The sky was turning orange as evening fell. Shadows of trees stretched long across the quiet village road. The wind blew gently, loosening strands of Hana's hair from her ponytail and letting them fall softly onto her shoulders.
Her bicycle wheels creaked quietly over the cobbled path.
The front basket was full of fresh flowers—jasmine, white asters, pink roses, and a few fragrant sprigs of lavender.
Hana pedaled slowly, her smile tired but warm.
"Still two shops to go… Then go home. Then cook. Then… deal with the royal furball."
She stopped in front of a small flower shop, its old wooden sign faded and peeling. A middle-aged woman greeted her at the door with a wide smile.
"Ah, Hana, your flowers are as beautiful as ever."
Hana smiled politely. "Yes, picked them this morning, ma'am."
She carefully lifted a bundle from her front basket. Her small hands moved quickly to sort each order, then jot down notes in her little notebook.
After two shops, the sky turned a deeper shade of orange. The roads grew quieter. Birds were flying home.
And as Hana pedaled her way back, she looked up at the dimming sky…
"Please let Chiro not have wrecked the house."
But deep down, she knew…
Chiro—His Highness Prince Mathien—was never quiet for long.
Her bicycle creaked down a narrow alley behind the market. The sun had shifted west, and the buildings' shadows began to swallow the narrow path.
Her flower basket was nearly empty—just one last bundle left.
"One last delivery… then home."
She pedaled faster.
But then she froze. Three men appeared at the end of the alley. Ragged clothes. Harsh faces. And all their eyes locked onto her.
The biggest one spat on the ground. His footsteps were heavy. One hand tucked into the pocket of his torn jacket.
"Hey… Hana, right?" The voice rumbled.
Hana instinctively hit her brakes. Her heart pounded. She knew that voice. Everyone in the village did.
Rokman.
A market thug known for hassling sellers and demanding "security money."
Hana gripped her handlebars tightly.
"I-I'm in a hurry, s-sir. I need to go home."
Rokman grinned. The two men behind him chuckled.
"Going home? Not gonna stop for a little chat with me first, sweetie?"
He plucked the last bundle of flowers from her basket, sniffed it crudely, then tossed it to the ground.
The flowers crumpled.
Hana bit her lower lip. Her hands trembled.
"Don't cry. Don't show fear." "But there's three of them…"
"You like delivering flowers, huh?" Rokman stepped closer. "Why not bring some for me? Or maybe share a little pocket money?"
Hana looked down, fingers twisting the hem of her shirt.
No one would pass through this alley at this hour. She was alone. Just a small girl, an old bike, and a bundle of flowers.
"Please… Not today… Please don't—"
The three men loomed closer. Rokman reached out a hand.
Hana froze. Her eyes burned. Her legs shook.
But before that rough hand could grab her bag—
WHUMP!
A fat orange cat slammed into Rokman's face. Its body round, fur bristling. Eyes glowing bright blue—like twin flames in the twilight.
"C—Chiro?" Hana whispered in disbelief.
The cat crouched low. Tail upright. Breathing slow and deep.
Then…
"Meow."
Soft. Calm. But somehow—it echoed inside their heads.
The three men froze.
"D—dude..." one of them stammered. "You… hear that?"
Rokman opened his mouth, but no sound came. His pupils shrank.
"Meow."
Deeper this time. It reverberated. That sound… crawled down their spines.
"MEEOOW."
Still a cat's voice. But ancient. Like a spell. A curse.
The air shifted.
Without warning, one man turned and ran. The second followed. And Rokman staggered back, cursing, face pale.
"WHAT THE HELL KIND OF CAT IS THAT!?"
In seconds, they were gone.
Hana stood frozen. Her old bike swayed. Her flower basket half-empty.
And before her, Chiro stood proud—his fur rippling in the evening breeze like a slow-motion scene.
"…meow?" Hana whispered, still stunned.
Mathien turned slowly, expression blank.
"If my powers were restored, they'd be grass by now."
The street fell silent again. The last light of sunset touched Hana's stunned face.
Across from her, the large orange cat sat still. His fur was ruffled, but his blue eyes still glowed. His expression… cold. Proud. Regal.
Prince Mathien Valtherion. The royal heir who had just driven off three thugs with nothing but a—
"Meow."
Hana stared.
Then suddenly— without thinking, without asking—
She lunged and hugged his chubby body.
"AAAHHH CHIROOO!!! I THOUGHT I WAS GONNA DIE!! HUHUHUHU!!!"
Her arms were tight. Too tight.
Her face buried in Mathien's soft fur. Tears streamed. Her shoulders shook.
Mathien froze.
"NO. THIS IS NOT HAPPENING." "MY BODY WAS NOT MADE FOR THIS."
"RELEASE ME!" he screeched.
"I was so scared! I really—huhuhu—you were so cool, Chiro… I mean, Your Highness Prince Mathien…"
"No. No. DO NOT say that while hugging me."
Mathien started flailing his back legs.
"I can't breathe," he muttered flatly. "And you smell like glue sticks."
Hana slowly let go. Her eyes were red, her face streaked with tears.
Mathien sat lopsided in front of her bike, grooming his chest fur with annoyed precision before glaring at her.
Hana blinked, breathing steadily.
"But… why were you at the market?"
Mathien didn't answer right away. He lowered his gaze, seemingly deep in thought. Then finally, he sighed.
"I was kicked out."
"Kicked out?"
He turned to her. "Yes. Out of the house. Your grandmother thought I needed to pee."
Silence.
Hana held her breath. "Huh?"
"And I feel deeply insulted."
His voice was calm. But there was deep emotional damage behind it.
Hana covered her mouth to hold back the giggles.
Mathien continued, expression flat.
"I am heir to Valtherion. Prince of the sacred throne. Ruler of the third celestial magic. But this morning, I stood at a wooden door and…"
He took a slow breath.
"…was called using a shaking can of cat treats."
Hana burst out laughing.
And for the first time, Mathien regretted saving this girl.
Hana chuckled softly as she pushed her bike, occasionally glancing at the front basket where Mathien sat, still poised with his signature pride despite his ruffled fur.
But the cat's face looked… tired.
His eyes were heavy, tail no longer flicking. His front paws slid slightly off the edge of the basket, and his breathing grew slower.
Hana glanced down. "Hey… are you okay? Are you sick?"
Mathien didn't answer right away. He stared ahead blankly, then finally murmured:
"My power is gone."
Hana stopped. "What?!"
Mathien nodded solemnly, like a war veteran.
"The last of my kingdom's magic was used just now. I… unleashed the Dominion Meow." He turned to her, eyes serious. "It's not an ordinary spell."
Hana panicked. "Why'd you do that?! Why not just run like a normal cat?!"
Mathien blinked.
"You wanted me to let you get mugged by market thugs?"
Hana bit her lip, guilty. "Sorry..."
Mathien sighed deeply. Full of suffering. Of sacrifice. Of hunger.
"You can make it up to me."
Hana raised a brow. "With what?"
Mathien turned again. His blue eyes sharp.
"Salmon."
Hana paused.
"What?"
"Salmon. Now."
Hana gaped. "I don't have salmon! I'm not a billionaire!"
Mathien lifted his chin. "Not my problem."
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Hana set a small bowl on the floor.
"Here! Your salmon! I even used my allowance, you know!"
Mathien glanced over. He slowly walked up to it.
His eyes narrowed.
He stopped.
Hana blinked. "What? Not enough? That's a big portion."
Mathien didn't answer. He just stared into the bowl like it was a personal insult to his entire bloodline.
Then, softly:
"What is this?"
"Salmon. You asked for salmon."
Mathien closed his eyes, then turned to her, deadpan and offended.
"This is salmon… chopped. Canned. Watery. Unworthy."
Hana raised a brow. "Then what kind do you want?"
Mathien sat elegantly on the floor. His big tail swayed lazily. His gaze fixed on Hana.
"Whole."
Hana blinked.
"A full fish. Thick flesh. Clear eyes. Fresh from the stream. Cooked or raw, I don't care. But—whole."
Hana stared at him. Long and hard.
"Your Highness."
"Yes?"
"Do you know who you are?"
Mathien nodded slowly.
"Prince of Valtherion. Heir of the sky magic. Blessed by pure blood, cursed to be a cat by circumstance."
"Yes, but you live in a village girl's house."
"And I never asked for that."
Hana slowly pulled at her own hair in frustration.
Mathien turned his back, returned to his cushion, and flopped down with great drama.
"If there's no whole salmon by morning, I may perish. But that's fine. I'm used to being misunderstood."
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