“Alright, so you have the guy who shoots fire. He’s a hothead. He punches hard, fast, and never backs off in a fight. Every brawl he goes in only one comes out of it, and it’s either him or the other guy.

“Then you got the ice woman. She’s not as powerful as the fire guy. In most direct fights she’ll probably go down pretty fast. But she’s also smart and calm. She can think her way out of things. She’ll stay on the defense, run her mind, and freeze the enemy where it hurts the most. After that, she’ll land all the decisive strikes, and come out on top.

“After her, you got the woman’s brother. He’s not powerful at all. You sock him under the chin and he goes out cold for the whole day. But, he can make weapons out of his power. He’s not as smart as his sister, or as strong as the guy who shoots fire, but he’s got a good mix of both. He can think on his feet and get crafty when he needs to. He’ll do whatever it takes to come out on top. But he also knows when to get out of fights. To run away when he needs to.

“Lastly, you got the guy who hails the earth. This guy is strong. Massive strong. He can stand still and sustain all the meanest punches you give him and come out without a scratch. He’s not a hothead, and he’s not plenty smart. But he’s definitely plenty calm. He doesn’t try to outpunch the other guy, but he’ll try to wear him down, disarm him, and overpower him at his weakest.

“So, who do you want to be?”

…………………

“Hm?”

…………………

“How about the fire guy? The fire guy seems cool.”

Him.

“Oh, the earth guy?”

No. Him.

“Earth guy?”

No. Him.

“Where are you pointing?”

Behind earth guy. Him.

“Behind earth guy?”

Mm hm.

"…………………”

…………………

“There’s no one there.”

There is. He’s over there.

“He’s there? I don’t see- wait, him?”

Mm hm.

“That’s a civvie,”

Mm hm.

“You don’t want to be a hero? Why?”

Because the bad guys fight the heroes, and I don’t wanna fight bad guys.

“You don’t like to fight?”

I just don’t want the bad guys to hurt me.

“How about when the bad guys come to hurt you? Would you fight them, even if you don’t know how to?”

But the heroes will come, right?

“…………………”

…………………

“Show me where the boy punched you at school.”

Which boy?

“The meanest boy that gave you the hardest punch. Show me.”

It’s here.

“The cheek?”

Mm hm.

“It doesn’t look bad. Did he punch you hard?”

Not exactly.

“What did you do back then?”

I just let them keep punching until they stop. If I let them punch enough, they’ll go away soon.

“Well, did they?”

They stopped when the bell rang.

“What do you think will happen if the bell never rang?”

…………………

“Show me your cheek again.”

…………………

“…………………”

…………………

“So you let the boys keep punching until recess ends.”

Mm hm.

“Did you see a hero coming to save you from the bad guys?”

Romps was awoken by the sound of running water and light, clinking sounds. It didn't just suddenly go off but sounded off consistently to where his unconscious mind picked up the sound, failed to recognize it and, in a fleeting panic, woke up its host body so he could confirm. He woke up with a droning yawn leaking from his cavernous mouth.

“Ah, morning,” Shiro called out.

Romphaneous struggled to open his eyes open as he slowly rose up from his sheets. The smooth wave and gleam from his hair from last night was tousled from a night long rumpling on his bed. He stared into the distance with a vacant gaze for a long moment before finally grunting out, “What’s the time?”

“I uh- don’t know,” Shiro sheepishly answered.

Romps sighed a deep, tired breath and reached to the round table on the side of the bunk bed. He grabbed his phone and brought it up to his snout. A ghoulish blue lit up his face and showed him the time.

“It’s six in the darn morning.”

“It’s only six?"

“Academy gates aren't even open. At least till eight,” Romps said as he threw his head back onto his pillow.

"O-oh," was Shiro's only response.

Romphaneous remained in bed, aiming to sleep away the rest of the morning. To no avail, his once crusty eyelids were already chiseled awake and thrown open like a faulty roller blind, partly due to morning vigour, but also due to the dull, incessant clinks coming from Shiro's direction. He gave himself five more minutes, frantically pulling his eyes shut before eventually giving up. The thirst in his throat was nagging for water anyway.

He threw open the sheets and stood up, stretching his furry body loose before stumbling towards the kitchen, where Shiro stood, busy with that clinking Romps kept hearing.

"What's that you doing," Romps asked. Then the question answered itself when he went up to Shiro and saw him washing the mountain pile of unwashed dishes that once occupied the sink. That very same pile was transferred to the side of the sink, sitting as neatly stacked towers of eating receptacles and cutlery, wet with droplets dripping onto the counter.

"Uh, Romps?" Shiro called as he scrubbed off a stubborn stain off a plate with a foaming sponge.

"What?"

"Where do you keep the plates?"

"Anywhere. We just find space and shove 'em all somewhere."

"Oh."

Romps kept an eye on Shiro as he brushed away splotches of food off plates and bowls for quite some time, watching him adding more to the gleaming towers of ceramic, awaiting their new home. It was quite an unusual sight for the sheepdog, as he'd never usually see the bottom of the kitchen sink, unless it was a Sunday, whereby it'll be piled on again and be shrouded by Monday morning.

"Did I forget to tell you about the maids," Romps asked.

"N-no," Shiro answered, "I just wanna do something."

"Huh."

Romps watched Shiro some more before asking, "Did you wash my mug?"

Shiro reached an arm to the side and pulled out a shiny, stainless steel cup.

"This one?"

"No, that's Vox's cup. It's the white one with a fat body."

"This one?"

"Yes, thank you."

Then Romps tried to reach for the tap before getting blocked and pushed by Shiro's elbow.

"W-what're you doing?"

Romps looked at Shiro with a confusing gaze, "Throat's parched. I need something to wet it up."

"I boiled some water over there," Shiro nudged a snout towards his left, where an electric kettle sat on the far side of the kitchen counter.

"Huh," Romps said again, "I never knew we had that."

"I found it when I dealt with the storeroom."

"Right," Romps said as he poured a steaming mugful.

Then he stopped halfway.

"Wait, you cleaned the storeroom?"

"Y-yea?"

Romps had an open mouth for a second before he put down his mug on the counter and rushed down to the storeroom. He pried open the door and clicked open the lights. Everything was neatly in order. The careless piles tools and electrical appliances were now neatly organized and placed against the wall. Romps never knew the storeroom had this much free space. He could actually lie down and still have room to roll around. It actually looked cleaned for a change.

Then he heard some mechanical rumbling on the side of his ear. He turned to his side, and saw the source of the sound.

"You got the washing machine working," he said in disbelief.

"What?" Shiro called from the kitchen.

"Wait, are those my clothes?" Romps asked as he peered into the window of the washing machine.

"What?" Shiro called from the kitchen again.

Then he stood back up, still unable to believe the sight before him until he glanced towards the dryer sitting on the side. There was a basket on top, and there was Romps' other set of clothes, washed and dried and folded. He picked one of his shirts up. It was virtually smooth and without a single crease, which meant they were also ironed out and pressed.

"Oh, that," Shiro said as he joined Romps in the storeroom, "I also washed your clothes, if that's okay."

"It's definitely more than okay. Definitely more than okay," Romps said as he set the clothes back down into the basket.

"Uh, Romps?" Shiro asked again.

"Yes?"

"Where do these go?" He asked as he pointed towards Romps clothes.

"There's drawers under the bunk beds."

"Okay," Shiro said as he reached for the basket and swiftly stepped out of the storeroom.

"Wait, you're done with the dishes?" Romps frantically caught up to Shiro from behind, closing the light and shutting the door. Sure enough, the sink was completely empty, and held a shine that was previously unseen from before. All that dishwasher liquid had washed it free of stains as much as the plates sitting beside it, and gleaming as much as them too.

Romps didn't know what to say. He could only clamp his jaw in incredulity as he took in everything he just witnessed.

Then he felt something on the floorboards he stood on. He rubbed his legs on it, feeling the odd, cold and smooth texture on the wood. There was also a hint of moisture on it too.

"Did you mop the floor too?"

"What?" Shiro called from the other side of the dorm.

Romps strut to the other side of the wall, only to see Shiro kneeling down, folding his clothes from the basket with a smile on his face before stuffing them neatly into orderly stacks in the drawer under his bed.

"Hm?" Shiro gazed towards Romps with an ogling look of innocence in his red, feline eyes as if there wasn't an obvious, unusual occurrence happening right there and then in dorm 1450.

"How long were you up for?"

"I, uh, d-don't know." Shiro answered sheepishly as he stuffed in the last of Romps' clothes, "Two hours, maybe?"

"Did you even sleep last night?"

"I-I guess."

Romps didn't say anything for a while. He only glanced around the place from where he stood, now clean and organized as if the weekends had arrived earlier than usual. Even the disheveled bed he'd just woken up from was smothered out and fixed.

He looked back on Shiro, now kneeling on the floor, staring at him with perking ears and a waving tail, anticipation in his eyes.

"Get up from the floor, please," Romps pleaded towards Shiro.

Shiro stood back up, his head now facing slightly downwards, as Romps' forehead barely reached above his chest.

"You usually do this at home?" Romps asked.

Shiro nodded.

"Every day?" Romps asked.

Shiro nodded again.

"At four in the morning?" Romps asked.

"Sometimes five," Shiro answered.

Romps had his mouth slightly ajar as he processed Shiro's answers. Then he shook it off, and placed a palm on Shiro's shoulders.

"Look, I'm grateful that you're doing this. Trust me, I really do. Thing is, you really don't need to do all this. We got maids for this. Every weekend. Got to leave some jobs for the workers, alright? Laze around in bed, or watch the ocean. Anything but-"

Then Romps stopped halfway, as he noticed Shiro's ears slowly falling to its sides, along with his curved tail, and the glint in his eyes dampening to a dim maroon.

"O-oh," he muttered, "I'll just, uh, see the sea. Is that okay?"

Romps couldn't believe what he's seeing. He rubbed between his snout, blowing a silent, deep breath.

"D-Do you like doing this?"

As if there were sorcery behind his words, Shiro's ears sprang back to life, his tail began bucking side to side like a rodeo show, and his eyes shimmered back to a bright crimson.

"A little bit."

"Okay, okay. You just keep doing what you're doing," Romps said, "It's alright; fine and dandy. Just- well- if anybody asks, tell them you chose to do this. We didn't bully you into submission or anything. Agreed?"

Shiro nodded enthusiastically.

"Great. That's nice," Romps said, "So, uh, you got anything else to do?"

Shiro looked around the place, then his gaze landed on the giant, bulging orange plastic bag sitting on the foot of his bed.

"My stuff," he said, "Haven't taken it out yet."

"Right, right," Romps said, "You go do that."

And Shiro did that. He took out all his tracksuits and stuffed them into neatly folded piles in the drawers under his bed, along with his accessories. Then he organized his hygiene products in the bathroom, and got rid of the plastic bag itself, which had a huge hole on the side already.

"So, uh," Romps asked, "Anything else?"

Shiro looked around the place.

He shook his head.

"Oh."

A silence trailed between them.

"Want to watch the ocean?"

And so they waited until the morning arrived, feeling the salty breeze of the sea breathing down their faces as the sun slowly grew over the horizon. Then the time came, and they took off for the Academy. Romps was dressed in his uniform, ironed and pressed by none other than Shiro. The dark fabric complemented his snowy, white fur pretty well, with excess hair draping over the collar, giving his already furry disposition some extra flair. The wolf himself changed into a new tracksuit, though it didn’t really make much of a difference. Shiro would have worn the same thing he donned on sleeping last night and no one would know, unless they pressed their noses against him and inhaled. They were about to step out the door when Romps squatted down and did what he called a ‘rain check’.

“What’re you doing?” Shiro questioned as he threw his "temporary visa" around his neck, watching Romps dig through his backpack behind the door, right before they were going to leave.

“Rain check,” he explained, “It’s something I need to do. It’s a routine, you can call it. Got to make sure everything’s in place so I don’t go running back here like a fool for a pen or a notebook. It won’t take much but you can go first.”

Shiro didn’t go first. He waited as Romps meticulously went over every pocket and zipper through his bag while muttering a checklist to himself. Among the mumbling Shiro caught the words phone, wallet, polaroid, and key-card. A minute passed before Romps stood back up, swinging the backpack across his shoulders.

“Alright. Everything’s tip top and a-okay. Let’s go-”

Immediately outside the door, they were met with a clogging crowd, milling about the corridor, shuffling towards the elevator hall. Heavy chattering filled the sparse empty space between them and the air above, accompanied by the ever present, choking odour from the clashes of animal scents. It was brought even more intense by the radiating warmth of fur and feathers, occasionally interrupted by chills from brushing cold, hard scales.

"Ah, the morning rush," Romps said, "It’s not a complete day without it, I say.”

Shiro tried to take his first step into the crowd and had his neck perilously brushed against a passing hawk’s razor-sharp beak and had his legs stepped on what feels like a rabbit’s foot. He immediately threw his body back as a bull with a magnificent horn came into view from the corner of his eye, nearly impaling his ears from one hole to the other. With his back against the door he just stepped out of, he wasn’t sure how he was going to get through the natural hazard before his eyes.

“Too big for the crowd, eh?” Romps joked as he gave a bemused smirk, “Here, grab my collar. I’ll get us through this nutter crowd.”

Shiro reached in for a grab.

“No, that’s my neck.”

Shiro reached in even more.

“Still my neck.”

Shiro stabbed his fingers further into the deep, warm chasm of Romps’ scruff, scrambling his fingers, finding that one solid spot that indicates a uniform collar. He dug in for quite a moment before eventually managing to find that one sweet spot.

“Yeow! You better clip those nails some day.”

“S-sorry.”

“Alright, now hang on to your tail,” and Romps promptly sprinted.

By some miracle, Romps managed to split the crowded sea and forced his way through them like a slippery fish. His stout body was just wide enough to pry sufficient space between the horde for Shiro to squeeze through, and soft enough to avoid distasteful scorns. The assorted collection of ears and horns and heads that dominated Shiro’s sight faded into a streaking haze of colours as Romps led him through the corridor with unprecedented expediency. It only took a quick, few seconds. Before he knew it, Shiro found himself at the front lines in the elevator halls, facing the silver doors once again.

“We’re here,” Romps turned back and spoke with a cheeky grin, “Having a gut does help sometimes, eh?”

Shiro could feel the intensity of the crowd as he was suddenly dropped into the middle. He felt elbows and bodies pushing and shoving from every angle. Never did a moment pass where he wasn’t getting nudged from behind nor without traces of sorry and excuse me peeping from the chattering racket. His nose was confused by the abundance of animal scents blending into one another, mixing into a tough, solid pungent dominating the air. He would catch a whiff of a feline’s fur before having it violently blasted away by a gust carrying the distinctive scent of feathers.

Romps didn't seem to be affected by any of this, nor did anyone else for the matter. Everyone seemed relatively used to the commotion, which was understandable, but only up to a degree. Shiro found it hard how anyone would be accustomed to any of this.

“How’re we getting in?” Shiro asked.

“Like how anyone would get in an elevator,” Romps answered, “Don’t tell me you’ve never ridden one."

“N-no,” Shiro replied, “It's just that there's too many."

"Well, what's the pro- oh, right. Forgot to tell you about this," Romps explained, "See, our system works a bit different. You got six boxes and too many floors and people, right? What the elevators do is that when the weight reaches a certain limit, every other floor gets ignored until the elevator gets lighter to a certain degree. That way, you wouldn't have to stop every darn minute on every floor."

"But there's still too many-"

"Well, it's a hell lot quicker, that's for sure."

Shiro twisted his head to the back, scanning the ceilings and walls among the chaotic swarm happening around him.

"Where's the stairs?"

"Hm? They're on the other end of the floor. You can use 'em, but if I'm being honest, I'd rather wait here than to lose my marbles and walk down fourteen-"

Then the elevator pitch rang from the exact door right in front of them both. It was like catharsis to the noise. Almost on cue, everyone's head turned to the silver doors and began shuffling towards Shiro and Romps' direction.

"Ah, speak of the devil. Pull up your knickers Shiro, this is going to be quite a- Shiro? Shiro? Where'd ya-"

Romps watched in bewilderment as Shiro was literally carried towards the opening silver doors by his shoulders. The crowd was so riled to get going that they squeezed against each other, giving no lax intent on being inside that damn elevator. Shiro was physically caught up in the struggle and was dragged against his will into the silver casket. Romps tried his best to join but alas, his gut proved to have some disadvantage in a herding crowd.

"I'll see you again in our room," Romps called to Shiro.

Shiro twisted his neck to the side, just enough for him to cry out from the silver casket, "I'll wait for you down-"

Then the doors rolled to a close, immediately dimming out the rowdy racket happening outside, leaving only the ambient, mechanical clicks and hums of the elevator and the last of Shiro's words, "-there." echoing its deep, growly voice across the packed, silent room.

For a brief moment, everyone had their eyes on the wolf. It didn't feel so nice. He was the odd one out, in various different ways. He was the only one that was in a jumpsuit, with a briefcase in his shoulders as opposed to the more conventional bags and backpacks. He was too, due to prior inconvenience, the only one with his back turned against the doors. It didn't help that he was also barefooted. He looked like a physical incarnate of Casual Fridays taken to an ascended degree.

Realising this immediately, Shiro fell to an immediate silence, with his perky ears drooping down to its side as he awkwardly shuffled himself to the front. As he moved his legs he accidentally stepped on a stray tail, triggering a rather high-pitched squeak that lassoed everyone's attention back once more.

Shiro ducked down slightly, saying to the infuriated mouse standing below his knees, "Sorry, sorry…"

He never wished this hard for an elevator ride to end.

When the silver doors eventually opened to what felt like an eon, Shiro felt his heart lift as he stepped out into the golden elevator hall, too filled with animals of every kind, now shuffling along towards the lobby entrance. The gazes wore off his body as they diverted to their new destination and, though he was still very much the odd one out, Shiro relished in the slight absence of unwanted attention. There were still lingering stares from other folks, but compared to yesterday, this was easy to ignore.

Shiro followed the crowd to the lobby outside, whereby he forcefully pushed his way out of the current, mouthing out apologies on his way. He managed to find a spot free from the stream of people, right in front of the empty counter overlooking the entire lobby. He propped his back against the counter and waited for Romps there. From his angle, he finally realized just how diverse the world truly was.

As he waited he watched animals from all species of all families passing right before his very eyes. He saw a rhino, chattering endlessly to a rather reluctant bison, nodding away with a forced smile. Just behind them Shiro spotted a hedgehog barely taller than his ankle along in a protruding uniform tottering along in a hurry. An antelope strut through the crowd with ease with his slim figure, as opposed to the anteater truding right behind him with his long snout stuck in a bag of assorted dried fruits. A mandril came rushing his way out of the corridor, nearly totalling himself with an owl that just so happened to have his eyes on his back.

This was incomparable to that time Shiro spent in the auditorium. There were many things back there he would rather forget, but the first gaze he took towards the audience was not one of them. So many animals from so many different walks of life. Every species on the planet were displayed right before his eyes, going about their daily, routine life.

On one occasion a human walked out. He looked like different subspecies compared to Mr. President. This one had darker skin, with black pupils and bald head. Even if this was his second time seeing a human in solid form still blows Shiro away to some degree. He walked out, talking away with a civet half his height, completely oblivious to Shiro’s wondrous gaze towards him.

“Fascinatings, these humansss, yesss?”

Shiro felt his spine jump and strike through his skull, hitting his brain. The voice was low and soft, yet, there was an element to it that managed to pierce through Shiro’s psyche, pushing goosebumps and chills through his body. Shiro slowly looked over his shoulder and, to both his surprise and prediction, saw the snake from last night, perching over his shoulder from its towering presence. Its body coiled around the counter, ending with its neck stretched high up on towards the ceiling and diving down with its head next to Shiro.

Shiro didn’t even hear it come. It was until he saw the full scale of the snake’s body did he finally feel the space behind him being occupied. Just half a second ago, if he really felt like it, he could’ve fallen into the counter and expected to hit the floor and not cold, hard, coiling scales.

“G-good morning,” Shiro stuttered.

“Greetings, yesss…” the snake hissed back, tipping its SECURITY head as it did.

And they left it at that. Shiro continued his people-watching, but this time he had company in the form of a giant anaconda perching just over his shoulder. Shiro thought the snake would leave, to no ill intention, but it stayed, resting his head next to him with no sign of urgency.

Shiro felt a slight pressure from the snake. From its stance Shiro had a slight gut feeling that the snake was there for a reason. The way it stayed dormant gave an impression that the snake is waiting for someone, or something. Shiro contemplated that notion in his head, having it simmer for a while. He doubted that hunch, thinking that perhaps all snakes looked like this. Shiro hadn’t seen a lot of snakes in his life. His home wasn’t exactly a comfortable habitat for reptiles in general, especially the weather, so he never had much experience with them to begin with. The snake’s vigilant, emerald eyes spoke of many unknown things, all suspicious and intriguing as it scanned around the lobby, watching the kids as they went. Its forked tongue flicked out from between its thick lips sporadically, tasting the air with an inquisitive nature.

Shiro could be wrong. Shiro could be very wrong. This could be how an average snake looks normally. Shiro was overthinking it, perhaps, and that was the conclusion Shiro decided to settle on. Yet, a nagging ‘what if’ kept ringing in his head, scratching the back of his mind, leaving him no peace. The social pressure of being expectant to act was catching up to Shiro, and he wasn’t even sure if he was the one the snake wanted to take action. He didn’t know what the snake wanted, or if the snake wanted anything in the first place. Yet, the snake’s simple act of company struck many chords with Shiro’s instincts, and every nerve was tingling with anticipation for anything to happen.

Snakes are scary, Shiro thought.

Shiro, contradicting his usual self, initiated a conversation. He needed to talk about something desperately to get his mind off the snake. It seemed to go against Shiro’s intentions but as long as he’s thinking about something else, it’s fine. He needed to negate the pressure anyway.

“How’d you train the spider?” Shiro asked.

The snake reared its giant head, pointing it towards its side, “Thee spidersss?”

“Yea,” Shiro said, “Like Lucille, and the others.”

The snake stared blankly with its massive pupils, still and unflinching into Shiro's puny eyes.

"What's does you's means, trains'th?" The snake hissed.

"They just listen to you?"

"They's understandsss" it said, "They's understands ais, they's understands you's, and's understands others too's."

Shiro had his mouth ajar for a moment before he caught on, "They aren't Feral?"

"Why's you's thinks they's areth?"

Then Shiro was caught in his words. He didn’t know what to answer. He felt like he stepped on a landmine he didn’t never know was there. That one catalyst he took, hoping to get him out of the rough spot had thrown him somewhere else instead. From the sizzling pan into a boiling pot. The snake brought itself closer to Shiro, almost touching noses with him.

"What's much's difference 'tweens us and's spiders? Why's it's thee spiders thath cannoth think's likes us? Cannoth speaks likes us? Cannoth listens likes us? Cannoth understands likes us?

“Why’s cannoth spiders be’s likes us?”

Shiro listened to the snake and in all seriousness, contemplated on the idea. It was a concept that he felt foreign to him, but not alien. It sounded plausible; logical, even. But it felt jarring, hearing it in words, or the topic was suddenly laid upon him like that, even if he had an answer hidden within the subconscious side in his head. He felt like a man who’d taken a quick nap in a bus, only to wake up moments after and find himself in the wrong station far away from his destination.

He wasn’t ready for this.

Shiro knew what to say, he just didn’t know how to put it in words. Politely, at least.

Shiro stuttered, “I…”

“Yesss?”

“I…”

Then Shiro felt something drop onto his head. Something light, with many legs tapping on him.

“Ahhh, Lucillesss,” the snake hissed, “We’s just’s making’s talks abouth yous, dearesth…”

Much to his relief, Lucille came just in time. If Shiro was a man at the wrong stop she was the soft, warm yellow glow of a taxi cab. She gave a slight purr as she tapped her forelegs on his head, seemingly as her form of greeting. Shiro brought an open palm to his chest, and Lucille hopped into it, facing the wolf in the face.

Shiro tried to explain, "Lucille, I-I'm…"

Lucille pushed her body forwards, putting her weight onto Shiro's upper snout with her legs. She made slow, droning clicks as she did. Shiro slowly closed his mouth again.

Then Lucille turned back towards the snake and unleashed the harshest, seething hiss Shiro's ever heard, at least from a spider. Her forelegs opened up violently, prodding the air as her fangs jittered with vigour.

"Alrights, alrightsss" the snake said as it retracted its head, "Ais stops, ais stopsss…"

Lucille ended with a low purr, with her six uneven eyes fixed firmly onto the snake.

The snake asked the spider, "Has you's checks thee rooftops and's thee cornersss?"

Lucille made some clicking sounds Shiro couldn't understand one bit.

"Excellence, what's abouth thee othersss?"

Lucille made more clicking sounds, all as elusive and cryptic to Shiro as the last.

"Ais seesss, ais goes figures ‘ith outsss…”

“Oi, Shiro, you’ve been waiting?” Romps called from behind.

From the chaotic ruckus above Romphaneous managed to find his way through the bedlam and made his way down to the lobby as upbeat as he was. As he walked towards the wolf his eyes were snatched away by the giant presence looming over everyone that is the anaconda. His buoyant attitude slowly deflated before the snake as his once open voice was reduced to a feeble grunt. He gave a nod to the snake, giving no more than a shy, “Morning.”

“Greetings to’s you’s too’sss,” the snake said, “But’s much apologies, ais has troubles frometh ais dearests. Has goods days, ais wishesss…”

Then, just as the snake turned away to leave, it suddenly stopped in its tracks, reared its head back down towards Shiro and asked, “Apologies againsss, buts does you’s minds doings somethings for’s aissss?”

Shiro was caught surprised, unable to answer, “W-what?”

“Cans you’s touches ais nose likes lasts nightsss?”

“......”

“......”

“Y-your nose?”

“Yesss, pleasesss?”

Shiro was taken aback at first. It was a request he never expected anyone to make towards him, nor a request he’d expected anyone to ever make at all. He thought of it not as a weird request, but as something eccentric. Shiro decided not to think anything further beyond that, and simply closed off every other incoming thoughts and stroked his hand onto the snake’s nose as he did last night.

Shiro had no idea why he did what he did yesterday. Coiled within the snake’s body, with its face so dangerously close to his, never once would he even consider doing such a thing. It was an instinctual action, as if his body brought upon itself to pat on the snake’s nose. It was something he couldn’t explain. His hand just raised up and did its own thing, as if like a puppet directed by strings. Even now, if asked, he wouldn’t think he’d repeat it if put in the same situation. Yet, here he is, petting the snake right on its snout as casually as a weekend jog in the park. Granted, it was the snake that asked, but still, Shiro would’ve never envisioned even a hint of possibility for him to ever do that again.

As before, the snake had scales as hard as diamonds but as smooth as glass. It felt cool to touch, with patterned seams and crevices Shiro could feel beneath his palm. Shiro almost began scratching the surface out of pure curiosity when the snake brought itself upwards again.

“Appreciationsss,” it hissed as it tipped its hat, “Much appreciationsss…”

Then it slithered away to the other side of the lobby, expertly maneuvering its giant body through the fighting crowd with much elegance that it’s almost impressive to watch. It slid to one corner of the lobby and disappeared as if its giant body was never there before. It came and left with no trace aside the chill still pulsating in the balls of Shiro’s palms.

Romps waited until the snake was out of sight before approaching Shiro, “So you’re the one that pet the snake yesterday? Yeesh, how did ya do it? Its eyes ain’t scary to you? I’ve been here for four years and its darn eyes still scares me, I tell you tha-”

Then, as Romps held onto Shiro’s shoulders, he took a glance down towards Shiro’s other palm and saw who was on it. His voice promptly dropped from a carefree attitude to a low growl with a vengeance.

“You,” he snarled.

Lucille hissed back, throwing her forelegs and baring her fangs with fury.

With his snout firmly directed towards the spider, Romps spoke to Shiro without looking away, “You know, I’ll head off myself first. You can catch up if you like. I just don’t feel like being in the same room with an old hag.”

Lucille replied with another deadly hiss, followed by a snarl from Romps, with a back and forth ensuing between them both until Romps was swallowed up by the horde and went out of sight, leaving Shiro and Lucille alone in the lobby.

Lucille, despite Romps being gone from view, still hissed a ton, prodding her legs and jutting her fangs.

As she did her thing, Shiro pondered on what the snake had said before. He stared at Lucille for a moment, then he spoke to her.

“You know-”

Lucille stopped her prodding and looked up towards Shiro.

“It’ll be better if you’re honest to him.”

Lucille was stationary for a solid second. Her whole body froze up like a statue, with her six eyes blankly staring at Shiro as if she was transfixed by some unknown sorcery Shiro unwillingly imbued upon her.

Then she burst into a flurry. Her body exploded into fidgeting twitches. She let out a scream of clicks as opposed to her usual hiss, as if she had suddenly gone mad. She then bit Shiro in the palm before prancing out towards the counter and sped through underneath it before Shiro could even react.

Shiro winced in a sharp pain as he tried to trace Lucille through squinted eyes. By the time his vision came back the wolf spider was long gone, leaving Shiro with a slight, itchy bump in the middle of his palm.

Great, he thought, On my writing hand, too.

Turns out snakes do look like that most of the time, and Shiro wished he knew before he tripped off the snake the morning before.

After parting ways with Romps, Shiro stumbled his way into Biology class and much to either Shiro’s luck or misfortune, there were just enough seats for everyone, which meant there will be one poor soul condemned into sharing a row with the undesired one of the Academy. Shiro sat himself at the corner, for the sake of putting himself out of the picture. Unfortunately, this didn’t bode well with a brown phyton who came in just early enough to catch the last seat and late enough for that one seat to be next to Shiro. She didn’t make any eye contact with Shiro, nor did Shiro attempt to make himself any more sociable; anything he did would most probably bring upon the opposite anyway.

However, during the class Shiro did make furtive glances towards the phyton. Her black gaze towards the lecturer’s screen and her occasional spitting tongue gave a virtually identical impression to Shiro with the snake back in the lobby, minus the intimidation Shiro felt from before. He felt nothing from this one. Maybe size does do something to one’s perception. Shiro couldn’t have known back then. He wished he knew; he could’ve saved himself from speaking out and looking like a fool.

The indignity stayed with Shiro throughout Biology. The lecturer was saying something about “arachnids and insects” and “non-Feral states” and something along the same lines being “not legally recognized”. Shiro couldn’t hear a single word in. The incident stuck him so bad that he couldn’t focus. When class ended he waited until the brown python left out of the door for 30 seconds just in case her appearance would remind Shiro of it again.

Looking to clear his mind, he skipped his second lesson and went to the cafeteria. He figured food would probably do the trick. He made his way to a different cafeteria, this time. Another one out of the alleged six Leo told him about. This one seemed a lot more like a cafeteria than the last one he was in. Though it had ceilings just as low it looked a little brighter and lighter, with bleached walls and tiled floors. Bench tables were neatly arranged against the kitchen windows, with varying sizes. Some were as short and tiny as Shiro's ankles, while others had tables reaching up to his chest. It was mostly occupied, with a cloud of chatter hanging in the air from the late breakfast crowd.

The line to the counter wasn’t too long, and it wasn’t long until Shiro got his place. The one manning the counter was a mouse that looked eerily similar to the one Shiro met yesterday in the different cafeteria. Same white feet with the working tuxedo and all. The only distinction was the accent this particular mouse held. It sounded more wild, with a tinge of nativity to be heard from it.

The rodent glanced up towards Shiro's face and pulled out his tiny notebook and pen, "Welcome man, what would you like I to serve today?"

Twins, was Shiro's first thought. But the accent was the only thing holding the assumption back.

"Um, anything with no meat?"

"Absolutely good man sir, you a lucky man today. We got dat good salad, Mediterranean rice, roasted cauliflower taco, summa dat choices of pasta; all wit none 'nuff dose red. Me recommends the taco. It's the hottest wit the herbivores everytim' it comes on the menu, my man."

"I-I'll take that."

"Wicked! Me tinks you make de best choice, my man. Right side of the counter, we got it ready fresh since first light. Still warm, I say!"

"Thanks," and Shiro whisked up a plate and walked away to find a seat. Luckily for him, there was exactly one empty bench table left in the cafeteria. It was also the only one with the sun basking its full glare right at it from the windows. The table bench sat between a white tiger and a black vulture, sitting on their respective benches all alone. Shiro thought of sharing a table with one of them, but the look he got from the black vulture told him he’d have better luck asking the tiger. Judging from that reaction he didn’t want to take the risk with the other option. Shiro didn’t mind the sun anyway, though he didn’t have much of a choice either.

The mouse did recommend great to Shiro. The cauliflower had a texture that razed his tongue but just soft enough to be easy to the teeth. The added drops of lime and red cabbage added to the zest, giving it a sharp tinge of flavour along with the thousand island sauce. Everything was packaged neatly in a warm, crunchy shell that looked and felt adequately toasted to perfection.

It definitely did get the snake out of his head for a while.

"My, my, I do like coincidences like this, don't you Dove?"

Shiro heard a soft, jaunty voice purred from his front. He had a hunch who it belonged to just before he looked up. He drew his eyes upwards, meeting a yellow-spotted face with a pair of bright, toxic green eyes looking back down at him, just right across the table.

Shiro’s hunch was right.

“L-Leo.”

“Good morning to you too,” said the leopard. He was in the same uniform as he was yesterday; open jacket, white singlet and all. He was holding a plate of cooked meat and a grin on his face that never seemed to wear off. Shiro may only have known him for a day, but if he were to be told that as the truth, he’d believe it without second doubts. Under the sun it seemed extra radiant than before.

“Say, you mind if we join you?”

The word “we” caught Shiro by the ear. He peered behind Leo, only to see an aggressive, scorning expression Shiro too, would have no problem believing to be permanently etched onto said face. Behind the leopard stood Dove, bearing the same black uniform Shiro saw him in last time.. He seemed a tad bit angrier than yesterday, with wrinkles riding up his snout so much that he could’ve been snarling for all he knew. He was also much quieter, though from the look of his eyes it seemed that his mouth was clamped shut out of reluctant volition. His glare looked more intense today, for some reason.

“Sure,” Shiro said, keeping an eye out at Dove.

“Well, don’t mind if I do,” and Leo sat right smack at the middle, directly facing Shiro as Dove opted for the side of the bench, leaving one foot in and one foot out. The Doberman wasn’t eating anything. He had a juice box instead, which he slowly sipped from a straw.

“So how were the roommates, Shiro,” Leo asked, “If they treated you bad, I have my ways.”

“No, no,” Shiro quickly answered, “They’re fine.”

“Really? Then it’s all good,” Leo cut a piece of his meat and just before slotting it into his mouth, he asked, “What do you think about them?”

Shiro took a bite out of his taco and thought for a while, swallowed, and answered, “He’s friendly. He helped me some, too.”

“That’s it?”

Shiro took another bite’s worth of time to think and answered again, “He’s also a Senior.”

“Well, Seniors are generally more adult than the Juniors,” he said, “The last Junior year is where most of the cocky trust fund kids get expelled, leaving the mature ones going into the Seniors.”

Shiro sat on his words for a while before deciding to ask, “Um, Leo? Can I ask something?”

“Anything.”

“Are you held back like me?”

Leo glanced up towards Shiro in surprise, “What gave it away?”

“I heard you failed once. That time with the lionesses. You weren’t like the other Juniors, too.”

“Well, aren’t you a charmer? Yes, I did fail my finals last year. I had a little skirmish with a stallion friend of mine that distracted me. It’s a long story; one that cost me a strike and left me with one last more.”

Shiro glanced towards Dove, who still had his eyes steely glued towards Shiro, letting up no pressure whatsoever. Shiro remained firmly seated on his words, looking back down at his food and nibbling on his roasted cauliflowers in silence.

Leo noticed Shiro’s glance and said, “Dove is clean. Not a strike. Not a repeat. Not even a warning from the Ethics Committee. Hard to believe, yes, but you could call Dove an honorary student if you’d prefer. That also makes him your Junior, if I may add, though I wouldn’t let it get over my head if I were you.”

Shiro didn’t need a second calling to convince him so. Out of everything Shiro learned in his time in Rormund, not getting into Dove’s bad side was one of the first. His current position with him is bad enough, so to speak. He didn’t know why he was this antagonistic to him, but he’d rather have it stay that way than to make it worse. He took another short glance towards the Doberman again. He had his glare directed somewhere else, easing off the pressure on Shiro. It was also then when Shiro noticed something on Dove.

“Y-your finger,” Shiro blurted out, “It’s-”

As if Shiro’s words were a trigger, Dove darted his face back and shot Shiro a look of contempt that exuded bloody murder.

“Yeah, it’s broken,” he grunted as he slid his finger under the table from view, “Why do you care?”

As soon as Dove spoke, Shiro noticed his voice to be more reserved than yesterday. He spoke from one side of his mouth, snarling every word out while keeping the other side shut. It was just an observation Shiro made. It certainly didn’t make Dove’s words any less threatening either.

Shiro immediately ducked back down to his tacos, “N-Nothing.”

“Don’t listen to him,” Leo said, “Tell me instead. I want to hear you talk. What about Dove’s finger?”

“I-It’s really nothing,” Shiro said, keeping a wary eye at Dove as he did.

That was when Leo held Shiro by the chin from across the table. Five fingers and a thumb under his snout, Leo moved Shiro’s sight to himself and said, “Tell me.”

Shiro took another glance towards Dove, whereby the Doberman blew a curt snort and turned away, sipping through his juice box without much attention to him.

Somewhat nervous, Shiro said, “It’s broken upwards, right?”

For a slight moment, Dove paused his sipping. He took a furtive glance towards Shiro, giving neither a hint of his expression towards him as he did. He kept his head looking the other way, but his left hand slowly rose from under the table, resting his fingers back into view.

“How did you know?” Leo asked.

“Stick’s tied on the top. Meant something broke it from under,” Shiro rambled, “You should hold the finger up. Makes it grow stronger. Put it in ice water every night. Twenty to thirty minutes. Stops the swelling, and the pain too.”

“Hmm,” Leo was intrigued , “Anything else?”

“D-Drink milk?” Shiro suggested, “Helps the bone grow faster.”

Leo dropped his silverware on the plate and pushed it away unfinished. He rested his head on his palm and started gazing at Shiro with utmost interest. His eyes were like solid beads, relentlessly pressing its gaze against Shiro’s body to the point Shiro could feel it if he tried.

“You know a lot about broken fingers, hm?”

In an instant, Shiro’s perky ears darted towards Leo’s direction, giving full attention. On the contrary, Shiro himself looked away, eyes staring blankly at the window, disinterest imprinted on his inexpressive face, nibbling away on his taco shell.

“N-Not really.”

“How do you know all this?” Leo asked, “I don’t suppose you look for broken fingers online as a hobby, do you?”

“A-Accidents.”

“Accidents?”

“I was clumsy back then.”

“And broke a lot of fingers?”

“I was very clumsy,” Shiro quickly changed the topic, “W-What about the gorilla?”

“The gorilla?”

“Y-Yea. That guy. Yesterday. Name’s- uh-”

“Oh, you mean Jorge?”

“Yea. Jorge. What happened next?”

“Hmm, I completely forgot about him. I ditched him last night too. He might find me for trouble today,” Leo smirked, “Funny you brought it up, I was thinking if you could tag along just in case he shows up. You handled him pretty well yourself, didn’t you?”

Shiro choked on his taco for a split second. He didn’t show it on his face, but a large piece of cauliflower grabbed his windpipe just as Leo said his words. He swallowed it down and spoke.

“That was an accident.”

“It didn’t look too clumsy to me.”

“I was lucky.”

Leo didn't say anything else. He simply kept the grin on his face, longingly gazing towards Shiro. Dove still had his glare directed somewhere else, his finger consciously lifted an inch from the table. Shiro kept biting into his taco, looking ever more nonchalant on his face. His ears remained perking and pointed towards Leo, his tail under the seat, tucked and stiff.

A moment of silence passed between the trio, filled by the background ambience of dining clatter.

Then Leo stood up, "That was enough for me. It was nice meeting you, Shiro. Maybe we'll meet in the classes, hm?"

"B-Bye," Shiro said, "You too."

Then Dove followed suit, following Leo from behind, juice box in his hand and his glare still very much stuck onto Shiro. The wolf barely mustered enough courage to give him a courteous nod.

And off the two went, leaving Shiro alone on the table. Both spoke nothing to each other as they walked out from the cafeteria.

At least until they were out of earshot.

“Terrible liar, don’t you think?” Leo said.

Dove remained silent, glaring across the hallway. His eyes were steeled, unblinking with an iron focus. Yet, his gaze seemed vague. His scorn may be heavy, but it looked distant, as if he’s simply staring into the distance. He kept biting into his straw, gnawing through the little tube of plastic without much care at all.

“Looks like I had the right hunch,” Leo continued, “I told you to trust my gut feeling.”

Then Dove stopped in his tracks.

“Dove?”

The Doberman held a look in his face Leo doesn't see very often. The glare was there, but the spite was not. He stared at his shoes, thoughts bubbling behind his eyes as he held the straw between his teeth. For a moment he seemed to be suspended within his own universe where only he and his mind resided alone. He stood there, unflinching and still.

Then he turned on his heels towards the cafeteria.

“Where are you going?” Leo asked.

Without turning back, Dove rolled up his sleeve, revealing a rigid, bulging forearm, veins coursing through the shallow valleys of his muscles. He balled his fingers, clenching them in a vice grip, forming a miniature cannonball of a fist. His knuckles gleamed menacingly, with the domes severely worn down to the point where the bones beneath were gasping underneath the thin skin for air.

“I’m checking for myself.”

Dove promptly left. Leo blew out a sigh called out from behind.

“Don’t break him too soon.”

Pascual the black vulture was simultaneously the luckiest and most unfortunate bird today.

For one, he managed to catch his secret crush, Zahra the Albino Caspian Tiger, all by herself today. A beauty like her is bound to have undeserving followers crowding around her like flies. It seemed like the flies have different people to crowd around, for Zahra seems to be going about alone today, which made the recording even more easier. Every time Pascual takes a video of her there’ll always be a frame where her puny followers are blocking her from the whole frame. If he was lucky, he’d get a full body shot, but it’ll be blurry from all the moving from the hunt for her best angle. Pascual must’ve done something worthy in his past life because just for today, God granted both him and Zahra a seat of their own in the cafeteria, with no one to disturb Zahra’s image and nobody to discover Pascual’s recording habit.

Oh, how radiant she seems today. Her smooth, snow white fur, coiled by her ink black strips riding across her hourglass figure, clothed in a virginal white sailor uniform and a deep, ocean blue knee high dress. Oh, how her thighs swell and her waist suspends above her hips. The way her ears twitch and the wonderful gaze of her blue eyes, Pascual will never get enough of. He’d willingly shed all his feathers just to have a feel of her slender fingers. She was that perfect in his eyes.

Deep down, Pascual knew he’d never be in Zahra’s line of sight. If she was the sky he’d be the molten core of the planet. Pascual only got into Rormund because his father was the president of a laundry detergent company and even then, they barely reached the minimum quota to be eligible for a spot in the Academy. If this was a normal school, he’d be the unpopular kid on the sidelines, away from attention, barely getting by everyday. In comparison, Zahra’s parents run an arms manufacturing company with contracts with multiple countries including unconfirmed insurgencies world wide. It isn't an exaggeration to say she sits in an entirely different league from Pascual. Plus, cross species relationships are virtually unheard of in high-ended families like this. With the addition of being a near extinct subspecies of tigers and being a 1 out of 100 phenomenon of albinism, Pascual doubted she’d get with any other man outside her breed.

So Pascual stayed on the sidelines watching her closely, savouring every moment spent with his untouchable princess until the day where they inevitably part. Till then, he could only get in touch with her pictures and portraits, but that’s all he ever needed.

He couldn’t believe his luck, at first. Almost immediately he set up his camera, got the right angle and went right away in recording. He was in disbelief. All this time he fought tooth and nail just to get a solid image of Zahra, wearing hidden cameras and getting close to her, monitoring her routine and making notes. And here she is, undisturbed in all her glory, away from her pesky friends and the other boys looking to steal his queen. Pascual savoured the sight, watching her from the closest distance they ever came together.

It lasted only a mere three minutes before a wolf ruined the picture-perfect moment.

Pascual was pulled out of his trance with a record scratch as the canine strut into the frame, oblivious to the perfect moment he’d just ruined with the dumb, blank stare on his face. He then recognized him as that new transfer student from the auditorium. What’s his name again? Hiro? Shino? Whatever. Pascual gave him a stink eye, hoping he’d catch the message. He didn’t. Instead, he simply avoided Pascual’s table, set his food down right on the empty table between him and Zahra and started nibbling through it. Pascual couldn’t believe it. But on the bright side, the wolf decided to sit on the side, barely covering the side of the recording. Zahra was still in full view with all her glory. Pascual decided to make do with what he has and kept recording.

It didn’t even last five seconds before someone else came into the frame.

This time he was ready to explode. He was about to stand up and “kindly” ask them, including the wolf, to move away. He didn’t even care if he had to explain why. He just wanted to have the once in a lifetime moment with the queen he’d probably never have again. Chances of Zahra being alone and close to him are as low as a comet passing through the sky. He stood up, ready to rail on the intruders before he realized who they were and sat back down.

Leo and Dove.

Just any one of them is enough, but having both at the same time just sank Pascual back onto his seat harder. He reeled back his irrationality, calmed down and told himself to just wait it out and hope they leave before Zahra does. If he ever wanted to meet Zahra again, it’s best to just let the two do their business and go away. Especially Dove. After what Pascual saw on the Academy forums last night he doubted Dove would be in a forgiving mood.

Both Leo and Dove sat right across the wolf and started talking, blocking Zahra from the screen entirely. Pascual's heart ached for a moment. But he held his emotions. He could just edit the video with only Zahra present on screen. He convinced himself that this was just a minor setback, and that he didn’t need to risk his livelihood, especially towards the two that just arrived.

Pascual waited for them to be done while rubbing the talons in his shoes impatiently. He willed the three to go away, sending them strong, mental messages in hopes of subconsciously convincing them that their conversation would be better had somewhere else and far away between him and Zahra. Evidently it didn’t work, and Leo just pushed away his plate and rested on his elbow like he’s in no hurry.

Just as Pascual was losing all hope and contemplating on making do with the three minutes he got, Leo and Dove finally stood up, paid their farewell and left the scene. The black vulture did a celebratory hurrah in his heart, and checked his camera for the angle. Everything was fine. The wolf was still there, quietly nibbling away on his food, but he wasn’t an issue in the first place, anyway.

Zahra just finished her meal and was tapping away on her phone. Oh, how her cheeks fluff as she rested it on her wrist. The way the screen reflected from her sparkling eyes gave Pascual butterflies in his stomach. He hadn’t even touched his breakfast, yet he felt fulfilled already. He felt as if he could watch this scene forever and never feel sick for a single moment. It was fine enough to watch from afar, but God must’ve decided otherwise and send him the closest he’d ever been to his dream. For a split second, watching her from such a lone, innocent angle actually instilled a degree of hope into him. That maybe, just maybe, the stars will align and the chance will finally-

Then Dove came crashing right back into the scene.

It was suffocating for Pascual. He couldn’t bear seeing his wonderful moment defiled by obtuse passer-bys coming in at the most dreadful of moments. For a fleeting ten seconds, he was able to enjoy a visual representation of bird heaven right before his eyes, only to be spoiled by some mutt minding his own plebeian business. Pascual decided he had it. It may be a minor inconvenience by their standards but him, it’s a matter of dream and destiny. He won’t allow such triviality to trample over his fantasy any longer. He tensed his, prepared to stand up and to give them a piece of his mind.

Then something exploded between Dove and the wolf.

The sound erupted so sudden and quick it took Pascual by surprise and stopped him right where he sat. There was no indication or warning from them two. The boom rang throughout the cafeteria, drowning down the chatter for a fleeting moment. That one moment was all it took to capture everyone’s attention. They all glanced towards that one table between Pascual and Zahra, curious and inquisitive.

There Dove stood, hunched over the table, staring down at the wolf with a fiery, bronze glare in his eyes. He was also holding a juice box under his snout, suspended over a single straw, for some reason. The wolf, in turn, had an expression mixing both cowering terror and surprise in his gaze. His beady, crimson red trembled and quaked in its socket, scrambling to comprehend the situation before them. Suspended between both canines were a fist and a forearm.

The knuckles were screaming under the light, digging deep into the wolf’s tracksuit sleeves. They were gnawing down on his arm, almost as if they were cleaving through the fabric, fueled by the blood pumping through the thick, protruding cords wrapping tightly across his arm. It oozed out an illusion of perpetual motion, like a speeding freight train or a bullet, as if there was no flesh that would ever stop this fist from tearing through it in pure, vicious might.

Yet, the wolf held his arm in place, intact in one piece and unflinching. Dove’s punch had erupted creases and waves through his sleeve, until a solid shape could be made out of the folds and wrinkles. A build of a forearm, forming underneath the tracksuit. It showed next to no signs of having received a brutal, violent punch hailing from possibly the most dangerous dog in the Academy. It was unharmed, and undisturbed, as if it was hit by nothing but a passing gust of wind. The wolf, without the pretense of Dove’s fist, would simply look as if he’s blocking the wind in his face, shielding his eyes from the passing dust.

Both didn’t move for a while, as Dove’s glare crackled with intense fury, and the wolf’s eyes darted around, scrambling to understand the scene he’s in. No one spoke a word as they watched the two suspended in their own world. It wasn’t until Dove’s juice box slowly slipped off the straw and fell onto the table with a dull clack when someone decided to act. The sound was incomparable to the explosion just a dozen of seconds prior, but it was enough to snap the focus back into the wolf. Holding his arm still, he grabbed onto the juice box and slowly handed it back to Dove.

“Y-You dropped this,” he stuttered.

Dove didn’t move his fist until a good second later. His glare still stuck at the wolf, he grabbed onto the juice box, carefully sliding the straw in his snout back into it. He released his fist, held the box with the same hand and continued sipping through it. The wolf also let down his forearm, slowly resting it onto the table with great uncertainty in his gaze.

Dove didn’t say anything. He kept drinking into the box, sipping the juice until it started choking from air. Then he pulled the straw out of his mouth and scrunched it in his bare hands. Faded red dripped from the seams of his fist as he clenched the box hard within his fingers. He dropped it onto the table, letting the angled, broken box roll like a ball towards the wolf.

“Thank you,” he said.

What Dove just said may have seemed like two words with no further meaning than what it intended, but one look into his eyes could tell otherwise.

For a solid moment, his glare expanded, with the crackling fury in his pupils transforming into something lighter. His eyes opened wide as the wrinkles on his snout loosened. Instead, the wrinkles drove down to the side of his snout. His cheeks were pulled, arching both sides of his mouth upwards.

Dove smiled as he thanked the wolf.

As abrupt as the expression came, his smile dove back down to his usual scorn, and he turned and left. He spoke of nothing after, and simply strolled out of the scene leaving a balled up empty juice box, a stupefied wolf and a crowd of stunned audience.

Pascual forgot everything about Zahra. His lifelong queen was gone from his head like fog in the wind. He had his full attention whisked away by that one minute that just happened before his eyes. Then it suddenly hit him. He rushed to his camera and stopped recording. He rushed through the footage, speeding to the point where he’d hopefully had captured the action all in his lens. He did, but it’s far on one side of the frame and out of focus for several moments. He didn’t care about how Zahra was perfectly rendered throughout the whole recording, he was lamenting on how he couldn’t catch the action in its full glory when it happened.

Pascual knew he had to enhance the footage. He had to skip today’s classes and get this on the Academy forums as early as possible. If his sentiments are true, he would be holding proof to a significant change to the Academy. He didn’t know what the change would be, or whether there’ll be a change at all. However, he knew that a conflict between the Academy’s first transfer student and the former top third of the ranks will definitely break ripples, one way or another.

Something was about to change, and Pascual knew it. Grabbing his camera, he made a beeline out of the cafeteria. Just before he left, he took one furtive glance towards the wolf. It was then when the black vulture finally remembered his name. The mixed wolf was remained on the bench table, still wide-eyed and dismayed by what just happened. As he walked out, Pascual subconsciously acknowledged one thing about him, letting the thought sink in as he held the footage in his wings.

Shiro isn't what he seems to be.