4 Meeting Sunday Again

Rachel could not fathom it; Rachel was deeply shocked. Although she had obediently crouched down with her hands over her head, it was purely because she did not want to be held at gunpoint by these vicious Hounds, only to be struck by a bullet.

Admittedly, there is no death in the world of dreams, but experiencing the sensation of being near death must surely be unpleasant—Rachel had no intention of mistreating herself, and thus, she knew that a wise person submits to circumstances.

But, but—!!

She had deep chestnut hair and green eyes. Today, to look like a professional woman—or at least to appear somewhat mature—she was wearing a dark grey suit.

Anna, on the other hand, was a typical Penacony sweetheart, dressed in a pretty pink-and-blue dress with short, curly, shimmering blonde hair.

Rachel could not understand, nor could she articulate it. She just wanted to ask: which eye did these Hounds use to see that they were silver-white?

Was it true that the Bloodhound Family were truly dogs, and like all dogs, they were somewhat colorblind?

*

Neither Anna nor Rachel had ever been targeted by the Hounds before. One rarely left the Dream's Edge and even had a Dreamweaver’s qualification certificate hanging around her neck; the other was a model student who had barely stepped out of Origami Academy until now. Consequently, when it came to dealing with the Hounds, their combined experience was exactly zero.

A big, round zero, at that!

And so, with the Hounds pressing cold gun barrels against their waists, the two of them were escorted all the way from the Dream's Edge to a place that looked like a dark, cramped cell.

Along the way, Rachel had tried several times to declare that neither she nor Anna were stowaways and that she had clear evidence to prove their identities. However, every time Rachel tried to speak, the Hound in front would cut her off with a grumbling, abrasive tone.

Rachel: "..."

This was truly, genuinely very rude.

She had had a shred of patience left, but not much. That remaining patience burned to ashes when the two Hounds shoved her and Anna into separate small cubicles and loudly warned them, "Stay put, or we won't mind making you suffer before the interrogators arrive."

With a sudden pop, her chest felt like a fireplace, into which a scorching, roaring flame had been thrust—a flame that urged her to react.

Rachel lunged at the door, slamming her hands against the panels: "Listen! To! Me!"

In her hometown on her home planet in this life, she had never broken the law; from childhood to adulthood, her visits to government offices were only to collect welfare or scholarships, ensuring she could grow up relatively healthy and avoid major academic troubles.

And in her past life, she lived in a country where the public security and judicial authorities were particularly reasonable toward ordinary people.

Therefore, she had never been treated so unfairly. One can only imagine Rachel's indignation and grievances.

The Hound outside let out a sneer: "Listen to your sophistry?"

Rachel bit her lower lip. She had an idea. If it succeeded, there would be benefits; if it failed... well, the worst that could happen was being labeled a lunatic. Either way, it wasn't a huge problem.

She recalled a suitable song, a track from a classic musical she had loved in her past life—"The Impossible Dream":

*Listen to me, this world is sick to its core,*
*Everywhere I look, there is only madness and decay;*
*Do not be arrogant, a knight has already thrust his lance,*
*To punish evil and promote good, a wanderer in all lands;*
*......*

However, just as she was about to try singing, a different prelude echoed in her mind. Rachel froze for a moment, but then it clicked: Ha, this was truly the most appropriate choice.

The Hound standing outside the dark room was waiting to further crush Rachel’s "arrogance." But instead of an argument, he was met with... a rhythm that was upbeat, dynamic, and so catchy that he subconsciously straightened his posture.

In the other room, Anna looked up in a daze upon hearing the song. A moment ago, she had been wondering how to contact the leader of the Dream-Building team to get them out, but now, she felt she could hear Rachel’s voice singing.

In... this place?

After hearing the lyrics, the bewildered expression on her face intensified.

What were the lyrics?

The lyrics went like this—

*"Eyes wide like copper bells,*
*Shooting out lightning-fast wit,*
*Ears perked up like antennas,*
*Listening for every suspicious sound.*
*You sharpen your claws and teeth as you patrol,*
*You bring us peace and security,*
*Aha, ahaha, Black Cat Detective,*
*Aha, ahaha, Black Cat Detective,*
*Citizens of the forest salute you, salute you, salute you!"*

What kind of song was this?

It sounded like a song describing the abilities that the Bloodhound Family ought to possess.

Anna thought to herself, though she was quite certain she had heard the words "Black Cat Detective" in the song.

The two Hounds, who had been in such foul moods, felt a surge of strength delivered by the singing. It was as if a pair of hands had pried open their eyelids, and another pair had tugged at their ears, compelling them to mimic the pose from that meme: "I heard it, I heard it with both my ears."

Beyond that, a sudden, inexplicable sense of guilt and self-reproach welled up in their hearts.

They were public servants to the people of Penacony, working to build a better world. Therefore, while they needed to be as harsh as winter toward criminals, they should also show the gentleness of spring to the ordinary people of Penacony.

But look at what they had done! They had brought two ladies—who weren't even confirmed to be stowaways or accomplices—to this place and threatened and intimidated them so viciously.

Oh! No! Look at these two ladies; they didn't even match the description of the wanted fugitives in the slightest.

Tall, silver-white, male.

While these two ladies were not short, they certainly didn't fit the word "tall." There was nothing on their persons that could be associated with "silver-white." And finally, the gender.

...In Penacony, gender was a very casual and fluid concept. If a member of the Dream-Building Troupe decided to pick a gender, even a supermarket shopping bag could become a gender.

However, visually speaking, at least.

Biological females and biological males were two absolutely different concepts.

The two Hounds were as if finally having the cataracts removed from their eyes, seeing the real world at last. Their faces turned deathly pale in an instant.

"Uh... ladies... we, we don't know what happened."

One of the Hounds grabbed a metal ring.

Connected to the ring was a large bunch of keys, which rattled with a crisp clinking sound as he hurriedly searched for the keys to these two rooms.

"We... a voice kept telling us earlier that you two were the stowaways and the accomplice we were looking for." He unlocked Rachel’s door. "I only realize now... even just a minute ago, I truly felt that you were a tall, silver-white male."

He scratched his head, his tone filled with apology and the fear of being reported, which would cost him his monthly bonus or even his chances for annual recognition: "I..."

Before the Hound could finish, the door to the dark room was pushed open from the outside, and bright light streamed in—

—Brilliant, dazzling, and aptly described as magnificent: the most handsome man in Penacony.

Mr. Sunday.

"My apologies, ladies."

He bowed his head to Rachel, appearing entirely devoid of the airs one might expect from a Dreammaster. Yet, perhaps because his attire was so impeccably rigid—even the creases in his suit pants aligned perfectly with the tips of his shoes without the slightest deviation—he looked down upon them from a position of inherent superiority, even while bowing.

It did not feel like he was looking down on everyone with contempt, but rather like an angel who had nowhere to land, praying for all those under his gaze and hoping they would be blessed.

"There were indeed stowaways who entered the 'Golden Hour' from reality today at the Dream's Edge, and this stowaway has an accomplice who is quite skilled at meme-editing."

"After sending their partner into the dream world, that accomplice played a trick on these two diligent Hounds."

"Relax, Mr. Spencer, you are a bit too tense."

Sunday smiled and turned to look at the two Hounds, who were already drenched in a cold sweat.

"While I must admit that your law enforcement process is something I cannot agree with—according to the Family's investigation, you were misled. Therefore, you are just as much victims of this incident as these two ladies."

"Your perception was tampered with, which is why you mistakenly thought these two ladies were the fugitives you were searching for. Thus, I rushed over, hoping to use the power of Harmony to dispel the influence of this external force."

Sunday’s gaze landed on Rachel once more, with a hint of curiosity hiding a subtle, probing interest—Rachel felt it, but she did not find his scrutiny uncomfortable.

So, she did not look away; instead, she raised her head and met his gaze.

In that very instant, she heard that familiar, powerful music once again.

*"Young man..."*

Rachel’s expression, which she had tried to keep calm, shattered instantly. She bit the inside of her cheek, suppressing the laughter that was about to spill from her tongue.

Her attention was so suddenly diverted by the reappearance of the song that she failed to notice how Sunday’s expression stiffened for a fraction of a second, and even his speech stuttered for a moment when the music began.

"But it seems I may have arrived a step too late; someone has already solved this problem before I could. I..." He blinked rapidly, masking the situation. "It seems I am a bit redundant now."