With the threat of Shiori's terrifying presence looming overhead, Yimi spent another day eking out a cautious existence on the streets. The moment she caught even a trace of Shiori's scent on the air, she'd quicken her little legs and disappear—leaving the girl no opening to make her move.
After days of wandering, the little stray had also begun to crack the rhythm of this city. Prime foraging ground: the sandlot at the junction of three schools, though it went dead on weekends when no one passed through.
On those days, there was always the mysterious backup spot—the bridge. The reason was simple: fishing was permitted here, and the anglers never minded tossing their unwanted small catches to the ring of cats gathered at their feet.
"Oh? You again, you peculiar little thing. The weather's bad today—give me a moment, will you."
The old man's catch rate, however, left a great deal to be desired.
"Mrow." The unfed cat leaped onto the railing and stretched her neck out to bite the fishing rod.
"I said wait—fish don't just bite because you're in a hurry... it bit??"
He scrambled to reel in. "Whoa, this one's huge!"
Had the cat actually helped him reel it in?
He unhooked the small fish and was still debating whether to give it to the cat when Yimi grabbed the rod in her teeth and cast it back down. His heart sank—this was a rod he'd paid 130,000 yen for.
Barely two seconds after it hit the water, the cat was already working both paws in perfect coordination to reel it back. Another large fish surfaced.
She stared at the old man, hinting for him to take it off the hook.
"..." A long silence. Then he did as he was told.
The cat cast again. Reeled again.
Five minutes later, the old man was crouched on the ground letting a cold wind sweep through his hollow chest, watching Yimi drape herself over the fishing bucket to inspect the catch for something worth eating.
After eating her fill—the cat not being one to be greedy—she nudged the bucket back toward the old man and returned what was left.
She fed him.
Urban legend count: +1.
Without sparing a thought for his feelings, Yimi set off at a brisk trot on her little legs.
The old man had been right about one thing—the weather really was turning. The little cat's sharp senses had already picked up on the approaching rain. But thanks to her greedy detour, she'd clearly condemned herself to the fate of wet fur today.
A drizzling spring rain. For a stray, foul weather was the true nightmare. The plummeting temperature made survival significantly harder for the many kittens born in spring; translated to human terms, rain soaking into cat fur was roughly the equivalent of someone in long trousers having a cup of sticky cola poured over them.
Most critically, the only shelter to be found in a big city was tied to buildings—and in places already occupied by humans, shops had little patience for a stray disrupting their business.
The Holy Corpse absorption progress stood at roughly sixty percent by now. With no Spacequakes to consume and no outside spiritual energy to absorb, everything had slowed to running on her own spiritual power—recovering over and over, only to be used to speed up the corpse's fusion.
Yimi glanced left and right, looking for somewhere to wait out the rain, when another scent reached her—nothing like the particular feeling that clung to Shiori. This was something an ordinary woman might give off. And familiar.
The cat dealer!
That she could smell it this clearly through the rain meant the source was already right beside her.
Yimi spun around on alert and found Origami Tobiichi—soaked through—crouched down to meet her gaze at close range, a shopping bag cradled in her arms.
From Origami's position and Yimi's angle, the view went straight up to a flash of pure white beneath her skirt.
It was Saturday. By rights, Origami should have been in the training facility—but perhaps because her earlier unauthorized use of prohibited weaponry in pursuit of the Spirit "Efreet" had been bundled together with existing offenses, her facility access had been revoked entirely this time.
A week had passed. By now she even doubted whether she still had any hope of reinstatement.
If she could no longer pursue her vengeance against the Spirits, what reason was there to keep going?
The girl extended one finger and poked the cat's damp head. "Don't you have a home?"
Her voice still carried little emotional variation—in that way she was quite similar to Yimi's mother, though Origami's cadence was noticeably quicker.
She'd seen this cat several times on her way home. Completely unafraid of people. Must have been someone's pet once, then abandoned. Alone in the world. Just like her.
"Mrow!" Don't touch me if you're not feeding me.
Yimi hissed at her—still holding a grudge from the last time she'd been carted off.
Origami dug through the bag and produced a small cake, cream-free, which she placed before the cat.
"Mrow~"
The cat's voice turned considerably more honeyed. She lowered her head and began sampling the human's confection, forgetting entirely about finding shelter.
Her eyes, however, never stopped darting sideways at the cat dealer—wary of being snatched up the moment she let her guard down.
Origami didn't move. She let the unabated rain beat down on her head. Thinking, perhaps. Or making up her mind.
At last, she held open the bag—spacious despite what was already in it—and pointed it toward the little cat.
"Jump in yourself, and I'll take you in."
"Mrow?" The cat glanced up at her, bit down on the cake tin, and took one step back. Her position said everything.
Origami set the bag on the ground and nudged it forward. "Let me touch you once. I'll take you in."
"Mrow." No touching.
"Meow once. I'll take you in."
"..."
Watching Yimi eat in silence without making another sound, Origami reached out toward her.
The cat was ready—she darted sideways. But the girl before her had undergone extensive combat training, and even without her equipment she was fast. Origami anticipated the escape route, caught Yimi by the scruff of her neck, and dropped her into the bag.
"Mrow?"
The cat had been kidnapped again!
Yimi clawed furiously at the bag—then looked down and saw she was sitting on top of more small cakes.
Food first.
As Origami ran through the rain cradling the loaded bag toward home, a black-haired girl in a medical eyepatch covering her left eye stood at the far end of the alley behind her, clutching a cat carrier and stamping her foot in frustration.
...
"I'm home."
The words were murmured into empty rooms. The girl pulled off her ruined shoes—her white knee socks were so thoroughly soaked they had turned translucent, pressed tight against her skin, each toe perfectly outlined through the fabric.
She toweled off her hair and finally looked down at the small cat that had climbed out of the bag.
The sugar snacks she'd bought had been completely demolished. The plastic wrapping had offered some protection, but clearly lacked the structural integrity of layered rice paper skill books.
Traces of crumbs were still visible on the culprit's whiskers. Origami pinched the furry face and shook it left and right by way of punishment.
"Mrow?"
Yimi surveyed the unfamiliar surroundings, not bothered in the slightest, wandering back and forth and leaving a trail of small paw prints on the clean floor.
Origami's place was a compact apartment—minimal, furnished with only what was needed, giving off little in the way of a lived-in atmosphere.
Before Yimi could take much more in, she felt herself lifted by the scruff of her neck again, hind legs spread apart.
"It's a girl."
"Mrow!"
A small paw print pressed itself into the side of Origami Tobiichi's face.
She rubbed her cheek, thought for a moment, then took out her phone, snapped a photo of Yimi's distinctive face, and sent it to the only contact in her phone outside of colleagues and teachers.
Origami: I have a cat now lol
Shiori: ??
Shiori: ???
Origami: It chose to follow me
Shiori: ?????
Shiori must have been marveling at how rare the cat's coloring was.
Origami set down her phone, glanced at the cat's damp fur, and carried her to the bathroom. One by one she began to remove her clothes.
For reasons that defied explanation, this seasoned combatant's figure showed no trace of her training—she might not even have looked as toned as some of the sports club students in her class. Her skin was smooth and pale like a sheltered young lady who had never set foot outside, and the shower spray wrapped her in a shimmering, translucent veil.
Water beads slid down the curve of her neck, tracing a path forward, past her C-cup, dripping one by one from the flushed center—the warm splashes making the already-wet cat at her feet grumble and shake her head in a futile attempt to dry her own fur.
The next second, the showerhead redirected its spray directly onto Yimi's body from the neck down.
"What the—!"