The engine hums beneath them, steady and low. Outside, the city gives way to hills. Trees blur past in the dying light.
She's seated in the back, clipboard on her lap, military-grade neatness in her posture. Her coat is sharp. Her expression sharper.
This was not how she wanted to meet him.
A boy.
A child, really.
The footage didn't prepare her for this.
She glances up as the agents open the door—her first real look at him. The kitten hero.
He steps in slow, unsure. His eyes dart—measuring everything, everyone. He doesn't speak. Of course not. That detail was in the file.
Then she sees him fully.
…So small.
Fourteen? He barely looks it.
The coat he's wearing might not even be his. It swallows him whole.
And yet… those legs. The stride. There's something in how he moves that whispers Uma. Not trained—but unmistakably real.
The famous kitten leaps from the duffel and curls in his lap like nothing's wrong in the world.
Symboli Rudolf watches all of this in silence, something shifting behind her eyes. Her shoulders loosen—just barely.
She exhales. Quiet. Nearly invisible.
Before she can say a word—
> "Hi."
A robotic voice, clipped and emotionless, fills the van.
It came from the boy's phone.
She blinks at him.
He's not looking back. Just staring out the window, one hand gently petting the kitten curled in his lap. The phone rests screen-up beside him, voice feature active.
So this is how he speaks.
Her fingers tighten around the clipboard—but not out of discomfort. More like… recalibrating.
She was ready for silence. For trauma.
Not initiative.
"Hello," she replies, her voice calm. Controlled. "I'm Symboli Rudolf. You may call me President, or just Rudolf."
The phone screen lights up again.
> "The Emperor?"
She blinks. That title hasn't been said aloud in a long time.
"…So you've heard of me."
> "Triple Crown, undefeated. You ran like a machine."
He still isn't looking up. Just stroking the kitten on his lap, as if listing race stats is the same as commenting on the weather.
She studies him for a beat. His tone isn't impressed. It's observant. Clinical.
"…And what do you think of machines?"
> "They break eventually."
". . ."
> "Where are we going?"
She doesn't react right away. Not to the remark, not to the silence. Only shifts slightly in her seat.
Calm. Collected.
"To your new school," she says. "Tracen Academy. We'll inform you more when we arrive."
The boy doesn't nod. Doesn't respond. Just watch her—eyes too still for someone his age.
The phone lights again.
> "How long do I stay?"
She folds her hands in her lap. Smooth, rehearsed.
> "As long as it takes."
Another pause.
> "Am I allowed to call Nat?"
She answers evenly.
"Yes."
A beat. No smile. No softening.
But her tone…
Softer, maybe. Barely.
"As long as it doesn't interfere with your schedule."
The phone dims for a second.
He doesn't type anything.
But Yukki shifts in his lap. His hand moves to pet the kitten automatically.
Like he didn't even think about it.
Rudolf watches. Doesn't comment.
But something in her gaze has changed.
Not pity.
Not sympathy.
Just… awareness.
_________
The van rumbles to a stop just outside the main entrance of Tracen Academy.
Symboli Rudolf is already unbuckling her coat. She knows the temperature will bite, but she also knows not to keep the boy waiting.
She glances sideways. He's awake, barely. Sitting upright with the kitten in his lap. Not a word since the last question.
The engine dies. The doors open. Cold air floods in.
"Come," she says softly, stepping out first.
Snow crunches beneath her boots. It's late—far past curfew—and the campus is in hibernation. Only a few dim lights glow along the pathways. The old stone walls of the academy loom tall against the dark sky, snow dusting every rooftop and railing.
She watches as the boy steps out behind her, Yukki still balanced perfectly on his lap as if glued there. His eyes rise, scanning the building. Quiet. Just a flicker of something—curiosity, maybe.
She leads, slow and steady, boots carving a path through the snow-covered stone. She knows he follows—not by the sound of his steps, but by the soft jingle of the bell around the kitten's neck.
The main building looms ahead. Gothic in structure, regal in presence. Every time she walks these halls, it reminds her why Tracen exists. Why it must continue.
[Yeah fix the school description]
She glances behind her.
Still glued to her, that little cat. Still mute, the boy.
Still unreadable.
Her fingers twitch at her side. Cold. Not just from the wind.
"This is Tracen Academy," she says finally. Her tone is smooth, rehearsed—like everything else she says. "A place for those who run."
A pause.
"You will stay in the North Wing. Temporarily."
He says nothing. His eyes roam the rooftops. He doesn't seem afraid. Just distant.
She leads again. Past the fountain. Past the grand doors. Through the quiet atrium with its chandelier long dimmed for the break.
[Yeah fix the school description]
"Classes resume in spring. Until then, you'll undergo personal instruction. Physical. Academics. Psychological, if necessary."
Another pause. The kitten sneezes.
And then—finally—a voice, flat through the phone speaker:
> "Where's everyone?"
She slows her pace.
He's not distracted—he's aware. More than most at his age. She files that away.
"Most are on winter break," she says. "Those who remain are resting, or training. You'll meet them in time."
She doesn't elaborate. She never does.
But for a moment—just a moment—she considers telling him about the academy when it's alive. The morning track bells. The stampede of hooves at dawn. The smell of turf and frost. The laughter. The rivalries. The way they shine.
But the words never come.
She turns toward the North Wing. The path veers slightly uphill, snow crunching softer now underfoot.
Behind her, his head tilts—just a little. As if trying to imagine it.
Good.
Let him imagine.
The climb is quiet. Just the creak of stairs and the soft shuffle of shoes.
When she opens the door, the space is already lit—dimly, warmly. A compact heater hums in the corner, filling the room with just enough warmth to chase the frost from the air.
A futon's been laid out on the wooden floor, neat and square. A folded blanket rests on top. One pillow. A small desk. A shelf with nothing on it.
No dust. No cobwebs. Everything in place.
"It's temporary," she says. Her tone is matter-of-fact, not apologetic.
"This used to be my room—when I needed time alone. I had it cleaned out and stocked this morning."
Vivi steps inside. Yukki hops from his lap to the floor with a soft mew, tail flicking as she sniffs around.
The boy's eyes roam—clock gears exposed in the upper walls, the ticking subtle but constant. The window gives a view of the campus roofs below, all silvered with snow.
> "Cool."
The voice from the phone breaks the stillness. Flat, honest.
Rudolf raises an eyebrow. The barest smile threatens.
"I thought you might like it."
He doesn't answer immediately.
Yukki is already curled up like royalty in the middle of the futon.
Then—
> "It's like Hugo."
She turns to look at him. "…Pardon?"
> "The movie. Hugo."
"Kid lives in a clock tower. Watches people from the windows."
A beat.
"…I don't know it," she admits.
He shrugs.
> "You should watch it."
And just like that, he walks past her—quiet feet padding across the floor—sits beside the kitten, and begins to unpack his little things.
> "If you need anything," she says, "call me. Or ring the bell. Someone will come."
The boy doesn't answer. Just nod.
Yukki's already claimed a corner like she pays rent.
She hesitates—only for a second.
"Goodnight, Vivi."
The stairs crack as she leaves.
_________
He stares at the room. The walls feel taller now. Quieter.
> "...Hugo,"
the phone murmurs after a while.
Yukki flicks her tail, unimpressed.
> "You wouldn't get it," he adds to no one.
He wanders a little. Taps the frosted glass. Checks the corners. Finds an old cup with a crack in it. Maybe a pair of Rudolf's old reading glasses left behind.
Nothing that matters.
He sits down on the futon.
Yukki immediately curls up on top of him.
. . .
He should send a message to Nat.
His fingers reach for the phone.
The screen glows, harsh in the dark. He stares at it for a while. Not typing. Just staring.
He found her number.
Should he? She's probably sleeping. Or not.
Sigh…
> This is Vivi, I'm okay. They sent me to Tracen Academy. They gave me a room in a clocktower, like Hugo. It's pretty neat. Yukki is still with me.
. . .
> I miss you, I hope you doing okay.
He sends it.
No emojis. No punctuation fixes. No edits.
Just a single blue tick.
He stares at it.
Then set the phone down, screen-down.
Yukki shifts, pressing closer.
Her little nose tucks under his chin, a purr barely audible.
He exhales through his nose, slowly.
The heater hums.
Outside, the snow falls in a world too big, too quiet, too far from her.
. . .
It's surprisingly comfy here.
_______
The clocktower was quiet. The kind of quiet that didn't just settle—it pressed, like snow piling onto old rooftops.
Inside, tucked beneath a futon far too thin for January, our Uma boy slept like a baby. No tossing. No muttering. Just soft, even breaths, puffing little clouds into the cold air.
Yukki, on the other hand?
Very much awake.
The cat sat upright on Vivi's chest, tail flicking with purpose. Her yellow eyes were glowing faintly in the dark, watching something that no one else could see—because that's what cats do.
She turned her head toward the narrow window.
. . .
And meows.
It wasn't loud. Just a soft, questioning chirp—like a whisper tossed into the wind.
____________
Cut to: Somewhere near the Clocktower.
Within the second-floor lab of a certain hyperactive scientist, the room was dim—cluttered, chaotic, humming with the quiet presence of machines that should've been turned off hours ago. A space heater buzzed weakly in the corner. Beakers rattled. Something definitely smelled burnt.
And in a cozy nest of blankets and lab coats by the radiator…
A pair of golden eyes blinked open.
Moca the cat rose slowly—tail stretching, back arching in a dramatic yawn. Then his ears twitched.
He heard her.
He knew that voice.
The sleepy fog lifted. His paws tapped the floor before his brain even caught up. He trotted to the window. Then paused. Looked back.
The door was closed.
But the window?
Cracked open, just enough.
Without hesitation—and with all the traitorous enthusiasm of a cat who gives exactly zero damns about promises—Moca slipped through the gap and vanished into the cold.
Meanwhile.
The chair creaks as she leans in toward the monitor, one eye squinting, the other twitching because of five consecutive hours of screen time.
There's a half-eaten protein bar on the desk. Coffee gone cold. A machine softly whirs in the background, calculating something insane.
Moca's empty cat bed is in the corner. Still warm.
Agnes doesn't notice.
Until—
CLACK.
The door opens.
"Where's Moca?"
Cafe's voice is calm. Suspiciously calm.
Agnes blinks.
Still staring at the screen.
"He's right there."
Points at the bed.
Then glances over.
. . .
The bed is empty.
She stares.
She squints.
She looks up at the open window.
A moment of silence.
Then—
"Oh… he's gone."
She says it without emotion. Like she's reporting cloud coverage.
Moca, the autistic black cat, has Houdini'd his way into the night. Again.
Probably chasing ghosts. Or destiny. Or food.
Agnes takes a sip of her drink, still unfazed.
"Expected outcome: 92.4%."
She jots something into her notes.
"Window trajectory… impeccable."
A beat.
"...I did leave it open."
Another beat.
"...That's on me."
Cafe, mid-step back into the lab, freezes.
Her head turns. Slowly.
Her stare could wither plants.
"Agnes."
Her voice is calm. Too calm.
Dangerously calm.
"In my defense, he's very agile."
"You promised."
"I promise a lot of things. Doesn't mean I follow through."
Cafe's lips press into a thin line. She doesn't even bother responding.
She simply turns around and walks right back out.
__________
Cafe walks in near-silence. Her scarf flutters in the breeze, her breath visible in the cold January air.
She knows where Moca goes. Always has.
The clocktower looms above her—quiet, steady, old.
It's like it's holding its breath.
She climbs the stairs quietly, like she always does.
She expects dust, silence, maybe the low purring of Moca somewhere near the window.
Instead, she sees a body.
No big deal. Girls sometimes nap here. Maybe Rudolf lent it again.
She walks in casually, eyes on her cat—
And then glances at the futon.
At first, she didn't notice. Just a sleeping Uma under the blanket.
But then...
She looks again.
Really looks.
The face.
The jawline.
The Adam's apple.
The flat chest.
. . .
Then the ears… and tail…
They're moving…
The voice in her soul screaming "wait a damn minute."
She stops cold. Moca meows like an idiot.
Her pupils dilate slightly. Her expression doesn't change.
But she stares. Harder. Longer.
She leans just a little forward.
"That's... not a girl."
Silence. The heater hums.
She stares a bit more. Her cat rubs against her leg.
Then, without any rush, she picks Moca up and turns to leave.
Yukki quietly hops off the futon to follow, her tail flicking like she just accomplished a mission.
Before leaving, Cafe stops at the door, glancing back one more time at the peacefully sleeping boy.
She says nothing.
Just walks away.
________
The halls are quiet, the kind of quiet that hums in your ears after something loud.
But nothing had been loud.
Not really.
Cafe walked in silence. Her long black coat barely whispered with each step, the only sound coming from the gentle padding of Moca's paws in her arms—and Yukki, trailing closely behind like a ghost-cat.
The overhead lights flickered once.
She didn't blink.
Her eyes were distant. Focused on the nowhere. On the boy's sleeping face still burned behind her eyelids. That ridiculous bedhead. The scar. The steady breath rising and falling beneath a worn blanket. He looked like a child.
He was a child.
He's real.
The viral clip this morning. The hush across the staff rooms. The news anchors getting cut off mid-sentence.
They said nothing, and now she understood why.
Every echo of her steps in the empty corridor sounded too loud. Too sharp. Like the building itself was listening.
Moca stirred slightly in her arms, letting out a short mrrp.
Yukki echoed it behind her with a smug little chirp.
Cafe didn't respond. She just kept walking.
He's here. In Tracen. Tonight.
And no one told them.
The thought didn't make her angry. Not yet.
It just made everything... strange.
The academy, once familiar and warm, now felt foreign. Like someone had shifted reality a few inches to the left and expected her not to notice.
She reached the door to the lab and opened it without a word.
Agnes looked up, half-laying across a chair like a bored cat herself.
"Why are there two cats now?"
Cafe said nothing. She didn't even blink. Just walked in like a ghost and placed Moca gently back onto his beanbag throne.
Yukki, as if to make a point, leapt up beside him and immediately began licking his ear.
Agnes blinked at the sight. "...Is this an interspecies alliance?"
Still nothing. No answer. Not even a glance.
Agnes narrowed her eyes. "...You're being weird."
Click. The lock turned behind them. Cafe had sealed the door.
Now Agnes actually sat up. "Okay. Now you're being creepy."
Cafe walked to her usual corner and sat down. Not slumped. Not angry. Just... sat. Staring at the floor, arms crossed, hair half-hiding her face.
A silence thick enough to cut.
. . .
The silence dragged.
Yukki purred softly beside Moca. The heater hummed. Somewhere, a screw dropped and rolled off a table.
Agnes spun in her chair once.
Twice.
Then—
"… He's here."
The words fell like a hammer. Flat, cold, matter-of-fact.
Agnes blinked. "Who?"
Cafe didn't look up.
A pause.
Then:
"…The male Uma."
Agnes stared.
Then stood.
Then absolutely screeched:
"WAIT—WHAT!?!?"
Cafe finally looked at her. Deadpan. "Keep your voice down."
"NO?? I won't??" Agnes was already grabbing her lab coat like she was about to commit crimes. "HE'S—WHAT DO YOU MEAN HE'S HERE?? HERE AS IN TRACEN?? HERE AS IN—WHERE—DID HE JUST—DROP—FROM THE SKY???"
Cafe said nothing.
Agnes grabbed her shoulders and shook her like a vending machine. "DID HE DROP FROM THE SKY!?!?"
"Stop."
"WHERE IS HE???"
"I'm not telling you."
Agnes froze.
"Why not."
"Because you'll run straight to him and scare the life out of him."
Agnes looked offended. "I would not."
"You would absolutely dissect him with your eyes in less than two seconds."
"Oh come on, I'd be gentle."
"…No."
Agnes squinted at her.
Then slowly turned toward the door.
Cafe stood immediately and blocked the path.
"Don't make me sedate you."
"You wouldn't."
"I absolutely would."
They locked eyes.
Meanwhile, the cats sat like tiny judges on the counter, silently observing the rising tension with twitching tails and wide, unblinking stares. Moca leaned slightly into Yukki. Yukki blinked slowly, as if to say, This your girl?
Cafe didn't flinch.
Agnes didn't blink.
. . .
And then—she sighed, shoulders finally dropping in defeat.
"…Fine," Agnes muttered. "I won't go."
Cafe's eyes narrowed with deep suspicion. "Good."
Agnes turned, slow and casual, like a villain giving up halfway through a heist.
She walked to the window.
Opened it.
Put one foot on the sill.
Cafe froze. "Agnes."
Agnes looked over her shoulder, smiling sweetly. "Good night."
And then she jumped.
"AGNES—"
Cafe ran to the window in horror—
Only to see Agnes halfway down the emergency ladder already, lab coat fluttering behind her like a damn cape in the wind.
""YOU CAN'T STOP ME FOREVER, CAFE!!!" Agnes cried out like a gremlin high on scientific fervor, disappearing into the shadows with all the stealth of a freight train.
Then—
She sprinted.
White lab coat flapping, bare feet slapping against the cold tile floor, hair waving like flags of rebellion behind her—she dashed through the silent academy like the last surviving braincell in a caffeine-riddled body. She turned corners like she was dodging death itself. Because in a way… she was.
"AGNES—!!" Cafe's voice echoed from the window.
Too late.
Agnes had already hit full Uma speed.
She was galloping.
She was zooming.
She was chasing destiny—and that destiny was currently sleeping soundly under a futon with a cat on his chest.
Outside, the wind howled.
Inside, silence reigned.
Except for Agnes's footsteps thundering through the halls like a ghost with a vengeance.
The cats? They just watch.
. . .
Cafe stood completely still for three whole seconds.
Then she slammed the window shut, turned to the cats, and growled—
"…You two stay put."
And she took off.
Not running—no, that would be undignified.
But her walk had purpose.
The kind of purpose you only see in people who are about to physically drag their friend out of a government-classified room before they accidentally discover a boy who legally does not exist.
________
The wind slipped gently through the windows of the clocktower, brushing against old stone and rustling pages of forgotten textbooks someone probably left behind last semester.
Agnes sat cross-legged on the floor, just a few feet away from the futon. She didn't say a word.
She didn't need to.
Her eyes did all the talking—wide, focused, almost too intense for someone who claimed to be "just curious."
Vivi laid there, sound asleep, utterly unaware of the living lab accident watching him like he was a Nobel Prize wrapped in mystery and muscle.
Agnes leaned forward slightly, just enough to get a better look at his face in the moonlight.
Young. Peaceful. Unbothered.
No twitch. No scowl. No tension in his brow.
". . . So you do sleep like a human," she whispered.
She reached into her coat and pulled out a little notepad. Scribbled something. Tapped the pen against her lips, deep in thought.
Then she blinked and looked again.
Closer.
The scar on his neck. The fact that he's snoring but there's no sound.
Agnes?
Completely still.
But her eyes softened.
"…Why do you look like you've been through hell already?" she whispered again. "You're barely my age…"
She stopped herself.
Looked down.
This wasn't the moment for questions.
Not yet…
. . .
Agnes didn't touch him—well, not really.
She was careful. Surgical. Practically respectful.
She reached into her coat and pulled out a small, sterile glass tube. Slid the cap open with a practiced hand.
Then, eyes locked on a single out-of-place strand of silver hair—
Snip.
She slid it into the tube like it was priceless stardust. Capped it. Labeled it.
Subject #000.
Underlined twice.
She stood, content. Scientist satisfied. Goddess of chaos appeased.
But then—soft steps.
The door creaked open behind her, and—
click.
A shadow walked in, slow and silent as death.
Café.
Expression unreadable.
She didn't speak.
She didn't scold.
She just walked up to Agnes, took her gently by the collar—
—and started dragging her backwards.
"Nooo—!!" Agnes hissed, limbs flailing like a furious kitten. "I haven't even done bloodwork!!"
"We're leaving."
"I didn't even wake him! This was a clean operation!"
Café glanced back at the sleeping boy once, her expression… soft. Thoughtful.
Then she turned, dragging Agnes fully out the door.
"…You're lucky he sleeps like a rock."
__________
The lab was quiet.
Dim lights hummed softly overhead. A few papers scattered from Agnes' earlier frenzy still fluttered in the breeze from the open window. Moca was lazily batting a pen across the table, clearly having the time of his life.
Yukki?
She was winning.
Somehow, she had lured the other cat into a game of silent chaos—leaping across equipment like a practiced ninja, then slipping away right before Moca pounced.
But eventually, like all queens, she got bored of her subjects.
With a flick of her tail and a silent meow, Yukki left the lab behind. Slipped through the window again.
Back to her real post.
_________
Vivi stirred.
The sky outside had gone from ink-black to a faint violet, then golden. Morning.
His eyes blinked open, slow and heavy.
Yukki was there. Sitting primly beside him like she'd been there all night.
Tail curled. Silent. Innocent.
He blinked at her.
She blinked back.
She meowed. Not loudly. Just once.
Like nothing had happened at all.
________