Late at night.

The reason the moon looks exceptionally poetic tonight is probably because I've finally escaped that dreadful research lab. It's been so long since I've been home that I felt like doing a midnight dance out of pure joy.

However, the reason I couldn't was that my body felt... worn out. Not old, just worn out. I should be in my prime, but I wonder if it's because I'm buried in research or because of all the caffeine for pulling all-nighters.

Anyway, I'm the one obsessed with research, so I have no one to blame. It is what it is. This is why I became an ornithologist; the work is hard, but it's bearable in its own way. As I trudged along, wondering if I should build up some stamina through exercise or cut back on caffeine...

What's that? A crow?

I found a bird lying on the dark ground as if dead.

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I looked closely to see if it was dead, but it wasn't. It was indeed a crow, and even a layperson could tell it was in bad shape. To my expert eyes, it looked like dehydration. It was strange that a smart crow couldn't find water around here, but I rescued it first.

I would have given it water if I had any on me, but unfortunately, I didn't. Seeing how it went limp in my hands from lack of strength, I had no choice but to walk faster. Damn it, I might not be doing a midnight dance, but I'm certainly getting a workout.

I rushed back home. Carrying the black crow in both hands.

I supplied moisture through the gaps in the crow's beak and watched to see if it regained consciousness. Fortunately, its exhausted body was responding to external stimuli. Ah, this was definitely a moment where I felt proud to be an ornithologist. The creature briefly opened its eyes before closing them again.

I didn't realize it earlier because it was dark, but it was the size of an adult. I also noticed a shallow wound near the beak. It wasn't life-threatening, just a natural-looking scratch scar. I checked to see if a leg was broken, but everything seemed fine.

Just as I thought that staring at it like this might be a burden, it closed its eyes again looking drained. I made a small spot in the corner of the room for it to sleep warmly tonight. Thinking I should release it tomorrow after checking its recovery progress, I laid my tired body down on the bed.

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Chirp, chirp, chirp.

I should be hearing the sound of birds chirping in the morning, but coming home from the lab, the silence felt empty. Even though I've heard it to the point of boredom, it seems my nature as a bird lover can't be erased.

I tidied the bedding and got up to check on the crow I rescued on my way home.

...A man was standing right in front of the box where the crow had been. In the moment of my startled shock, I saw small wings attached to both sides of his black hair. I wondered if I was seeing things because I just woke up, but my mind was clear, and there was no way a human should have wings on their head.

Then, is he a shifter? Since he has wings, he's definitely a bird shifter, and given he's all in black and the circumstances, it's clear he's the crow I rescued. I didn't realize I had rescued a shifter, though. My goodness, shifters are so hard to come by; isn't this fate?

Through a subsequent conversation, I learned the crow shifter had nowhere to go. Should I keep him by my side? As someone who researches birds, a crow shifter piqued my academic curiosity. What are the differences between a normal crow and a crow shifter?

So, I signed a contract where he would actively cooperate with my research in exchange for financial support, room, and board. The crow shifter looked reluctant when he first heard the proposal, but he accepted quickly, perhaps because his claim of having nowhere to go was true.

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And so, the research... no, the cohabitation with the crow shifter began, but looking back now, I regret it to the point of thinking I should have just kicked him out.