Chapter 207: Chapter 207 - Behind the Spotlight
[Author’s Note: Just like with Mira’s case in the earlier Chapters—if you’d rather not dive into Milo’s past, feel free to skip the next two Chapters and continue directly at Chapter 209. (Only two Chapters!) I’ve kept this as concise as possible.]
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The sound of cheering and applause echoed all around him. Atlas slowly opened his eyes, only to find himself somewhere completely unexpected.
What... is this?
He looked around, confused. It was... an arena? No, more like a theater, and he was floating near the ceiling, untouched and unseen by the crowd below.
People sat in neat rows, faces bright with joy, laughter and excitement painted across them as they clapped and cheered.
Atlas looked down at himself and blinked. His body was transparent, his form suspended in the air, like a silent observer.
Well... this is already better than Mira’s memory. At least he didn’t have to walk his way through this one.
He turned his attention toward the stage, and then narrowed his eyes, adjusting to the light.
A man stood confidently at the center. Black hair, sharp suit, hands dancing through the air as he performed smooth, mesmerizing movements with a deck of cards.
It was Milo. But... not the Milo he knew.
This Milo stood tall, composed, with a gaze so sharp it could pierce through steel. He moved with elegance, charm, and charisma. A natural performer.
The audience was enraptured, their cheers growing louder with every trick. Cards vanished and reappeared with ease, illusions flickering in and out of existence.
Atlas watched, almost stunned.
This wasn’t the anxious, quiet Milo who avoided eye contact and flinched at sudden sounds. This Milo was someone else entirely, confident.
What had happened to change him so drastically?
Was this who he truly used to be?
And more importantly... could he ever be that version of himself again?
The final trick came to a close, and the crowd rose to their feet, erupting into thunderous applause, voices full of admiration and awe for the magician on stage.
Atlas drifted forward, gliding effortlessly through the air as he followed Milo exiting the stage.
He could pass through walls with ease, and it made the whole experience feel surreal. He was truly just a spectator, watching everything unfold around him as if it were a living memory projected just for him.
As Milo stepped into the backstage area, Atlas followed, and immediately noticed the shift in the mood.
Several other performers stood there, dressed in various costumes, capes, and stage makeup.
They all turned to look at Milo.
But not with admiration.
With disgust.
Their gazes were cold, some narrow-eyed, some sneering outright. One even scoffed audibly.
What the hell...?
Atlas narrowed his eyes. Milo, now away from the spotlight, walked with smaller steps, his head lowered ever so slightly, avoiding eye contact, clearly aware of the stares.
Atlas paused, hovering nearby, choosing not to follow just yet.
He wanted to hear what they’d say.
"Tch. Look at him, acting all modest now. Just because the crowd clapped."
"Flashy tricks and charm, that’s all he’s got. No real technique."
"Did you see how he was grinning at them? What a sellout."
"That kind of performance panders to the audience. It’s not real magic."
"He’s new. What does he know? Just lucky he got a warm crowd tonight."
The bitterness in their voices was undeniable.
Atlas frowned.
"Damn... workplace jealousy?"
It didn’t take much to piece it together. Milo’s show had clearly been a hit. More successful, more engaging than theirs. And now, resentment bloomed like poison.
"I guess envy like this isn’t rare... especially in a place where success is measured in applause."
Atlas followed Milo as he walked quietly down the hallway, eventually slipping into a small, dimly lit room tucked behind the stage.
Inside, a broad-shouldered man sat behind a worn-out desk, legs spread, arms crossed. His posture practically radiated dominance.
Without saying a word, the man tossed a thick envelope across the table. It landed in front of Milo with a soft thump, the faint clink of coins or bills inside.
Milo stared at it for a moment, silent.
The man leaned forward slightly. "What? That’s your payment," he said, as if daring Milo to complain.
Still, Milo said nothing.
Atlas hovered nearby, frowning. Was it not the full amount? Was the pay being cut?
Then the man scoffed. "You know you skipped your last performance, right?"
Milo finally spoke. "My wife was very ill... I used my official leave."
The man slammed a hand on the desk, laughing bitterly.
"Hah! Spare me that crap. Just make sure your next show pulls in as much profit as this one." He leaned back in his chair, lips curling into a smug smirk. "The crowd ate it up tonight. Don’t mess it up. Now get out of my sight."
Milo didn’t respond. He simply picked up the envelope, his shoulders tense, his head slightly lowered. Without another word, he turned and left the room.
Atlas floated after him, observing closely.
This Milo, he wasn’t quite the man Atlas knew now. He wasn’t the confident magician from the stage, nor the anxious one from Gacha Haven. He was somewhere in between.
But this place...
Atlas narrowed his eyes.
How could Milo have stayed here so long? Was there really no other place for him to go?
Did he feel trapped? Obligated? Or just... afraid to walk away?
Whatever the reason, this wasn’t a place meant for someone like him.
Atlas followed Milo silently as the man stepped out into the cool night air, walking alone along the dimly lit street. The world around them was clearly different. Older, more worn, a little behind compared to the world Atlas knew.
The cars parked along the sidewalks were boxy and outdated, and here and there, shadows moved in alleyways. Rowdy figures, likely gangs or delinquents, gathering under flickering street lamps.
Milo kept walking, head slightly bowed, his pace steady but heavy. The darkness seemed to cling to him, like it was drawn to his silence.
Eventually, he arrived at a narrow three-story apartment, its outer walls cracked and stained with time. Milo climbed the steps without pause, reaching the top floor and pressing a button beside a simple wooden door.
A moment later, the door opened. A woman with long, dark hair appeared, her face soft with concern.
"Hey... are you okay?" she asked, her voice gentle.
Atlas followed inside, floating through the wall as the woman stepped forward and wrapped her arms around Milo.
"You’re late again. Was the performance a success?" she asked, pulling back to meet his eyes.
They moved together into the small central room and sat side by side on a couch that had clearly seen better days.
Without a word, Milo handed her the envelope of money.
She took it, but didn’t even open it. Instead, she leaned forward and embraced him again.
"I’m sorry I keep putting all this on you," she murmured.
Milo shook his head. "It’s my responsibility."
They held each other for a long while, the silence between them soft rather than heavy. And as Atlas watched, he could almost see the darkness wrapped around Milo ease, even if just a little.
For the first time, he saw Milo speak calmly, clearly, without the hesitation that usually marked his every word.
It hit Atlas harder than he expected.
"He’s really been carrying all this on his own."
This wasn’t just a man who had lost confidence. This was someone forced to survive in a world that never gave him a break.
After a while, Milo slowly stood from the couch, brushing his fingers through his hair. "Sorry... I forgot to pick up food on the way home. I’ll run out and get something."
His wife rose with him, frowning softly. "No, it’s already past midnight. Just wait until morning."
But Milo shook his head. "You haven’t eaten either, right? Just wait here. I’ll be quick."
She tried to stop him again, but he was already by the door.
And as Atlas watched... a strange unease settled in his chest.
"Why did it feel like something bad was coming?"
Atlas followed as Milo made his way down the street, heading to a nearby small convenience store glowing faintly in the otherwise dim neighborhood.
Inside, Milo moved slowly through the aisles, picking items carefully. His hands hesitating, his eyes checking each price tag before placing anything in his basket.
Atlas noticed how careful he was with every choice.
Eventually, Milo paid, and the familiar ting of the doorbell echoed as he stepped out of the store.
He walked quickly now, clutching the bag close, his eyes occasionally scanning the shadows as he made his way back.
Atlas drifted behind him, the unease growing heavier.
They reached the apartment, and Milo began climbing the stairs. One step, two, three. And then...
A sudden scream rang out.
Followed by the slam of a door.
Atlas stopped cold. "What is that?!"
Milo froze for a heartbeat, the grocery bag slipping from his hands and falling to the ground.
Then, he bolted up the stairs, panic carved into his face.
Atlas was right behind him, and he hated every second of it!