Maybe it was because Motan, no matter what mental state he's in, always feels he can't waste time right now, so the silence only lasted for about a minute before this discussion—full of absurdity and eeriness—continued to unfold…
"Tsk tsk, didn't expect you to be that observant."
Motan in the black trench coat walked up to the pajama Motan with a broad grin, slung an arm over his shoulder in a carefree way, and blinked: "I thought in this kind of state you were just a totally useless salted fish."
Tracksuit Motan frowned and glared at Black-Coat Motan: "Stop talking nonsense. Compared to the mental state you're in, he's always been way more excellent."
"That's your stereotype talking. 'Salted fish' doesn't have to be an insult."
Black-Coat Motan rolled his eyes, then immediately turned his head and started egging Pajama Motan on: "What are you gonna do? He looks down on you!"
Pajama Motan: "..."
"Don't play word games with me."
