"Oh," Victor let out an exaggerated, drawn-out sigh from the side, his face full of undisguised, fake disappointment. "How boring. I thought there would be some more... thrilling memories."
Wednesday couldn't be bothered to spare him another glance. She turned around briskly, picked up her neatly folded, spotless black uniform, and walked toward the bathroom.
A few minutes later, she walked out fully dressed. Every pleat of her uniform radiated a meticulous coldness, sharp enough to cut the air that dared to approach.
She walked straight to the dorm door, ready to leave the chaos of last night and the stupidity of the morning completely behind.
Just as her hand touched the doorknob, Victor's voice rang out again, carrying a deliberately feigned, casual curiosity:
"Hey, Wednesday, just asking... after I blacked out last night, I didn't say anything weird or stupid, did I? I often can't control my tongue when I'm drunk and like to babble nonsense I don't even understand."
Wednesday's steps paused almost imperceptibly.
The image from last night flashed back instantly—under the moonlight, the boy's eyes, hazy with drink yet unusually serious, and that slurred but straightforward "Had to ensure you were okay".
Her fingertips tightened on the doorknob for a split second, then relaxed.
"No." Her answer was concise, her voice flat and waveless, revealing no emotion.
She didn't look back. She pulled the door open and walked out directly. Her black skirt drew a decisive arc in the air, as if to shut all unfinished conversations and inexplicable emotions inside the room.
Click. The dorm door closed softly.
Leaving Victor and Enid staring at each other.
A strange silence permeated the air.
The cynical smirk on Victor's face slowly faded. He rubbed his chin, looking thoughtfully at the closed door.
"Hmm..." He uttered a meaningful sound.
Enid was still immersed in the information overload from earlier. She looked at the door, then at Victor, muttering softly, "Did she... just pause for a second?"
Victor didn't answer. He just rubbed his temples, seeming still a bit hungover.
A subtle silence hung in the air, a mix of awkwardness, curiosity, and a trace of disappointment.
Enid sat on her bed hugging her knees, blinking her pale green eyes. She looked at the closed door, then at Victor on the next bed, who was rubbing his forehead and seemed to be trying hard to piece together memories.
"So..." Enid finally couldn't help but ask in a small voice, carrying residual confusion and a little grievance. "Last night... what exactly happened?"
Victor stopped rubbing his forehead and looked up. The hangover made his usually overly bright eyes look a bit hazy, but that familiar manic light deep within began to re-condense.
He tilted his head, seemingly thinking extremely seriously about Enid's question, wearing an expression of almost innocent confusion.
"Hmm..." He dragged out the tone, fingertips unconsciously tapping his chin. "Based on my current remaining memory fragments, which feel like they've been plastered over with chocolate sauce..."
He suddenly snapped his fingers, his face blooming into a brilliant smile laced with a bit of wicked amusement:
"The process... was basically me being bound by Wednesday using extremely professional, extremely cold, extremely... hmm, impressive techniques, and then interrogated under a desk lamp for ages."
He shrugged, his tone as relaxed as discussing what to eat for breakfast.
"Enid! You didn't see it, that technique! Tsk tsk!"
Victor's eyes shone astonishingly bright, filled with the fervor of an art connoisseur:
"Precise, powerful. It restricted freedom of movement sufficiently while perfectly avoiding major blood vessels and nerves. It even had a touch of... breathtaking geometric aesthetic! I bet she studied this deeply! Or at least aces anatomy!"
Watching him reminisce about the details with an intoxicated look, Enid was speechless. Her expression finally collapsed completely.
"Oh..." she mumbled, pulling a long face like a puppy whose favorite bone had been stolen.
But then she secretly cheered herself up. At least it seems no terrible NTR plot happened last night. That's acceptable.
Looking at Victor, who was still shaking his head in admiration...
Enid gave him a huge eye-roll to end the topic. She threw off her duvet and jumped off the bed, ready to wash up.
Just then, Victor seemed to suddenly remember something crucial and bounced up from the bed!
"Wait! Chocolate!" His face changed drastically, his voice filled with unprecedented panic. "Where is my chocolate?! I think I dreamed last night that Wednesday was going to feed them to the toilet!"
He frantically rummaged around his messy little bed like a headless fly, turning the quilt, pillow, and even the underside of the bed upside down.
He didn't dare voice that terrible guess, as if saying it would make it true.
Seeing Victor acting like the sky was falling, Enid sighed and helplessly pointed to the headboard of Wednesday's overly neat big bed:
"There. Are those them?"
Victor followed her finger and saw his precious bag of chocolates sitting safely on Wednesday's nightstand. They were even arranged more neatly than when they were in his hands.
Right on top was that intact, ornate, retro Charlie and the Chocolate Factory 70th Anniversary Golden Ticket Edition chocolate bar.
Victor let out a long breath instantly. His whole body went limp as if his bones were removed, and he slumped back onto the bed, clutching his chest with a look of surviving a disaster: "Thank god... thank Wednesday for sparing their lives... seems she softened up in the end..."
He crawled over carefully, scooped up the chocolate bag like fragile treasure, hugged it tightly to his chest, and wore a happy, relieved, goofy grin.
Enid looked at his pathetic state, couldn't help but roll her eyes again, and turned to walk into the bathroom.
Victor sat on the edge of the bed hugging his chocolate. The goofy grin slowly faded from his face, replaced by a rare focus laced with thoughtfulness.
He looked down at the dazzling array of chocolates in the bag, his fingers unconsciously stroking the Golden Ticket bar.
"Venom," he asked softly in his mind, "last night... how much did I actually say?"
Venom's lazy voice sounded in his consciousness, carrying a sleepy grumble and a hint of disdain: "Mmm... quite a lot. Whining, crying, making noise. You also leaked quite a few trade secrets... like the locations of your backup chocolate stashes."
Victor: "..."
Venom continued to complain: "And you're a terrible drunk. You threw up all over me. Next time you get drunk, I'm running away from home to partner up with that goth girl. I think she's much calmer than you."
Victor automatically ignored the symbiote's complaints and threats, seizing the key point.
He did say a lot. About the lab scent, about the true goal of those "Plague Doctors," about Joseph Crackstone and the possibility of resurrection, and even... the hint about Outreach Day and Pilgrim World.
He looked up, gazing out the window as if his vision could penetrate the walls and see the goth girl heading somewhere alone, shouldering even more mysteries.
The corner of his mouth slowly curled into a very faint smile, distinctly different from his usual manic exaggeration.
That smile held understanding, and a trace of imperceptible... anticipation.
"Pilgrim World, huh..." He murmured to himself, fingertips tapping lightly on the smooth chocolate wrapper. "Sounds like... it'll be a very interesting picnic spot."
His eyes brightened again, but deep within that light lay a calculated steadiness that was elusive compared to usual.
"Gotta make some 'preparations' in advance."