[Big bro, explain this—doesn't this feel like forced plot progression?]
[Basically, Sunday left some trash behind, but he obviously can't stay in Penacony anymore, so he has to clean up his mess before leaving.]
[Oh, so Sunday's a janitor now.]
Oneweek shook his head helplessly. "Then you should also know—the IPC won't save you a second time. If you fall into the Family's hands again, you're finished for good."
"Some old habits are hard to break." Sunday's gaze grew heavy. "The tie must sit perfectly centered on the midline. The shirt must not peek out from the vest. The trouser creases must be straight and aligned precisely with the direction of the shoe tips…
Before stepping out, one should ensure everything is perfectly in order, with no deviation. And when bidding farewell to one's homeland, it should be the same."
[No wonder he ended up walking the path of Order.]
[Is it because his personality loves order, or because the influence of Order hasn't been fully purged?]
[Probably a bit of both.]
— —
Oneweek and Sunday walked side by side.
They ran into members of the Bloodhound lineage again.
And the Bloodhounds seemed to be reciting the exact same script.
"Sorry, there's been a malfunction with the park facilities. They're being reset. Please come back later."
Oneweek gave an "oh" and activated the power of Harmony. "Oh, I get the situation. No need to report it again."
The Bloodhound Family member was momentarily confused, but the next instant his mindset completely shifted.
"Ah, Mr. Oneweek? I must be exhausted—I didn't even recognize you."
Oneweek waved a hand dismissively. "I'd like to know what's going on inside. You won't make things difficult for me, right?"
"Sigh… there's not much to say. Even the Bloodhounds haven't figured it out yet. Probably just lingering effects from the Stellaron incident."
Sunday's brows furrowed slightly. "Lingering effects?"
"And this is…?"
Oneweek casually replied, "Consider him my subordinate—the infamous overtime maniac 'Mr. Workday.' You don't know him?"
[Hahahaha, Workday.]
[I'm done hahaha.]
[From One Day Seven Rests to 7×24 non-stop.]
[Sunday, don't turn into Workday!!!!]
[That would be a nightmare!]
[Sigh, Sunday is the ideal; Workday is reality.]
— —
"I see. My apologies." The Bloodhound Family member gave a slight nod. "Back to the park—in short, some 'absolutely-do-not-violate rules' have appeared nearby."
"What happens if they're violated?"
The Bloodhound member spoke softly. "It's quite unbelievable—they get corrected. It's hard to describe in words. Would you like to see for yourself?"
"Sure. Then please watch the entrance. The two of us will go take a look."
Not long after.
Sunday glanced back at the Bloodhound Family member behind them, confirming the distance was too far for their conversation to be overheard. He spoke slowly. "You didn't have to say that line. It makes us look extremely suspicious."
Oneweek spread his hands. "Which line?"
Sunday said seriously, "Mr. Workday."
Oneweek gave a light snort. "Just stating facts. I've always thought that name suits you better. So why are we coming here? Were you the park director back in the day?"
"You could put it that way. At that time I was still a child, studying under Mr. Screwllum to become the 'Bell Ringer' of the Oak Family." Sunday paused; memories of the past surfaced vividly. "During an ordinary walk, he suddenly decided on a whim to entrust me with authority over this place. Within the boundaries he defined, every word I spoke carried the weight of law.
Looking back, that was perhaps the first time I practiced 'Order.'"
Oneweek teased, "You climbed the ranks step by step afterward, so I guess you did pretty well?"
"Quite the opposite—it was a complete mess. Fortunately, the visitors just treated it as a carnival; no one minded."
"What was that supposed to be—some kind of training for you?"
"Perhaps Mr. Screwllum was showing me, in the least costly way possible, a lesson from his own life: there is no perfect template for rules. If the enforcer cannot maintain self-reflection, even the most noble decisions will gradually become base."
"Just like the lingering echoes of 'Order' here now—twisted and only adding to the chaos."
Oneweek shook his head. "Let's see what's written on the note…"
At that moment, the contents of the note appeared on screen.
It was a textbook set of strange rules.
"—No food except hamburgers may be consumed, especially ice cream.
—Non-performers must not step onto the stage.
—Do not treat birds with rudeness.
—Do not throw trash into the trash cans.
—When experiencing attractions, do not use bottle caps sold by the Dream Troupe.
—Do not walk upside-down near the flower beds.
Note: Behaviors not mentioned are merely untested—not necessarily safe."
[I'm dying—this is straight-up rule-based horror.]
[How did they even discover the upside-down walking one?]
[What the hell is upside-down walking?]
[Was the upside-down walking rule tested by Herta?]
[Do not throw trash into the trash cans—Trailblazer gives this one a thumbs-up!]
[Do not treat birds with rudeness—Sunday sneaking in some personal bias, huh.]
— —
"Hss…" Oneweek sucked in a breath. "'Do not walk upside-down near the flower beds.' Putting aside how the Bloodhounds even discovered this fact, the worst consequence seems to be getting flipped right-side up again. Why don't you give it a try? I want to see you do a handstand."
Sunday remained expressionless. "I must decline."
"Boring."
With that, the two arrived at an ice cream cart.
"'No food except hamburgers may be consumed, especially ice cream'… this wasn't one of your rules, was it?"
Sunday shook his head. "I hold no prejudice against desserts. The rules I set back then were only to prevent people from fighting over them—take them in order."
"What happens if they're violated?"
"Just like that Bloodhound said—they get corrected."
Oneweek refused to believe it. "I'm gonna test this."
In the blink of an eye, the ice cream in front of him was gone—swallowed by Oneweek.
Sunday didn't even have time to stop him.
Oneweek licked his lips. "See? Nothing happened."
Sunday pondered for a moment. "That shouldn't be possible."
"I told you—the Family can handle their own problems without you stepping in." Oneweek pointed toward the stage. "Next one—let's check the stage edge."
The two arrived at the edge of the stage. "'Non-performers must not step onto the stage'—this rule at least seems normal."
"And easy to test. Neither of us qualifies as 'performers.' Let's try."
Oneweek and Sunday attempted to step onto the stage.
The next moment—duang.
They were teleported back outside the stage.
"…Huh?"
"Let's try again."
They attempted once more—duang.
"What the hell." Oneweek looked at Sunday in shock.
"'Those who walk the wrong path shall be guided back to the right one'—this must be the 'correction' the Bloodhound mentioned. It's exactly the same as what I used to do."
"So you were already this iron-fisted as a kid." At that moment, Oneweek suddenly realized something. "Wait a second. If corrections work like this, then the ice cream I just ate—"
Sunday let out a helpless sigh. "I did warn you."
Oneweek: "…"
He suddenly felt his stomach churn. Like a common street drunk, he opened his mouth and vomited a rainbow.
Not long after.
After vomiting until there was nothing left, Oneweek wiped his mouth and panted heavily.
"How do you feel?" Sunday asked from the side.
"I kind of want to kill you right now…"
[Hahahahaha, these two are actually hilarious together.]
[It's kinda weird—their personalities are so different. How did they even end up hanging out?]
[Feels like they're doing crosstalk comedy.]
[If I say I didn't understand any of this, no one's gonna judge me, right?]
[No one will.]
— —
"In short, since the trouble in Aideen Park is related to me, I cannot simply ignore it. No need for Dreamweavers—I will root out these distortions myself." Sunday's tone was grave.
"How do you plan to do that?"
"It's not complicated. Every distortion has a source. Once it manifests, it can be traced. We can deliberately violate some of the rules—as long as we can bear the consequences.
When the lingering echoes attempt to correct us, I will locate their origin. Then, I will use 'tuning' to soothe the dreamscape."
Oneweek shrugged. "In simple terms—right now, rules exist to be broken?"
[Stelle: Director, she's stealing my lines!]
[Rules are made to be broken!]
[Me: Infringement—blatant infringement!]
The two first arrived at the Golden Gacha Machine.
Oneweek picked up the note and read aloud. "'When experiencing attractions, do not use bottle caps sold by the Dream Troupe.'"
He looked around. "Where's this Dream Troupe? Hiding?"
At that moment.
A dog bark came from not far away.
"There it is—pretty good at hiding. Alright, step one: buy a bottle cap from it." Oneweek shook his head at Sunday.
"Wait a moment." Sunday placed some Alfalfa Credits in front of the Bubble Lithium Dog.
The Bubble Lithium Dog barked again. "Ao ao ao woo—"
"Hey, I actually understood that. Let me translate: 'Who do you think you're fooling with this pocket change?'"
Sunday looked speechless and added more Alfalfa Credits.
"If this still isn't enough, I'll have to trouble you to step in."
Oneweek was puzzled. "Step in how? You don't only have this much money, do you?"
"My current identity is that of a fugitive."
"Ao ao!" The Dream Troupe let out a short bark. It stepped forward and tilted the soda bottle hanging from its body toward the two of them.
[Feels like Scott's voice acting.]
[I'm getting that vibe too.]
[Scott's dog barks are too iconic.]
— —
Afterward, the two obtained the Sorella bottle cap. After some trial and error—though the process carried some risk—they at least located the source of the distortion.
Recalling the past, clearing away hidden dangers—it was time to leave Aideen Park. Looking back, then moving forward—perhaps these are the only two things a person can truly do in life.
Sunday stopped at the park's main gate.
"What now?" Oneweek asked.
"Just looking back."
"There's nothing there."
"That's precisely the meaning of revisiting old ground. In my eyes, everything is still vivid.
The younger me experienced failure here and exhausted himself cleaning up the aftermath. I thought I had changed a great deal, but now it seems I'm still circling in the same place.
I'm glad to relive the past in this way. Let's go—this farewell is still far from over."
Having had enough of the long monologue, Oneweek asked, "Where to next?"
"Oti Mall. But that road also has Bloodhounds. We should avoid the crowds…" Sunday furrowed his brows and glanced behind him.
"I mean no offense, but the two of you had best not approach that area." Welt Yang appeared behind them.
Oneweek looked at Welt innocently. "What's wrong?"
"The situation is still unclear. There have been some anomalies nearby; the Family is currently investigating." Welt noticed something odd about the person in front of him. "Are you alright?"
In Welt Yang's perspective, Sunday appeared as a female android.
[Hahaha, so that's how he looks in other people's eyes?]
[So is Sunday technically a crossdressing king now?]
[I can see Sunday sweating buckets.]
[Sunday has the feeling he's about to get yeeted by the Express.]
[Robin seems to use a similar skin suit too—guess the siblings have similar tastes.]
[I hereby dub her Lady Sunday!]
— —
Sunday turned around calmly. "I'm fine. Although the Stellaron crisis has been resolved, those with ulterior motives may still exist. Sir, your reminder is well-taken. We'll take a detour immediately. Please take care as well."
With that, the two prepared to cross the street.
"Please wait!" Welt Yang called out to stop them.
A bead of cold sweat slid down Sunday's temple.
"While dreams are safe, please also watch for oncoming vehicles."
Sunday finally let out a breath of relief. "Thank you."
Then he quickly pulled Oneweek across to the other side and vanished.
[Hahaha, Old Yang is so considerate.]
[I'm dying laughing.]
[When Old Yang said 'vehicles,' was he subtly hinting at something—like the Astral Express?]
— —
Watching the two depart, Welt Yang looked up at Robin's poster.
Meanwhile.
Both Oneweek and Sunday felt as though they had narrowly escaped death.
"That guy's no ordinary person. It's a miracle we weren't discovered just now."
"The Astral Express should have set off long ago—why is he still in Penacony?" Sunday folded his hands in front of his chest. "We don't need to change our plans because of this, but we must remain vigilant. I hope that during these few days while I've been a prisoner, Penacony hasn't encountered any new troubles."
To avoid unnecessary complications, Sunday suggested they split up and maintain some distance while continuing.
Oneweek nodded and headed back the way they came.
Sunday continued toward his destination. Suddenly, he felt a chill down his spine.
"I was too optimistic. Will you allow me a few words of explanation?"
"You may—but before that." Welt Yang raised his cane. He adjusted his glasses; countless black holes flickered into existence around Sunday. "Place your hands behind your back. Answer my questions in short sentences."
"Short drama?"
Welt Yang gave a faint smile. "I must ensure your words contain no dangerous incantations hidden within."