My name is K. I’m a cat.
You’re asking whether a single letter of the alphabet can really be a name? No. I do have a real name, actually. But I’d rather you didn’t concern yourself with that. Just K—that is enough.
Humans usually call me “His Highness the Crown Prince’s cat.” But I prefer the shorter title, “the Crown Prince cat.” The reason is simple. I am never a cat owned by the Crown Prince. Thinking you own me just because I choose to stay by your side is a huge misunderstanding. Humans make this kind of serious mistake surprisingly often, and they should really learn that it’s completely wrong.
Anyway, I live in the Imperial Palace—more precisely, in the Crown Prince’s palace. You might wonder how a cat ended up living there, but that’s a very long story, so I’ll set it aside. What matters is just one thing: I am a noble Crown Prince cat.
Right now, I’m sitting in an elegant posture, peering into a chest.
The sturdy, massive wooden chest is sitting there with its mouth wide open, already filled to the brim. What fills it is none other than glittering gold coins. Staring at the heap of gold, packed so densely inside, is almost blinding.
Every single one of these gold coins was gathered by me. To be precise, they were extorted from nobles—but regardless, the fact remains that I collected them.
Amassing this much gold was no easy task.
First of all, there was the daily business of pressuring those old noble geezers.
If I had threatened them with my sharp, menacing claws, things might’ve been much easier. But I am, after all, a cold city cat, so I don’t resort to violence lightly. Instead, I pressured them with my noble status as the Crown Prince cat, along with a charisma they simply couldn’t ignore. Once they were overwhelmed by my cold, piercing gaze even once, they never dared refuse my demands again.
The result of carefully gathering every coin extorted from those nobles is this beautiful chest before me. If I hadn’t been giving Simon an allowance every single day, there might’ve been one more chest by now. But I’m not a petty cat who begrudges money spent on a friend. I don’t regret it in the slightest.
When I turn my head, Julia—kind in figure, chest, and face alike—stands there wearing a blissful expression. It seems that even just looking at someone else’s rice cake is enough to make her happy. Since she always pleases my eyes with her top-tier chest, I’d be willing to share a little if she asked. Still, unlike my friend Simon, she’s not in a situation where she’s starving day after day, so I don’t feel inclined to offer it up on my own.
I turn my head back toward the chest.
The gold coins, each one polished by the maids with cloth, sparkle brilliantly as if calling out to me. I rise from my seat and take a moment to steady my heart.
I’m about to jump into the sea of this beautiful gold.
A single black cat swimming among glittering gold coins.
What a luxurious and elegant sight that would be.
Even Marie Antoinette, who supposedly asked why people didn’t just eat cake instead of bread, probably never got to swim in gold coins. The same goes for Paris Hilton’s pet dogs. I’ll go down in history as the one and only luxury cat in the world who swam through gold.
I savor this moment—destined to be remembered throughout history—for just a bit longer. Then, with restrained and elegant movements, I fling my body into the pool of gold coins.
…….
……
……What the hell?
Something must be wrong with gravity. My body is floating in midair and refuses to fall.
When I turn my head, I see that bastard Simon grabbing me with both hands.
“You’ll get hurt, idiot.”
Let go, you little shit.
I flail desperately while staring down at the gold coin pool below. But Simon, whose only virtue is his stupid brute strength, doesn’t budge an inch.
Interrupting a moment this great—one meant to be remembered for all eternity—is completely unforgivable.
I surrender my entire body to the surging rage inside me.
Kyaaaak—!
Hey, you fucking bastard—!
