Dan Heng stood with his arms crossed, watching him with a blank expression—his eyes carrying that unmistakable, resigned "Here we go again" fatigue.
March 7th tilted her head, her pink-and-blue eyes brimming with pure curiosity and excitement. "Huo Linfei, are you two rehearsing some new act for the Warm Sun Festival? A mysterious magic show—hiding in trash cans?"
Welt Yang pushed up his glasses, brows slightly knitted, and exchanged a worried look with Himeko beside him. Himeko held her coffee cup; beneath her elegant smile was the kind of deep concern reserved for the mental well-being of one's crew.
"…That subtle sensation… could this be the work of the Masked Fools?" Black Swan stood a bit farther back, a finger resting against her chin as she studied the two golden trash cans. She murmured to herself, "What are they trying to accomplish by stuffing something like this onto the Express?"
Meanwhile, inside the trash can next to Huo Linfei's, Stelle was completely unfazed by the spectacle. The lid was shut. She was sleeping like a rock. You could even hear her faint, steady breathing from within.
Huo Linfei's brain blue-screened for three full seconds—then he shot upright inside the trash can and blurted out:
"Everyone, listen to me! I can explain! This isn't what you think!"
Dan Heng finally couldn't take it anymore. He gave a small, utterly helpless shake of his head.
March 7th got even more excited. "Wow! Explaining is just covering up! Come on, come on—what's the act? Do you need me to help?"
"Ahem." Welt cleared his throat. "Huo Linfei… if you've been under too much pressure lately, you can talk to me or Himeko."
Himeko nodded in agreement, her gaze gentle but worried.
Huo Linfei scrambled out of the golden trash can with both hands and feet, still wearing the dazed fog of half-sleep—plus the full-body embarrassment of public, catastrophic social death. He patted at dust that wasn't there, looked around at his companions' wildly different expressions, and in the end he couldn't help it.
He pointed at the golden trash can that still gleamed with a strangely enticing sheen and asked, sincerely:
"So… when you saw this can, you really didn't feel anything? Like—your heart gets itchy, and there's a voice going, 'Open it. Sit inside. Just try it'?"
"No." Dan Heng shook his head, expression unchanged—his eyes broadcasting total incomprehension and zero interest.
March 7th leaned closer to inspect it, even rapped her knuckles against the metal, then declared, "Nope! It's just shiny. But if you sit in it for photos, the lighting would be amazing!"
Welt adjusted his glasses. "Judging from the material and craftsmanship, it is indeed more visually striking than an ordinary container. But it does not provoke any physiological or psychological impulse in me to enter it."
Himeko took a graceful sip of coffee and smiled. "Perhaps it's better suited as decoration, rather than as lodging for a gentleman?"
At last, Huo Linfei's eyes fell on Black Swan.
The Memokeeper's lips curved with a faintly amused smile. She stepped forward slowly—yet didn't touch the trash can. Instead, she swept her fingertips through the air just above its surface, as if sensing some invisible current.
"That's a very interesting question, Mr. Huo Linfei," Black Swan said, her voice carrying that storyteller's magnetism unique to her. "From a psychological perspective, this seemingly abrupt 'affinity' for a particular container—or an 'urge to enter'—may not be without cause."
She tilted her head slightly, her gaze passing over Huo Linfei and then the still-sleeping Stelle inside the other can.
"It may stem from a deep-seated search for 'safety.' Closed, solid, enveloping spaces often stir the subconscious memory and longing for the womb—or for shelter. Especially when an individual is tired, stressed, or lost…" She cast a pointed glance at Huo Linfei. "…for example, someone who is clearly sleep-deprived. In such cases, the impulse to seek safety and isolation becomes stronger."
"Second," she continued, a thread of near-invisible Memory-light coiling faintly around her fingertip, "it may relate to a projection of 'curiosity' and 'exploratory desire.' An object that looks distinctive—one that doesn't belong in its surroundings—can easily be flagged by the subconscious as a vessel for 'potential surprise' or 'unknown secrets.' Opening the lid and entering it symbolizes exploring the unknown, and the expectation of finding 'treasure.' Miss Stelle's behavioral patterns, in particular, align rather well with this."
She gestured toward the quiet trash can.
Black Swan's smile deepened. Her eyes returned to the golden can. "And we can't rule out a kind of 'imitation' or 'social suggestion.' When someone sees a companion perform a strange act—and apparently gain some satisfaction from it—another individual, already in poor condition and with diminished willpower, may unconsciously feel compelled to mimic the behavior in hopes of attaining a similar experience… or a sense of belonging."
"As for whether there are factors that stray beyond common sense…" Her gaze drifted, ever so slightly, back over the trash can.
She didn't say the next thought out loud:
For instance, traces of a prank left behind by certain factions exceptionally skilled at manipulating minds and steering emotions—that, too, is possible.
"…."
Now there truly was no washing this clean—not even if he threw himself into the Yellow River.
"Mmm…"
From the trash can beside him, Stelle seemed to be stirring awake. A soft, indistinct mumble slipped out from within.
Penacony—the Planet of Festivities—was forever bathed in an unreal, dazzling radiance. Star skiffs and ships from across the galaxy darted through the lanes like schools of fish. Light melodies floated in the air, mingled with the sweet fragrance of desserts.
A luxurious shuttlecraft glided into a private berth. The hatch slid open, and the first to step out was an elegant figure.
"Thank you again, Miss Acheron," Robin's voice was clear and sweet, her gratitude sincere. "If you hadn't happened to pass by and lend a hand, I'm not sure I could have returned to Penacony so smoothly."
A tall woman followed—draped in long garments of white, black, and violet—walking with unhurried composure.
Acheron's gaze settled calmly on Robin. She inclined her head slightly, her voice low and faintly ethereal. "It was nothing."
Her reply was brief—almost as though she wasn't used to being thanked.
But Robin's smile only brightened. She lifted her skirt slightly and made an inviting gesture.
"May I have the honor of inviting you to the upcoming Charmony Festival? You would be the dream's most distinguished guest."
Acheron fell silent for a moment. Her eyes seemed to pass beyond Robin, toward Penacony's skyline—like a massive castle made of fantasy—drowned in the nearly illusory atmosphere of celebration.
"Okay."
Just one word.
But it carried a certain weight as it fell into the noisy air.
Robin's face bloomed into delighted surprise. "That's wonderful! I'll arrange the best seat for you! I hope you'll enjoy this banquet of dreams."
Join here to read ahead.
In Star Rail, Ultra-Beast Armored — Have I Caught "Equilibrium"? l (Chapter 80)
Uma Musume, But I Only Have Five Years Left to Live (Chapter 120)
Zenless Zone Zero: I'm a Doctor, Not a Bangboo (Chapter 100)
Ben Tennyson Wants to Join the Justice League (Chapter 100)
TYPE-MOON: Redemption Beginning with the Holy Grail War (Chapter89)
Yu-Gi-Oh! — Transmigrated into the White Dragon Girl (Chapter86)
"Is this chat group even serious?" (Chapter63)
I, Lord Ravager, Utterly Loyal! (Chapter75)
Can Playing Games Save the World? 53
Crossover Anime Multiverse: The Demon Hunter of an Unnatural World 57
From Junkman to Wasteland 35
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