Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

When the note suddenly appeared on the TV, Michael was, as usual, curled up on his sofa watching *The Immortal and The Restless*.

"Oh... fuck."
Despite a sense of foreboding, he turned off the TV and moved forward to check the note, wondering what had disturbed his supposedly peaceful afterlife.

He picked up the note. It read:
"Looking for some fun? yes/no"

No, thanks. I'm quite happy being bored here.
He rolled his eyes, thinking to himself.

He grabbed a pen and circled "NO." The note turned to ash and vanished.

But after a while, the same note reappeared.

Each time he circled "No," the note would disappear, only to reappear shortly after.
He tried ignoring it, but the note wouldn't disappear. Eventually, another one with the same message would pop up in a noticeable spot.

He experimented and found that no matter which note he circled "No" on, all of them would disappear at the same time.

He tried asking the afterlife's management or whoever was in charge. They said they weren't sure what was going on, but they’d ask higher-ups. However, it would take a while for a response, and they needed some samples of the notes.

While waiting, Michael couldn't circle any more "No's," so the notes kept piling up. He started using them for origami and even cutting paper for fun.

Time didn’t really exist in the afterlife, but Michael tried to come up with ways to track it, hoping to figure out if there was any regularity to the notes' appearances.

After trying several different methods, he discovered a pattern, though that was all he could determine.

He continued folding the notes into origami or using them to practice doodling. Some of his drawings turned out so well that he regretted it a little, knowing he would eventually destroy them all. But it didn't matter—he’d done plenty of things he regretted, and this was just the smallest of them.

Then, after who knows how long, once he'd gotten used to the whole note situation, sitting on his sofa watching *The Immortal and The Restless* while waiting for the paper lanterns to dry, the doorbell rang.

"We found that these notes seem to come from another world and don’t have any malicious intent."

"That’s it? There's no way to stop them?"

"Unfortunately, no."

"Fuck... I guess it's some kind of interdimensional forced marketing," Michael thought.

"Since there’s nothing else we can do to help, I'll be going now."

"Thanks."

Well, what the hell am I supposed to do with this shit now?
He thought in frustration.

Well, my life can't get any shittier.

Angrily, he circled "yes."

Chapter Text

When Michael circled "Yes," he felt a flash of white light before finding himself in a small room. One wall was made of black glass, and across from it was a couch similar to the one in his own room. On the couch was a Foxy plush, much like the one his younger brother used to have. On the nearby table was an unopened bag of popcorn with a sign that read:
“If you need, I can help you be able to eat again.But I don’t know what will happen if you get your organs back.Maybe it won’t feel comfortable—I can’t read your mind.But if you’re ready, you can just poke the sign.”

No, I don’t want a stranger altering my body, thanks.

The friendliness of the sign made him uneasy; he wasn’t used to being treated that way, especially since the person seemed to know so much about his situation.

As expected, decisions made in anger are usually bad ideas.

He continued to observe the room and noticed the floor was covered with a nice, clean carpet. Near the door was a white bear mask, looking similar to one he used to have but much cleaner. He picked it up—it was obviously brand new—and underneath it, he saw another note.

How many notes are there in this place?

He picked up the note, and beneath it was something familiar, but he decided to read the note first.
It said:
“Sometimes, there will be another guest here. So when you go outside the room, maybe you can wear this. The illusion disc not work all the time.”

There were actually doors on both sides of the room, but he decided to open the one with the mask and illusion disc first. He clipped the illusion disc to his collar, turned it on, put on the mask, and then opened the door.

What he saw was… a clean bathroom. There was a mirror covered by a cloth, no toothpaste or razors, but the counter had sewing kits and medical bandages. Opening the cabinet beneath the sink, he found an abundance of bandages, a small stash of toilet paper, bleach, cleaning supplies, a toilet brush, a folding mop, and for some reason, a first aid kit. (They do know I’m a corpse, right?)

Out of curiosity, he opened the first aid kit. Guess what? Another damn note.

“Hey, I know you are a corpse, but you are a good guy. Maybe you will want to help people get some medicine when they're hurt.”

The medications inside were clearly labeled in simple English, with instructions and warnings—though none of them had expiration dates. Or rather, the expiration date read "forever."

He was a little annoyed. How dare this person boldly claim he’s a "good person"?

He slammed the cabinet shut with unnecessary force, then looked at the cloth-covered mirror. He didn’t feel ready to see his reflection, so he checked the faucet, toilet, and toilet paper, as well as the shower curtain beside him.

Pulling back the curtain, he stared at the bathtub with some disappointment, unsure of what he had been expecting. But to his surprise, the tub was neatly stocked with various bath products, including bath salts.

Just for fun, he tested the size of the tub and found that even someone as large as him had enough space to stretch out comfortably.

He checked the switches, and the water worked fine. He also flushed the toilet, and the water was blue. Opening the toilet tank, he saw a toilet cleaner inside, with an expiration date also labeled as "forever." According to the label, it had a sakura fragrance.
But Michael had no sense of smell, so he couldn’t confirm that.

After doing all this, he decided to check the mirror. He pulled down the cloth to reveal a cabinet mirror that opened from the center. In the reflection, he saw himself as he had looked in life. He then remembered the illusion disc was still on.
However, he had no intention of turning it off, so he opened the cabinet. Inside, there were various deodorants and towels, as well as a small notebook. Flipping it open, he found notes on how to deodorize a corpse and tips for corpse preservation, all handwritten.

Who the hell else would need this besides me?

The thought of someone studying these things just for him made him feel uncomfortable.

He closed the notebook and put it back, shut the cabinet, and returned to the room. He noticed the layout had changed slightly. There was now a wardrobe and a bookshelf.
The bookshelf contained books he hadn’t seen before, mostly novels, mechanical guides, and anatomy texts. There were also many notebooks of varying paper quality and art supplies. As usual, there was a note:
“Sorry, I just thought to add these. I wasn’t sure what kind of books you will like, so I put in some from my mine.”

Whoever the owner of these notes was, Michael started to guess they were probably a sentimental guy. (Typical gender stereotypes of the era he was born in.)

The wardrobe contained various clothes and accessories in different colors and styles, as well as several pairs of new shoes—all his size. One compartment held bedding sets and blankets.

Out of curiosity, he took them out and made the bed. It was the perfect size for him.

He opened the last compartment, which was nearly empty except for a note that said, “Put dirty clothes and sheets here.”

Well, I guess those people were right. Whoever the owner of these notes is, they truly don’t mean any harm.

He picked up a remote that had somehow appeared on the table, sat on the couch, and pointed it at the black glass. (Judging by the layout, he guessed it was some kind of TV.)

Sure enough, the black glass displayed some options and a tutorial. Following the instructions, he selected a soap opera and began watching.

Chapter Text

In the eerie school building, a blue ghost sat on the teacher's desk, swinging her legs, looking a little bored.

Suddenly, a note appeared in her field of vision, glowing faintly blue. She floated over to take a look.

"Want to temporarily leave this stinking school? Yes/No"

It was already quite bold to look at an unknown note, but surprisingly, her intuition told her that the note had no ill intent. However, she didn’t have a pen on her.  

So, she simply poked the "Yes" with her finger, muttering, “Of course I want to leave...”

In the blink of an eye, she found herself in a clean and cozy room. One wall was made entirely of black glass, the floor was covered with beige tatami mats, and in the middle of the room was a table with snacks on it. One side of the room had a wall lined with plush toys, while the other side had a door, which opened to reveal a seemingly endless blue hallway, lined with many more doors.

She decided to step out and take a look, because, why not?

Sometimes she walked, sometimes she floated. Most of the doors opened into rooms that looked almost identical to the first one, each with a large black pane of glass.  

Some rooms had nameplates on the doors, with what appeared to be names written on them—some in Japanese, and others in languages she didn’t recognize. Most of the doors didn’t have nameplates yet.

After wandering for who knows how long, she arrived at a place that looked like a grand hall. It was still blue and had a somewhat fancy feel to it.

She continued to explore and eventually found a kitchen. Opening the fridge, she saw pudding inside, with a note saying it was free to take.

She wasn’t sure if ghosts could eat, but she grabbed one anyway.

She then wandered to what looked like a dining area, sat down, and began to enjoy her pudding.

“If only Naomi and the others were here…” she thought wistfully. The sweet taste of the pudding only highlighted the bitterness in her heart, and the slight burning in her throat when she swallowed certainly didn’t help.

After finishing the pudding, she laid her head on the table and started to doze off. Can ghosts even sleep? she wondered groggily.

When she woke up, the familiar stench of blood and rot from Heavenly Host Elementary filled her nostrils once again. She found herself poking at a note on the floor. This time, the words had changed to:  

"Hope you got some rest! When you want to come back, just prepare yourself mentally and think about coming over! (wink☆)"

Chapter Text

Today, Seiko was swinging her legs idly at some corner of the school building as usual. Lately, she had visited that mysterious space several times, and her room's layout was increasingly resembling the room she had when she was alive.

During her explorations, she found that the black walls in her room weren't the only ones capable of playing videos. In fact, she discovered several communal viewing areas—some resembling theaters, others like classrooms.

Besides these viewing rooms, there were also libraries and gyms equipped with fitness equipment. She wondered which place was bigger: this mysterious area or Heavenly Host Elementary School.

Sometimes she amused herself by counting the nameplates along the corridor, noticing that their number was gradually increasing. Last time, she even saw two boys peeking curiously from the same room.

Not wanting to startle them, she decided against approaching them when they retreated back into their room.

Thinking of this, she closed her eyes and, as usual, arrived in "her room."

Opening her eyes, she first rummaged through her wardrobe, changing into more comfortable casual clothes. She put on a green wristband and switched it on—it was said this could make her appearance more human-like, hiding her semi-transparent body, unfocused pupils, and the strangulation marks on her neck. Then she skillfully opened the door to the corridor and stepped out.

—Then she noticed someone stepping out from the door opposite hers—a tall man who seemed about 190 cm.

The man wore a yellow and blue outfit, seemingly a well-designed uniform. His face was hidden behind a white bear mask, preventing her from seeing his expression. A green ornament was pinned to his chest. Considering she felt no aura of a living person from him, she assumed he was probably deceased like herself.

His stance appeared somewhat stiff, and though seemingly calm, he subtly maintained a distance from her, as if subconsciously cautious.

Clearly noticing her as well, he tensed momentarily, shoulders tightening briefly before returning swiftly to his original indifferent posture.

Seiko glanced upward to read the nameplate on his door: Michael Afton.

"Why can I read this?" Seiko felt a bit panicked, as she'd never specifically studied English.

Michael, noticing Seiko’s slight panic, grew even more cautious. He focused on her, not yet looking at the nameplate behind her.

As their silent tension was about to become awkward, a large sheet of paper appeared between them. They could read its contents clearly without needing to step closer.

It was written in both English and Japanese: "Forgot to mention, there's a certain rule here, so as long as you intend for the other person to understand, you don't need to worry about language barriers☆."

Interestingly, the paper seemed deliberately placed incorrectly—the Japanese side faced Michael, and the English side faced Seiko.

After the note appeared, both of them lowered their heads to look at it.

For a moment, neither spoke.

Seiko was the first to lift her head and glance at Michael. She didn’t rush to speak.

Michael also looked up, meeting her eyes.

Just as the silence was about to curdle into awkwardness, Seiko finally gathered her courage and spoke:

“Hello!”

She startled herself with the volume of her own voice, and Michael instinctively stepped back half a pace.

Then Seiko gave her head a little shake, patted both cheeks lightly, and continued:

“My name is Shinohara Seiko! If you don’t mind, I would like you to call me Seiko, just as everyone else does!”

Michael didn’t answer straight away. He gave her a once-over, and for some reason the corner of his mouth curved in a faint smile—but he suppressed it quickly, replying:

“Michael. Michael Afton. You can call me Mike—just don’t get bloody cheeky.”

“…Can I really not call you Mikey?”

“No.”

“Uh… alright then, Mike. How about I show you around the place? Would that be alright?”

“…That would do.”

With Seiko’s guidance, Michael got acquainted with the surroundings. He seemed disinterested in the gym and kitchen but slowed his pace occasionally in the library. Noticing this, Seiko suggested he could take some books back to his room. She had previously discovered that the library would automatically replenish its stock if books were borrowed for a long time, so there was no need to worry about returning them.

"Thanks," Michael responded, selecting several smaller books. "...Didn't expect you to be so observant."

"You're welcome☆ Thanks for the compliment☆" Seiko cheerfully accepted his gratitude and continued to show Michael around.

After visiting all the places Seiko knew, she stopped.

"I've shown you pretty much all the places I've seen. If you'd like, we can keep exploring, or if you want to go straight back to your room, just find one of those specially decorated doors—they're in every room and lead back to the original corridor," she said, pointing toward a subtly placed door painted dark blue, light blue, white, and black, labeled "Quick Return Door."

"...Thanks. Guiding me around must've wasted a lot of your time," Michael thanked Seiko.

"Not at all! Feel free to knock on my door anytime you want to hang out!" Seiko replied cheerfully, hands on her hips. Then, as if remembering something, she added, "But if you prefer being alone, I totally understand."

"...Yeah," Michael nodded tiredly, then walked toward the indicated door. Upon stepping through, he found himself back in the original corridor, with his room right next to him. After closing the door, it disappeared entirely.

He didn't feel like thinking about how it worked right now. After visiting so many places, even as a dead man, he felt mentally exhausted. So, he returned to his room and shut the door.

Chapter Text

Basil had always been a nervous person, and the constant, sudden appearance of the notes wasn’t doing him any favors.

Since Sunny revealed the truth, he had made significant progress with his friends recently, even surprising his therapist.
But if he mentioned what was troubling him now, he knew he’d just end up back in the psych ward for a while.

The notes only appeared when he was alone, and whenever he tried to show them to someone else, they would disappear.

"Want to have some fun? It won’t take up your time. Yes/No."

Basil thought this was some kind of sick joke. The very presence of the notes was already affecting him.

He found himself needing to be around other people more than usual, but he tried desperately to suppress that need. He was already too clingy and didn’t want to burden his friends any further.

He started learning to ignore the notes rather than waste ink constantly circling "No."

This continued until one day.
It was the day he went to visit Sunny, and during the moment Sunny left to get water, the note appeared again. Basil habitually picked it up, folded it, and shoved it into his pocket, only to feel someone tap his shoulder from behind.

He didn’t need to turn around to know it was Sunny.
Still, he looked back at him.

Sunny pointed at the note Basil had just stashed away.

No, please not this.

Basil didn’t know how to explain. He figured the note would disappear like it always did, and he’d have to come up with a lie to get Sunny to drop the issue.
Even though lying came naturally to him, he didn’t like it.

Resigned, he pulled the note out and opened his hand. But just as he was about to say, “See, there’s nothing in my hand,” he realized the note was still there.

He stared blankly at the note, then back at Sunny’s face. Sunny’s eyebrows were slightly raised, looking both surprised and intrigued.

Then, to Basil’s shock, Sunny pulled out a note of his own.
It read: "Want to have some fun? Pretty please, and could you ask Basil too? He keeps ignoring me. It won’t take up your time! Yes/No."

In the quiet, they looked at each other, exchanging a wordless conversation with glances and minimal gestures, mainly about how much this whole thing had been upsetting Basil.

Finally, Basil took the pen Sunny offered him.

Are we really doing this?

Sunny nodded.

And together, they circled "Yes."

Chapter Text

"Want to see something interesting? Yes/No"

The first time the note appeared, he was dreaming.

So, thinking "Why not?" he circled "Yes."

Then, he found himself in a place that felt completely different from the dream.
It seemed like a small room with a large black glass pane on the wall. One side had a door, and when he opened it, he saw a spacious, clean blue hallway with several more doors. He closed the door and sat in the chair facing the glass. The chair was very comfortable, and there were some snacks next to him with a sign that said "Free to take."

When he focused on the glass, it started displaying interesting videos, almost like a TV.
After watching for a while, he noticed a few things these videos had in common:
1. The sound never suddenly got louder.
2. They all perfectly matched Sunny's tastes.
3. He had never seen or heard of any of these topics before, not even in real life. Even he couldn’t have imagined them out of nowhere.

He began to suspect that this wasn’t a dream.

Then he woke up.

He checked the clock—it had only been a few minutes since he had fallen asleep.

Then,  he saw another note:

"Did you enjoy the videos? Whenever you want to come back, just be ready and think about coming!"

Sunny, feeling a bit scared, tossed the note on the floor, and it crumbled into dust and disappeared.

Chapter Text

A flash of white light flickered before Basil’s eyes, and he found himself in an unfamiliar room. Looking around, he noticed some indoor plants and green wallpaper, with one wall replaced by black glass. Opposite the black glass wall was a sofa and a door labeled “Sunny’s room.”  

Aside from this, there were doors on either side of the room, one of which seemed to lead to a bathroom.

However, Basil didn’t think much about it at the moment. He quickly headed toward Sunny’s door and tried to open it, but when it didn’t budge, he noticed a doorbell beside it with a sign that read, “Ask your partner if they’re willing to open the door.” He pressed the doorbell, and the door opened shortly after.

──────────

Just like last time, with a blink of an eye, Sunny found himself in a similar room as before. The difference was the addition of a few more doors. One of the doors on the side of the sofa was labeled “Basil’s room,” and next to it was a doorbell.  

Before he could think too much, he heard a “ding-dong” coming from that direction. He opened the door, and there stood a distressed-looking Basil.

"Are you alright?"

Before Sunny could express his concern, he was pulled into a hug. Basil was clearly uneasy with this supernatural occurrence.

The two of them stayed like that for a while until Basil calmed down.

"Thank you,"  

Basil said, his face flushed when they finally parted, his tone a little awkward as he felt like he had overreacted.

Sunny gave him an “OK” gesture, signaling it was fine, and then pointed toward the door that was clearly neither the bathroom nor Basil’s room.

"Shouldn’t we explore the rooms first?"Basil say.

Sunny shrugged.

"Alright, if you insist."

With that, they opened the door and peeked outside. Beyond the door was a seemingly endless blue corridor, lined with many doors.  

Some doors had nameplates, though most didn’t.

They exchanged a glance, quickly closed the door, and decided to explore their own rooms first.

Sunny’s room wasn’t anything special. It had a similar vibe to the room he had before moving, with the same wallpaper and wooden floor, a large bed (which Sunny sorely missed), a small wardrobe (much smaller than the one he originally had), and a computer.

It lacked a bedside table and windows but had the addition of a bathroom door and a TV wall (they decided to call that black wall the TV wall).  

The bathroom layout was identical to the one back at Sunny’s old house, except it came with a pull-down mirror curtain.

Next, they went to Basil’s room. Basil’s room was also quite similar, sharing the same feeling of familiarity yet with slight differences from their original rooms.

After inspecting the rooms, Sunny suggested they watch something together, and a curious Basil joined him, snuggling up on Sunny’s sofa.  

They found an extra remote on the sofa, and since it was Sunny’s room, they naturally let Sunny take charge of it.  

Following the on-screen guide, they found some friendly-looking cartoons to watch together.

Chapter Text

When Basil woke up on the couch, he found Sunny sound asleep, leaning against him. Sometime during their nap, the TV wall had turned off, leaving the room quiet enough for him to hear Sunny’s steady breathing and his own heartbeat.

He wondered if his heartbeat might wake Sunny.

Right now, he felt as if a cat were resting on his lap, holding him still.

After a few minutes, Sunny was still asleep, and Basil could still feel his cheeks warming up, though he couldn't shake his head to cool down. His thoughts drifted back to his past conversations with his therapist. They had discussed his unhealthy attachment to Sunny and agreed he should keep a respectful distance until he could learn what a healthy boundary looked like.

But seeing Sunny so peaceful, he couldn't bear to wake him.

*If only I had a camera right now…* he thought absently.

Then his stomach made a faint gurgling sound, reminding him how hungry he was. Trying his best not to wake Sunny, he reached for some snacks on the table and quietly nibbled on them.

After eating, he began to yawn. He belatedly realized that before accidentally dozing off here (don’t think about the fact that you fell asleep on Sunny), he couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept well. Even with medication since starting therapy, he often struggled with insomnia or restless nights.

Lost in this drowsy haze, he drifted off to sleep again.

Chapter Text

Sunny felt awkward.

He awoke groggily, realizing he’d finally had a dreamless sleep, free of nightmares and the white space. But then he noticed he was resting against someone.

With his sharp memory, Sunny quickly recalled he’d been watching TV with Basil before falling asleep against him. Keeping his eyes closed, he could sense Basil’s gaze wandering over his face.

In that moment, he was grateful he didn’t blush visibly. Despite the warmth in his cheeks from feeling Basil’s breath, it was likely subtle enough not to be noticed.

Hearing Basil’s quiet munching nearby, he couldn’t help but imagine him cautiously nibbling on snacks—he must look really cute like that. Unable to resist, Sunny sneaked a glance at Basil, though only catching the side of his turned face from his angle. That soft blonde hair and fair skin made Basil resemble a porcelain doll. Sunny wondered why someone with such pale skin didn’t have freckles.

The bruises they’d both sustained had almost healed. Out of guilt, Sunny had bought Basil a cream for treating bruises and scars and insisted he use it daily. Basil, in turn, bought another and just as firmly insisted Sunny apply it too, so his own scars had faded significantly.

What Sunny hadn’t told Basil was that beyond his guilt, he also had a selfish reason for having Basil use the cream. He didn’t want to see that beautiful face marred by the injuries he’d caused.

Interestingly, this routine of reminding each other to apply cream brought about a habit of daily conversations. Beyond the cream, they’d remind each other to take their medications, wake and sleep on time. Basil always reminded Sunny to eat regularly, while Sunny got Basil to promise not to engage in passive self-harm (even though the bullies had stopped bothering him and now avoided him).

They’d share updates on their days—Basil mostly talking about his plants, while Sunny would mention his meals and how much he’d pushed himself to exercise. Though neither directly mentioned school life, they seemed to understand it was difficult for both.

Not long ago, Basil mentioned that his parents were considering transferring him to live with them, which made him anxious. It would mean leaving his familiar environment, changing therapists, and resigning from Polly’s care.

Sunny suggested he raise the issue with his therapist, who might give his parents some advice. Basil said he already had, and his therapist recommended seeing if Polly would stay employed as his caretaker to keep a familiar presence in his life to ease his anxiety. His parents had approached Polly, but she was still considering it, though she assured Basil he could always call her if he wanted to talk, even if she couldn’t continue as his caretaker.

After letting his thoughts wander, Sunny noticed the breathing beside him had become steady and quiet. He opened his eyes slightly and saw that Basil had fallen asleep again.

Chapter Text

Mizuki sat blankly on the edge of their bed, staring into the dimly lit room. Their once-bright bedroom, now layered with a fine film of dust from neglect, appeared dull and lifeless. They sighed, turning their gaze back to the screen, preparing to open the audio file and journey once again to that solitary lakeside world.

Suddenly, a message popped up on the screen:

“Looking for a place to rest where no one knows you? Yes/No”

As if guided by some unseen force, they clicked “Yes.”

After a flash of white light, Mizuki blinked, finding themselves in a pristine, white room. One wall was glass, making the space feel expansive. Through the glass, they could see the room’s layout: a large, comfortable bed behind them, a spacious wardrobe, and several draped mannequins nearby, with paint cans and brushes at their base—though Mizuki couldn’t tell what colors lay inside the white cans. On one side of the room, near the bed, there was a sewing workspace, while on the other side stood a bookshelf and a desk with a computer. The bookshelf had different sections: open shelves, a glass display, and drawers.

Mizuki pulled open one of the drawers.

“Ah… empty,” they murmured to themselves.

Next, they approached the two doors, opening each in turn. The door farthest from the bed led to a seemingly endless blue corridor lined with countless doors, some labeled, some not. Mizuki glanced back at their own door, which displayed their name.

The other door, near the bed, opened to an immaculate white bathroom. A large, elegant mirror with a white wooden frame hung on one wall, with a blow-dryer nearby. The sink held basic toiletries, mirror wipes, and cleaning supplies below. Beside the toilet were grooming supplies and a cabinet filled with various beauty products, though the selection seemed like an arbitrary choice of high-end items, as if picked by someone unfamiliar with makeup. The bathtub looked luxurious, surrounded by a range of fragrant bath products, hair treatments, skincare items, bath balls, and headbands.

Mizuki wondered why everything was white.

Returning to the room, they noticed a pink diary, open on the desk. The diary was blank, but below it was a note:

“For you. This has a password feature. Write down your thoughts whenever you want—it might help you feel better.”

Mizuki inspected the diary, noticing a lockable clasp. It was intricately decorated with bows, lace, and floral patterns, and the title on the cover, in rounded rose-gold letters, read “Mizuki’s Treasure” (their name written in kanji).

“Can I take this with me?” they asked aloud.

The writing on the note shifted:
“I have some limitations, so I can’t let you take it now, but if you participate in certain events and earn rewards, I can exchange them for this.”

A rare smile appeared on Mizuki’s face.
“Thank you,” they said. They hadn’t expected an answer, much less this one.

“I’ve spent too much time here. My family will worry.” They glanced at the note again.

The note changed once more:
“No need to worry. This place isn’t like ‘SEKAI.’ No matter how long you stay here, time won’t pass there. And if you want to leave, just think about going back and prepare yourself.”

Mizuki placed the diary on the desk, focused on the thought of returning, and then opened their eyes to find themselves back in their bed, staring at the audio file interface they had intended to open before.

“Was it a dream…?” they wondered, until they looked down and saw a note on their desk:

“Whenever you want to visit, just think it, and you’ll be here!”

“So, it wasn’t a dream…”

Chapter Text

When Izuku Midoriya woke up, he realized he had fallen asleep on the dormitory sofa, wrapped in a blanket.

Looking down, he noticed a note on his lap with two small button-like protrusions on it.

"Do you need some extra time to relax your mind? Yes/No"

His Danger Sense didn’t react, so it didn’t seem threatening.

“What is this…?” Just as he was pondering, one of his Blackwhips moved on its own and pressed Yes.

He felt like he had just blinked, and suddenly he was in an unfamiliar yet familiar room. It was covered in All Might posters and memorabilia, except for one black glass wall and three additional doors that weren’t in his actual dorm room.

He inspected the three doors. The one facing the black glass couldn’t be opened but had a doorbell. The other two led to a bathroom and a hallway.

The bathroom looked upscale, complete with a bathtub and various bathing supplies. Nearby, he found another note:

"Although your physical body won’t get clean in reality, a relaxing bath can always soothe your mind and body."

He briefly explored the room. Aside from everyday items like dumbbells, pens, and clothes, there was nothing unusual—except for some blank notebooks labeled with a message: "Items here cannot be taken back to your universe. They can only be used here."

On the desk was a stack of paper listing rules and instructions. Among them, a few stood out:

Fighting is allowed in the arena only.

Injuries sustained here won’t affect your real body, and healing here won’t carry over either.

No matter how long you stay here, there will be at most a one-second time difference when you return to your world—sometimes none at all.

No, you cannot enter this space during combat; it’s too dangerous.

Satisfied with his investigation, he decided to return to the dorm.

…Wait, what did that note say again?

Just think about sitting back and preparing to leave...

With that thought, Izuku found a place to sit, closed his eyes, and concentrated on returning.

Chapter Text

When he opened his eyes, he found himself back on the dormitory sofa, holding the note. Looking at the clock in the living room, it was already late.

As he walked to his room, he ran into Bakugo coming from the hallway.

“You’re awake.”

“Yeah, I was just heading back to my room. What about you, Kacchan?”

“Checking if the nerd on the sofa was awake.”

Izuku was a little surprised but also happy. “I see. Thanks, Kacchan!” he said with a smile.

“Don’t thank me. I came to check on you and to ask you something.”

“What is it?” Izuku tilted his head slightly, looking adorably confused.

Bakugo quickly shoved aside the thought that Izuku looked cute and handed him a note that had mysteriously appeared earlier.

“Let me see the one you’ve got.”

“Oh, sure.”

Used to Bakugo’s rough tone, Izuku didn’t mind and handed over his note in exchange.

"Looking for some fun or a chance to spar with strong opponents from other worlds? Yes/No

Note: You can invite Midoriya too."

Bakugo frowned as he noticed the pressed Yes mark on Izuku’s note.

The two exchanged a glance.

“Ka…”

“You’re an idiot, aren’t you!” Bakugo interrupted before Izuku could finish. He looked genuinely angry—not the usual irritable kind, but seriously mad.

“We just brought you back, and you’re already messing with some unknown thing,” he growled. “Damn it… I can’t believe I’m the one saying this.” He muttered to himself before raising his voice again, “But have you thought about how everyone would feel if you suddenly disappeared?!”

“Lucky for you, I’m the only one who found out, you idiot!”

Kacchan’s right… but… “Danger Sense didn’t detect anything dangerous!” Izuku blurted out before he could stop himself. “Besides, I actually did feel mentally refreshed there.”

He knew he was just arguing for the sake of arguing, but sometimes he couldn’t help himself around Kacchan.

Bakugo almost laughed in disbelief. Still, when he realized Izuku looked more energized—despite his physical fatigue—he stopped to observe him carefully.

His body was still weary from overwork, but his eyes… they were brighter than before.(note1)

Izuku was puzzled by Kacchan’s sudden calmness. He wanted to break the awkward silence with a question like, “Kacchan, you got a note too, right? You haven’t been there yet, have you?”

But Bakugo spoke first:

“Together.” His voice was steady, his expression firm.

“What?” Izuku blinked in confusion.

“If you’re going back to that place, I’m coming with you,” Bakugo declared bluntly, his tone leaving no room for argument. Hands in his pockets, his sharp gaze locked onto Izuku.

“I don’t… Fine.” Izuku instinctively wanted to refuse but stopped, remembering his impulsive and dangerous actions in the past.

“I recall the instructions said two people can enter together by either using the note or focusing on going together. Also… holding hands makes the process more stable.”

At the mention of holding hands, Izuku’s face flushed slightly. He stole a glance at Kacchan, silently praying he wouldn’t notice his embarrassment.

Izuku quickly shifted gears, his words tumbling out faster as he recalled more details: “Oh, and there’s this weird time rule. Like, if the second person’s timing is off, they’ll be synced to when the first person leaves! I think it’s to ensure stability… The notes are really detailed…”

When he stopped talking, he realized Kacchan was giving him a what-on-earth-are-you-babbling-about look. Izuku panicked and quickly concluded, “Uh, anyway, holding hands is the safest!”

“Fine,” Bakugo said casually, extending his hand.

Izuku immediately understood and took his hand.

Chapter Text

When Izuku grasped Bakugo's hand, a flash of white light engulfed them, and they found themselves in a dim blue hallway. In front of them were two adjacent doors, each marked with their full names in Japanese.

“You didn’t show up here last time, did you?” Bakugo raised an eyebrow, guessing from Izuku's puzzled expression.

“No,” Izuku confirmed. “I appeared in my own room before. I just opened the door to peek at the hallway and didn’t notice your room next to mine.” He added, “My room looks like my dorm room at UA, as if someone modeled it after it, but made some... adjustments.”

“Tch,” Bakugo clicked his tongue, visibly displeased at the idea.

“Well, let’s check if anything has changed in my room since last time!” Izuku suggested, eager to shift Bakugo’s focus. Without waiting for a response, he reached for his door and pulled it open.

“The doors here open outward?” Bakugo frowned, noting the unusual design. “Might come in handy when some idiot comes knocking—I could slam it open into their face and shut it fast.”

“I found it strange too,” Izuku replied. “Someone once explained to me that doors typically open inward for safety reasons and to save space. Bathrooms follow the same logic. The bathroom door in my room is normal, so I’m not sure why the main door here opens outward.”

As Izuku rambled, Bakugo surprisingly didn’t interrupt. He waited for Izuku to finish and then offered his own blunt take. “Instead of overthinking it, why not ask directly?” He flipped the mysterious slip of paper in his hand to its blank side and jotted down a question with a pen.

Within moments, a new note materialized in midair, floating before them:

“To give occupants a stronger sense of their room being a ‘personal sanctuary,’ distinct from the ‘outside’ hallway. The outward-opening doors symbolize stepping out to explore the unknown when you’re ready to connect with others from different worlds.”

“...”

Izuku and Bakugo exchanged a glance.

“Does this answer your question?” the note asked.

“I guess so...” Izuku murmured, rubbing his chin thoughtfully.

“Tch. Looks like you care a lot about the mental health of the people you dragged here,” Bakugo sneered, his expression a mix of irritation and skepticism.

The note’s text shifted again:

“Believe it or not, I want to offer a space where you can truly relax. My only selfish desire is to see how people from different worlds interact. If I wanted, I could force you here without your consent, but I haven’t, have I?”

Both boys caught the unspoken implication. Izuku smiled weakly, feeling oddly reassured, while Bakugo scowled in silent disagreement.

“And what about Izuku’s room?” Bakugo pressed, crossing his arms. “You obviously invaded our privacy to set it up.”

“That’s a long story. Wouldn’t it be more comfortable to sit down and talk about it in the room? Standing for too long must be tiring,” the note suggested.

“We don’t need your concern,” Bakugo snapped, though he didn’t resist as Izuku tugged him into his room.

Once inside, Bakugo’s first observation was the overwhelming presence of All Might posters. Classic nerd.

Meanwhile, Izuku noticed something new—a door opposite the black glass wall. Above it was a sign: Kacchan's Room. A small note hung on the doorknob, reading: “Please ring the doorbell. The door will only open with the occupant’s consent.”

“Kacchan, look at this,” Izuku called, pointing at the door. “There wasn’t a nameplate here last time.”

Bakugo glanced over and immediately bristled. The name “Kacchan” instead of “Bakugo” or his full name triggered a tiny spark of explosions in his palm. His forehead twitched, veins visible.

Sensing danger, Izuku quickly tried to defuse the situation. “Kacchan, how about we test if you can open this door without ringing the bell?”

Bakugo grunted in agreement and motioned for Izuku to try first. Izuku grabbed the handle and pushed—it didn’t budge, as if locked. He stepped aside, and Bakugo gave it a shot. To his surprise, the door swung open effortlessly when he pushed. However, when he tried pulling it inward, it was firmly stuck, despite the lock turning.

After Bakugo entered his room, Izuku lingered hesitantly outside. Bakugo turned and scowled. “How are we supposed to test anything if you stay out there?” Grabbing Izuku by the wrist, he dragged him inside.

“Kacchan?” Izuku blinked in surprise.

Bakugo ignored him. “Start looking around. See if anything stands out.”

Izuku observed the room. It was starkly different from the Bakugo bedroom he remembered as a child. There were gym weights in the corner, but also familiar elements, like All Might posters on the wall. The space was tidy and minimalistic, unlike his own room, which overflowed with All Might merchandise.

“Seen enough yet?” Bakugo’s impatient voice broke Izuku’s train of thought.

Izuku flushed, realizing how rude it was to scrutinize someone’s room like this. “Ah, sorry! I was just thinking—”

“Pfft. You nerd, muttering and analyzing out loud. I’ve got calluses on my ears from listening to you,” Bakugo interrupted, though there was no real anger in his tone.

Embarrassed, Izuku’s face turned beet red. He stammered, “S-sorry, Kacchan! I-I’ll check the bathroom!” before bolting to the adjoining door.

Bakugo chuckled softly. It had been a while since Izuku seemed this relaxed, and he found it unexpectedly entertaining. Of course, Izuku didn’t notice Bakugo’s amusement as he disappeared into the bathroom.

The bathroom was identical to the one in Izuku’s room, arranged symmetrically with the same toiletries and an emergency kit. Izuku made a mental note of the consistency as he returned to the main room.

“Anything to report?” Bakugo asked, his arms crossed as he stepped away from the front door, apparently done testing it.

“Your bathroom is a mirror image of mine,” Izuku replied. “Even the items are placed the same way. It must be a standard setup.” Then he turned toward the door. “Can I try opening it now?”

Bakugo stepped aside, letting Izuku attempt it. To his surprise, the door swung open easily for Izuku, but only outward, just like before.

“Alright, I’ll head back to my room. Let’s test the doorbell,” Izuku suggested, already planning the next step.

Bakugo gave a noncommittal nod, silently approving.

Once back in his room, Izuku shut the door. Moments later, he heard a sharp ding-dong. On the wall by the door, a glowing arrow pointed to the newly visible doorbell. Above it, a red X flashed. Izuku instinctively pressed the button.

The hallway went quiet for a moment, then another ding-dong rang out. This time, Izuku turned the handle and pulled the door inward. Bakugo stood on the other side, looking as irked as ever.

“Kac—”

“Did you seriously reject my request to come in just now?” Bakugo growled, his voice low and threatening.

“I-I was just testing!” Izuku stammered, flustered. “I thought it’d be fine—”

“Fine?” Bakugo cut him off, exhaling sharply before slamming the door shut.

Izuku blinked at the closed door, then tried pressing the button again. No response. Even knocking directly on Bakugo’s main door yielded silence.

Chapter Text

After being subjected to Bakugo's one-sided silent treatment, Izuku tried to return to their original world but found himself unable to do so. Upon returning to his room and reviewing the rules on the desk, he discovered that for anyone who entered this space together, all parties had to agree to leave before they could return to their respective worlds (except in cases of emergencies).

In other words, because of Bakugo’s unilateral refusal to communicate, the two of them were now stuck here.

When left alone, Izuku suddenly felt an overwhelming sense of fatigue, as though the weight of countless responsibilities was pressing down on him: the mission of One for All, Kacchan's current attitude, and the mysteries of this strange space—all of it was exhausting.

He decided to take some time to relax. He started by soaking in a hot bath in his room's bathroom. Out of curiosity, he tried adding some bath salts labeled as "onsen powder," and the effect was remarkable—it truly felt like being in a real hot spring.

While soaking, a thought struck him. Would it be possible for Bakugo to also relax in his own way here? He realized that Bakugo might not be avoiding communication entirely but might instead be giving Izuku space—or at least that’s what he hoped.

After his bath, Izuku felt significantly more refreshed, his thoughts clearer. Returning to his room, he decided to jot down some thoughts in one of the blank notebooks provided in this space. Writing helped him process his feelings, something he had learned over the years.

Eventually, a knock—or rather, a loud, rhythmic pounding—echoed from his door.

Izuku opened it to find Bakugo standing there with his usual scowl.
"Have you figured out how to get us out of here yet?" Bakugo demanded, arms crossed and looking impatient.

"Um, well, Kacchan…" Izuku hesitated but then explained, "We both have to agree to leave. If one of us refuses or doesn’t actively want to leave, we’ll be stuck here."

"Tch. Figures. And what were you doing, taking your sweet time in there?" Bakugo narrowed his eyes but didn’t seem as explosive as usual.

"I... I was trying to relax and think things through," Izuku admitted honestly.

Bakugo snorted but didn’t argue. Instead, he stepped into Izuku’s room without asking, looked around, and commented, "So this is the kind of nerd cave you have, huh? Figures you'd drown yourself in All Might merch even in a place like this."

Izuku scratched his cheek awkwardly, a little embarrassed but not offended. He knew Kacchan well enough to recognize this as his way of breaking the ice.

"Well, it’s not like I had a choice in how it was decorated," Izuku said with a sheepish laugh.

Bakugo glanced at the black glass wall and then at the desk where the rules were neatly laid out. "So what’s the deal with this place? Is it some kind of trap, or…?"

"I don’t think it’s a trap," Izuku replied. "From what I’ve read and observed, it’s more like a neutral space designed to let us rest or interact with others from different worlds."

"Rest? You don’t look any less tired to me," Bakugo said bluntly.

Izuku blinked, then smiled softly. "Maybe not physically, but… mentally, I think it’s helping. I feel like I can think more clearly now."

Bakugo didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he sighed and muttered under his breath, "Idiot."

Before Izuku could ask what he meant, Bakugo turned to him and said, "Fine. Let’s figure out how to leave. But don’t think this means I’m letting you off the hook for dragging me into this mess."

Izuku couldn’t help but smile, his heart feeling lighter. "Of course, Kacchan. Thank you."

With that, the two of them sat down together and began brainstorming, their usual dynamic of bickering and cooperation falling naturally into place. Despite the strangeness of the situation, Izuku couldn’t help but feel grateful for Bakugo's presence. Somehow, even in the most bizarre circumstances, they always managed to find a way forward—together.

Chapter Text

One day, a note suddenly appeared on Feng Bujue’s desk.

"Hey, Great Novelist, interested in more material for inspiration? It won’t take up your time, nor will it affect your life. It’s like occasionally watching an extra movie or having some downtime. You could even bring your notebook to write novels here. (Crying Cat Face) Yes/No."

This... was kind of tempting...
Although there’s a saying that unsolicited kindness is usually suspicious, it did seem quite intriguing.

As if it heard his thoughts, a second note appeared.

"It’s actually a place where people from different worlds can communicate with each other. Unless you join an event, you can leave anytime you want, and fighting isn’t allowed. When you return to your original world, it’s as if you never left—back to the very second you departed. Like I said, it won’t waste any of your time."

"This guy sure is trying hard to sell it, huh? Like he’s under some kind of quota pressure." He scoffed, reading the note’s persistent explanations.

Based on his usual luck, he didn’t quite believe that something that seemed so beneficial would just happen to him.

"Please, come on… Honestly, I just want to see how you’ll use your humor to mess with others. Come on, it’s a win-win!" A third note appeared.

"..."
Alright, no need to flatter my sense of humor that much.
Feng "Great Novelist" Bujue suddenly felt like he might not be quite so vain after all.

Feng Bujue was known for his self-confidence, but he often felt a bit speechless when he met overly enthusiastic fans.
That kind of praise was still enjoyable, though, and he spoke up smugly:

"So, what kind of method are you going to use to connect me to other worlds? Spirit? Spirit plus body? Or are you giving me some kind of ‘vessel’?"

Another note appeared:
"I’ll create a copy of your body based on its current information, then let your consciousness come here. Since you’ll be under my protection, you don’t need to worry about injuries to your consciousness or original body. Every time you leave, the temporary body here will be dismantled and reset the next time you return. Also, since you’ll just be in my world, it won’t disturb other universes."

Bujue scanned the note, his eyes quickly absorbing the words. Supporting his elbow with one hand and tracing his fingers from his forehead down to his nose, he performed a familiar thinking gesture. After considering the information provided, he summarized the key points.

So... each time he leaves and returns, the body there will be "reset."
The choice of words is interesting—using "consciousness" instead of spirit or "soul."
The last two sentences show he’s aware of Thriller Paradise’s existence and uses a different approach to make us (and by "us," he’s not just referring to himself but other visitors from different worlds) "interdimensional travelers."
Plus, he mentioned that no matter how much time passes, he’ll return to the exact second he left. This seems less like a special ability and more like something a fourth-dimensional being could achieve. He used the word "send back" rather than "that moment," suggesting there could be a margin of error of less than a second. The idea of time here seems more like a spatial difference than a linear concept.

And, with no dangerous signals from the note...

At this point, Feng Bujue had more or less made up his mind.

However, just then, the words on the note changed again.

"Also, there’s a library with books from other worlds! And a cinema for watching bad movies on marathon."

"..."
"So all I have to do is use my humor to mess with others, no hidden conditions?"

Note: "Exactly, and if you’re interested, you can join special events where you’ll get information on other people’s life stories."

"..."
"So, are you a god, too?"

"!"
"You… As expected of Jue Bro, you’re absolutely correct in understanding."

"You’re all like this, huh?"

"That’s not important. So, do you agree, or…?"

"Haven’t you already got your answer?"

"Thank you."

At some point, this conversation had shifted from written notes to direct mental communication. As he sensed the other’s gratitude, he blinked.

Chapter Text

Jue Bro found himself in an unfamiliar room. The room was empty except for a black glass wall and two doors. One door was labeled “Bathroom,” and the other “Corridor,” both in Chinese. Looking down, Jue Bro noticed some Chinese text on the floor:  

*"Feel free to arrange your room as you like. The things outside can be brought in and out, but the things *here* can’t be taken back so easily. I’ve saved you some trouble there. Though with your memory, you wouldn’t mix it up anyway."*  

“Can’t *easily* be taken back, huh? So, it’s still possible?”  

He poked the black glass wall with his finger.  

Hmm… not a one-way mirror.  

Then, narcissistically, he admired his reflection for a moment…

He observed that the clothes he was wearing were the same as when he received the note, and even the random trash he had stuffed into his pockets was still there. He put the trash back into his pocket and opened the door to the bathroom.  

This… this was a bathroom that could only be described as “luxurious.” Yet somehow, it was clown-themed. Decorations, symbols, and phrases in the iconic colors of clowns were everywhere—on the walls, the floor, even the toilet. One of the bathtub’s multiple faucets (yes, it had *multiple* faucets) dispensed transparent hot spring water. Once the tub filled to a certain level, the water appeared green.  

“Do they think I’m some kind of clown superfan?” Feng Bujue squinted, his expression disapproving, though the slight upward curve of his lips suggested he didn’t completely dislike it.  

At that moment, he noticed that one of the phrases in the corner had changed from English to Chinese:  

*"This is just a prank XD. But if you like it, the bathroom can stay this way. If not, I’ll change it into a regular luxury bathroom."*  

“A *regular* luxury bathroom, huh? No, I’m just thinking it’s so extravagant that even Bruce Wayne next door might be jealous, yet it’s also tacky, like flaunting wealth with cheap CGI effects,” Feng Bujue quipped, squinting.  

“No need to change it. I kind of like it.”  

To ensure the place didn’t turn plain and boring, he made a token compliment.  

In the blink of an eye, the text changed to “OK.”  

He then scanned every word in the bathroom.  

Everything had an expiration date of “forever.” Many of the items seemed like knock-offs of real-world brands, and the rest had no chemical compositions listed, just their effects and scents.  

Feng Bujue didn’t feel like taking a bath or using the toilet, so he exited the bathroom. The room itself didn’t offer much to observe, so he turned his attention to the corridor.  

“Alright then, let’s see who’s the first victim of my sense of humor.”  

Chapter Text

Michael wasn't sure how many times he'd found himself back here.

Since his conversation with Seiko, he'd been visiting this place more frequently, staying longer each time. He wasn't even sure if this could be called a space or a world. All he knew was that any clocks, watches, or countdown timers lost their temper here. Not that he cared much whether hours or days passed—after all, in his long post-death existence, time had become merely a nostalgic luxury.

Interestingly, from his limited observations, he and Seiko seemed to be the most frequent visitors here. Though, he noticed Seiko treated it like sightseeing, while he felt more like a strange long-term tenant.

After some internal struggle and "friendly advice" from Seiko and other dead people, he finally accepted the place's master's offer to install some simulated digestive organs, repairing his salivary glands and part of his mouth.

Having saliva again was an oddly unsettling experience.

Imagine being completely dry for decades, then suddenly worrying if you might forget to swallow and drool from the corner of your mouth. It was maddening—especially since he'd always been prone to stress, a habit he hadn't shaken even after everything was supposedly over.

Still, he had to admit, being able to chew gum again was quite satisfying—even if it wasn't true chewing, just mechanical habit.

He took a bite of newly bought bubble gum, and before the taste could even fully spread, he was already missing those cheap, nondescript brands wrapped in humble wrappers from the past.

He occasionally talked with other dead people, mostly on how to disguise their decaying appearances.

To be honest, it was usually him sharing tips—after spending three or four decades as a walking corpse, he was essentially an expert. Before figuring out the illusion disks, he'd painstakingly relied on makeup, embalming, stitching, deodorants, and countless desperate retries just to appear presentable in public. He even joked with the others once, "Back then, the only ones willing to team up with a dead man like me were bandages."

Another time, when the group discussed how death could drive people insane, he suddenly interjected, "...I once heard my bandages say, 'Oh God, I was made to serve the living, not corpses!'" He scoffed slightly and added, "I disgraced the very purpose of bandages with death, just like everything else I did when I was alive."

"The bandages spoke to you?" someone asked.

"Hallucinations," he shrugged. "Standard symptom of mental breakdown. Who would've thought my rotten brain still had such an active imagination?" He spoke as if this were perfectly normal.

Once, as he patiently explained the benefits of bandages, a few zombie girls nodded enthusiastically—so enthusiastically that one's head fell off, rolling to his feet. It was awkward enough to be hilarious, eventually turning into a chaotic head-reassembly session.

It was oddly entertaining.

Sometimes, as he observed the others, he found it incredible that some could discuss their own deaths with unexpected comfort, even casually.

Enchanted.

Today, he wears the manager uniform he'd had on when burning down the fake pizzeria. He clips an operational illusion disk to his collar, yet still wears the white bear mask. Carrying a few books he has no intention of reading again, he heads towards the library.

Today, the hallway is quiet... too quiet.

He walks for a while without encountering a single living or dead person. "It's way too quiet," he muses inwardly. "The last time it was this quiet, someone in a rabbit suit appeared behind a door."

"Hopefully, no surprises today," he mutters softly, continuing towards the library.

Suddenly, his gaze catches a flash of purple.

Purple.

This color makes his stomach—or rather, simulated stomach—uneasy. "Great. Another guy who likes that color. Did they all read the same handbook called 'How to Make People Distrust You'?"

He instinctively wants to turn around, but it is already too late. The person has noticed him and is approaching. Michael instinctively tightens his grip on the books—the only potential weapon he has.

He quietly studies the approaching figure: purple jacket over a black shirt, dark purple pants, and black slippers—remarkably casual.

Dressed casually, Feng Bujue opened the door—only to come face-to-face with a tall, yellow figure.

He quickly sized him up:

About six-foot-three. Wearing a blue-and-yellow uniform. A white bear mask with a smiling face.

And… he was looking down at me.

Ah, looks like he thinks I’m a threat. Staring at me like he’s secretly in love with me, oi!

Being stared at by someone like this is suffocating.

But Feng Bujue wasn’t afraid.

He casually raised one hand, showing his usual confident, harmless smile, about to say something—

But his attention was quickly drawn to the books the other man was holding.

“Library manager?” He blurted out unintentionally, but didn’t care.

What truly caught his concern was the strange wrongness radiating from the man.

“His heartbeat… it’s as regular as a computer programme. No vibration at all. Don’t tell me this guy’s some intelligent robot wrapped in human skin?” Feng Bujue speculated unreliably.

His gaze swept over the man from head to toe, finally stopping at the glowing green clip at the collar—clearly the source of the cognitive interference sound.

“Hey, Mister Book Carrier,” Feng Bujue drawled as he walked closer, his tone lazy and teasing, “the library’s big enough. You wouldn’t mind an extra partner, right?”

His smile was relaxed, but his eyes tracked the stranger’s every move, calculating all possible variables. To him, this man’s oddness was far more dangerous than the corridor’s shadows.

The stranger was silent for a few seconds, as if weighing his sincerity, before finally replying in a low voice tinged with an unnatural British accent: “…Alright then.”

Feng Bujue shrugged and followed.

They passed the cafeteria, the auditorium, and the shadows at the end of the corridor. The silence grew increasingly eerie. Feng Bujue decided to break it.

“So… Mr. Brit, do you know why we’re speaking different languages but can still understand each other?”

He suspected it might be some kind of language-related memetic anomaly.

At the words “Mr. Brit,” Michael frowned slightly, displeased. “No idea. Ask the one who brought you here.”

Though rejected, Feng Bujue didn’t feel awkward.

“Hey, Mister or Miss God, what are your rules?”
Feng Bujue called casually into the air.

Then, a note appeared, floating in the air:
“One of the rules here. As long as you genuinely want the other person to understand, language is no barrier.”

Feng Bujue wanted to ask more, but the note vanished.

Michael sneered from the side. “Looks like you just got told off by a piece of paper.”

He didn’t slow his pace, nor did he look back.

Seeing this, Feng Bujue quickly caught up, occasionally humming strange little tunes, his mood cheerful and intent on annoying Michael.

Michael was on the verge of losing it, walking faster and faster.

But Feng Bujue also sped up.

Finally, Michael simply ignored him and walked at his own pace.

Along the way, Feng Bujue tried spouting nonsense, but when Michael didn’t reply, he stopped pestering.

Soon, they arrived at the library.

Feng Bujue swallowed lightly—this place was practically a drug to someone who lived for books.

Still, he wanted to provoke the mysterious man beside him, see if he’d respond. After all, books would always be here, but this man looked like he could vanish any moment.

Feng Bujue casually picked up a book, flipped through a few pages, then curved his lips into that familiar smile. He turned his head toward Michael. “Hey! Brit.”

Michael stepped back several paces, his face openly disgusted. “What do you want?”

“Well, since we’re already in some bizarre space… don’t you think these books might come with some strange ‘bonus feature’? Like, borrow one home and you get a ghost included?” Feng Bujue made a face full of lewd humour, as if to say, “You know exactly what I mean.”

Michael’s hand froze on the book cover. He pinched his brow, then finally muttered in disgust, “You make it sound like some cheap B-grade film plot.” He turned, ready to leave.

But he was too slow. Feng Bujue’s next words came instantly.

“Or maybe… one of those titles that’s just letters?” Feng Bujue grinned wickedly.

Michael froze, horror flashing across his face—“Do you even know who you’re talking to?”—but he quickly suppressed it. Even with a mask on, he forced it down.

“There’s a theatre at the end of the hall. Shows nothing but rubbish films. Perfect for someone like you. You should check it out, mate,” Michael said coldly, his tone dripping with loathing—clearly meaning “get lost” and “you’re rubbish.”

Feng Bujue noticed, of course. So he didn’t push further, just shrugged, grabbed some books, and found a spot to read—ignoring the so-called “rubbish theatre.”

This actually surprised Michael a little, but he wasn’t about to cause trouble by going near Feng Bujue.

A few hours later, Michael stood before the shelves. Suddenly, Feng Bujue appeared right next to him.

Michael immediately stepped aside, not wanting him too close.

But Feng Bujue just grabbed a few books from the spot Michael had been standing at, then walked off to continue reading.

Michael was left baffled.

The next day, Feng Bujue was at the library again.

The day after, he was there again.

A week later, still there.

Michael realised suddenly—Feng Bujue really did come to the library just to read. Annoying him was only incidental.

Not that it mattered. Michael wasn’t going to waste energy on someone he disliked.

…Still, he was a little curious if this guy might actually finish every book here.

Months passed—

Michael had grown used to Feng Bujue being there every day.

One day, Feng Bujue wasn’t.

So the next day, when Michael saw him again, he couldn’t hold back.

I’m definitely going to regret this.

He walked over and asked:

“So, did you finish all the books here?”

Feng Bujue didn’t answer right away. Instead, he said, “Hold on, I’m almost done.”

So Michael waited. He noticed Feng Bujue flipping pages much faster now, maybe speed-reading.

Minutes later, Feng Bujue shut the thick novel, pressed a finger to his forehead, sliding it down the bridge of his nose.

Then he said: “No, I haven’t finished. Yes, I’m a bookworm. Yes, I’m not really that interested in harassing you. Okay, my name’s Feng Bujue, nice to meet you, and thanks—the rubbish film theatre isn’t bad. You can tell me your name, then we can pretend we’ve socialised, and I’ll get back to reading.”

Michael was bloody gobsmacked.

He realised this time it was Feng Bujue who had no interest in talking.

So he said, “Michael Afton,” then walked away to read his own books.

Hours later, as he left, he saw Feng Bujue still reading.

Honestly, it was a bit eerie.

────

After Michael left, a note appeared.

Feng Bujue had been about to pick another book when he glanced at the note:

“Why’d you suddenly give him the cold shoulder? Weren’t you the one who kept trying to interact with Michael before?”

Feng Bujue gave a short laugh and poked the note.

“Look, these past months every time I talked to him, he either mocked me or walked away. What am I, grovelling for scraps like some sad bastard who insists on being friends with him?”
He explained patiently—he’d long since figured out the note had a bit of a childish streak.

“Ah… I see. That really was rude and hurtful. No wonder you gave him nothing this time.”

Feng Bujue pinched his nose, looking defeated.

“I did give him something. I exchanged names, answered his question. I just don’t want to waste more energy.” He sighed, sounding weary.

“Ah… that must’ve been tough. Thanks for explaining.”

The note lingered quietly for a moment, then disappeared after he finished reading it.

And Feng Bujue?

He just kept on reading his next book.

Chapter Text

When Basil slowly opened his eyes, he realized he was still lying on Sunny’s couch.

Before long, he noticed the weight on his shoulder. Turning his head slightly, he saw Sunny leaning against him, eyes closed, his face carrying a serene expression, as if he were immersed in a warm dream.

Want to hold onto this person.

That familiar wave of emotion surged through Basil again, leaving him conflicted. He knew this kind of dependence wasn’t healthy—his therapist had emphasized it countless times... He was supposed to keep some distance from Sunny.

But in moments like this, those rational arguments felt so powerless.

“It’s just support between friends,” he told himself. “He’s just tired. Don’t overthink it.”

He doesn’t like me.

Don’t hope for too much.

And yet, the pounding of his heart was impossible to ignore, so loud it echoed in his ears.

His gaze, almost against his will, fell onto Sunny’s face. The faint curve of Sunny’s lips suggested he was dreaming of something peaceful and reassuring.

Too close.

He shifted away just a little, his face flushing red.

And then, Sunny moved slightly, his shoulder brushing against Basil. A soft murmur followed:

“Basil?”

Basil froze, as if someone had pressed pause on him. A second later, he snapped back to reality.

Oh no...

“Sorry, did I wake you?” he asked quickly, trying to adjust himself so Sunny could sit more comfortably.

Sunny rubbed his eyes, still drowsy but without a trace of annoyance. He shook his head and made a small gesture with his left hand, as if to dispel Basil’s worry.

Then, leaning against the armrest for support, he straightened slightly and gave Basil’s shoulder a gentle tap.

“How long have you been awake?” Basil asked, his voice tinged with concern.

Sunny tilted his head, stayed silent for a moment, then drew a small circle on his thigh with his finger. Basil knew this habit well—it was Sunny’s way of saying,
“Not long. Doesn’t matter.”

“Actually, I woke up earlier, but...” Sunny finally spoke. His voice was low and serious, as though something was hard to put into words. He lifted his gaze to Basil, silent struggle flickering in his eyes.

Basil instinctively held his breath. “But what?” he asked softly.

Sunny’s right hand brushed against his cheek, the motion more about steadying himself than anything else. At last, he spoke slowly, hesitantly: “If... you’re tired, you can rest on me for a while.”

The words weren’t smooth—awkward and uncertain—but so genuine that Basil was stunned. He knew how much courage it took for Sunny to express care so directly.

Basil forced himself not to drown in the ripples in his heart.

I can’t rely on Sunny too much. I can’t. The doctor said I can’t. Hold it in.

Hold it in.

It’s just a friend’s concern.

Then, Basil managed a small, forced smile and answered softly, “I’m fine. I can manage.” His tone was deliberately light, to keep the moment from becoming too intimate.

Sunny watched him for a while. Then, without saying anything, he simply nodded, though his expression softened.

He reached for the remote, gestured toward the screen, and raised an eyebrow. Without speaking, it was as if he were asking:

“Do you want to keep watching the movie?”

Basil hesitated for a moment, then shook his head.

“I think we should try going outside,” he suggested.

The words lingered in the air, and Basil noticed the flicker of thought crossing Sunny’s face, as if he were weighing the practicality of the idea.

Did my suggestion trouble him?

“If you don’t want to, I can go alone,” Basil quickly added, though even he could hear how hollow his words sounded. He knew well that without Sunny by his side, he wouldn’t have the courage to step outside alone.

Sunny didn’t reply. He simply stood up, walked to the door, and glanced back at Basil. With a small wave of his hand and a faint upward curve of his lips, he conveyed more comfort and encouragement than words ever could.

Basil smiled too, stood up, and walked over to Sunny.

Together, they pushed open the door leading to the hallway.

They had yet to notice the plain white door that had quietly appeared in the corner of the room.

Chapter Text

When they stepped out of the room, they found themselves in a brightly lit blue corridor. One side clearly led to a dead end, making the direction easy to discern.

Sunny silently walked to the door of the adjacent room and glanced at the nameplate. The name “Michael Afton” was written there in plain view.

Basil, on the other hand, was drawn to the opposite row of doors. The ones at the far end were marked in Japanese. “...Shinohara Seiko?” he read aloud instinctively, then froze. He was startled to realize that he could pronounce the characters perfectly despite neither understanding Japanese nor recognizing the script.

Sunny raised an eyebrow slightly upon hearing him, then moved to Basil’s side. He knew Basil didn’t know any Japanese, while his own understanding was limited to a few simple words. Glancing at the nameplate Basil was staring at, Sunny was surprised to find that Basil’s pronunciation was entirely accurate.

“Sunny...” Basil turned to look at him, his voice tinged with nervousness and a hint of desperation. “Do you think someone messed with my brain while I was asleep?”

Sunny immediately picked up on his anxiety. He gently patted Basil’s shoulder in reassurance. Recalling how he had occasionally encountered auto-translation phenomena in dreams while watching videos, he had never delved into the mechanics of it, assuming it was just a quirk of dreaming. With that thought, he shook his head slightly, signaling Basil not to worry.

Basil sighed in relief, though the tension didn’t completely leave him. Swallowing nervously, he proposed in a low voice, “Shall we keep exploring together?” The word "together" carried a subtle emphasis, not overly noticeable but enough for Sunny, with his acute sensitivity, to catch.

Sunny nodded lightly and patted Basil’s shoulder again, this time with a more pronounced gesture of comfort. Basil glanced down at his own hands, realizing they were still trembling slightly. Embarrassed, he let out a small, awkward laugh. Sunny’s calm demeanor made his own anxiety seem a bit excessive, but it also helped him begin to relax.

Sunny observed Basil quietly. Seeing him gradually regain composure, Sunny felt a sense of relief himself. Though his face remained stoic, the unfamiliar environment also made him uneasy. His gaze lingered on Basil, and after a brief hesitation, he tentatively reached for Basil’s hand.

His fingers trembled slightly, as though searching for a familiar sensation—hand-holding had once been their most natural form of physical connection before their relationship fractured. By holding Basil’s hand, Sunny wasn’t just offering comfort; he was also saying, “We’re good as we are now.”

Basil’s hand stiffened momentarily but soon relaxed. He glanced at their clasped hands and a faint smile appeared on his lips, as if he had suddenly understood Sunny’s intention. He gently returned the grip and gestured toward the other end of the hallway with a hint of anticipation in his tone. “Let’s keep exploring together, then.”

Sunny nodded, his lips curling into a subtle smile. Still holding Basil’s hand, he led the way toward the unknown.

As they ventured further down the hallway, the nameplates on the doors gradually transitioned from sporadic names to blank spaces. Curious, Sunny led Basil to one of the blank doors. Basil looked at him quizzically but quickly caught on to his thoughts, and together they pushed the door open.

“Sunny?” Basil called out softly, his voice a mix of surprise and the same curiosity reflected in Sunny’s eyes. They stepped into the room and found it simple and spacious, with only a door labeled “Restroom” on the far white wall. To the left was a black glass TV wall, and to the right, a blank white wall. The room was devoid of furniture, not even a bed.

Sunny walked in without hesitation, as if the space belonged to him, while Basil instinctively refused to let go of Sunny’s hand and had no choice but to follow.

Sunny didn’t seem to mind this detail. His attention was fully captured by the luxurious bathroom. One-third of the space was occupied by a large bathtub surrounded by various bathing supplies. The mirror was part of the cabinet, and the storage space beneath the sink housed not only basic toiletries but also a small medical kit. Opposite the bathtub stood an unremarkable toilet.

After checking everything, they left the room and returned to the hallway to continue exploring.

Before long, they arrived at a place that resembled a cafeteria. The environment still carried a dominant blue tone, accented with touches of brown and white.

Several glass-door refrigerators displayed enticing snacks and drinks, labeled in various languages—most of which they couldn’t recognize.

But when both of them spotted Orange Joe at the same time, identical grimaces appeared on their faces… If Kel were here, he would probably be overjoyed.

It was only then that they realized, even though they hadn’t walked far, their stomachs were already growling.

Basil turned to Sunny.

“Sunny, are you hungry too?” Basil asked, thinking his own hunger might be from nerves, while also worrying Sunny had once again forgotten to eat.

Sunny nodded, seemingly picking up on Basil’s concern, and added briefly, “Lack of exercise.”
Though he often seemed to have a sixth sense for Basil’s thoughts, some things still needed to be said.

Basil visibly relaxed at his reply and nodded lightly. “Then shall we grab something to eat?” His gaze drifted toward the refrigerators, carrying a trace of anticipation.

Sunny nodded silently and led Basil to the nearest fridge. Together, they scanned the wide variety of snacks and drinks inside. Most of the packaging was unfamiliar, yet somehow carried a strange sense of familiarity.

“Are these free?” Basil murmured, half to himself and half to Sunny. His eyes landed on a sign taped to the fridge: Feel free to take.

Sunny followed his gaze and saw the same sign. He noticed Basil’s expression—his usual tension mixed with a spark of eagerness.

“Should we try a few things?” Basil suggested with a gentle smile. He really was hungry now.

Seeing Basil smile so freely brought Sunny a quiet joy.

Sunny didn’t answer right away. Instead, his eyes landed on a snack in transparent packaging—a thin blue biscuit labeled Ocean Bites. He picked it up and turned back to Basil, as if waiting for his choice.

Basil hesitated for a long moment before finally selecting a bottle of pale green soda. From the design on the label, he guessed it was honeydew melon flavor.

He gave the bottle a small shake and smiled at Sunny. “Then… I’ll go with this one.”

Sunny nodded, took Basil’s hand, and led him to a table in the center of the cafeteria.

The tables and chairs were simple yet comfortable, designed as if meant for resting. They sat down casually and began to enjoy their chosen snacks.

When Basil unscrewed the cap, an unexpectedly strong honeydew fragrance wafted out. His eyebrows shot up in surprise as he took a tentative sip, instantly tasting a sweetness that wasn’t cloying.
“This is so good…” he whispered in astonishment, then took another small sip.

He looks like a rabbit, Sunny thought.

As the thought passed, Sunny bit into an Ocean Bite. The texture was light and crisp, carrying a touch of salt and a faint seaweed aroma. He froze, staring at the biscuit, then deliberately took another bite, as if savoring its layers.

“How does it taste?” Basil asked curiously, his eyes on the biscuit in Sunny’s hand.

Sunny paused, then gave a thumbs-up and offered Basil one of the biscuits.

“I can’t possibly…” Basil murmured, though he still accepted it.

The biscuit was salty, but in his heart, it tasted sweet.

Chapter Text

Sans was just resting in his usual way, when he heard the unmistakable sound of… bouncing. A soft, rhythmic—plap, plap, plap.

He cracked one eye open, lazily scanned the space, and saw it.

A light blue, round, bouncing thing.

"…huh."

He shifted, barely. Fingers twitched toward his shortcut menu. Curiosity won over effort. With a flick—he checked.

> ??? ???? ATK ???? DEF

LV 0

SOUL: Integrity (Blue)

"now that’s rare."

He muttered under his breath, more to himself than anyone else.

"no attack, no defense, no level… but you’re warm, squishy, and got bounce like you're made of rubber optimism."

He leaned forward slightly, squinting at the way the little thing moved.

"lemme guess. you’re not here to fight, are ya?"

A pause. The corners of his mouth twitched, half a smile forming.

"no legs, no arms, and still more expressive than half the monsters i know."

"bet you even got that 'boing' sound effect built in, huh?"

He tapped his skull with one finger.

"welp. brain says threat level: adorable."

A beat. Then he leaned back again, arms behind his head.

"just don’t goo on the floor, alright?"

The blue round one bounced once, then spoke.

> I originally go here to inviting you go to a place, but before that, I need somebody to talking this situation with me. Because I'm a little curious, as a nihilist, are you thinking about suicide before, or it doesn't have any meaning to you, too?

Sans’s eye narrowed—just a little. His smile didn’t move, but something behind it paused.

"...you know, most folks don’t open with that kind of question."

He shifted—not away, but inward. Like trying to reposition around something in his own head.

"what makes you think i’m a nihilist?"

There was no denial. Just stillness.

"you see a skeleton with ketchup and think, 'wow, this guy definitely contemplates the void'?"

He let it hang, then said, quieter:

"...anyway. funny place to start a conversation, if you're here to invite me somewhere."

The blue round one bounced lightly again, and replied.

> I know this because I am not from this world. And I know anyone if he too smart and keep track in a world that timeline be played by a child? That just so mess up.

I am already is a nihilist, If I in your position, I will just more get out. When everyone die, I will just kill myself. And you are better than me, so I respect you.

Sans didn’t blink. No grin. No joke.

"...heh. you really do talk like you’re not from here."

He leaned back. His fingers tapped the side of his skull, cautious.

"respect’s a weird word to throw around when you just told me you’d kill yourself."

His voice was flat now. Not angry—just distant.

"if you were me, huh? guess that means you’re not."

Then, sharper:

"so don’t write my ending like you already read the script."

The blue round one shrank back a little, voice growing tangled.

> Oh, sorry, I don't mean that. I mean, hey, I don't know where I can find someone can talking this situation with, because my friend not talking anyone anymore, and I cannot borrow him, and nobody just like me, so I feel lonely, so I'm sorry, maybe I shouldn't borrow you. I'm sorry, I will come to see you the other day, sorry.

They bounced uncertainly, visibly flustered.

> Sorry to ask you some questions like this. I always let the other people feel bad. Maybe I just don't... Sorry, I'm not trying to let you feel sorry for me. I just don't know... I don't... Sorry. I'm leaving. I'm leaving. Sorry. See you next time.

Then, without waiting, the little one turned and bounced away—quick steps, like they were trying to shrink into the air itself.

Sans didn’t stand up. He didn’t shout.

But his voice reached out.

"hey."

A pause.

He shifted just slightly, just enough.

"you didn’t make me feel bad."

A beat.

"not until you ran."

The blue one stopped. Turned back. Their voice was small.

> Oh, so, can I stay? and talking to you?

Sans tilted his head a bit, eye half-lidded as always. But now there was something different—less observational, more open.

"heh. thought you were already doing that."

He patted the spot beside him—bench, ledge, summoned bone, didn’t matter.

"go ahead, blue. i’ve got time."

The blue round one gave a couple soft bounces over and settled at his left side.

They took a breath before speaking again.

> my and my friend are also feel everything are meaningless,

and I feel a little lost, emptiness,

and my family say I am aways lazy.

They make me feel a little hazy.

Sans gave a low chuckle as the little thing bounced into place. He tapped a finger on his knee, matching the cadence.

“lost, emptiness, lazy, hazy—

yeah, that rhyme’s a little crazy.”

His eye-light flickered, caught between amusement and something gentler.

“folks call me lazy too.

guess it’s easier than asking why we’re blue.”

His tone dipped lower, softer.

“meaningless can feel real heavy, kid.

so we do small stuff—like sittin’ here—so life don’t skid.”

A pause. Then a shrug, like the words didn’t need defending.

“anyway, rhyme time’s fine by me.

leave the mess inside; just breathe, you’re free.”

He nudged an invisible beat with his foot—an invitation to continue or just sit and stay.

The blue round one opened their mouth… then closed it. And then did it again. Several times.

But in the end, they didn’t say anything. Instead, they lowered their head, and began silently tracing circles on the ground with the tip of their soft antenna.

Maybe it was some kind of stress reflex. Maybe they just didn’t know what to do.

Sans didn’t say anything either.

It must have gotten boring after a while, because eventually, the little one switched from circles… to drawing a very lopsided version of him.

“…that’s supposed to be me?”

A flicker of a grin tugged at the edge of his mouth.

“yikes. hope i don’t actually look like that. kinda looks like if ketchup had a nightmare about me.”

He tapped the drawing lightly with the toe of his shoe.

“but... not bad.”

A beat.

“you’re not really lost for words, are you?”

He leaned back again, arms returning behind his head.

“guess you’re just sayin’ ‘em different.”

He watched as the little one kept doodling with that wiggly antenna, his grin widening as they worked.

“alright, alright. two can play this game.”

Sans leaned forward, grabbed a stick—or maybe summoned a tiny bone—and started scraping it across the dirt with practiced laziness.

“here’s my masterpiece.”

What he produced was… debatable. A vague blob. Round. Short. Two uneven dots for eyes. One ridiculous spiral on top.

He labeled it in crooked lettering: “boing.”

“that’s you. if you were a breakfast cereal.”

He nudged the edge of the first drawing—the one that was supposed to be him—with the back of his stick.

“mine’s better. yours got too much effort.”

The blue round one stayed quiet for a moment, then spoke again—tentative, halting, like stepping on uncertain ground.

> So, can you, can you tell me now why you feel uncomfortable when I, I honestly don't know why, what, um, yeah, I shouldn't ask you, but I don't know if I can ask you. My parents told me I shouldn't ask anyone that, what should I do, so I always confused, I always don't know how to, how can I do, when somebody…… you know.

> I'm so tired, too tired. I always feel like no matter how hard I try, no matter everything I do just mess up everything, including try to study, including try to talking. I always mess up.

> Even when my mother said, actually you are smart, and you always get everything you want, and do everything you want, you doing thing always success. I cannot feel that. All I feel that I always do, just mess up everything.

A long silence settled in the space between them. Sans didn’t look at them right away.

Instead, he turned his gaze down to the half-smeared doodles on the ground. Maybe the wind did that. Maybe time.

“…you ever try so hard not to say the wrong thing,

that you end up sayin’ nothing?”

At last, he looked up. No grin this time. Just a tired, honest kind of plain.

“you didn’t mess up.

you just said something that scared me.

and instead of admit that,

i acted like it was your fault.”

He scratched the side of his skull, restless and faintly ashamed.

“that’s on me.

not you.”

Then, more quietly:

“you don’t gotta be smart all the time.

you don’t even gotta ask the right questions.

you just gotta stay.”

The blue round one blinked slowly. Then asked:

> Did You just say I Let you feel afraid?

He didn’t flinch. Just blinked—once. Slow.

“…yeah.”

Not dramatic. Not defensive. Just honest.

“not ‘cause you did anything wrong.

not ‘cause i think you’re scary.

it’s just—”

He breathed in through teeth he didn’t have. A slow, uncertain breath.

“sometimes people say stuff

that sounds like it came from inside my own head.

and that freaks me out more than any monster ever could.”

A shrug. No shame. No armor.

The blue round one shifted a little, then spoke again. Slower this time, like peeling open something they hadn’t planned to show.

> oh sorry I understand that feeling. when I like 23, and my I forget that is my mother or father.

they just see into me too much, they know me too much, and just I feel too open, I I feel be I don't know how to say like I am naked. I mean in a spirit way, naked and that's terrible.

They paused, barely, before continuing—like even the hesitation was something they were still learning to allow.

> so I doing that to you. I'm sorry but I I had know, just because I am the kind of person, too.

I always joking about everything, and there somebody even ask me “Why are you always so optimistic?”

Sans exhaled—slow. Like the words had taken something out of him, too. He didn’t joke. Didn’t deflect.

“…yeah. spirit-naked. that’s a hell of a way to put it.”

He let out a soft, tired laugh—not mean, not loud, just real.

“ain’t it funny? people think we’re the funny ones.

but we’re just dodging the real stuff with punchlines.”

He glanced sideways at them—no judgment. More like recognition.

“you didn’t do anything to me.

you just… got there first.”

A beat.

Then, a little softer. Caught off guard, maybe.

“so… guess that makes us both the kind of people.”

The blue round one nodded slowly—if not physically, then in presence. Then they added, voice drooping just a bit with honesty:

> Yeah, I think so too. Actually, this conversation is completely, made me feel a little tired.

> Do you want to get a nap a little time?

Sans let out a quiet breath through his teeth—half-sigh, half-relief.

“heh. you’re not the only one, kid.”

He leaned back, hoodie raised just enough to signal sleep mode—not fully covered, not fully exposed.

“we did a lot of talkin’ for two people who don’t like talkin’.”

His voice dropped softer.

“yeah. let’s take five.

but you better not drool on the bench. that’s my job.”

When Sans woke up, he didn’t move right away.

There was no sudden danger. No jolt of instinct. Just… a small shift in air. Something that told him he wasn’t alone, but the noise was gone.

His eye opened lazily, like he was easing into awareness, and that’s when he saw the note.

Not dramatic. Not folded. Just there.

He reached over and read it.

> 『I woke up and saw you were still asleep, so I left you this note.

Basically, at first I wanted to invite you to a place that I designed. You don't need to worry about resets there, because when you’re sent over, leaving will bring you back exactly to the moment you left. That means you’ll have some extra time to just relax there. No need to worry about resetting in your sleep and then waking up feeling that weird sense of wrongness everywhere. (You’re too sharp, so I know you’d notice that kind of thing.)(If it were me, I’d notice it too.)

If you're interested in joining, circle "Yes".

Also, if you think it's okay after observing our place, I’d actually like to invite Papyrus too. But I’m a bit concerned, since I can't control everyone's behavior, so I'm worried Papyrus might get upset seeing how traumatized some people here are. I know he's incredibly strong mentally, but maybe a bit too strong—so much that it's almost unrealistically good. That’s why I wanted to invite you first—we're more alike, haha.

Anyway,

Want to have a good time?

Yes / No』

Sans blinked once. Then read the line again.

“…leaving brings me back exactly to the moment I left, huh?”

His eyes narrowed, not suspicious—just surprised.

“that’s clever. like, me-level clever.”

He continued to the bottom of the page. The corner of his mouth twitched when he saw the final line.

“wanna have a good time?

…yeah, i think maybe i do.”

He reached into the void—maybe for a pen, maybe just his fingerbone—and drew a small, precise circle around the word “Yes.”

Then leaned back, not to sleep again, but to stay where he was a moment longer. Looking at the empty space where the blue round one had been.

“guess you really are like me.

but the kind that leaves notes.”

Chapter Text

Hey everyone, I’m not dead yet—this is still getting updates.
Well, depending on my mood, of course.

You might notice that some of the chapters have changed a bit.
That’s because I’ve been going back and rewriting parts I felt were OOC.
For example, in the chapter where Feng Bujue and Michael confront each other, there was a section where Michael was pretty clearly out of character—so I rewrote it.

You’ll see there’s now a whole new chunk where Michael uses self-deprecating humor.
Also, you might notice that the translation in that chapter flows a bit better than in the others.
That’s because, unlike before, I actually checked it this time.
And let me tell you, going through it bit by bit was exhausting as hell.
But hey, it’s finally done.

That said, I’m not a native speaker, so there might still be some weird phrasing here and there.
Please be patient with me—and thanks.

The specific new section I added is this:

He even joked with the others once,
"Back then, the only ones willing to team up with a dead man like me were bandages."

Another time, when the group discussed how death could drive people insane, he suddenly interjected,
"…I once heard my bandages say, 'Oh God, I was made to serve the living, not corpses!'"
He scoffed slightly and added,
"I disgraced the very purpose of bandages with death, just like everything else I did when I was alive."

"The bandages spoke to you?" someone asked.

"Hallucinations," he shrugged. "Standard symptom of mental breakdown. Who would've thought my rotten brain still had such an active imagination?"
He spoke as if this were perfectly normal.

Update on 2025.6.3:

Also—hey, I originally didn’t want to add too many tags to this work, since I figured it might come off as annoying.
But hey, I’m hoping to find some fellow FNAF or Thriller Paradise fans, so I’ve decided to add the tags after all.

Chapter Text

After completing the final task,

God disappeared.

And then—

Here,

Phosphophyllite woke up.

Where… is this?

They opened their sight.

Looked around.

White walls,
shimmering with mint-colored specks of light, only one pane of black glass,
and a white door on the opposite side.

Nothing else.

Wasn’t I supposed to have already disappeared?

Why am I awake?

Did the humans… follow me here?

They looked at the black mirror, where a faintly mint-colored translucent figure was reflected.
Long seamless sleeves, a halo resting on their back, the rippling patterns on the face filled with doubt.

But soon, calm returned.

I cannot feel them.

Then, they turned.

Pushed open the only door.

Outside was an endless dark-blue corridor.

Looking back,

the nameplate above read:

Phosphophyllite

───────

As they softly touched their own nameplate, a bluish-white figure happened to pass by.

It was a… being Phos did not recognize?

“Hello?” Phos asked.

The being spoke: “whoa, you nearly blinded me. wanna eat a burger?”

Burger?
Phos tilted their head, not voicing the confusion right away, but instead said:

“Thank you, I cannot eat.”

They nodded politely, then paused:

“…But what is a burger?”

“a burger is… a burger.” the other replied lazily, not very serious, tone rising at the end, like a joke.
“if you can’t eat, that’s fine. i’ll eat it for you.” they shrugged, pulled out a bottle of red liquid, took a sip, then produced a food item that looked like a giant brown macaron and took a bite.

“not bad, thanks.” their left eye, pupil-less, gave a little blink.

Ah, it had been so long since a conversation like this.

“Heh.”
Phos laughed softly, gracefully covering the non-existent mouth, though their eyes betrayed a smile.

“You’re welcome.”

Just then, another tall white figure, marked with red accents, walked over.
They seemed to be of the same kind as the eyeless being—

only, far taller.

“SAAAAANS!!!!”

“what’s up, bro?”

“WAIT FOR ME!” The tall figure hurried closer, looking flustered and nervous,
almost as though sweating like a human.

Phos paused.

“YOU WALK TOO FAST! I DON’T KNOW THIS PLACE AT ALL!” The tall one stomped a foot, movements lively.

Phos thought they resembled stones somehow—rather endearing—and let out a small sigh of relief.

“AH, HELLO!” The tall one greeted with a wide, friendly smile, stretching out a hand toward Phos.
“I’M PAPYRUS! THIS IS MY BROTHER SANS. WHAT WERE YOU TWO TALKING ABOUT JUST NOW? CAN I HEAR IT?”

Of course.

Phos chuckled lightly, shook Papyrus’s hand, and replied:

“We were talking about burgers.”

Chapter Text

One day, a casual-looking note appeared out of nowhere and drifted onto Rick Sanchez’s desk.

He was in the middle of casually building some spur-of-the-moment gadget, and his first reaction upon seeing the note wasn’t curiosity like most people would expect—it was alertness. He stepped back, tense and focused.

His system couldn’t explain why this thing had appeared out of thin air where he could see it.

“Fuxk, this has gotta be some kind of magic bullshit.”

He used a scanner to read the message remotely.

The note said:
“In short, are you interested in temporarily leaving the Rick universe to meet someone as smart as you—someone who actually understands the kind of problems that come with being smart on your level—just to argue because you can’t stand that they’re that smart but think differently from you?

Damn this paragraph is long, I tried to simplify it. Anyway, this is a standing invitation aka forced sales pitch. Destroy one and I’ll send another. You can come check out the crap anytime—if you dare.”

Rick actually paused for a few seconds before making a decision.

He’s not the type who plans everything before acting.

“Whatever bullshit.”
He muttered, walked straight past all his security layers, and pressed the ridiculous-looking “yes” button at the bottom of the note.

──────────

When Rick opened his eyes, he was ready for anything—but not this.

“You—you’ve gotta be kidding me. This isn’t some mysterious infinite white space, it’s a fucking therapy room!”

Wooden chairs, a brown couch, a wooden cabinet, a big bed, a soft carpet, and the whole room smelled faintly of wood—like an old lady’s wardrobe.

The only trace of technology came from one black mirrored wall.

He immediately went to test it.

He didn’t use any tools to scan it—just the simplest method: he touched it with his finger and checked the distance.

Yeah, not a one-way mirror.

“Great, just a giant piece of consumer tech,” he sneered. It wasn’t even advanced—just standard smart-device tech.

Then, words appeared on the screen, printed in the cold, sterile font Rick was used to seeing.

Screen:
“Hi, I’m the note that invited you here :D”

“So what? You planning to fix me? I don’t need help.” Rick crossed his arms, looking thoroughly unimpressed.

Screen:
“No, fix what? I just like to prepare a rest area for guests. I couldn’t replicate your toilet chill zone, so I made a standard human-compatible comfort space. You’re smart enough to know that proper relaxation is what keeps you able to do… whatever the hell you want, right?”
Then, after displaying that, the screen suddenly deleted the message and replaced it with:
“Shit, off topic.”

“You talk a lot of crap,” Rick snorted, already thinking about getting a drink.

But now he actually looked more relaxed.

Screen:
“Right, anyway, I’m currently inviting that other smart guy I mentioned earlier. Please wait here. Maybe customize the room if you want—whatever, it’s yours.”

“Perfect, you even give me homework.” Rick muttered sarcastically, then sprawled out on the couch and fell asleep.