The Cat is on Strike 85

“He never fed me properly. He tormented me, used me as nothing more than a prop in his little games of love. I got sick of it and ran away. After that, I wandered the streets… until I met you, Justyn.”

“……”

“I liked how you showed kindness even to a stray cat you didn’t know. That’s why I followed you. And to be honest… I sometimes pretended to be sick, just because I wanted to stay with you.”

Admitting it now brought a faint flush of embarrassment, but compared to the shame I’d felt before, this was nothing. It wasn’t hard to push it aside.

“I didn’t realize I was part of the Myo tribe until later. Do you know what my very first thought was, the moment I transformed into a human?”

Ries scrunched up his nose. He didn’t need to ask; he could already tell Justyn was waiting for an answer.

“I thought: I want to stay with him. I hope my master won’t find me strange. …Yeah. I was terrified you’d push me away.”

“I’d never do that.”

“I know that now.”

The way Justyn immediately denied it almost made him laugh. Still, the only reason Ries could nod so easily was because he’d already seen proof with his own eyes. If not, he wouldn’t have been able to accept it so readily.

Even when there’s trust, even when time has proven someone’s loyalty, even when you’re certain they won’t abandon you—doesn’t the heart still tremble at the thought of taking one more step closer?

Ries let out a long breath.

Admitting how he felt was one thing, but baring his heart so openly made his face burn.

Still, it was something he had to do. He’d avoided it long enough, too afraid to step forward. This time, it was his turn to reach out first.

“What about you, Justyn?”

Justyn, who had been listening intently, only blinked at first, unable to answer right away. Then, a flicker of realization passed through his eyes.

He understood. His gentle cat was about to speak of the past he had buried so long ago, and so Justyn had gone first, easing the weight for him.

Those round, silver-gray eyes carefully sought his own. Their look said: If you don’t want to talk, you don’t have to. Ries was still leaving the choice in his hands.

Beneath the mask, a faint smile curved his lips. The last trace of hesitation slipped away, replaced by a measure of courage.

At last, Justyn found the strength to speak of the beginning of his life.

“From the moment I was born… no, even before then, while I was still in my mother’s womb, I was already cursed. Because of me, her health grew weaker and weaker.”

His tone carried the weight of something only ever heard secondhand. The moment Ries realized that, he could already guess how her story ended.

“In the end, she died when I was born. After that, people treated me as the child who killed his own mother. Because of that, my relationship with my father was never good either.”

“No—that’s not just mistreatment. That’s abuse!”

“…Yeah. You’re right.”

Ries, who had been quietly listening, suddenly snapped, his anger boiling over. He remembered the attic he had once explored with Justyn.

And yet, strangely, Justyn seemed… pleased. The eyes behind his mask curved faintly. What could possibly make him smile at a moment like this?

Ries’s gaze hardened, sulky and sharp like a cat’s, but…

“Honestly, I don’t remember much of my childhood. With the curse inside me, with rumors that I had killed my mother… wherever I went, I was met with disgust and contempt. Maybe that’s why—there weren’t many memories worth keeping.”

His glare softened almost immediately. How could anyone glare at someone saying things like that?

Hearing about Justyn’s childhood—marked only by rejection, branded and miserable—made Ries’s chest tighten. And seeing those numb, dulled eyes of his made his heart ache even more.

“Then, one day, my father died in a carriage accident. Before long, people were saying that was my fault too. And strangely… I couldn’t deny it.”

“…Why?”

“Because there was no one who would believe me. And honestly… it really did feel like it was my fault. I killed my mother. I turned my father into a monster. So wasn’t it only natural to think his misfortune came from me as well…?”

His voice blurred as he went on, shading his past with a heavy gloom. Unlike earlier, when he’d spoken in a flat, detached tone, now there was a faint tremor of sorrow.

Ries’s face twisted, anger sparking again, ready to burst out—

—but Justyn reached out and gently stroked his head, cutting him off before the words could escape.

It was a familiar touch, one he’d felt countless times before.

Except back then, I was a cat.

Now… he was a man.

It might not have been intentional, but that gentle, almost absentminded touch—like one might use to soothe a pet—quietly pressed down on Ries’s pride as a man.

And yet, he couldn’t bring himself to show the slightest sign of displeasure. The calmer Justyn became with every pass of his hand, the less Ries wanted to push him away.

So he stayed still, letting himself be petted. Soon, a heavy, pleasant drowsiness settled over him.

“Thanks to you, I know that’s not true anymore. So there’s no need to be angry.”

“…Mm. Keep going.”

“Very well.”

The story that followed was one Ries already knew in fragments.

After inheriting the ducal title, Justyn had left the management of the estate in the hands of his uncle, Count Averitt Barmark, and disappeared into the capital. At Ketir’s urging, he’d sought treatment from the temple, but even then, he hadn’t shown much enthusiasm.

“Day after day, I endured in that gray, colorless world… and then, Ries, I met you.”

His hand stilled, and instead, he clasped Ries’s hand tightly. A faint tremor ran through his grip, and Ries found himself holding his breath without meaning to.

“……”

“…?”

Then came silence.

Ries thought he would continue, but instead, Justyn fell quiet—not in refusal, but as though lost in thought.

Only after a long pause did he finally speak.

“Maybe I really am my father’s son. Maybe that’s why people say blood doesn’t lie.”

“…What? What’s that supposed to mean?”

Of all the things to say, it had to be something that instantly set Ries on edge. He squeezed Justyn’s hand hard, as though to snap him out of it.

“My father’s hatred and cruelty weren’t only because of the curse. It was because I was born at the cost of my mother’s life.”

“……”

“He adored her. Everyone knew it—his devotion was so famous that their love affair once set the noble society aflame. And then I came along and stole her from him. How could he ever forgive that?”

“But still…”

Ries couldn’t accept it. To agree felt like excusing the pain Justyn had endured, like rationalizing the years he’d been forced to endure alone.

But then Justyn’s next words left him utterly speechless.

“I’d be the same. If someone took you from me, I’d cling to this world, no matter what it cost, just to take revenge.”

The strength drained from Ries’s hands. His head dropped, his breath caught, and a chill prickled down his spine.

Could words really be this heavy? It wasn’t just the truth of them—it was the sheer force of the emotion inside. So immense it felt as though it might drown him, pooling at his feet until it became a vast, inescapable lake.

His gaze darted helplessly, his stomach twisted, his heart thundered so violently he thought it might leap out of his chest.

Say something. You have to say something.

The thought was there, even through the haze, but no answer seemed right.

Should he say me too? No—that wasn’t it. He didn’t dare match himself against something so immense. Deny it, then? Say he hated the thought they were alike? Or perhaps…

Why do you care for me this much?

His lips pressed tight, his throat parched.

But before he could force the words out, Justyn looked up first.

“…Sorry. That must have been too heavy for you.”

“No!”

Ries shot upright, shaking his head furiously. He couldn’t let him bury himself under that kind of guilt.

Yes, it was overwhelming. Yes, his chest felt crushed, his heart like it would burst, and that strange, nameless thirst sometimes clawed at him out of nowhere—but none of that was Justyn’s fault.

At his fierce denial, Justyn chuckled. Slowly, as he had when stroking Ries’s head earlier, he reached out again—this time pressing firmly between his furrowed brows.

“Your expression is exactly the same as when you’re a cat.”

He looked genuinely happy. Ries, face now burning from ears to cheeks, couldn’t hold it in any longer and snapped.

“Why do you keep saying things like that?!”

“I only ever say these things to you. But if you don’t like it, I’ll stop.”

“…No. No, I never said I disliked it, did I?”

The contradiction was plain as day. The words were his own, but his muddled mind had long since given up on untangling itself.

So in the end, Ries blurted out the first distraction that came to mind.

“Th-then!”

“…?”

“M-my doll. What about Sefi?”

He stumbled, but it wasn’t a bad change of subject. Except Justyn’s reaction was… strange.

“Hm.”

He looked troubled, even apologetic, as though searching for the right words. Ries’s stomach dropped.

No way… did it fail?

He’d warned him about it. Had it already gone wrong? Just as unease began to fester, Justyn, noticing the way Ries’s face stiffened, quickly explained.

“Sorry. I was just trying to find the right expression. Right now, it’s with Ketir.”

“…With Ketir?”

A timid man and a doll haunted by a spirit. The combination alone sounded dangerously unstable.

But why? And what did he mean by the right expression? The answer came at once.

“It was filthy. It needed a wash—or rather, a bath. But since I needed to stay by your side, I left the task to Ketir.”

Ah. That.

Ries recalled Sefiut’s last state—covered in dust, flying around everywhere. It had definitely gotten filthy.

He had already planned to send it to the laundry once things settled down, but it seemed Ketir had taken the task on himself.

Still…

“A bath?”

That choice of words was strange. Almost as though Justyn already knew there was a soul inside the doll.

“Ah.”

Ries could guess the truth.

It seemed while he had been unconscious, Justyn had discovered Sefiut’s secret.

Author: Levia