20 A Series of Coincidences

As guests of great renown—such as the envoys from the IPC and the Nameless of the Astral Express—arrived in succession, Penacony could officially be said to have entered the countdown to the Charmony Festival. And that is to say nothing of the Masked Fools, let alone the Galaxy Rangers. Rachel knew that Sunday, for one, was not particularly fond of the Path of Elation. As for the Galaxy Rangers, while they were undeniably cool, their style was entirely at odds with the Planet of Festivities, making them far too dangerous. The Annihilation Gang, meanwhile, went without saying.

Sunday had more on his plate than ever. This was no longer a situation where a single secretary could assist him, effectively turning him into a person-and-a-half to resolve the issues. At this moment, the Oak Family needed to treat its ordinary members like a person-and-a-half, treat Sunday like a whole troop of laborers, and even drag someone like Rachel—a purely peripheral member—in as forced labor.

"Mr. Sunday has gone to a meeting," an Oak Family member at the Dewlight Pavilion said to Rachel when she arrived to deliver the briefcase Aventurine had brought. The member offered her a smile so standard it was bordering on eerie. "A stowaway has appeared in the Golden Hour. The Family’s protection network has little data, only that the individual is currently in the Golden Hour and is a tall male clad in silver-white armor."

The Oak Family member sighed at this point. "As you know, the Bloodhound Family is never exactly… gentlemanly. They possess a great deal of enthusiasm. That is a good thing, but at certain times, it is not."

Rachel felt a sudden, profound respect for this family member’s art of speech.

"The Charmony Festival is about to begin, and the number of guests in the dream has increased significantly of late. If the young and headstrong members of the Bloodhound Family were to disturb our distinguished guests, it would be our failing. So, if it is convenient for you, could you please go to the Golden Hour and provide some guidance and supervision? I will give you an insignia of authority and temporarily escalate your permissions in the backend."

With nothing better to do—even Origami Academy had reduced its curriculum to half-days in honor of the once-per-amber-era festival Penacony was hosting—almost all of Penacony was joining in the grand event. Rachel felt she had no reason to refuse.

The Oak Family member finally showed a hint of human expression, smiling with relief. "Thank you, Miss Rachel. Please do not worry. Although the Bloodhounds can be stubborn, you can use your authority to suppress them; they are usually quite obedient."

Rachel nodded.

In truth, even though the Bloodhound Family’s fierce reputation preceded them, she felt as if she had never feared them from the bottom of her heart. Furthermore, she was never worried about her inability to suppress them, as if a voice inside her was telling her, "I am really quite good at this."

And this was entirely subconscious.

After receiving the insignia from the Oak Family member, Rachel turned and headed toward the Golden Hour. She felt like today was a bit strange.

She had never been someone with a particularly keen sixth sense. Many had praised her for her sharp mind, but no one had ever complimented her "intuition" (in the spiritual sense). Yet today, her sixth sense kept popping up as if it had suddenly taken the wrong medicine.

There was the slightly familiar but definitely never-met Manager Aventurine; the Bloodhound Family she had barely contacted but knew she could handle; and—most importantly—the rest.

Upon hearing the information that the "tall, silver-white, male stowaway" was on the loose, she felt a flash of inexplicable anger and nearly lost control of her emotions right in front of that very polite and courteous Oak Family member.

What was even more fatal was that, despite there being no one else walking nearby, her brain began playing background music.

This time, the track was "Miracle Reappearance," that classic song—so classic that even after so many years of transmigration, she could still recite the lyrics from start to finish without error.

An Ultraman theme song…
Could it be that the stowaway was from Nebula M78?
That was just too ridiculous.

This situation could no longer be described as rare; it was unprecedented. The words "something is not right" were coursing through every blood vessel in Rachel’s body.

Did this mean that agreeing to go to the Golden Hour was a bad decision? Rachel didn't think so. A place with many changes meant more possibilities, and she had always confidently believed that more possibilities favored her. After all, hadn't she struggled and climbed her way out of difficult environments before?

*

The Golden Hour was an area where every inch of land was worth its weight in gold. Last time Rachel visited, she hadn't bought a thing—not even window-shopping. She had gone straight to Aiden Park, collected a few free tokens, played a couple of games, and after confirming that with her luck she would only ever win the consolation prize, she had taken the consolation prize with less than pleasant feelings.

But this time—

She was searching for the nearest Bloodhounds. Perhaps because there were too many people in the Golden Hour, the Bloodhounds were buried in the crowd. She scanned the area and couldn't find a single one.

*...Penacony really needs to expand its recruitment,* Rachel thought. If things went on like this, it would be a question of whether the Family could manage the place at all.

She walked along a bustling main street and, near an intersection, saw two fierce-looking Bloodhounds.

Cornered by these two was someone on the Family’s list of distinguished guests: the Trailblazer of the Astral Express. The other person, while unnamed, was someone standing with the Trailblazer; there was no way they were just an ordinary person.

Rachel felt a twinge of annoyance. She stepped forward and heard the Bloodhound members accusing the long, ash-gray-haired girl of being a stowaway.

Rachel’s scalp tingled: *Tall, silver-white, male.* Apart from the silver-white, how did any of that overlap with this young lady?

She knew the situation was urgent. With the Charmony Festival imminent, the appearance of a once-in-a-century stowaway was like realizing, on the eve of a final exam, that there was a concept you hadn't studied at all—it was impossible not to be nervous.

But did they really have to be like this?!

Rachel wanted to step up and resolve the issue, but as she pinned the insignia to her chest to look the part, someone else stepped out first.

The person’s attire looked like that of the Bloodhound Family, but Rachel hadn't seen where he came from. She stood a little further away, able to hear the entire conversation.

That stocky man named Gallagher raised the same objections she had, then shooed away the two young, headstrong Bloodhounds. He then spoke a few polite words to the two young ladies who had been stopped.

Rachel was satisfied and prepared to turn and leave. In her eyes, Mr. Gallagher had done well enough, perfectly even.

The problem arose in the next second.

Gallagher turned and walked away. The Nameless and her companion prepared to leave as well, and the direction they chose happened to be exactly where Rachel was standing.

Thus, as they were about to brush past each other, Rachel heard the tune that had been playing in her ears not long ago.

"...A new storm has emerged, how can we stand still..."

Rachel: ?

That wasn't right. Why was it "Miracle Reappearance" again? She had heard it twice today already. The last time—

The last time was when that Oak Family member mentioned the stowaway.

And "Miracle Reappearance" was an Ultraman theme song. Ultraman… Ultraman…

Two different appearances, two different identities?

When many coincidences stack up, even if it really is a coincidence, it is best not to let it slide to avoid any unnecessary oversights. Rachel’s expression shifted, and she squeezed between the two with a very natural motion.

She noticed that the Nameless, after seeing her face, clearly stepped aside, a movement so gentlemanly it could be called elegant.

Rachel: "..."

But the Nameless didn't matter. After all, the Astral Express had been invited to Penacony, and their identity was not only clear but had been cleared by Sunday himself.

The important one was the other young lady.

Rachel looked at her quietly. "Miss, honestly, you are the stowaway, aren't you?"

The two pairs of eyes locked for a moment. Then, the ash-haired girl suddenly turned and ran. She moved quite fast.

Rachel gave chase. In a place like the Golden Hour, packed with people, it was clear that other methods of pursuit were not good choices.

The girl didn't run far. Just as she reached a space with fewer crowds, obscured by potted plants and decorations, a portal with flickering, blocky edges suddenly opened in front of her. As she lifted her skirt and jumped straight into the portal, Rachel only had time to call out at the disappearing silhouette, "Your scent is on me—a crime committed by my own nose."

*

This was a matter of great importance.

Rachel immediately relayed the situation to Sunday.

A stowaway, one capable of traversing the dreamscape of Penacony at will, and one who had just escaped her grasp—this was clearly a major issue that required a heavy hand.

Sunday replied: *Understood.*

Rachel contacted Gallagher and asked him to notify the remaining Bloodhounds. She gave them the physical description of the woman she had memorized and then hurried toward the Dewlight Pavilion.

Sunday had previously said that the high number of invitations this time was like fishing in troubled waters. Now, it seemed the water in Penacony was indeed murky enough.

Rachel boarded the shuttle that ferried passengers between the Golden Hour and the Dewlight.

These vehicles were prone to causing motion sickness. They claimed to be a tribute to history, but Rachel felt they were just too lazy to redesign them.

She felt a bit dizzy after boarding. The scenery on both sides blurred past her ears, iridescent in her vertigo. For some reason—perhaps her auditory hallucinations of the last two days were worsening—she heard someone singing from far away:

*...The more hypocritical, the more perfect,*
*A sweet dream falls asleep, a desperate cycle,*
*With one blink, the regression begins...*