He dropped out. Not dramatically — just stopped showing up. He took a night job at a hospital laundry service, folding endless white sheets and surgical gowns. The steam was biblical. He lived alone in a basement apartment with a single window that looked into a parking garage’s exhaust vent. Some nights he’d put on a tuxedo he found in a lost-and-found bin — too small, tight in the shoulders — and sit in the dark, drinking orange soda, watching infomercials. The tuxedo made him feel like someone who had somewhere to go.
The mirror in the shrine showed him something new each time he returned. His reflection, but older. Calmer. Once, it smiled at him before he did. Dress-up Warrior Walder
This is the game's hub screen, presented as Walder’s messy bedroom. He dropped out
Yet, for all his inventions, Walder always returned to a simple rule: clothing must serve the person wearing it, not replace them. He believed elegance without purpose was vain, and function without beauty left people uninvited to life. The steam was biblical