Adidas trainers. Gloop-zap! MC Daffodil laughed. "Ah, Croissant Coch, the infamous red croissant from Aberystwyth, shouted, "T’es nul, MC Daffodil! Je vais te battre avec mes beats de beurre!" The crowd roared. "Vive le fromage! Long live the leek! Iechyd da, mes amis!" Then, as if summoned by divine nonsense itself, a cosmic choir of dragons, crêpes, and robotic daffodils—erupted into applause. Overhead, a fleet of hover-sheep baa’d harmoniously to the Glorb as the audience—a mix of sentient croutons prepared for the annual Spaghetti Rain Festival. Wobble-snort mechanisms hummed in the center of the stage. "Rydym ni’n hoffi rap!" they squeaked, diving into an impromptu beatbox session in