Turn the room, not the cat
Gravity points wherever you last swiped. Mizu keeps going until something stops him, so you are choosing an outcome, not steering.
Mizu knocked over a jar of something experimental and is now a living liquid. You never move him. A swipe turns gravity for the whole room, and he flows that way until a wall stops him. You cannot stop him halfway — so every swipe is a decision rather than a step.
Swipe, arrow keys, or the pad
A droplet only ever moves if it can reach a strictly lower cell. That single rule produces falling, pooling in a basin, spreading across a floor and draining through a gap — and it is resolved instantly and deterministically, so a room is solved by reasoning rather than by reflexes.
Gravity points wherever you last swiped. Mizu keeps going until something stops him, so you are choosing an outcome, not steering.
Furniture divides him into as many pieces as the room forces. What you are really managing is how much of him survives to the exit.
One droplet carries his face. However much body is already out, the room is not finished until the head is — and if the head goes down a drain, nothing else matters.
Stars and goldfish are recorded separately, so one run can take the par and another can go and fetch the fish.
| Result | What it takes |
|---|---|
| Cleared | the head out, plus 70% of the body |
| Two stars | 90% |
| Three stars | every drop, inside the room's swipe par |
| Goldfish | touch it with any part of him before leaving |
Five hundred and seventy-five rooms — twenty-five in each of the first five chapters, thirty in each of the fifteen after them. Each chapter closes on a boss room: the longest line in the chapter, drawing on everything it taught. From the eleventh on, a chapter opens with one rewarded advert, and stays open for good.
Turning the room, splitting around furniture, switches and doors, the freezer, the kitchen sponge, drains, spilt water and the hairdryer.
One-way valves, steam through vents, oil, cat litter and the toy magnet — closing on the washing drum.
Acid and laser beams, and the discovery that a block of ice is the only part of Mizu that can stand in either.
Gutters, crossings that will not wait, litter underfoot, and a cleaning robot with an appetite.
Pipe junctions, doors that keep their own time, and a copy of Mizu that reads gravity upside down.
Ice stops being a hazard and becomes a tool — a frozen block slides straight, over holes and never through a slit.
Heat, beams and things that eat him. Freeze to survive the cutting, boil to get through the vent.
Being moved by what is not gravity: junctions, one-way valves, and magnets that will take the head off the body.
Wind from four sides, arguing with the gravity you just set, over sponges that hold what they soak.
The mirror twin, and everything else at once — junctions, timed doors, beams, magnets and ice.
Sponges and standing water in every room, and litter waiting to cake him too thick to fit through a slit.
Oil he floats on and water that rinses him clean, with valves deciding which of the two he ever reaches.
Beams down every sightline. A block of ice is both the shield and the only way across.
Doors that open on the count rather than on weight, and magnets that reach for the collar bell.
Heaters and beams together: boil him to vapour to rise through a vent, freeze him solid to block one.
Almost nothing but draught. Fans and valves overrule the gravity you just set, with drains under the gaps.
Cold in every room. Ice is the tool, water is the way back, and a sponge is the only thing that lets go.
Wind and heat at once, over doors keeping their own time and junctions that send him somewhere else entirely.
Junctions everywhere: in one end, out of an end you did not pick — with magnets and drains waiting at the other side.
Everything the machine has, on its own clock, all at once. The last boss room in the game.
The first time one does something to Mizu, a bubble points at that exact square with a picture of the device and one line on what it does. It is shown once, ever — and the rules screen carries the same lines for anyone who wants to read ahead. These are those pictures.
Only free-flowing liquid squeezes through.
Weight opens the door; a latch stays on for good.
Soaks up what touches it; turn the room so a wall wrings it out.
A frozen block only slides straight — over holes, never through slits.
Boils Mizu into vapour, which rises against gravity and slips through vents.
Its draught overrules gravity in its path.
He floats on it and rises through it, but never sinks.
One puddle, one unit back — and it rinses litter off.
Cakes him too thick for a slit.
Whatever falls in is gone.
One direction only.
Yanks his collar bell and drags the head off without the body — once.
Takes anything soft; a frozen block rides over the top.
The beam cuts anything soft, and ice both survives it and blocks it.
In one end, out of the other.
A copy of Mizu that reads gravity upside down. It holds switches and blocks beams, and counts for nothing.
One open on even swipe counts, one on odd — the room keeps its own time.
Outside the story and on its own seed, walked in order, with the whole path on screen from the first day — locked rooms included. Five rooms a day, and past that each rewarded ad adds three more. Today's tally resets at local midnight.
Goldfish are the currency and cats are what they buy — fourteen breeds, each differing in colour, markings, how round it sits and how long its ears are. There is no sprite to swap: a Ragdoll still behaves exactly like a puddle.
A light pack flips the Material base, the chrome text and the neutral button skin, so the whole app follows — not just the room. Bring your own photo and a dim slider keeps Mizu visible over it.
Switchable in Settings, each listed in its own script. Arabic flips the whole interface right-to-left — widgets, date formats and text direction follow the choice.