Yuki Tanaka arrived at Dumaguete airport two weeks early, claiming she "couldn't wait to experience Philippine culture."
Glad suspected she couldn't wait to escape Japanese summer, but didn't say so.
"GLAD-SAN!" Yuki bowled her over with a hug, all nine tails wagging enthusiastically. "I'm SO excited! Your videos are amazing! I've watched them all! The one where you fight the selfie stick—I cried laughing!"
"Welcome to the Philippines," Glad managed, extracting herself from tails. "Let's get you to the community center."
On the drive, Yuki chattered endlessly about her life in Japan—the challenges of hiding nine tails, the difficulty of finding clothes that fit, her part-time job as a shrine guardian.
"Humans come to pray, and I just sit there thinking, 'if only you knew.'" She giggled. "One time, a tourist asked if she could take a photo. I said yes, but one of my tails slipped into frame. She thought it was a prop. Very convincing prop."
The community center welcomed Yuki with open arms—literally, in the kapres' case, which was overwhelming.
"So many creatures!" Yuki breathed, eyes wide. "In Japan, we're so scattered. Isolated. This—" She gestured at the bustling center. "This is amazing."
"It's new," Glad admitted. "A year ago, none of this existed."
"A year? ONE year? And you built this?"
"With help. Lots of help."
Yuki looked at Glad with newfound respect. "You're not just famous, Glad-san. You're a pioneer."
"Just an old lady who got filmed by accident."
"In Japan, we'd call that destiny."
The other delegates arrived over the following weeks—Sun-hee from Korea, Alejandro from Mexico, Morag from Scotland. Each brought their own stories, their own struggles, their own hopes for the summit.
Sun-hee ran a successful restaurant in Seoul, serving "special" dishes to both human and creature customers. ("The humans think our bulgogi is amazing. They don't know the secret ingredient is... well, secret.")
Alejandro had been a luchador for 40 years, his nahual abilities making him unbeatable in the ring. ("I always let them think it's skill. It's not. It's shape-shifting.")
Morag was a kelpie—a water horse from Scottish folklore—who'd spent centuries avoiding humans who wanted to ride her. ("You wouldn't believe how many people see a beautiful horse by a lake and think, 'I should climb on that.' It's exhausting.")
Together, they represented a fraction of the world's hidden creatures.
And together, they would plan the future.