Akira stared at Yori. Killjoy. There hadn't even been much joy in the first place. He killed the joy so hard that it retroactively erased itself from existence. Mitsuki and Akira hadn't exactly been barreling through the door, so shit seemed kind of like an overreaction to him. Mitsuki seemed to share his world-shattering ire, which she expressed by staying put. Lame. 

Akira deliberately took one large step through the doorway, into the gallery. Just one step to show exactly where he stood on the issue. He made a not-very-dramatic gesture with his arms. "Hello. It is I, Akira Watanabe, and I am standing in the art gallery of dooooooom." He unenthusiastically waved his hands about. "Seems safe enough to me." Something creaked. A mysterious creak. Akira ignored it. Creaking was bad in general, especially in doom dimensions.

"Mitsuki has an idea. I guess. Let's find the nice artist lady and see what goes from there?"