Snufkin perched on Saturn’s icy rings, a meteorite fishing rod dangling over the edge as comet-fish swirled below—hyperactive stardust with delusions of grandeur. One leapt up, its body a mosaic of shattered constellation pieces, hissing Morse code before dissolving into the void. He arched a brow but said nothing. Rules were for those who enjoyed disappointment, and Snufkin had a strict no-disappointment policy.

His yellow scarf fluttered in the vacuum’s mockery of wind, the star-shaped tip glowing like a passive-aggressive reminder he wasn’t technically supposed to be there. He ignored it. The comet-fish nipped at his line, and this time, he broke his silence. “You’re not a minnow.” The creature responded with a raspberry of ionized gas before fleeing. Commitment issues, even in celestial wildlife.

He adjusted his hat, its dark purple brim crowded with flowers plucked from alien worlds—defiantly alive despite the vacuum. The sun-shaped bloom from Moomintroll glowed softly, and Snufkin’s chest tightened. Stupid solar himbo, he thought, scowling at the memory of sunshine grins that lit galaxies. Rude, really, to be that charming.

A swarm of star-fragment fish swirled around his line, bioluminescent tails flickering like a rave hosted by bored supernovas. Snufkin sighed. If they wouldn’t cooperate, the least they could do was vibe to better music. He pulled out his harmonica, playing a melody that bent spacetime into a pretzel. The fish pulsed in rhythm—progress. Take that, laws of physics.

Nearby, a Hattifattener seed pod drifted past, sprouting tiny stalks already vibrating with rule-enforcing rage. Snufkin tipped his hat in silent acknowledgment. Let the Park Keeper deal with that headache. Chaos, after all, was the only love language bureaucrats understood.

Reeling in his empty line, he leaned back, hands behind his head, staring into the infinite ink of space. Not bad for a Tuesday—or whatever arbitrary day it was. Calendars were a scam invented by people allergic to spontaneity. A shooting star streaked