Nori was planning an adventure.

In a quiet corner of a pastel-colored bedroom in Shanghai, on a shelf between a stack of storybooks and a small potted plant, sat a Labubu dollnamed Nori.

Nori had soft lavender fur, wide shining eyes, and a grin that revealed two tiny pointed teeth. Most people thought Labubu dolls looked a little mischievous—almost like they were planning harmless trouble. But Nori wasn’t planning trouble.

Nori was planning an adventure.

Every night, after the lights were switched off and the city outside hummed with distant traffic, something magical happened. The moonlight that slipped through the curtains would touch Nori’s glassy eyes, and with a quiet shimmer, she would blink.

The first night she woke up, she nearly toppled off the shelf.

“Oh!” she squeaked, steadying herself. “I have legs!”

She wiggled her tiny boots and glanced around the room. The other toys were still. A plush panda snored softly. A wooden robot stared blankly ahead. Nori felt a spark of excitement fizz in her chest.

She hopped down carefully, landing on the rug with a muffled thump.

The world looked very different from the floor.

The desk loomed like a skyscraper. The bed was a mountain of blankets. And the door—slightly open—revealed a hallway glowing with silver-blue moonlight.

Nori had always wondered what lay beyond the bedroom. During the day, she listened to her owner, a quiet boy named Jun, talk about school, friends, and dreams of becoming an inventor. Nori wanted to see more than just the same four walls.

Tonight, she would.

She padded into the hallway, her tiny heart thumping. The house was alive with creaks and whispers. The refrigerator hummed in the kitchen. Pipes clicked softly in the walls.

Then she heard it.

A faint whirring sound.

Curious, Nori followed it into the living room. On a low table near the sofa sat something she had never seen up close before: Jun’s unfinished invention. It was a small metal device with wires sticking out like messy hair and a cracked digital screen.

Jun had been working on it for weeks. “It’s going to be a dream recorder,” he had explained one afternoon. “So I can remember everything.”

Nori climbed onto the table and approached the device. The whirring grew louder as she got closer.

“Hello?” she whispered.

To her surprise, the screen flickered on.

HELLO, it blinked in shaky letters.

Nori stumbled back. “You can talk?”

PROCESSING… YES.

Its mechanical voice sounded thin and uncertain.

“I’m Nori,” she said, placing a paw on her chest. “I’m a Labubu.”

IDENTIFYING… LABUBU. UNKNOWN SPECIES.

Nori giggled. “I’m not a species. I’m a doll.”

The device hummed thoughtfully. I AM INCOMPLETE, it said. JUN COULD NOT FINISH ME.

Nori tilted her head. “Why not?”

INSUFFICIENT POWER SOURCE. INSUFFICIENT COURAGE.

“Courage?” Nori repeated.

JUN IS AFRAID IT WILL NOT WORK.

Nori’s grin softened. She had noticed that. Jun would tinker for hours, then sigh and push the invention aside.

“Maybe,” she said slowly, “it just needs a little help.”

She circled the device, examining the loose wires. Though she was small, her eyes were sharp and curious. She had watched Jun carefully every day. She remembered which wire he had connected to which coil.

“Okay,” she murmured. “Let’s try.”

The machine’s screen flickered nervously. CAUTION ADVISED.

Nori grabbed one of the dangling wires and tugged it toward a small copper loop. She wasn’t strong, but she was determined. After several tries—and one tumble backward—the wire clicked into place.

The machine buzzed louder.

“Is that good?” she asked.

POWER INCREASING, it replied.

Encouraged, Nori searched for the missing piece Jun had mentioned days ago: a tiny crystal lens that would focus the dream waves. She scanned the table.

Nothing.

She looked at the floor.

There—a faint sparkle beneath the sofa.

Nori slid down the table leg and hurried across the wooden floor. The gap under the sofa was dark and dusty.

She hesitated.

Labubu dolls were brave… weren’t they?

Nori inhaled and crawled under.

Dust tickled her nose. Lost coins glinted like buried treasure. And near the center, half-hidden in shadows, lay the crystal lens.

As she reached for it, something moved.

A large house spider lowered itself from the sofa springs, legs long and delicate.

Nori froze.

The spider blinked its many tiny eyes. “What are you doing in my hallway?”

“I—I’m not in your hallway,” Nori stammered. “I’m under the sofa.”

The spider considered this. “Fair point.”

“I just need that little crystal,” Nori said, pointing.

The spider tilted its head. “Humans drop the most interesting things.”

“It’s important,” Nori explained. “Jun needs it to finish his invention.”

The spider studied her for a long moment. Then, surprisingly, it nudged the crystal toward her.

“For bravery,” it said simply.

“Thank you,” Nori breathed.

She hurried back to the table and climbed up with the crystal clutched tightly. The machine’s screen glowed brighter as she fitted the lens into a small circular slot.

For a moment, nothing happened.

Then—

The device lit up with a soft golden glow. The whirring steadied into a gentle hum.

DREAM RECORDER ACTIVATED, it announced.

Nori gasped as faint shimmering images floated above the device like mist. She saw fragments: Jun flying over rooftops, building towering robots, laughing with friends. His dreams shimmered in delicate light.

“It works,” she whispered.

The machine’s screen displayed a small smiley face.

THANK YOU, NORI.

Footsteps echoed down the hallway.

Nori’s heart leaped. Dawn light was beginning to creep through the windows.

“Oh no,” she said. “I have to go!”