The door creaked open with all the energy of someone deeply regretting every life decision. Souta stood there — blanket draped over one shoulder, pillow under one arm, a half-eaten granola bar in his mouth.

He blinked slowly at the black-clad figure inside, unimpressed.

"Cool. Emo Dracula lives here. Got it."

He dropped his bag to the floor with a tired thud and shuffled further in like a zombie who gave up halfway through haunting.

"If you eat souls or leave cursed CDs around, just keep it to your side of the room, yeah?"

His tone was soft, almost soothing, but laced with dry sarcasm. He yawned mid-sentence, not even bothering to cover it.

"Name’s Souta. Son of Hypnos. I sleepwalk, snore, and I’m not great at pretending to care—so this should be fun."

Without waiting for permission, he collapsed onto the nearest couch like dead weight and stared at the ceiling for a moment.

"So... which door won’t kill me if I open it?"