A Guide for Background Characters to Survive in a Manga

Chapter 296

As Jiang Tianming said, the park was vast, split into four zones, each the size of a small theme park.

Such a large area meant a big array eye. Recalling his knowledge, Su Bei had an idea. If Jiram didn’t want it found easily, it’d be hidden under something larger.

Within sight, larger things included haunted houses, a circus, an aquarium, and a lazy river pool. Two haunted houses flanked the park—his group spawned in the left one.

“No way?” After two Ferris wheel rides, confirming he’d seen it all, Su Bei’s expression turned odd.

He suspected the array eye was in their spawn haunted house. Anything tied to protagonists could hold author hints. Finding the exit at the start point was logical.

Why didn’t he think of it earlier? He wouldn’t have made this trip. Silent for a moment, he headed back, recalling how to break array eyes.

Theoretically simple: place a key item or person at the eye’s center.

The center was easy to find—if in the haunted house, likely near its middle, found with a few tries.

But who or what was the key?

This made things tricky, but for his life, Su Bei had to try. Destiny’s hidden records said the key was something pervasive—either the most conceptually representative or omnipresent.

Either could be it.

The park’s core concept was joy, tied to rides, but they were too large to move.

As for people…

“Clown?” Su Bei murmured, turning back to the Ferris wheel.

At the clown’s post, now task-free, it was deserted, unlike earlier.

Seeing Su Bei return, the clown grinned widely: “Dear little friend, what else do you need?”

“Can you only stay here? Can you go elsewhere?” Su Bei asked directly.

The clown nodded, always honest: “Once my tasks are done, I can move freely.”

It stayed earlier because Su Bei was riding.

His guess deepened. Politely, he asked: “Can I invite you to the west haunted house?”

“An invitation!” The clown exaggerated surprise, its body language matching. “Oh! A dear friend inviting me! I’d love to, darling. Shall we go now?”

“Too conspicuous,” Su Bei said, relieved, shaking his head. “Can we travel separately and meet there?”

Clowns meant tasks to competitors. Traveling together would draw crowds, and while the clown was fine, he’d be a clown himself.

“No problem. Three hours?” The clown said cheerfully, not asking why they couldn’t go together. Three hours was reasonable—with Ability User stamina, the trip took just over an hour, leaving nearly ninety minutes for detours. Unless delayed or ambushed, anyone could make it.

Su Bei agreed: “No problem. I’ll head out.”

As he reached the gate, the clown added: “Don’t break your promise, or I’ll be sad.”

Su Bei paused, continuing: “I won’t.”

On the way back, he pondered if the clown’s words held deeper meaning. Not paranoia—this had clues. Before entering, Jiram said, “Don’t harm our cute staff—it’ll cost you.”

He’d thought it was a playful warning against damaging “public props,” as creating moving Illusion figures took effort.

But the clown’s mention of sadness recalled Jiram’s words. Did making it sad count as harm? What were the consequences?

Only practice would tell, and Su Bei wouldn’t be the one to test it. He wasn’t worried but thought of something.

He’d wanted to profit from the Illusion’s truth but lacked a method. No broadcast system existed, and he couldn’t go person to person: “I’ve got big intel—500 points to buy?”

Who’d listen?

Asking ten people would draw threats. Without enough self-defense, holding intel meant silence or giving it free.

To profit, he needed strength or anonymity. Only a safe method would work.

The mobile clown sparked hope. It could move, wasn’t coveted for points, was friendly, and might accept his request.

Having arranged to meet at the haunted house, he could discuss this after the array eye.

Spreading the news wouldn’t be blocked by the author. By then, the protagonist group would likely know, so it wouldn’t disrupt the plot.

A 500-point intel wouldn’t reach everyone quickly, keeping it harmless.

Killing a Low-Level Nightmare Beast, Su Bei felt hungry. They’d entered at 8 a.m.—it was now 1 p.m., lunchtime.

He set up a barbecue on the spot, soon attracting a small crowd. Food wasn’t tempting until seen or smelled, then stomachs growled.

“What’s this mess?” The first guy asked, eyeing the charred meat.

Su Bei, a known kitchen disaster, wasn’t ashamed, stepping aside: “You cook then. I’ve got tools and meat.”

The grill was made from a chair and branches. The beast he killed, cow-sized, had plenty to share.

“Fine,” the guy said, tossing Su Bei’s meat back with two fingers, then grilling fresh beast meat.

His teammates, knowing his skill, cheered: “We want some!”

He rolled his eyes: “Eat, eat, eat—that’s all you know. Is it my meat?”

They looked at Su Bei, recognizing him from Endless: “Classmate, can we use your grill? We’ll get our own meat.”

Su Bei didn’t agree immediately, saying meaningfully: “Eat my food, owe me a favor…”

“If you don’t interfere, we won’t touch you until the final few,” a female teammate said, catching on.

With anyone else, she wouldn’t promise, but Su Bei, a forced first-year, seemed no threat despite a strong Ability.

Satisfied, Su Bei gestured: “Go ahead,” stepping back. The match was live-streamed—under audience scrutiny, he trusted they wouldn’t lie.

Another team copied, promising to use the grill.

With no intent to stay, Su Bei took his meat, ate, and left. He had a three-hour clown meeting. Taking the direct route, it’d take just over an hour—he wouldn’t have risked eating otherwise.

At the haunted house, he saw the clown at the entrance, surrounded by task-seekers. With time to spare, he waited until the crowd thinned, then approached.

Seeing him keep the promise, the clown’s red mouth split into an excited grin: “You’re here! Shall we play in the haunted house?”

“Sure…” Su Bei started to nod but recalled his plan.

Originally, he’d trick the clown to the haunted house’s center, circling until hitting the array eye.

But if the clown was the key, it’d sense it, realizing the deception. Then, Su Bei’s only choice was to leave via the broken eye.

He didn’t know what upsetting the clown would do, but it felt dangerous. The clown’s honesty suggested it expected the same. Deceiving it might anger it more than harming it.

His escape skills weren’t great. He could kill the clown by altering Destiny, but as an Illusion creature, he might not succeed.

Wanting to stay, he didn’t want to cross it.

Hesitating, he chose honesty: “I invited you here mainly to see if you can break the array eye.”

In plot-driven Illusions, characters wouldn’t understand this. But in a competition-only Illusion, creatures often knew they were constructs.

Su Bei dared ask openly because breaking the eye didn’t destroy the Illusion—like flushing a toilet. He’d be flushed out, but the Illusion stayed intact.

The clown, hearing this, shook its head: “Of course not. The park’s fun—I’m not done playing! I don’t want to leave yet. I just want a different path.”

Half-true, half-false—not done playing was true, but the last part wasn’t. It was enough for the clown, who smiled again: “Great! Let’s do what you need.”

Su Bei glanced at his luck—small pointer in a good spot, boosting his confidence.

As expected, after a few loops in the haunted house’s center with the clown, a “crack” sounded—a purple vortex appeared under the clown. Su Bei understood—stepping in would exit the Illusion. Only he could use it; others needed their own clown.

Keeping his promise, he didn’t step in. The exit wouldn’t vanish until he did, letting him choose when.

They toured the haunted house, the clown playing its comedic role, laughing at scares and performing for Su Bei.

Su Bei relaxed, framing it as the clown accompanying him, not vice versa.

After a pleasant tour, he stated his second goal: “I have a trade for other visitors, but going myself risks threats. Can you handle it? In return, if you need help, I’ll do it.”

“What trade?” the clown asked curiously.

Seeing no rejection, Su Bei relaxed: “I have intel for 500 points. Tell them, collect the points, and send buyers to the haunted house’s center.”

Initially, he’d planned to tell the clown the truth—“killing in the Illusion is real”—and let it relay. It’d be easy, no setup needed.

But he reconsidered. If the Illusion was flawed, Jiram was likely controlled by Nightmare Beasts. As an Illusion creature, could the clown be trusted?

Its friendliness might be because he hadn’t touched their plan. Revealing it could make it turn under their control.

Unaware of his thoughts, the clown nodded its comical head: “I can help. In return, be happy every day! My biggest wish is for kids to be happy!”

“I hope I can be happy daily—I’ll try,” Su Bei replied sincerely.

Knowing the clown valued honesty, he didn’t promise outright, cautiously saying he’d try. Being happy every day was impossible.

The clown blinked, paused, then said: “I’m off. I’ll tell other kids about your trade.”

Su Bei asked, puzzled: “Don’t you need my ID?”

“No,” the clown giggled, raising a finger. “Staff have little privileges.”

After it left, Su Bei set up the haunted house. 500 points was steep, but mid-competition, most teams could afford it.

Intel from a competitor wasn’t credible, but from staff, it felt reliable. Su Bei was sure some would buy.

Staff collecting points didn’t draw greed—competitors assumed it was rule-based, not useful to the clown.

Who’d guess it was for another competitor?

Setting up was necessary. He couldn’t stand at the entrance, telling buyers directly—that’d invite robbery.

Buyers needed to see the intel without finding him. Placing it well was key, ideally untouchable. Though unlikely, some might destroy it.

Using a Gear, he carved the intel on the first step under the haunted house’s central stairs—hard to spot unless searched, preventing free leaks. Buyers, having spent 500 points, would search thoroughly and find it.

After carving, he left quickly. Lingering risked others arriving, making escape hard. The intel—clearly not Illusion-native—suggested a flaw, pointing to a competitor’s leak. Teachers wouldn’t charge points for lifesaving info.

To verify or covet points, people would hunt him. Leaving early ensured safety.

He’d spread the intel, collect points, and stay secure.

Mid-competition, teams weren’t just killing beasts—eliminating opponents for later sweeps was logical.

Alone, without escape tools, Su Bei had talked his way out earlier, but now it wouldn’t work. He had to be cautious.

Hiding in bushes, he checked his watch. With Jiang Tianming’s group together, the chat was quiet, only periodic location updates to avoid collisions.

His points—team total—were 670, decent for playing weak. Over 400 were fixed, not slow compared to others.

Suddenly, the watch jumped from 670 to 1170. The clown had worked—someone bought his intel.

Smiling, Su Bei felt vindicated. Earning in a minute what took Jiang Tianming’s group hours—who wouldn’t say intel trading was lucrative?

Pity points only boosted rankings, useless otherwise. The match would either end with the protagonist group winning or not concluding at all.