The Cat is on Strike 12

? Views,

It’s a name. A person’s name. And not just any name—Justyn Laufe! The kind of news that made him want to tear through the room, sprinting with wild excitement.

“If you wear this, no one in the mansion will throw you out, even if they see you.”

That’s what Justyn said, but his hands hesitated. His gaze kept shifting away, like he felt bad about putting a collar on him… As if he should feel guilty!

Hurry up and put it on already!

Do you know what a collar means? It means you belong to someone. And this one? It had “Justyn Laufe” engraved right on it.

What else could that mean? He was officially acknowledging himself as the owner.

Somewhere deep inside, he could hear it—the sound of every pent-up worry taking flight and vanishing into the distance.

“Meooow!”

Hurry, hurry! Strawberry purred loudly and licked Justyn’s leather glove with enthusiasm. To think he’d gone out of his way to prepare a gift like this—what a considerate master!

The subtle sheen of the leather was clearly no ordinary finish. It had to be expensive. The collar didn’t choke at all, and it hugged his neck so softly that, if he didn’t think about it, he could forget it was even there.

And the bell—it chimed with each step, a delicate, crystal-clear sound like water droplets falling into a lake. Clearly not just for decoration.

No way he prepared this in just a day or two.

If he were still human, his face would’ve been twisted into a ridiculous grin. That’s how thrilled he was.

So he really had this made ahead of time?

That tall, brooding man looked almost… adorable right now. If he could talk, he would’ve drowned him in praise until the guy turned red.

Sadly, he was stuck in a cat’s body, so that wasn’t happening. Instead, he puffed up with pride, tapped the collar with his paw, and strutted confidently around the room.

It was the kind of scene that would shatter any remnants of human dignity—but dignity was a luxury for people with stable lives and warm beds.

If wearing a collar meant a warm place to stay, then hey, no complaints here.

Strawberry, now fully adjusted to life as a cat, didn’t hesitate for even a second.

As expected, Justyn left the room, and Strawberry followed. His pace was calm and unhurried, making it easy to keep up.

They passed through a long, dimly lit hallway, descended shadowy stairs, and exited through a quiet front gate. Outside, the sky was dull and overcast.

Huh. Kinda creepy.

The vines covering the stone walls, the neglected dirt path, the long-dead fountain—it all gave off a gloomy vibe.

What looked like it might have once been a garden was now nothing but brittle, dried-up branches.

With the sky that dreary, the eerie mood doubled. If he hadn’t been with Justyn, he probably would’ve run back inside, tail tucked between his legs.

But Justyn walked the path like he’d taken it a hundred times before. Dry, cracking dirt, a half-maintained stone trail, a half-full pond—he passed them all and headed toward the back of the mansion.

Ooh.

This place looked… decent. The ground was neatly packed, and the swords displayed on the rack were clearly well-maintained. Was this a training ground?

Justyn, who had been walking without a word, stopped abruptly and turned around.

“Wait here.”

So he was going to train? As Strawberry settled down to watch, Justyn selected a sword and stepped into the center of the training ground.

Then he began to move.

…Whoa.

Strawberry’s jaw dropped on its own. That’s how stunning the sight was. In that moment, the creepy mansion and its haunted atmosphere vanished from his mind completely.

Even someone who knew nothing about swordsmanship could tell—Justyn wasn’t just skilled. He was on another level entirely.

Each swing sliced the air with a sharp whistle, and now and then, the breeze from his blade brushed against Strawberry’s face, making his whiskers flutter.

Before long, the fluid movements came to an end—it looked more like a dance than training. If he could’ve, Strawberry would’ve clapped with all his might.

But Justyn didn’t drop his stance. Was he not done yet?

As Strawberry hesitated, unsure whether to move, a strange red glow shimmered across the silver blade.

What the hell is that?

Strawberry stared in silent shock.

The sword, now glowing with an eerie light, swept through the air once—and a deep gash tore into the ground. It was massive, impossible to believe it had been made with a single strike.

“Blade aura” would be the perfect name for it. In a world with gods and Divine Power, something like that wasn’t all that far-fetched. If this were a novel, it would definitely be tagged fantasy.

He was calmly pondering that when a sudden realization struck him.

…Wait. Is this really a novel?

A cursed Duke, a priest who can heal him, and a meddling Marquess tangled up between them—sounds exactly like the kind of setup you’d find in a webnovel love triangle.

But the thought didn’t last long.

It’s not like I actually know anything.

Even if this was a novel, it didn’t change the fact that he had no clue what was going on. For him, this was just his new, weirdly intense reality.

A man who ended up switching owners and settling down as a house cat.

He turned his attention back to the scene before him. Crimson light flared—shattering, scattering in a brilliant display that delighted the eye.

Time slipped by.

…Is this ever going to end?

The sword training showed no signs of stopping, and boredom began to set in. Strawberry stood and stretched, his limbs stiff from staying in the same position for too long.

How long was he supposed to wait here? Should he go explore a bit? But no—this place was far too creepy to wander around alone.

As he debated with himself, something suddenly caught his eye.

Amidst the bleak gray scenery, a single red bloom swayed in the wind.

A flower!

Now that was something he couldn’t ignore. His paws felt light as he dashed toward it, excitement bubbling in his chest.

***

Justyn, lost in his rhythm, swung his sword in complete focus—until he noticed it. The air, once thick with motion, had turned distinctly cooler.

“…Damn.”

He only then realized how much time had passed. Normally, that wouldn’t matter. But today, he wasn’t alone. He turned quickly, eyes scanning the place where he’d left the cat.

…Gone.

The cat had been sitting there just moments ago—quiet, obedient. Now, there wasn’t even a trace.

Justyn’s jaw tightened.

Without hesitation, he tossed the sword aside and moved. He couldn’t leave him alone. He didn’t want to.

He had to find him before the sun went down. Before anything gave the little creature reason to be afraid of him.

“Ah.”

Just then, a nearby bush rustled softly. The knot of anxiety wound tight in his chest loosened in an instant.

From between the scattered leaves, the very being he’d been searching for poked his head out.

A yellow cat with a leaf stuck to his head, a red flower in his mouth—an oddly bright, living thing in this cold, lifeless estate.

Yet somehow, watching him approach with that swaying tail made everything feel okay.

The little cat trotted over on bouncy paws and stretched his neck forward, offering the flower like it was a gift. Justyn stood frozen for a long moment before finally reaching out and taking it.

Delicate yet vivid. Just like the one who had brought it to him.

Only then did Justyn realize he’d been holding his breath.

“…Ha.”

He let out a quiet sigh—part awe, part unease, part reluctant acceptance. Maybe it had all been inevitable from the start.

With rigid fingers, he reached forward. It was clumsy, almost pitiful, the way he bent down and carefully stroked the soft fur above those shining gray eyes.

As if confessing, Justyn whispered under his breath.

“…Aren’t you afraid of me?”

He looked down at the tiny, fragile life before him with a gaze like still water.

But the response was unchanged.

Just like the first time they met. Just like the day he brought him to this house. Strawberry pressed his face against him, purring without the slightest trace of fear.

Justyn closed his eyes tightly. This… this had to be his first and last desire. The only bright, beautiful thing he would ever allow near a world as dark and cursed as his.

Because of this small creature, Justyn had tasted something he’d never known—not since he was born cursed.

Affection.

It was only a fragment. But it was intoxicatingly sweet, impossibly calming.

And then, without thinking, driven by impulse—a decision he might come to regret—he said it aloud.

“Ries.”

“……?”

“Your name is Ries.”

The cat’s eyes grew wide, like he understood. Like he knew this was now his name.

“Meooow!”

He jumped up in delight, his steps light and playful. His gray eyes sparkled like they held stars.

Justyn gave a bitter smile beneath his mask.

He had no idea that the name had been given by the most wretched, cursed man in the world. But it didn’t matter.