"A severe orange-alert rainstorm is expected over the Tenguu City area in the coming days—residents are advised to secure all doors and windows…"
Cat Diary: Thursday. Overcast.
The weather these past few days has been dreadful.
I was called to the faculty office and reprimanded for the missing persons notice stunt, but I haven't handed Cuộn Cuộn back to that negligent teacher since. I bring the cat carrier to class and leave it at the very back of the room—a classmate in the back row whose name I can never remember occasionally pushes bits of ham sausage through the gap—and after class I take Cuộn Cuộn out for a walk, keeping an eye out for the disciplinary head the whole time.
But Cuộn Cuộn is far too lazy to bother crawling out even when I open the zipper. No wonder she ended up this round back when she was a stray.
Closing the journal, Origami looked at the round fluffball sprawled across the desk watching TV—four paws tucked neatly out of sight—and quietly produced a pair of pet nail clippers.
Clipping a cat's nails was notoriously treacherous. Whether because cats resented having their weapons removed, or because it felt like an attack on their own body, Origami couldn't say. She wasn't a cat.
A tip she'd found online: wrap the cat in a mesh bag, hang it somewhere, and clip the nails while it struggled helplessly.
Origami picked up the mesh bag salvaged from a recent delivery, nail clippers in her other hand, and walked toward Yimi.
Yimi's ears twitched. She spotted the pet clippers.
"Meow." She sat up gracefully, extended her left paw, and presented it like a noble receiving a servant.
"…"
Origami took the paw. Every nail was clipped without incident. Yimi switched paws and extended the other.
This cat absolutely had an owner before.
Origami picked up her phone and replied to the forum thread that had taught her the nail-clipping technique: Unnecessary. My cat cooperates voluntarily.
It triggered an inexplicable argument in the comments.
Good behavior during nail-clipping deserved a reward.
Origami retrieved a watermelon and gave it a firm thump. It was expensive to begin with—living in Japan, she'd barely ever bought one—and since she lived alone, there was rarely cause to play host. She cut it open to reveal flesh that wasn't quite as red as ideal, carved out a few easy-to-eat pieces, and set them in a small pet bowl that she pushed toward Yimi.
"Meow?"
Yimi fixed it with deep suspicion. She sniffed left, sniffed right, and took a cautious bite.
"Meow!"
Sweet!
She'd seen this fruit before but had never eaten it. Every time she'd tried to lean in for a sniff, her grandmother would scoop her away and insist it was spicy and off-limits.
Because cats couldn't eat too much watermelon—it would make their fur sticky and matted.
Origami, a first-time cat owner, discovered this first-hand. Even though she'd deliberately cut the pieces small and manageable, five minutes later she was still holding Yimi still and carefully wiping her mouth.
Speaking of litter box duties…
Origami glanced at the litter box she'd set up two days ago. Nothing in it. Maybe Cuộn Cuộn had handled things at school—at Reine-sensei's office, perhaps? She pictured Reine carrying the cat to her office, the cat selecting a corner of her lecture notes as a target, and Reine losing her temper and throwing it out.
Either way, she hadn't seen anything in the litter box these past few days. And given how round Cuộn Cuộn was, something had to be going on. She'd need to take her to a pet clinic soon.
AST still hadn't called her back. Maybe she'd been forgotten in some corner somewhere.
Or perhaps it was simply that no Spacequakes had appeared in the past few days, easing the pressure on AST. That sounded slightly self-congratulatory—but she did believe she was irreplaceable in her squad. Otherwise she wouldn't have made Sergeant at her age.
Origami lay down on the bed, lifted the family photo from the nightstand, and stared at it in silence.
A power that redirects harm to others. Can it really be overcome?
"Meow." Yimi jumped up onto the bed and settled in beside her with a soft call.
Belly's empty. Only had watermelon. No dinner yet.
"Are you trying to comfort me?" Origami ruffled her head.
"Meow?"
"These are my parents." Origami turned the photo toward the cat. "I'm going to avenge them."
"Meow."
"…Thank you." Origami rested her chin on top of Yimi's head. "Right now, you're the only one here with me."
She fell asleep early, holding her close.
Yimi stayed perfectly still until the arms around her went slack with deep sleep, then slipped free.
The cat felt that her big human who had been feeding her for a week needed comforting.
Yimi was a grateful little cat—she repaid what she was given. But having eaten well these past days, she also knew exactly how terrible a dead mouse was as a gift.
After some thought, Yimi padded out through the bedroom door.
…
Origami was woken by something squirming inside her bedding. She'd grown used to the presence of a second body since Yimi had started jumping into bed.
She clicked on the bedside lamp and threw back the covers.
Two live mice.
The culprit lay flat on the headboard, staring at her without moving.
"…"
Dead mice are terrible. But live mice are excellent toys.
Cat Diary. Thursday. Overcast. Addendum:
Remember to throw out that cat-tunnel cushion that won't open in the morning. It's getting in the way of cat-chasing.
Cat wanted to comfort someone. Cat = good.
Person refused comfort and tried to hit cat. Human = bad.
"Congratulations, Host—achievement unlocked: [Cat Good, Human Bad]. Reward: Gateway Energy +5%."
"Meow?"
—WHOOOOOOP—
Of all the timing. A Spacequake alert screamed to life.
Origami checked her phone. 1:03 a.m. A lovely hour. Even AST personnel would be grimacing—and not just from the misery of being dragged out of bed. Students were one thing, but the salaryman already ground down by a demanding boss was probably teetering on the edge, maybe even thinking just let the Spacequake take me and skipping the shelter entirely—potentially witnessing things they were never meant to see.
She'd been suspended—no combat deployment notification. For now, she was essentially a civilian facing this like anyone else. She'd spent so long going straight to full deployment that she'd nearly forgotten the standard civilian shelter protocol.
Origami grabbed the cat and sprinted for the nearest shelter.
Though if the Spirit manifesting this time was the Calamity, running there would be a waste. Not that she'd have any chance against a Spirit with nothing but mass-produced equipment. She knew that clearly.
Which led to another thought—she hated Spirits with every fiber of her being, so why, under Shiori's influence, had she been getting along with Yatogami Tohka so easily lately? Where had her hatred gone?
"Tobiichi Origami."
Unexpectedly—just as she stepped out of the stairwell—someone was waiting for her. Unlike everyone else scattering in every direction, this woman stood composed and elegantly dressed, her golden hair distinctly Western.
Ellen Mira Mathers. Second Executive Minister of DEM's UK branch—and the most powerful human Wizard alive. While Origami and her AST colleagues were more or less going through the motions, this woman possessed genuine power—the ability to face Spirits head-on and suppress them.
She let her gaze fall on the cat in Origami's arms with exaggerated surprise. "How unexpected. I assumed someone of your caliber would have already suited up and launched toward the Spirit by now."
Origami ignored her, cut around the corner, and followed the crowd's evacuation route.
"That's cold." Ellen raised a finger, and something clinked faintly in her sleeve—like a keychain. "You should have a clearer picture by now, shouldn't you? Staying in AST isn't going to help you."
Origami stopped.
That was DEM proprietary technology—an activator that looked like a small matte-black chip.
"The sister unit to my Pendragon—'Mordred.' What's your choice? Stay in AST?" Ellen's voice curled with quiet amusement. "I do admire you, you know."
"…"
Origami freed one hand. She closed her fist around the chip.