After meeting with Cocolia, Welt followed the script, steeling himself to explain their situation and offer their help in saving Belobog.
Of course, the whole exchange was so mind-numbingly boring that our protagonist, Mo Wang, nearly fell asleep. Since it was completely devoid of any interesting content, a certain author will skip the tedious details.
The final outcome was that nothing was decided, and the Express crew was sent to a hotel in Belobog to rest.
Everything seemed to be going smoothly, yet for some reason, Welt couldn't shake a feeling of unease, as if something terrible was about to happen. He just couldn't put his finger on what it was.
"Hey, Uncle Yang, everything went great, right? Why the long face?" March 7th asked, seeing his worried expression.
"It's nothing," Welt replied honestly. "It's just... things went a little too smoothly. That's what's worrying me."
"Too smoothly? Isn't that a good thing? I thought the Supreme Guardian was really easy to talk to. Didn't she say she'd do everything she could to help us?" March asked, scratching her head in confusion.
"Well..." Welt didn't know how to explain. Smooth was good, but when the person making things smooth was Cocolia, it set him on edge. He knew this wasn't the same Cocolia he knew, that her personality would be different, but he just couldn't convince himself to trust her.
He frowned, looking out the hotel window at the bustling, yet unfamiliar, streets of Belobog. The neon lights flickered, crowds milled about, and everything seemed normal—almost too normal. The more he observed, the stronger his unease grew.
"Don't you find it strange, March?" Welt asked in a low voice. "Cocolia's attitude... it was a little too friendly."
March tilted her head. "And that's a bad thing? Would you have preferred she gave us the cold shoulder or just kicked us out?"
"No, that's not what I mean," Welt said, trying to gather his thoughts. "It's just... I know Cocolia, to some extent. She would never trust outsiders so easily, especially not a group of self-proclaimed 'saviors' who just appeared out of nowhere."
"I don't get it. Uncle Yang, did you know the Supreme Guardian before this?" March's little head was spinning.
But Welt didn't answer. Instead, he turned to Mo Wang, who was slacking off nearby.
"Mo Wang, what's your take on all this?"
Welt didn't particularly want the troublemaker's opinion, but since they were the only two present who knew Cocolia, he had little choice.
"Huh? Me?" Mo Wang pointed to himself, then said nonchalantly, "If you're asking for my opinion on Cocolia, I'd say you might as well just kill her now."
"K-Kill her? That's a bit..."
"Hey, Welt, have you forgotten what kind of person Cocolia is? She seems nice on the surface, but she's not above stabbing you in the back."
"I'll tell you right now, if there hadn't been other people there, I would've made my move. I don't care if it's a parallel universe Cocolia or what, I'll kill every single one I see."
"It's called Anti-Cocolia Syndrome. Look it up."
"This..." Welt was at a loss for words. He couldn't say he didn't understand Mo Wang's feelings. If Cocolia had left even a single positive impression on them, they wouldn't be acting this way. In fact, if he recalled correctly, the Honkai Cocolia had died at Mo Wang's hands.
"Besides, didn't you notice, Welt? When we mentioned the Stellaron, that woman wasn't surprised at all. Even though Bronya and the others had no idea what it was. I'm telling you, she's hiding something. She's probably already plotting how to get rid of us."
"Dan Heng, what are they talking about? I don't understand a single word," March whispered, a confused look on her face. Why did these two have such a strong opinion of the Supreme Guardian? Mo Wang looked like he wanted to kill her on the spot.
"Maybe something happened between them in the past," Dan Heng replied, showing little interest. He did, however, agree with Mo Wang's assessment that Cocolia was hiding something.
"Well, let's just leave it for now," Welt sighed. "We'll discuss Cocolia tomorrow. For now, we can't afford to have any conflicts with the people here. Especially you!" he said, pointing at Mo Wang. "Don't you dare sneak out in the middle of the night, disguise yourself as someone else, and assassinate the Supreme Guardian. You hear me?!"
"Oh, so that's an option? Got it." Mo Wang's eyes lit up. That's a great idea! I'll just disguise myself as Sampo tonight, sneak in, and kill Cocolia. Sampo probably wouldn't mind. And if that doesn't work, I can always frame the Stellaron Hunters. I'm sure my dear mother, along with Wolfie and Firefly, wouldn't have any objections.
"What did you just 'get'?! What are you thinking about?!" Welt's face darkened. If he was sure he could win, he would have "cleaned house" right then and there.
...
That Night—
After a three-hour lecture from Welt, Mo Wang was finally allowed to return to the room Bronya and the others had arranged for them.
"Whoa, this is pretty shabby." The room's decor was... rustic. To put it nicely, it was filled with a nostalgic charm, each piece of furniture a priceless antique. To put it bluntly, it looked like a motel in a third-rate town. The furniture was probably older than Welt.
But it made sense. Belobog was dirt poor. The large machinery and defensive structures outside were at least several centuries old. By comparison, the hotel furniture was practically brand new.
Mo Wang had always found it strange, even when playing the game. Belobog was a tiny place, with a population that might not even reach a million.
What was the point of having a hotel in the Overworld, which could be explored in a few hours?
And apparently, the occupancy rate was quite high. Who would choose to stay in a hotel when they had a perfectly good house?
Or was the housing market in Belobog so inflated that hotels were the cheaper option?
"Sigh..."
Mo Wang let out a breath. He grumbled about the rundown room, but he had no other choice. He patted the bed, which looked older than his grandfather, sending a cloud of dust into the air and making him cough.
"Well, it's just for one night."
He sat down, and the bed frame groaned in protest.
Despite everything, Mo Wang was fast asleep in under a minute.
"Huh? What's going on?"
He had just drifted off, but his consciousness was suddenly wide awake. He was standing in the middle of Belobog's public square. And in front of him were over a dozen gleaming, golden trash cans.
"Huh? Trash cans?"
The sight of them made his brain short-circuit. They stood there, as if waiting for his favor, and the absurdity of the situation was overwhelming.
"What the hell? Am I dreaming about trash cans now? I know I've been a little obsessed lately, but this is ridiculous. Did they come looking for me because I didn't get to open any today?"
He had expected this level of trash-can-dream obsession to hit when he got to Penacony, not right at the beginning of his journey. (So he's self-aware...)
He stood there, hesitating. Should I open them? I really want to. But I have a bad feeling about this...
His rational mind screamed that it was a trap. Dreaming about trash cans was weird enough, but golden ones? But his instincts were screaming, "Open! Open! Open! It would be a crime not to!"
"Screw it. It's just a dream. What's the worst that can happen?"
He marched up to the first one, took a deep breath, and threw open the lid.
A pile of shimmering trash greeted him: broken toys, rusty gears, even a few shiny coins. His eyes lit up, and he began to rummage.
"Wow, this is some high-quality trash!" he exclaimed, completely forgetting it was a dream.
Suddenly, the trash can let out a low groan.
"Hmm?"
Mo Wang froze.
"You... you've finally come..." a voice emanated from the can, filled with sorrow and rage.
"Holy crap! The trash can is talking!" Mo Wang stumbled back.
"You... you cruel monster!" The voice grew louder, and then the trash cans sprouted muscular arms and legs, exuding an aura of pure... philosophy.
"What the hell?! The trash cans have come to life?!" Mo Wang stared, then clutched his head. "Okay, I really need to see a therapist. This is not right. I'm dreaming about the philosophical trash cans ahead of schedule? This is bad."
He was genuinely concerned for his mental state. He thought he wouldn't have to face an army of philosophical trash cans until he reached Penacony.
But here he was, dreaming about them with startling realism. If he told anyone, they'd think he was insane. He was starting to think he needed a stay at Arkham Asylum.
"I wonder if Belobog has a psychiatrist. Does Natasha do that on the side? This is really bad."
"You! You heartless trash-rummaging fiend!" the lead trash can yelled, waving its arms. "Do you have any idea what you've done to us? You rummage through us, empty us, violate us! We have dignity too!"
"Yeah!" the others chimed in, their non-existent eyes burning with rage. "Every time you're done with us, we feel so empty and alone!"
Mo Wang was baffled. "Isn't this a bit of an overreaction? I just opened a few lids."
"An overreaction?! Of course it's not!" their voices boomed. "You don't understand our pain! Today, we, the strongest warriors of the trash can clan, will make you pay!"
The lead can charged, the others close behind.
"Hey, you're taking this a little too far." Mo Wang pulled out a baseball bat.
Just as the lead can reached him, he swung.
SPLAT!
The golden trash can was instantly flattened into a pancake.
The other cans froze mid-charge.
"Did you all forget... this is my dream?" Mo Wang said, the environment around them twisting into a nightmarish landscape. He loomed over them like a demon king. "Who do you think you are, acting so tough in my dream?"
"Uh oh. This is not good." The trash cans were stunned. This wasn't in the script! They were supposed to berate him, teach him a lesson, and make him repent! When did he become the final boss?
"You're just trash! Die!"
Mo Wang's baseball bat transformed into a spiked club. After a brutal beatdown, the trash cans were reduced to scraps. It was the apocalypse for their kind. The ten golden champions of the trash can clan had been utterly vanquished.
Mo Wang looked down at the "corpses" and smacked his lips. He walked over to the first can he had flattened.
"Alright, the show's over. Are you going to keep this up? It's getting boring. Can we get a new script?"
The flattened can suddenly sprang back to life.
"Hah? You dare call my meticulously crafted script 'boring'?! Are you dissing my, Aha's, screenwriting skills?!"
As Mo Wang watched with a look of pure disgust, the golden trash can transformed into a strange man wearing a smiley-face mask.