* * *
“Beyond the rainbow, my foot!”
Remembering it all made my anger boil over as I slammed down the basket.
“Hey, hurry up and get those potatoes!”
“Ah, senior! Please give me a break. I already broke two dishes yesterday, and the manager gave me an earful!”
Here we go again.
I sighed openly, making the two loitering near the storage area flinch and lower their voices.
“Look at that glare—he’s giving off double the bad luck today,” one of the junior kitchen staff muttered, making a slicing gesture at his throat.
Behind their human forms, I saw wisps of mist flicker, forming into fur-covered ears and tails.
The junior staff member was a slender, brown-eared Siamese cat, and the one prodding him to hurry was a plump man with a fluffy Pomeranian tail.
I winced slightly, and the Pomeranian guy barked, raising his voice at the poor junior.
“Curse or not, get a move on already!”
The junior shuffled towards me, his steps heavy, eyes darting away whenever they accidentally met mine.
His lavender-hued tail bristled, puffing up and settling again.
He bent down, carefully picking up a basket filled with potatoes.
“Kim Maknae.”
The badge he wore, newly printed, gleamed under the light.
The Siamese’s name was actually Maknae (“Youngest”), and the Pomeranian’s name was “Choi Bbangyi.” Maybe because his tail looked like a fluffy loaf of bread.
Our stoic, no-nonsense Doberman manager was named “Park Chorong.”
When I focused, their true forms and their childlike names blurred together, making them seem like beloved pets brought to life.
If I had any ability, maybe this was it.
I had been a cat owner for about ten years.
Since I’d always liked animals, not just cats, I’d devoured encyclopedias and documentaries, unknowingly preparing for this strange world.
I learned from observing that beastmen generally found it rude to ask each other’s species directly, as if acknowledging they might be considered “incomplete species.”
The fluffy ears, tails, or blunt snouts only I could see—other beastmen couldn’t.
Though I’d received plenty of hateful looks myself, I couldn’t bring myself to resent them.
They looked human, but my eyes saw only sweet creatures chasing butterflies or pouncing on balls of yarn.
Although they didn’t remember their past lives, their habits and instincts remained, leaving traces of their former owners.
When they acted “human,” they seemed to mimic the ones who once cared for them.
So if they avoided black cats like me, it wasn’t really their fault—it was their human owners’ prejudice seeping through.
That junior, tiptoeing around without making eye contact, wasn’t doing it by choice, I realized, tugging my hoodie tighter to hide my ears and waiting for him to leave.
But despite his efforts, he fumbled with the basket, dropping a few potatoes.
I wanted to help, but all I could do was watch him, silent and unmoving.
“Wow,” he murmured in awe.
I bet he was impressed by the smooth, perfectly peeled potatoes, right?
Ten years of cooking skills in a single bowl.
Seeing his wide-eyed wonder, I felt a small, simple joy—the kind that only pure admiration could bring.
That’s probably his true self, I thought. His learned resentment would fade over time.
In that bleak kitchen corner, a fleeting smile between us lingered in the air.
“Hey, Baek Rokdam.”
The manager came into the kitchen, looking deadly serious after the junior left.
I’d already peeled half of the day’s potato allotment.
What a crowd we’ve had on this lonely island today, I thought to myself, cracking a joke no one would laugh at.
“Is something the matter?”
Even so, he was a benefactor to me, giving me this job when I had nowhere else to go.
Manager Chorong looked a bit uneasy.
His normally proud, upright ears were drooping to the sides as if something was bothering him.
After grabbing my coat, he took hold of my wrist and led me out through the back door without warning.
“You should leave early today. We’re expecting an incredibly important guest, and if they see you—a black-furred half-breed—it could be a disaster.”
He kept glancing nervously at the kitchen entrance as he nudged me forward.
An early dismissal.
It’s the first time this has happened in two months.
My curiosity was beginning to stir.
“Who exactly is this guest?”
I asked as I slowly put on my coat, my ears perking up.
The manager stamped his foot in frustration.
“The Duke Dimitri! A noble of his rank is coming to a humble place like this!”
The manager’s voice was shrill with excitement.
I repeated the name “Dimitri” in my head, puzzled by this sudden appearance of a medieval-sounding title.
Quite a grand name.
I wondered if he might be one of those prestigious, rare breeds.
Like an Afghan Hound, maybe, the kind raised by Russian aristocrats, I thought as I opened the back door.
And just as I did, I saw the manager’s face go pale.
My back, stiff from being hunched over in the cold, finally relaxed as it touched the warm floor.
Lying there for a while, it eventually got too hot, so I turned over to warm my stomach instead.
I spent a good while flipping back and forth like that.
After laughing to myself about feeling like a squid roasting on a stove, I noticed Sangbong—my roommate, or rather, my “room-cat”—tilting his head curiously.
“You seem pretty happy to be home early.”
“Yeah, it’s nice. Walking home in daylight for a change.”
Sangbong sidled up beside me and, looking content, nestled his arm to his chest, purring as I scratched between his ears.
I could still remember the day I’d found him shivering in the streets.
He had patchy fur from a long spell of dermatitis and was skinny from malnutrition.
Though he’d tried to turn me away, I brought him home and bought expensive medicated shampoo just for him.
Once he put on some weight from a diet of cabbage and tuna, he turned out to have a surprisingly cute face.
“You’re a mackerel tabby.”
I’d admired the gray stripes on his tail, only to have him wail back that “Korean Shorthair” wasn’t even a recognized breed here and that his skin condition might be contagious.
But caring for him day by day, I got attached.
Without realizing, the sun had started to set.
Our six-pyeong studio was small, but I was grateful to have a warm companion to get through winter with.
“Sangbong-ah.”
I stroked Sangbong’s slightly scruffy head, recalling what I’d seen earlier that day.
“Yes, hyung?”
“Do you know a Duke Dimitri?”
“Duke Dimitri?”
Sangbong sat up in shock, giving me a look as if to ask how I could not know.
“Everyone around here knows him. He’s super famous and…well, he’s really handsome. Really, really handsome… and, um, just…handsome.”
Okay, handsome.
Got it.
I stared at him with an unimpressed look, making Sangbong scratch his head sheepishly.
“Well, yeah, that’s what people say.”
“Really?”
I had only seen his back.
And what I remembered was the cascade of gold…tail?
No, it was so enormous I wasn’t even sure it was a tail.
Escorting a man in an expensive coat, he’d seen my exposed ears yet walked past without a word, allowing Manager Chorong’s face to regain its color.
He even gave me two forced days off, just in case.
I didn’t mind, but a small part of me was nervous about getting into trouble.
High-ranking “pure-breeds” usually had one of two reactions when they encountered us “half-breeds.”
They’d either pity, despise, or look down on us—or just turn tail and flee without a second thought.
But oddly, I didn’t sense any of that from the Duke’s gaze.
If anything, it was… indifferent.
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