"What are you making such a fuss about? I swear..."
Yan Huan muttered, unwillingly pushing open the bathroom door, still wreathed in lingering steam.
He slowly picked up the clothes draped over the back of a chair and put them on one piece at a time, every movement full of helplessness.
"Day after day, can't you pick somewhere less cursed?" He sighed and casually swept his gaze across the room.
At some point, a brightly colored sticky note had appeared on the table, conspicuously eye-catching.
[We have to keep traveling together forever and ever!]
[—Your partner, March 7th.]
"Hm?" Yan Huan glanced at the note on the table, one brow rising slightly.
"What kind of nonsense is she on about now..." he muttered, his tone carrying the disdain of long familiarity.
He stretched lazily, his bones giving a faint crack. Just as he was about to head for the door, something out of place in the corner caught his eye.
It was a vividly styled, brightly colored graffiti painting that clashed utterly with its surroundings, like something that might appear in a Penacony dreamscape.
The contents of the painting were rather bizarre.
Countless pale hands twisted in from all around the image toward its center, as though desperately trying to pry open a crack within it.
Yan Huan tried to recall. If he remembered correctly, paintings like this seemed to be mediums for dreamscape teleportation.
The moment Yan Huan noticed it, a gentle, familiar voice sounded from within the painting, carrying a hint of certainty.
"Please be quiet. I think I found him."
"?" Curious, Yan Huan walked over.
A faint, ethereal, harmonious melody slowly rose beside his ears, as if invisibly guiding him to touch the painting before him.
"Brother Sunday? Sunday? Brother-in-law?" he called out tentatively.
Receiving no