Arnik burst out the front door, feet pounding the pavement as he tore down the sidewalk. His white hair bounced with every stride, and his sharp blue eyes locked straight ahead. He didn't bother locking the door behind him.
They lived on the edge of Tokyo X—where the neat, quiet order of the suburbs brushed up against the city's glowing heart. This part wasn't filled with sky towers or neon signs. It was rows of tidy homes, tree-lined streets, and smooth sidewalks. Yard lights flicked on as the sun dipped lower. A few families were out tending to evening chores. A delivery drone zipping quietly overhead.
Here, it felt lived-in. Quiet. Real.
But Arnik had no interest in quiet.
He raced past trimmed hedges and motion-lit porches, cutting around a corner and disappearing behind another row of houses.
"Kai! Hurry up or we'll miss it!" he shouted over his shoulder.
Across the street, a front door slammed open just as Arnik's voice echoed through the neighborhood.
Kai burst out of his house, already winded. He practically tripped over the step as he came out, catching himself on the rail. His orange hair was messy, one side flattened from where he'd been sleeping. His brown eyes blinked fast behind slightly crooked glasses. He was dressed as if someone who'd thrown his clothes on in a panic and hoping no one would notice.
He looked around, spotted the distant blur of Arnik, and groaned.
"You couldn't wait five minutes…" he muttered, pulling his glasses straight and jogging after him. "Every damn time."
He picked up speed, though his steps weren't nearly as smooth. His bag bounced awkwardly on one shoulder as he ran.
"Not everyone runs on jet fuel, you lunatic…" Kai yelled at Arnik.
Then—clank… clank… clankclankCLANK.
A horrible metallic racket hurtling down the street behind him."Huh—?"
He turned his head just in time to see it.
A shopping cart. Barreling straight toward him.-
His heart skipped when he noticed who was inside and who was behind it.
Charging full speed, pink hair flying like a banner in the wind, was Rose—a Demi-Cat in her natural element: chaos. Her cat ears twitched with uncontainable energy, and her tail lashed behind her like a ribbon caught in a storm. Whatever this was, she was clearly enjoying it way too much.
And inside the cart—
Aika. Draped back like royalty, long black hair spilling over the metal edges. Her eyes were half-lidded, her expression distant. She looked like she was seconds from falling asleep, completely unfazed by the fact she was riding a stolen cart down a residential street at top speed.
Kai froze, eyes wide.
"…What am I even looking at?"
Rose gave the cart one last push and grinned. "Taxi service."
Then, with a sharp inhale, he slapped a hand over his face. "Rose. Why—how—do you even have a shopping cart?!"
Rose grinned, as if the answer was obvious. "Found it. No one was using it, so I just, borrowed it without permission."
Kai dragged his hand down his face. "That's not how borrowing works! And Aika—how are you even asleep in there?!"
Aika opened one eye. "It's comfortable. Try it."
"No,"snapped Kai.
"There's room," Rose said, nodding at the spot next to Aika.
Kai looked at the cart. Then at them. Then at the street. Then gave up.
"I hate all of you." Kai complained, then climbed in.
The moment he sat down—WHAM.
Rose charged forward, sending the cart flying.
"YOU DON'T EVEN HAVE BRAKES! NOT SO FAST IDIOT!", Kai panicked.
"Brakes are for cowards!" Rose called out, laughing.
They zoomed down the street, cutting through the neighborhood like a missile with wheels. A lawn maintenance drone beeped angrily as they passed too close. A Demi-Wolf couple stepped aside quickly with their toddler.
Up ahead, Arnik turned the corner and looked back. When he saw the cart, he laughed.
"You serious?! That's your plan?!"
"It's working!" Rose shouted.
Aika yawned. "Smooth ride."
Kai held on tighter. "THIS ISN'T NORMAL!"
The street opened wider, and the local community theater came into view at the end of the block. Its lights glowed softly against the early evening sky. People were already gathering near the doors.
"We're almost there!" Arnik called out.
"You're gonna eat dust!" she yelled.
In one smooth motion, Arnik leapt onto the back of the cart, his balance perfect. His white hair whipped around him in the wind. "Still ahead," he grinned.
Kai looked between the two of them. "This thing's barely holding together! What is wrong with you?!"
"It's fine," Arnik said, barely phased.
"It's a shopping cart!"
Rose gave one final push. Arnik sprinted forward, then jumped—landing clean on the back of the cart.
"I win," he said.
Kai nearly tipped the whole thing. "This thing's not built for three! LET ALONE FOUR!"
"It's barely built for one," Rose said.
The curb approached fast. Arnik leapt off, ran ahead, and caught the front handle. His feet scraped the pavement as he forced the cart to a stop. It shuddered violently—then finally halted.
All three spilled out. Aika landed on her feet. Kai rolled onto the grass. "Never again."
"Oh, come on," Rose teased. "Admit it—you had fun." Kai narrowed his eyes. "That's not the word I'd use." Arnik clapped a hand on his back, laughing. "Hey, you survived."
Kai groaned, dragging himself after them. "Why do I even hang out with you people?"
Arnik helped Kai up. "Come on. Markus is about to start."
Rose's ears perked up. "They're calling him!"
Without waiting, she grabbed Aika's wrist and ran toward the theater. Kai followed, stumbling behind.
They made it through the doors just as the lights inside dimmed.
Then—
The speaker crackled.
"Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome our final contestant of the evening—Markus Seiryuu Sentryon!"
***
Ten minutes earlier, backstage…
Behind the curtain, perfume, sweat, and nerves thickened the air. Contestants moved in hushed tension. Some paced, whispering final rehearsals. Others sat, heads bowed, fingers twitching over invisible notes. The occasional clatter of shifting props cut through the quiet, but beyond the heavy curtain, the crowd buzzed.
Markus, a Demi-Wolf, stood before a mirror, his reflection sharp under the glow of vanity bulbs. His wolf ears twitched at every little sound, his tail flicking behind him, restless. The room buzzed with tension, but he forced himself to stay still.
His scarlet eyes, chilling to anyone who met them directly, betrayed every unspoken thought. The face in the mirror looked composed, unreadable. But his hands—still shook. This isn't just a performance, Markus thought. This is my chance.
He gripped the edge of the vanity, pressing his palms against the cool surface, shutting his eyes. Voices around him faded, the nerves clawing at his chest dulled. In his mind, there was only the stage. The music. The moment.
When his eyes opened again, the nerves hadn't disappeared, but his resolve burned brighter. His tail flicked once. He straightened his shirt and took one last glance in the mirror.
Out of nowhere—laughter.
From across the hall, laughter caught Markus's ears. Contestant Five held court, his polished demeanor gleaming under the lights. His voice carried just enough to be overheard, loud and easy.
"It's all about presentation," he declared smoothly, running a hand through his slicked-back hair. "You can't just play. You have to own it."
Markus's ears twitched. His jaw tightened. But he didn't look. Didn't react.
His fingers brushed over the violin on the table beside him, feeling the polished wood. Focus on the music, he thought. The door creaked open. A stagehand poked their head inside, clipboard in hand.
"Next up!"
Markus barely noticed as another contestant—a tall boy with a cello slung over his back—strode past, steps brimming with confidence. The door clicked shut behind him.
And Markus was alone with his thoughts again.
His hand hovered over the violin before picking it up. The weight steadied him. The feel of the strings, the curve of the wood—this was what mattered.
A small voice broke the silence.
"Your violin is really nice."
Markus turned.
A young girl stood nearby, clutching her violin close. She couldn't have been more than twelve, her wide eyes a mix of nerves and something close to awe.
Markus softened. "Thanks. Yours looks great too."
She swallowed. "My teacher says I have to be perfect."
Markus crouched slightly, meeting her gaze. "Hey, you practiced, right?"
She nodded hesitantly.
"Then don't worry about being perfect," he said. "Just play for yourself. Forget the audience, forget the judges—just enjoy it."
A beat. Then her grip loosened. The tension in her shoulders eased. A small, almost shy smile crossed her face.
"Okay. Thanks, mister."
"Markus," he corrected gently. "Good luck out there."
She nodded quickly and scampered off, holding her violin a little looser.
Markus exhaled, adjusting his tie one last time. That small moment, that tiny shift in someone else's nerves… it helped.
The stagehand reappeared. "Markus Seiryuu Sentryon? You're up."
Markus inhaled sharply, gripping his violin tighter. His heartbeat pounded, but his voice was steady. "Right. Thanks."
He left the booth, violin in hand, walking slowly down the dim hallway that led toward the wings of the stage. The noise from the audience was faint but steady now, like a tide rising behind the curtains.
As he rounded a corner, he heard voices ahead. He didn't pay them any mind.
But suddenly, the words became clearer.
"I did absolutely spectacular!" Contestant Five's voice rang out—loud, proud, self-satisfied. "You did!" another boy said quickly, laughing. "Nobody could top that. Seriously."
"The last guy's gonna be such a drag after my performance."
The arrogance hung in the air, thick enough to taste. So cocky it was almost gag-worthy. Markus walked up behind them, expression unreadable. His crimson sampaku eyes, already striking under normal circumstances, now carried a quiet intensity that made both boys freeze mid-sentence. His gaze was cold. Focused. Wolf-like.
Contestant Five turned and instantly stiffened. Even the smug grin slipped from his face. Markus didn't say anything at first—he just stared at them. And something in his eyes made them flinch, like they'd touched a live wire.
Then, quietly, "Which way's the stage?"
Neither of them responded immediately. One boy blinked, hesitated, then slowly raised his hand and pointed.
Markus gave a small nod. "Thanks."
He walked past them without another word, his tail brushing behind him, steady and composed.
For a moment, the two were silent.
Suddenly, "Holy crap," the other boy whispered. "Did you see his eyes?"
Contestant Five didn't respond. His shoulders had tensed. He didn't look so sure anymore.
Markus kept walking, each step taking him closer to the curtain, to the stage, to the crowd waiting on the other side.
Behind him, the silence didn't last.
Contestant Five rushed forward. "W-wait!" he called out, voice cracking slightly. "Sorry, man! I—I didn't mean anything by it!"
Markus stopped.
He turned halfway, eyes narrowed—not angry, just surprised.
"Sorry?" he echoed.
Contestant Five stood frozen a few feet back, suddenly looking like a completely different person. His posture was tense, the usual smugness wiped from his face.
"I wasn't talking about you," Contestant Five said nervously.
Markus said slowly, "I didn't even hear what you were saying."
The hallway went quiet again. For a moment, Contestant Five stared at him, mouth slightly open. Then he let out a nervous, too-loud laugh—forced and awkward—before turning on his heel and walking briskly away without another word.
Markus blinked.
Then shook his head and kept moving.
He wasn't sure what that was about, but he didn't have time to care.
He reached the end of the hallway. The edge of the curtain loomed in front of him, bright stage light spilling through the seams.
The applause from the last contestant faded.
He stepped into position.
A tall shadow behind the curtain, violin at his side.
At six feet tall, Markus already stood out, but under the stage lights—it would be something else entirely.
He closed his eyes. Breathed in. And waited.
The speaker crackled to life, and the announcer's voice rang out across the theater: "Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome our final contestant of the evening—Markus Seiryuu Sentryon!"
On stage—
Markus moved as if the violin was an extension of himself. The bow swept across the strings with ease, his tail flicking lightly in rhythm. The sound filled the space around him—not loud, not forceful, but full. Complete.
In the audience—
Arnik leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "That's it," he said under his breath.
Rose gave a short nod, smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth. "Relax. He's fine."
"You know what I mean," Arnik replied, his tone steady. Certain.
Her smile faded into something more honest. "Yeah. I do."
Kai's eyes followed every movement. He adjusted his glasses but didn't speak right away.
Then, quietly, "Every note's exact."
Even Aika had leaned in, chin in hand, her green eyes focused on the stage.
"…Okay," she said. "This is actually worth staying awake for."
The tempo picked up. Markus's fingers moved faster, precise. The music rose, sharp and clean. It didn't demand attention—didn't have to.
"Who is he?" someone whispered from the second row.
"He plays like it's natural," came the reply.
Markus's scarlet eyes didn't leave the strings. His bow came down one last time, driving the final note forward with quiet force.
Silence followed.
No movement. No sound. Just a single note, hanging in the air like a breath that refused to end. A second slipped by. And another. The applause did not erupt—it rose.
Firm. Intentional. A wave of sound that grew with certainty, the kind born not from surprise, but from understanding. Everyone in the room knew exactly what they had just witnessed.
Markus lowered the violin. His shoulders lifted and fell with a measured breath. His scarlet eyes swept across the audience—not in search of praise, but simply to take in the moment.
Arnik was already on his feet. "That is it," he said again, this time with unmistakable conviction.
Rose waved him down, grinning wide. "You killed it, Markus!"
Kai clapped slowly, rhythmically. "Not bad," he added, like it was the most natural conclusion in the world.
Aika joined in, her hands moving, her gaze unwavering. "Impressive," she murmured.
Backstage, Contestant Five had already turned away. His jaw clenched, arms crossed tightly.
He did not speak.
He simply stepped into the shadows—and did not return.
Near the curtain, the young girl from earlier stood still, her small hands wrapped around her own violin.
"He's really good," she whispered, barely audible beneath the crowd.
Markus offered a quiet bow.
The applause continued—steady, unbroken.
And for once, he was not thinking about nerves.
There was no need.
Everything had gone exactly as it should have.
This was not just a performance.
It was proof.