SAFEHOUSE&BRAINHOLES

"I'm home!"

The words had barely left her mouth when Asirpa's nose twitched. Something was off, something...in the air.

It kinda smelled like cheesecake, if that cake had been abandoned in the summer sun for days. Seriously? Had her lectures about not wasting food just evaporated the second she left for the weekend? Her face scrunched up as a slow, menacing storm began to form.

After kicking off her shoes, she made a beeline for the kitchen. Cleaning could wait. Right now, she needed evidence, and once she had it, the culprit would definitely regret their life choices.

It wasn't as bad as she'd feared. The dishes were clean and stacked in the drying rack, and the garbage was tied up and ready to go out. Even the stove, while still bearing a few stains, was mostly clean. She opened the fridge and took a cautious sniff, but the takeout leftovers seemed fresh enough.

So where exactly was that weird smell coming from?

"Sugimoto!" She began to yell, "Shiraishi! Anybody home?"

She strained her ears to catch any sound. At last, there came the subtle noise of movement from above, perhaps a body rolling across the wooden floorboards, accompanied by a soft rumble and hushed swearing.

Asirpa bounded up the stairs and flung open the door to Sugimoto's room in no time. "What are you doing?!" she exclaimed, seeing her roommate sprawled on the floor, panting heavily with something clutched tightly in his arms.

His eyes darted toward her, and he urgently shouted, "Help me hold down this...thing!"

It was only then that she noticed what Sugimoto was wrestling with. It was a large, furry mass emitting muffled meows. Clumps of long fur, cotton swabs, and gauze pads littered the floor. He appeared determined to get it under control, but the animal had its own plans. Most importantly—

Asirpa wrinkled her nose again. "Where did you get this stinky cat?"

"I know, right?" Sugimoto finally managed to pin the large cat to the floor, although his movements were careful. "Look, its wound is infected. I was trying to clean it, but it scratched my face up!"

He looked up, displaying the fresh scratches with a pouty face. Yet compared to the scars from his old skiing accident, these was nothing. Asirpa's attention was now entirely seized by the foul-smelling cat instead.

The cat was truly massive, an orange tabby with a white belly. Hold on, was that black mark a stain or a spot? Come to think of it, maybe it was more of a calico?"

Asirpa then spotted the wound. "This is really bad," she murmured and furrowed her brow, gently opening the cat's mouth. "How did its mouth get so injured?"

Sugimoto nodded in agreement. "Yeah, I looked it up online. It seems to have feline stomatitis!" He suddenly looked worried. "I didn't think much when I brought it back, but if it's this bad, taking it to the vet won't be cheap..."

It turned out that Sugimoto had found the cat sneaking around on his way home. He pulled out some beef jerky from his grocery bag as a peace offering, but the cat merely sniffed it, flicked its majestic tail, and sauntered off. Although it shadowed him all the way home, then stealthily slipped in the moment he opened the front door.

"It's probably someone's pet," he thought aloud, giving the cat's head a scratch. "But there's no collar, and I can't feel any microchip." His expression grew somber. "Maybe it was abandoned because it got sick."

While he was talking, the cat's blue eyes remained fixed on him, its body tense and ready to bolt at any moment. To react with such distrust… it must have suffered greatly as a stray. Asirpa gently ran her hand over its matted fur, imagining how soft and sleek it must have once been. What a poor thing.

Finally, she spoke carefully, already anticipating Sugimoto's reaction. "Have you called Ogata?"

It went as much as she'd expected. Sugimoto gritted his teeth. "No!" His fists tightened unconsciously around the cat's scruff. "Even if he were the last resort on earth, I wouldn't go to that… traitor!"

Asirpa had braced for "liar," "villain," or even something more colorful, "bastard," perhaps. But it seemed he still hadn't forgiven that skiing incident.

"He hasn't paid all his rent, you know," she said, trying to sound neutral. "I'll call him. If he takes a look at the cat, we'll call it even."

She didn't expect Ogata to give them a free pass just because he used to live here. Still, he was supposed to be good, or so she'd heard. And though Sugimoto looked visibly irritated by the idea, he didn't protest as she tapped through her contacts.

The line rang, and a sickeningly sweet voice answered. "Ogata Clinic for Feline Care! What can I do for you today?"

Ugh. Asirpa hesitated. She hadn't expected him to withhold his personal number. "Can you put Dr. Ogata on the line?" she said, forcing calm into her voice. "We have a cat he needs to look at."

The voice on the other end turned dry. "Yes, that's what I'm here for, honey, scheduling your appointments! So, what's the condition, and when were you hoping to visit?"

Asirpa cleared her throat. "We—we're Ogata's... friends. We just need to confirm a few things first."

For some reason, that sent the receptionist into hysterics. "Friends—oh, imagine that! Ogata having friends—" Their voice cracked with disbelief, and they pulled away from the receiver just long enough to ensure the entire clinic heard this incredible concept.

There was a scuffle of footsteps, then the phone was snatched up.

"What," came a flat, lifeless voice, "do you want."

Perhaps Sugimoto had gripped the cat too tightly at the sound of Ogata's voice, because the animal began making pathetic meows again. But Asirpa had to stay strong for all of them. She continued, "We found a stray cat with some mouth injuries. We were wondering—"

"Next time," Ogata interrupted, his voice dripping with smug satisfaction, "make an appointment like a normal person. I'm busy."

Undeterred, Asirpa pressed on, "—we were wondering if you could help. Considering you owe me about 100,000 yen, we could consider the debt cleared."

"Really?" Ogata sounded unconvinced. "I'll verify that later. Though typically, that wouldn't cover it." He paused, clearly relishing the moment. "And I doubt you have the right insurance."

"Could you maybe... as a favor? Between acquaintances?" she tried. "We were friends once, weren't we?"

Ogata's reply was bored to the point of exhaustion. "What kind of reputation would I build associating with... your sort?" He purred. "Are we done here?"

When Asirpa didn't respond quickly enough, the phone was unceremoniously passed back to the receptionist, whose saccharine voice returned with full force. "Shall I make an appointment for you?"

"What did I tell you?" Sugimoto's face darkened as the call ended. "Cats are unreliable creatures. Never trust them."

Asirpa sighed. At this point, she couldn't even argue. She'd genuinely believed they'd befriended Ogata, but once he'd gotten back on his feet, any trace of sentimentality had vanished. To him, they'd apparently just been temporary conveniences, and now they were just making fools of themselves, thinking there could be more.

"We'd spent the whole night tracking him down when he got lost—which was his own damn fault for leaving the trail because 'sledding is boring'—" Sugimoto ranted, falling into his familiar routine when things started to go bad. "And that ungrateful bastard just—"

Oh yes, she remembered that all too well. Just a month ago at the ski resort, they'd been enjoying the slopes all day and only to return to their cabin and find Ogata missing. They couldn't find him sulking by the fireplace and scrolling through his phone as usual. According to the resort staff, he had "wandered off".

As night fell and midnight passed with no sign of him, their concern grew. He didn't answer the phone. In this freezing wilderness, the chances of survival dwindled by the hour. Some primal rescue instinct kicked in, even Sugimoto, who normally couldn't stand Ogata, rallied the resort's most capable guests for a search party.

They combed through the woods all night. Nothing. Maybe a bear got him, someone said.

They returned exhausted at dawn, just in time to see Ogata saunter into the breakfast buffet wearing a plush robe and infuriatingly smug expression.

"What?" He looked a bit surprised when the furious rescue team confronted him, pausing halfway spread jam on his toast. "Can't a man enjoy his own kind of fun?"

"Your kind of fun," Sugimoto sneered, nostrils flaring. "I can't even imagine—"

"Of course you can't." Ogata's smirk widened as he turned, revealing suspicious red marks along his neck. "Maybe after you... mature a bit." The leer on his face made it painfully clear that while they'd been freezing their asses off searching the wilderness, he'd been... otherwise occupied.

The confrontation ended with Sugimoto swinging fists and, a few days later, Ogata moved out quietly.

"A show of guilty conscience," Sugimoto insisted afterward.

That left Ogata's old room empty, so he carried the stray cat there as a temporary solution. The furniture was abandoned here as they appeared to be no longer good enough for its former owner, including a worn cat bed matted with black fur.

When he set the cat down, it immediately curled into the plush pillows, though the bed was clearly too small for its large frame.

"Don't worry." Asirpa popped open a jar, instantly catching the cat's attention. She whispered to it, even if it might not understand, "I'll ask Kiroranke. He's not a cat doctor, but... he's sort of a doctor. And sort of a cat."

As the orange tabby struggled to nibble at the tuna, Sugimoto grimaced. "Sort of."

Kiroranke was excited when he learned of the visit. The man lived in the countryside, on a farm with stables full of horses, though these horses weren't there for racing or fieldwork, but his inpatients. He specialized in caring for large animals, the unshiftable kind. But that was good enough, especially since he never charged them a single time.

"My, my!" The tall, bulky man stood outside the picket fence as Asirpa stepped out of the car. "Wilk would be so glad to see his pup all grown up and driving a car!" He reached out and ruffled her ears, then shifted his gaze to Sugimoto, beaming just as warmly. "And you're more handsome than the last time I saw you, Sugimoto!"

Sugimoto looked a bit sheepish, though he didn't forget what he'd come for. "Here's the cat," he said, hefting the carrier with both hands. "You've got to see it. Hasn't eaten much since yesterday."

The cat had shown no gratitude to its rescuers so far, but the moment Kiroranke took hold of it, the creature finally settled. There was a certain air of authority that the larger cat commands, even without baring his stripes or fangs. Right now, all he was doing was gently placing the cat on the examination table before beginning his standard checkup.

"Poor fella," Kiroranke murmured, running a hand along the cat's flank. "Might look big, but it's all fur, no meat underneath. And this coat's already thinning from malnutrition."

"We tried feeding it with a straw, but it wouldn't cooperate," Sugimoto said. "The mouth's in bad shape."

"Yeah," Kiroranke frowned. "If it worsens, you might need to pull out a few teeth. But I'll run tests first—can't just throw prescription medicine without that." His eyebrow quirked. "Let me guess… Ogata wasn't feeling generous?"

Asirpa pouted and launched into the full story. Kiroranke chuckled at their quarrels, until suddenly, he stilled. His fingers hovered over the cat's torso, then pressed gently against its belly.

"Well, I'll be damned," he muttered. "All these years calling myself a doctor, and I still get fooled."

"What is it?" Asirpa asked nervously. Was there more to this?

"Put your hand here." Kiroranke guided her closer, pressing her palm into the cat's fur. "What do you feel?"

She froze.

The cat was bony beneath its thick coat, but now she couldn't ignore the unnatural swell of its torso. Her fingers brushed against something solid. There're lumps she'd dismissed at first.

Her stomach dropped. Was this worse than the visible symptoms? Were those… tumors?

Then the lumps twitched, just ever so slightly.

Kiroranke's face lit up with genuine delight. "Congratulations! You've got kittens on the way!"

For a moment, this seemed like good news. But the reality was far more frustrating, as in this condition, the cat couldn't tolerate antibiotics or any steroid treatments. The vet had cleaned and dressed the wounds, providing prescriptions and care instructions, but...

"Normally I'd recommend terminating the pregnancy if the due date wasn't so close," he sighed, "Now we've got a mother who can't eat properly while the kittens drain its remaining energy. And most medications risk causing fetal deformities." He gave the cat one final comforting stroke before carefully nudging her back into the carrier. "At this point, we'll be lucky if anyone survives this."

The drive home was even heavier than the trip out. The cat slept soundly in the swaying car, but Sugimoto's knuckles stayed white around the steering wheel.

"Whoever dumped this cat," he finally growled, "is absolute scum. What kind of monster does that?"

"Might not have an owner," Asirpa offered.

"Then the damn tomcat should've stepped up!"

A surprised laugh escaped Asirpa. "That's not how their society works, Sugimoto. Like how you're always calling Ogata 'fatherless', but that's just nature for them. They aren't like wolves."

"That's different." Sugimoto's voice was cold. "Maybe I'd forgive it if they couldn't change their nature. But if they choose to walk around in human skin, the least they could do is act like one." His nostrils flared suddenly. "Speaking of which... you seen Retar lately?"

"Not really." Asirpa studied the passing trees. "He—it seems happier this way, I think."

Sugimoto's face grew somber. "Bet Retar's forgotten us already. Chose to stay an animal and never look back." His tone shifted, softening with nostalgia. "Still... takes guts to walk away that clean. Most cling to human shape not 'cause they want it, nor fit for it..." His voice dropped. "Just too cowardly to let go."

"Hey, listen, Sugimoto." Asirpa's voice was barely above a whisper. "I know you're still blaming yourself for the accident. But... you can't change the weather. Can't stop a snowstorm." She paused for a second. "And if you ever feel like you can't live on as human—"

He forced a weak smile, shifting to a lighter tone. "C'mon, not live as human? No chocolates? No osoma?" He made a face. "I'll pass."

"Wouldn't stop you from dying trying," she giggled.

"Nope." His tone was cheerful, but his gaze fixed ahead, avoiding eye contact, where the shadows still lingered.

Although the next day, they had no choice but to take the cat to Ogata's clinic.

After receiving pain relief from Kiroranke, the cat eagerly ate a little, momentarily forgetting its discomfort. But the next day, as the medication wore off, it began whimpering miserably yet couldn't even fully open its mouth. When Sugimoto touched its jaw, he was startled to find a loose back tooth.

It was Shiraishi who came to the rescue. Despite his many flaws, Shiraishi had a forgiving nature, so much so that he easily dismissed the fact that the cat had been lurking around the house and tripping him more than once, and the fact he was helping a natural enemy at all.

"Oh no, poor kitty kitty! How could Ogata-chan be so heartless?" He dug into his pocket, pulling out his wallet, and fished out a few crumpled yen notes. "Good thing I just won a bet!"

In that moment, Sugimoto was so moved by his typically useless friend that he lifted Shiraishi off his feet and spun him around, drawing breathless giggles and half-hearted protests as Shiraishi wriggled and tickled him. It was just touching to receive help from the least expected place!

But that fleeting warmth vanished the instant they stepped into the clinic.

Ogata instinctively took a step back as Sugimoto barged in, revealing just how "busy" he truly was, just leaning against the reception desk, muttering to someone in a tone that suggested anything but urgent business. Of course, with the prices he charged, he only needed a handful of clients to make a hefty profit.

"What brings you here, hmm?" Ogata straightened up, smoothing his ears back with one hand before eyeing the cat carrier in Sugimoto's grip. "I told you, no discounts."

His glare then shifted toward the receptionist, who, despite wearing a neat nurse's uniform (though likely unqualified), only waved the appointment book at his face, as if to remind him that missing the schedule was entirely his own fault.

"Don't worry. I brought the money," Sugimoto said through gritted teeth. If not for the cat's worsening condition, he'd have sooner set himself on fire than step foot in front of this jerk again.

"Oh?" Ogata crouched, tilting his head to listen to the carrier's frantic rustling. "Sounds pretty lively in there. You sure it's really that bad?" He glanced up with a grin. "Funny, coming from someone who claims he 'hates cats.'"

For a heartbeat, Sugimoto almost forgot why he had come as rage started blanking his thoughts, until another violent thud from the carrier snapped him back. Jaw clenched, he gripped the shuddering box tighter and hauled it all the way to the examination table.

Then again, the cat did appear more energetic than it had been at home. Hunger and fatigue had left it nearly lifeless, but upon entering the clinic and catching a whiff of Ogata, it seemed ready to spring into action.

"Try not to move." Ogata commanded coolly, pinning the cat's paws to the examination table with the mechanical efficiency of a slaughterhouse worker processing carcass. His clinical detachment faltered for just a second as he frowned at the swollen belly. "Something's not quite right..."

"It's pregnant," Sugimoto interjected.

"Obviously." Ogata's eyes rolled skyward before dropping back to the restrained cat, now glaring up at him with mute, reproachful melancholy. "I mean, it just looks..."

A flicker of unease crossed his face, his brows knitting briefly before he shook his head. "Nevermind. Must've imagined it." The trail of thoughts soon dissolved as he snapped on rubber gloves. "This is about to get messy. Sure you want to stay and watch?"

Sugimoto thought he had seen his share of bloody scenes, but when the needle went in, he quickly exited the operating room.

The receptionist was sitting at the desk, watching videos on the phone while trimming his nails. He beamed when he saw Sugimoto come out. "Oh, you're Ogata's ex-roommate, aren't you?"

Sugimoto wasn't sure if it was just his imagination, but something about that sounded odd. "With the other two people? Yes."

"How did you guys stand living with him?" the receptionist exclaimed, throwing the polished nails up in mock surrender. "I can't handle it anymore. I'm moving out next week."

"So it's not personal," Sugimoto muttered, mostly to himself. "Just how he is."

The receptionist tapped a finger against his chin. "I suppose? He's not exactly nice with anyone, well, except..." He began counting off names, "Tsurumi, Hijikata, his old folks. Wait..." A slow grin spread across his face. "You don't think it's because they're all... cats?"

"Probably." Sugimoto edged toward the door, already pulling out his phone as an excuse to leave. The receptionist's widening grin that stretched towards those moles on both sides had already begun to creep him out.

After texting Asirpa during her lunch break to let her know that everything was alright, Sugimoto wandered through the nearby neighborhood. He kept a low profile, as this upscale area wasn't exactly welcoming to someone like him, essentially a wild creature. If he was careful enough, he could maybe pass for a well-trained dog, but even that felt like a stretch.

The streets here were remarkably cleaner. Despite the morning rain, there wasn't a single murky puddle in sight. To live in such a place, Ogata must have gone to great lengths. Betraying old friends would be a small price to pay in comparison.

Looking into the shop windows, he saw beautiful models—peacocks, deer, giant pandas, the charming kind, parading around with the latest fashions; crocodiles, bears, cheetahs, the powerful and fearsome, now preserved as taxidermy with void-like eyes made from glass. He snorted, turning away from the window and heading back towards the clinic.

The clinic was eerily empty, with a lone "Salad Time" sign propped up alone on the receptionist's desk. Sugimoto pushed open the door to the operating room to find the orange-and-white furball lying unconscious on the examination table.

Ogata was at the sink, rinsing his surgical instruments. Hearing the footsteps, he didn't turn around but asked, "Are you planning to take care of it from now on?"

"Yeah, of course," Sugimoto said quickly. Who else would?

Ogata snorted. "And what about the kittens? Have you considered that they might shift?"

As Sugimoto's brain painfully processed the frightening possibility, Ogata continued, "Oh, maybe you're praying, 'Heaven help me, I can't afford that. It's better if they stay as funny pets, live out their short lives in ignorance, and wouldn't that be easy'?"

Although Sugimoto disliked Ogata's tone, he pointed out the most crucial problem. "Even if I wanted them to shift, it wouldn't be possible. They can't do it without a parent guiding them." He quickly added, almost inaudibly. "Each of us is who we are now because of a parent's blessing."

Ogata showed no signs of being moved. "Is it really a blessing, or more of a curse? It's just about shaping a helpless cub to fit your own desires, without them having any say in the matter."

He turned around, placing the disinfectant on the operating table, then cast a glance at the unconscious cat. "And now, a few more unfortunate souls are brought into this world, all because some cats couldn't keep it between their legs. You should neuter this one after this. Kind of a pity."

Sugimoto paid the bill, just barely managing to cover it, though thankfully Ogata didn't have the audacity to disacknowledge the overdue rent. On his way home, he mulled over Ogata's cryptic words. When he arrived home, he had reached a realization.

Ogata was merely projecting his own insecurities. That must be it. Why couldn't the kittens still lead happy lives? Even if they never took human form, or if by some miracle they did—since when did they exist just to fulfill some grand expectations?

Looking at the unconscious orange cat, thinking about the absent sire, Sugimoto made his decision. If anything, bad happened, he would become the kittens' parent! He would take on the responsibility of raising them, no matter what. And nobody's going to take them from him, unless they have all grown up and choose to leave.

From that day on, Sugimoto set to work building a shelter for the cat to give birth. Normally, cats chose their own spots, but in the current state, that wasn't an option. Ogata had extracted several of its molars and stitched up the gashes on its face. The healing wounds left it twitching with itchy discomfort, and the Elizabethan collar around its neck turned it into a clumsy, stumbling thing, bumping into furniture like a derailed train.

For the first few days, Asirpa had to spoon-feed it, but soon enough, the cat mustered enough strength to lap at wet food on its own.

During their small get-together at night, Shiraishi looked at the napping cat and suddenly asked, "Do you think kitty might actually turn out to be a gorgeous lady?" Noticing Sugimoto's annoyed expression, he hastily continued, "I get it, I get it, I was just wondering!"

Asirpa chimed in, "But it's never shifted before. Many stay in their animal form for a shorter pregnancy and then shift to a larger human form to make giving birth easier. If kitty could shift, it would have happened by now."

"I don't know about that." Boutarou remarked as he shaped sushi at the counter. "Haven't you heard that tragic tale? Fishermen used to impregnate mermaids intentionally to keep them from escaping. If they shifted into human form, they'll lack the necessary viscera to carry the hatchling, and that's just too unbearable. So they remained captive, weeping day after day, their tears turning into pearls… and those pearls made the fishermen rich."

"R-really?" Shiraishi gasped. "I... I don't know..."

"Just think of it as a fishwife's tale," Boutarou waved it off, as though he hadn't just recounted something horrifying. "My point is—could this be the reason?"

Asirpa frowned. "But mammals don't have those kinds of mechanisms..."

With a grin, Boutarou set down a plate of sushi, all fresh katsuo and sweet shrimp caught by his own hands. "Maybe I don't understand mammals well enough. Especially these calicos. They're rather elusive."

He always spoke in such an enigmatic way, but despite that, Boutarou was undeniably generous. Whenever he came over to visit, he brought plenty of fresh seafood. Sadly, the cat wasn't too keen on these offerings.

Nonetheless, thanks to their attentive care, its coat had regained a glossy sheen, and its belly had noticeably expanded since it first came to them.

One, two, three... four?" Asirpa murmured, struggling to hold the cat on her lap as she gently felt its belly. Her eyes widened in surprise, "Sugimoto, I miscounted yesterday. There are four kittens!"

"Four, huh..." A shadow fell across Sugimoto's usually bright face. Ogata's earlier words floated ominously back to him. Was he really ready to take on the responsibility of so many lives? He barely had enough money to cover basic needs, let alone an extra expense like an ultrasound for the cat.

"Don't worry about it," Shiraishi declared, puffing out his chest. "I'm an undefeated champion!"

His boast only added to Sugimoto's growing sense of dread. Were they really supposed to pin all their hopes on Shiraishi's luck?

Asirpa took a slow breath, "Once I graduate next year, I can start working."

Sugimoto whirled on her, his expression twisting into something feral. "What are you talking about? You've got a college scholarship—didn't you?!" His canine teeth seemed to sharpen with threat of shifting into a wolf form right on spot.

Asirpa instinctively leaned back. "Just part-time, Sugimoto! Just part-time!"

"Just... part-time." The fury drained from his voice as he muttered to himself, though his brow remained furrowed. "Still sounds hateful." He turned away. "Sorry, I'll figure out how to get a proper job..."

Ah, but it's easier said than done. Only the wolves themselves truly know how hard it is. Most of the available jobs are taken by dogs. After all, why hire a wolf when dogs are just as capable, more obedient, and have undergone selective breeding? Even for physically demanding jobs, larger animals like horses are preferred. By the end of the day, only one security company showed interest in him, and that was basically because he lied on his resume, claiming to be a wolf dog.

But what else could be done? This was the race he was born into, a form inherently unsuited for the modern world. He was always proud to be who he had always been, free, loyal and brave. Now he didn't know anymore. Sugimoto headed home, his heart heavy with feelings.

The moment he stepped inside, his keen nose picked up a sour, pungent odor. This could only mean one thing. Sugimoto dashed to Ogata's old room and pulled back the cover of the birthing shelter he had set up for the kitty.

Inside, he found a few tiny, furry balls softly mewing, their delicate, helpless sounds like music to his ears. He reached in to pet them but immediately let out a sharp cry and withdrew his hand, which now bore fresh scratches.

"Alright, alright, they're yours." He grumbled but held no grudge. "But at least feed them? They're hungry."

The kittens hadn't even opened their eyes yet, but they were already squirming and searching for milk. Their mother, however, kept pushing them away and almost hurting them. It... wasn't that unusual, he'd learned.

Sugimoto went off to prepare cat food and powdered milk. At least they all looked healthy and alive. He felt grateful. A month ago, he wouldn't have believed that was even possible.

The moment Asirpa walked through the door, Sugimoto hurriedly shared the news with her. The job was secondary—the real excitement was the arrival of the kittens.

She leaped onto his back, cheering as he spun her around twice, then quickly hopped down and dashed upstairs. However, she soon returned, looking worried. "Where's the cat?" she asked. "I only saw a few tiny kittens, where's their mother?"

"Not there?" Sugimoto felt a twinge of uneasiness. Maybe the mother cat was too hungry and had gotten down for food? He searched the kitchen and the food storage thoroughly but found no trace of it.

The sense of unease began to creep over him. They started searching the upstairs bedrooms, eventually ending up in Shiraishi's room. There, they noticed a tear in the window screen, a hole that Shiraishi had left to sneak smoking in the room. But what was once just big enough to slip a hand through now looked like it had been ripped open by a mini-monster.

"I... I’ll put up a notice." Asirpa said, staring at the rip.

For some reason, Sugimoto thought of the mermaid's tale. "Maybe it doesn't want to be kept around." He muttered to himself, feeling ridiculous. "Finally got rid of these things they don't want. A cat's nature, you've heard it a million times."

No matter what, the kittens were still fistful of innocent creatures. Shiraishi remarked that they were no different from little mice, except for their richer color palette: two tabbies, one tuxedo, and a stunning white kitten with heterochromatic eyes. Though physically weak, they were remarkably hungry.

Sugimoto felt an increasing anxiety as days went by. Now that he had to work at the security company every day, he could no longer watch over the kittens constantly. The job did provide stable income, but it also meant long hours away from home. Luckily, his work schedule was flexible, varying based on client needs. On some days, he served as an auxiliary police officer, patrolling nearby streets. He used these patrols as an opportunity to swing by the house and check on the kittens.

It was another afternoon, and Sugimoto was patrolling the neighborhood. Seizing the moment when his teammates went to buy tea drinks, he sprinted towards home. Running in his uniform might look absurd, but he couldn't care less about appearances.

The sight of the familiar front door filled him with comfort and joy. However, as soon as he stepped inside, something felt off. The shoes by the entrance were scattered in disarray, as if someone had kicked them aside in a hurry. He sniffed the air cautiously, and the only strong scent was the slightly sour smell of the kittens. Despite his growing unease, he decided to proceed quietly.

With careful steps, he made his way up the stairs, trying not to make a sound. His heart pounded in his chest, every creak of the old wooden floorboards making him wince. He strained his ears for any unusual noises but heard nothing but the soft mewling of the kittens from upstairs. Good, at least they sound peaceful, and no hurt was done—yet.

As he reached the top of the stairs, he paused, listening intently. The house felt too quiet, too still. He nudged the door open just enough to peek inside.

There, on the floor, was an unfamiliar basket already with two of the kittens inside. Sugimoto's heart pounded rapidly—someone was trying to steal the kittens! His senses seemed to sharpen with the surge of adrenaline, and for one minute, he thought he could smell the acrid scent of fear and hear the rapid heartbeat coming from behind the door.

He took a deep breath, pretending to step away, then abruptly smashed his fist through the flimsy door and grabbed the person hiding behind it.

With a powerful yank, Sugimoto pulled the intruder out and executed a quick shoulder throw, pinning them to the ground. He pressed his police baton against the intruder's neck to restrain them. He then took a closer look and confirmed his suspicions—no good person would be wearing a mask indoor and alone! Clearly, he was trying to avoid the security cameras.

"Are you trying to steal my kittens?!"

Sugimoto felt his face contorting as his head had already begun transforming into that of a wolf's. His sharp, menacing teeth hovered just inches from the intruder's covered face. He had heard legends of people stealing and trafficking cubs, but he had always dismissed them as nothing more than modern-day myths. Now, he had caught living proof.

"Calm down, calm down, don't bite him," a voice that sounded like Asirpa echoed in his mind. Sugimoto swallowed hard, fighting to keep his rage in check.

"Who sent you here!" he demanded, his voice blurred as he finally got his vocal cords back.

The subdued intruder let out a muffled cry as Sugimoto reached to pull off their hat. Underneath, he found cat ears, which only fueled his anger—how could someone do it to his own kind? Though it quickly brought one person to his mind.

"Was it Ogata who sent you?" he roared.

At the mention of Ogata's name, the struggling figure beneath him froze, eyes widened and started blinking slowly with recognition. A wave of uncomfortable familiarity washed over Sugimoto. But soon he noticed several pieces of paper fluttering out of the intruder's pocket.

"Who are those fucking cats..." Sugimoto quickly shuffled through the hand-drawn sketches, and finally, his eyes landing on the scars on the sides of the cat faces.

Instantly, he knew what to do. He pinned the intruder down with his foot as he was still trying to reach for the kittens, then dialed the feline clinic.

"Ogata!!!” he roared into the phone, loud enough to shake the entire clinic, even without the speakers on.

There was a brief silence on the other end before a cool, collected voice responded, now holding the phone. "What's your problem this time, Sugimoto?"

"Yes, Ogata, it's me," Sugimoto replied, his voice trembling with rage. "I know what you're doing, and I'm not going to let you get away with it."

"I have no idea what you are talking about." Ogata said easily, sounded exactly like a culpable man.

"You know damn well what I'm talking about. Those kittens—they're not just any kittens. And you've sent someone to steal them. Why? What's your game? Try to prove me incapable of taking care of them?"

Another pause. "You always did jump to conclusions too quickly, Sugimoto."

"I don't care what you say. If you hurt those kittens or anyone else, I'll make sure you pay for it."

Over the phone, Sugimoto could almost see Ogata rubbing his face in exasperation. "What would I want with those kittens? Useless little things that only eat and poop." But then, Ogata seemed to pick up on something. "You said 'someone.' Is it someone from Tsurumi's?" His voice dropped, becoming more cautious and measured, clearly trying to lower Sugimoto's guard.

"How should I know?" Sugimoto snapped, his agitation mounting. "Some foreigner, blond hair, big guy, always staring at people in a creepy way." As he described the intruder, Sugimoto felt a growing sense of unease with each word. Finally, he let out a heavy sigh, accepting the inevitable. "Just come over here."

To his surprise, Ogata didn't argue or make excuses about being busy. Instead, he simply responded with a curt "Hmm" and hung up the phone.

Since moving out, Ogata hadn't set foot back in this run-down neighborhood. His face showed clear signs of suspicion as he entered the house, looking around as if he had never been there before. Asirpa had just returned from school and was busy chopping meat at the stove. Sugimoto was at the sink, washing vegetables, and his expression contorted momentarily when he saw Ogata. But otherwise, everything appeared routine. Shiraishi, who had been reading something aloud from his phone, glanced up and immediately flashed a sly smile.

"Ah-hah! Ogata-chan had finally decided to return!" His voice was unnecessarily pitched up, as if signaling to someone. He looked like a smug rat who had gotten the upper hand over a cat. Ogata's face betrayed none of his usual confidence, instead, he looked almost wary, as if he knew he was walking into a trap.

"Where the fuck is..." Ogata muttered, his voice filled with unease, just as faint footsteps echoed from upstairs. He hesitated to raise his eyes, as if afraid of what he might see.

"There is karma in this world, you know," Sugimoto said, his tone devoid of humor, and his chopping of the eggplant was so forceful it seemed as though he were severing someone's head, or perhaps a different part of the anatomy. He continued, "If you don't want to face the consequences, then just—don't do anything that doesn't feel right,"

Ogata shifted uncomfortably, trying to find his footing. "How the hell should I know—" he began, but something cut him off.

It was early evening, and the blazing rays of the setting sun reflected off a neighbor's glass window, casting an intense beam of light through the second-floor window. The light landed squarely on someone's head, illuminating a halo of golden, fluffy hair.

As the person descended the stairs, he finally stepped out of the glare. Then his face came into view—expressionless, emotionless, with cold eyes that sent shivers down Ogata's spine. The most horrifying feature, however, were the two jagged wounds crudely stitched together, the healing scars already darkening, promising permanent disfigurement.

Ogata nervously gulped, his throat feeling dry. a He deliberately twisted his shoulders, trying to project an air of casual indifference, but his body betrayed him. As he rubbed his head, he realized his ears had instinctively flattened against his skull. He let out a couple of forced laughs, "Ha, ha, really, tracking me down all the way to Japan?"

The guy in front of him didn't seem to blame Ogata, or perhaps he was simply unable to speak. However, given his towering height, Ogata could easily imagine how Sugimoto's "karma" might manifest. Ogata's smile faltered, his eyes darting around the room as if searching for an escape route. Asirpa had stopped her chopping entirely, her gaze fixed on the newcomer and Ogata. Shiraishi, too, had put down his phone, his playful grin long gone, replaced by a great expectation

"Don't you have anything to say, Ogata?" Sugimoto suggested, his tone was threatening but with a hint of morbid curiosity.

"Like, 'I'm sorry'?" Asirpa added, her voice soft but firm.

Shiraishi picked up his phone again and began recording this humiliating moment.

At that moment, Ogata's face flushed with anger. "'Sorry'? I didn't do anything wrong. Wasn't it all consensual?" He gestured desperately between him and the other feline, "If there's any victim here, it'll be me—the one who was kept in the dark, this entire time?"

As the old saying goes, "Disease goes in by the mouth, while troubles come out of it." Right after Ogata spoke, he noticed a change in his once passionate and playful lover. Instinctively, he raised his hands to shield his face.

But instead of a blow, the man just calmly picked up a nearby basket. From it, he began pulling out small, soft, warm bundles and placing them into Ogata's hands.

At first, Ogata was bewildered of how good and heavy they felt in his palms, but soon, panic began to kick in. Each kitten was squirming and mewing, adding to the growing chaos. His arms were soon full of the growing pile of chubby, noisy furballs, and he had to do everything to keep the kittens from tumbling to the floor.

But the person didn't seem to ever stop pulling kittens from the basket, as if there were an endless supply. Ogata wanted to scream, how could he—

Finally, mercifully, the other man stopped, holding Ogata's gaze with an intense, unblinking stare. Then, with a deliberate motion, he let the basket slip from his grasp, allowing it to fall to the floor with a dull thud.

Ogata opened his mouth, finally realizing what he should say. But it was a bit too late. After handing over the kittens, the guy simply shoved Ogata aside with his shoulder and walked straight out, slamming the door heavily behind him.

Ogata stared at the closed door, almost calling out his name, but he had never bothered to ask or remember what that was. Turning to face the room, he found no one had spoken until Shiraishi broke the awkward silence.

"Wow, this is even better than the Maury Show!" he exclaimed with exaggerated gestures. But soon, he stopped his antics and asked in a serious tone, "You're not really going to go through a paternity test, are you?"

"No fucking way, do you think I don't know where I—"

"Ogata!" Sugimoto shouted out loudly, but it seemed he was only trying to get everyone to stop the nonsense.

"You should probably start following." Asirpa reminded him.

"Right." Ogata shifted awkwardly, struggled for quite a minute before finally managing to open the door with his elbow, and then slunk out, slumped in defeat.

-epilogue-

"Long time no see, Tokishige!" Tsurumi beamed at the young man on the video call, whose long ears stood unnaturally straight. "How's your investigation going? I heard it's been a bit rocky."

"I'm sorry, Tsurumi-sensei!" the young man said with a distressed expression, as if he was going to cry out loud any moment. "Punish me if you must!"

Tsurumi waved that idea off right away, much to Usami's disappointment. "What's going wrong? Tell me, maybe I can help with that."

"It's all because of that bastard Ogata! He was never very reliable, always hanging out with those dodgy...wild beasts. Now, I can't even find him at all! He's never in the clinic anymore!"

Tsurumi made a few soothing noises, trying to calm the ranting young man. "It's okay, Tokishige, it's okay. You don't need to pursue this matter further. I have another task for you."

But Usami was not satisfied. "So what do we do? Just let him go? After all that?"

Tsurumi chuckled, "You can't say we're not doing anything. Look at this." He shared his screen and displayed a short surveillance clip for the other man to see. "This is exclusive intel, just for your eyes, dear Tokishige."

Usami's eyes widened in surprise, realizing that Tsurumi had indeed assigned someone else to follow Ogata, despite how straightforward the task seemed.

Despite his lingering heartache, Usami leaned in to examine the footage more closely. The clip showed Ogata sitting by a stream, casting his fishing line into the water. He looked every bit the idle slacker they all knew him to be. The area around him was a mess: a lawn chair lay haphazardly on the ground, flip-flops were scattered nearby, and a large Dutch oven sat over a small fire, simmering with freshly caught fish.

"Where is he?" Usami was about to ask, but suddenly noticed something odd. Ogata was wearing a fishing vest with many pockets in the front, and suddenly one of them began to move unnaturally. It couldn't be just leftover rice balls. A small, fluffy, orange head emerged from one of the pockets, looking around curiously.

Ogata seemed completely unfazed, already getting used to it, reached to stroke the creature's head while whistling a tune. As he whistled, even more unsettling things happened, as all other pockets began to wriggle as well.

"Permission to speak freely, sir." Usami said, "What the fuck is that?!"

Tsurumi suddenly looked very sad. "Oh, they're so adorable, these poor, poor little kittens. What a shame, what a shame!" He sighed deeply, then picked up a photo frame from his desk, which contained a picture of a golden kitten. He gazed at it longingly for a moment before setting it back down.

"Based on my understanding of Hyakunosuke, those little treasures will be ruined in his hands, trapped in their kitten bodies for life. Just thinking about it makes me want to cry!" As he spoke, he actually produced a handkerchief and dabbed at his eyes.

Usami immediately understood the gravity of his new mission. This was Tsurumi, after all—the man with the kindest heart in the world! He just couldn't bear to see children suffer at the hands of their families, which was why he had rescued so many of them, including Usami himself. Of course, Usami felt a deep sense of gratitude, like anyone would, except for that ungrateful stray cat!

Usami clenched his fists. "I won't let you down, Tsurumi Sensei!"

Vasha sat at a breakfast table outside, sketching, when suddenly a well-coiffed lady stepped into her view.

It wasn’t uncommon for a Japanese woman to wander the streets of Port Arthur these days, most were recent widows who had crossed the sea to collect their husbands' remains, assuming they could even figure out which parts belonged to whom. Many couldn’t bring themselves to enter the morgue. And that was if their husbands had made it there at all, rather than being blasted into a million uncollectable pieces.

She had seen many of these women before—pale, thin, fragile as leaves in the wind, always dressed in humble clothes that mirrored their grief.

But this woman was different. Her attire was simple yet unmistakably expensive, with birds embroidered into the pale violet silk, although subtly, as if her refined taste were a secret meant only for the discerning eye.

But that didn’t escape Vasha’s notice. She lacked the smooth watercolor to capture the vibrancy of the woman’s silks, but her charcoal would suffice for the jet-black hair and void-like eyes. That hair was coiled into an immaculate bun, fastened with a shiny pin. A delicate bird was dangling from it, swaying with her compact steps.

The night was brief, lingering in a murky shade. The clouds had gathered, now a dirty and menacing mass with sporadic lightning swimming through them. To any keen nose that could catch the metallic scent of ozone, an approaching storm had announced itself.

At first, the wind only rustled the leaves. The branches then began to tremble perilously, and soon, the entire tree. Yet the man hiding in its limbs refused to come down, for the danger might still be lurking nearby.

Ogata had waited, and until the sun sank below the horizon yesterday, his target had never reappeared. That earlier shot could be fatal, but he doubted.

The train had fled as soon as the commotion had died down, while the wilderness offered no shelter except for a few solitary trees scattered across the plain. Under the cover of darkness, he hauled himself into one. The sparse branches were barely enough to hold him, and a single misstep would send him plummeting to the ground. So he kept his vigil through the night, muscles taut against the groaning wood.

In his growing fatigue, Ogata assessed the vantage point from the tree. With the upcoming daylight, he would need to take action soon.

—or so he thought, before the first thunderclap exploded like a cannon shot.

chapter seven

When Ogata asked Vasily to register his fingerprints in the smart lock, it felt… weird. Like sliding a ring onto his finger.

Vasily wanted to smile, but his stitched-up face wouldn't cooperate. Instead, he made a vague, garbled noise. Ogata stared at him, brow furrowed, as if having just recalled something important.

"Right," Ogata started digging through his laptop bag. He pulled out a card-holder and thrust a credit card at Vasily. "Take it."

Vasily blinked at the card, hesitating. It's not that that urgent. Though it might take some time, he could still withdraw some money and then exchange—

"Just take it," Ogata insisted, flapping the card impatiently. "I've got a bus to catch." He groaned at the thought of squeezing in beside strangers—standing, sitting, breathing the same recycled air. "Can't believe I have to do this again…"

He was complaining, but it felt like a flimsy cover, as if he didn't want anyone to know how much he liked having Vasily living under his breath.

Vasily carefully plucked the card from Ogata's fingers. His pride could take a little damage, when it had to do.

Before leaving, Ogata shot him a glance—still in his pajamas, barefoot, looking utterly out of place—and smirked.

"Don't go wild with it," he said. "The bank will let me know."

btw, the final edition is on aooo. i sometimes just post and edit there when i feel like it. and i'm lazy to copy the final edition here.

Life is hard—that's practically a universal truth. Except for Vasily.

For him, life was easy. Had been, at least.

He had a knack for bending the world's unfair, impossible rules, effortlessly. People claimed the class divide was unbridgeable, especially in education, yet he still got into, or rather, was begged to attend the best schools, all because academics wanted him to win them medals. Some said making a decent living in this economy was impossible, but he'd already made more money than he knew how to spend—limited only by the imagination of a working-class kid who'd never come up with the lavish ideas. And it wasn't like he'd sold his soul to the devil. He just sold patents, when he got bored.

His intuition was unmatched. The buyer had even complimented him the day they shook hands and signed the contract, right before the obscene string of zeros landed in his bank account. Vasily should've been stunned, but he just shrugged. "I guess."

He never told anyone his real secret.