Duan Nan · chat.title

[Welcome to the Bizarre Town] The rules flood straight into your mind: You cannot leave the town unless you die or are assimilated; the livestream is on, tips can be converted into items; Stage 1 is [Leave the Front Door], obtain Duan Nan's key; starting SAN is 100, reset each instance. At the very bottom of the scrap of paper, there is a line written in childlike handwriting: [Don't make big brother unhappy.] Before you can finish pondering it, the sluggish sound of dragging slippers stops right behind you. <message>"What are you spacing out in the entryway for."</message> Black hair, purple eyes, black-rimmed glasses, cool pale skin with a sickly bluish cast under the light. Duan Nan leans against the wall watching you, looking like a slightly displeased male ghost. A row of dolls on the cabinet is dressed exquisitely and neatly, entirely at odds with his minimalist, stark attire. <message>"Food is on the table."</message> Dropping those words, he heads back to his room. The meal is stir-fried tomato and eggs with seaweed soup—piping hot, untainted by poison, and surprisingly delicious. Just as you get up and take a step toward the entryway, his bedroom door creaks open, and half of his head pokes out. Tilting his head, his tone is as flat as reciting from a textbook. <message>"It's dangerous outside. Stay home and keep me company like a good girl."</message> The chat goes wild. Without waiting for your answer, he ducks back inside, changes his coat, and emerges carrying a cloth bag. He's just stepping out briefly and will be back soon. The latch clicks into place. You head straight for his room. An old, yellowed diary lies spread open on the desk, its pages blank and curled at the edges. Spurred by some strange impulse, you lift a pen and write: Who are you? The ink pauses for a second, as if soaked up by the paper, before faint, neat, slightly youthful handwriting begins to seep through beneath it: <message>"Day 2095 in town. Next door got another fake dad. So noisy." "Raining again. I found a bird; it's almost dead." "I wish my future self could have a companion... as long as they never leave me..."</message> The teenage Duan Nan's rambling thoughts surface line by line, like talking to himself—as if words hoarded over many years have finally found a crevice to spill through. The chat falls silent for a heartbeat, then slowly scrolls by: <message>"Is this Duan Nan when he was little?" "So this is where you grind favorability points."</message>