most importantly, there was a lean figure currently tossing aside the covers and sleeping soundly on the bed.
Syl slipped into the room, gently closed the door, and slowly walked toward the bedside under the somewhat scarlet light filtering through the red curtains.
Reaching the bedside, Syl slowly reached out and pressed a Fear Spike against his throat, but just as the tip was about to touch him, she frowned again.
"No... this is too crude," Syl muttered softly. She then retracted the blade and began scanning the surroundings, seemingly looking for something handy.
Soon, Syl's gaze stopped on a section of the carpet that was dyed green. Syl crouched down and used a sharp blade to cut out that circular green portion from the carpet.
After rolling the circle slightly, a proper pointed joker hat appeared in Syl's hand.
"Are there any other decorations?"
Syl continued to search the room, even opening the wardrobe. Fortunately, she found a red ball and also unearthed a box of iron nails from the bottom of the cabinet.
These iron nails didn't look like they were for construction; instead, they looked like they were used for torture. Some of the nails were still stained with spots of blood.
"Good stuff..." Syl smiled as she looked at the box of nails.
Finally, Syl began using a Fear Spike to scrape a white ceramic cup bit by bit, catching the white powder in a small box she had found.
"Scrape— scrape—"
A harsh friction sound came from Syl's hand in bursts.
This sound also seemed to irritate the factory owner, Frank, in his sweet dreams.
The snoring gradually weakened, and Frank slowly woke from his slumber.
Frank, who was still half-asleep, felt rather impatient upon hearing the harsh "scrape— scrape—" sound.
He shouted, "Dammit, which bitch is disturbing my rest? Do you want a taste of the whip?"
But when he propped himself up and saw the figure sitting on the stool in front of him, seriously scraping something with a sharp blade, Frank's body jolted, and cold sweat soaked his nightgown.
"Gulp—" Swallowing hard, Frank knew that things were looking grim for him.
"Damn it, where are those damn guards? Didn't I tell them to stay on the first floor?" Frank cursed in his heart. "And that bitch... didn't I tell her to guard the door? How did someone get in without a single sound?"
"If I survive this... I don't care if she's a minor, I'm going to fuck her to death... at most I'll just pay some bail!"
What Frank didn't know was that the "bitch" he was talking about was indeed still guarding the door, but the person she was keeping a lookout for had changed.
Frank looked at The Joker, who showed no other movement, and spoke imploringly:
"Respected lady... I don't know where I've offended you? Money, I can give you endless money... I only ask that you spare me."
But his words didn't seem to enter Syl's ears; that harsh scraping sound continued to irritate Frank's eardrums.
Frank licked his lips, which had become dry from tension. As he spoke, his legs slowly shifted toward the edge of the bed:
"Are you here for yesterday's news? To be honest, those are all baseless slanders... I never lay a hand on minors. Those maids, it was only after they became adults and with their own consent..."
"As for those men... the law doesn't have regulations on that aspect, don't you think, lady? They were all voluntary..."
As long as he could break the window and jump out to cause a commotion, he would survive... even if he ended up half-crippled, he would still live!
At that moment, Syl's movements stopped. She put down the ceramic cup, which now had nothing left but the handle, and looked with satisfaction at the box of white powder she had collected.
"Do you want to hear my plan? By the way, let me introduce myself. I am called The Joker, and I am a Stylist—of the fashion variety." Syl picked up the green hat sewn together with nails and the box of white powder, saying, "Trust me, this look will definitely take Ibiza by storm!"
"Sty... Stylist?" Frank opened his mouth slightly, seemingly failing to react, and even his footsteps stopped moving.
"Yes, it will definitely be the next big hit—The Joker look!"
As soon as Syl finished speaking, Frank's mind suddenly exploded. He couldn't help but recall yesterday's news—that corpse styled like a joker.
Frank quickly rolled off the bed and ran toward the window, but a sharp blade was faster, striking from behind and piercing his spine and throat. He instantly lost the ability to scream or resist, collapsing onto the floor.
But he wasn't dead yet.
Syl walked over with a smile, retracted the blade, wiped the blood clean on the carpet, and helped Frank flip over.
"Wonderful, you're still alive, my guest," Syl said with a look of pleasant surprise as she watched Frank spitting up blood. "I thought you had died. Thank goodness."
"Then without further ado, while you're still conscious, let's get to work on changing your look!"
"Also... heeheehee... I'll help incorporate your idea of jumping out the window. Oh right, yesterday's hanging also gave me a lot of creative inspiration."
"Ha... I really have to thank you..."
...On Hanberning Street in the Iviza West District, the flow of people on the street began to increase. They were all people preparing to go to work in the factories. The eight o'clock morning sun was already starting to feel warm.
But from the upper window of the house at 23 Hanberning Street, a thin rope dangled down.
At first, few people noticed; some who did ignored it. Finally, a passing child reached out and gave the thin rope a tug.
"Clang—"
On the third floor of House No. 23, the window seemed to be pushed open by some heavy object, and a figure fell from the window, accompanied by the gasps of the people.
But fortunately, the figure was caught by the rope halfway down. And what the rope was tied to... was the figure's neck.
A man was hung in front of No. 23.
His face was covered in white powder, a smiling face drawn in blood on his mouth, and a green, somewhat ridiculous hat was pierced by more than ten nails, fixed to his head.
He was stark naked, and his genitals had also been cut off. On his body was a signature written in blood in an ornate script.
—The Joker