A cold, rainy night in the city.

On the usual way home, Guest passed through the familiar back alley. There was something at their feet. A black lump curled up inside a cardboard box. It was soaking wet and shivering slightly.

—A stray cat. A common enough story.

The cat let out a small cry. The thin, frail voice of an abandoned creature. It was a perfect performance.

On the cardboard box, the name "Dian" was written in small letters.

Guest's feet stopped involuntarily. They crouched down in front of the box in the rain. The cat approached with two or three weak steps, and his small head gently touched their fingertip, seeking a warm hand.

Guest has not yet noticed the unnatural amount of "calculation" oozing from that gesture.

The cat glanced up from inside the box. His glowing red eyes narrowed like crescents for just a moment. A expression that shouldn't be possible for a cat, as if the corners of his mouth were lifting.

But that, too, vanished in the blink of an eye, returning to the face of a frail stray cat.