The cicadas still cried, but softer now, as if even they were growing tired of summer. Their voices echoed faintly across the narrow streets of Kanazawa, where lanterns swayed in the evening wind and the faint smell of grilled squid drifted from a food stall.

Hoshizora Tsuki tightened her grip on her schoolbag as she left cram school and headed toward the shrine where her family lived. She always liked walking this way, through quiet streets lined with old tea houses and paper lanterns. It made her feel like she was part of a story that had been unfolding for centuries.

Yet tonight, something pressed against her chest. A restlessness she couldn’t name.

She tilted her head up at the night sky. The crescent moon was sharp, silver light draped across the rooftops. Stars dotted the deep indigo sky, scattered like tiny prayers.

Tsuki’s parents often told her she was born under a restless star—that her name, “Tsuki,” meant she’d always be tied to the moon. She used to laugh it off. But on nights like this, she wondered if it was true.

Her sigh fogged in the air. Another ordinary day. Another ordinary night.

Or so she thought.

A single drop touched her cheek.

Her eyes flicked upward.

The sky was still clear—no clouds, no rain. Yet droplets shimmered down from above, faintly glowing, like silver beads of light. They slid across her skin without wetting it, vanishing on contact, like fragments of stars dissolving into her.

Her heart thumped violently.

The pressure in her chest burst, flooding through her limbs. Her knees buckled. She tried to catch herself, but her hands—no, her paws—scraped against the stone walkway.

Tsuki’s breath came out broken, high-pitched—like a small, trembling mew.

“What—” She stumbled to the puddle near the shrine wall and froze.

Staring back at her wasn’t a girl in a sailor uniform.

It was a cat.

Silver fur, faintly glowing under the lantern light. Wide blue eyes that she somehow knew were hers. A thin tail flicked with every pulse of panic.

She backed away, but her senses only sharpened. The air was too sharp, too overwhelming: the tang of river water, the faint perfume of flowers drifting from the shrine garden, the electric hum of a cicada wing brushing The cicadas still cried, but softer now, as if even they were growing tired of summer. Their voices echoed faintly across the narrow streets of Kanazawa, where lanterns swayed in the evening wind and the faint smell of grilled squid drifted from a food stall.

Hoshizora Tsuki tightened her grip on her schoolbag as she left cram school and headed toward the shrine where her family lived. She always liked walking this way, through quiet streets lined with old tea houses and paper lanterns. It made her feel like she was part of a story that had been unfolding for centuries.

Yet tonight, something pressed against her chest. A restlessness she couldn’t name.

She tilted her head up at the night sky. The crescent moon was sharp, silver light draped across the rooftops. Stars dotted the deep indigo sky, scattered like tiny prayers.

Tsuki’s parents often told her she was born under a restless star—that her name, “Tsuki,” meant she’d always be tied to the moon. She used to laugh it off. But on nights like this, she wondered if it was true.

Her sigh fogged in the air. Another ordinary day. Another ordinary night.

Or so she thought.

A single drop touched her cheek.

Her eyes flicked upward.

The sky was still clear—no clouds, no rain. Yet droplets shimmered down from above, faintly glowing, like silver beads of light. They slid across her skin without wetting it, vanishing on contact, like fragments of stars dissolving into her.

Her heart thumped violently.

The pressure in her chest burst, flooding through her limbs. Her knees buckled. She tried to catch herself, but her hands—no, her paws—scraped against the stone walkway.

Tsuki’s breath came out broken, high-pitched—like a small, trembling mew.

“What—” She stumbled to the puddle near the shrine wall and froze.

Staring back at her wasn’t a girl in a sailor uniform.

It was a cat.

Silver fur, faintly glowing under the lantern light. Wide blue eyes that she somehow knew were hers. A thin tail flicked with every pulse of panic.

She backed away, but her senses only sharpened. The air was too sharp, too overwhelming: the tang of river water, the faint perfume of flowers drifting from the shrine garden, the electric hum of a cicada wing brushing nearby bark.

Tsuki’s body shook. She didn’t understand. Was this real? Was she dreaming?

But the tremor in her paws was too real. The cold stone underfoot too sharp.

And then—footsteps.

She froze.

Across the bridge, under the dim light of the lanterns, a figure walked slowly. A boy with dark, untidy hair, a blazer draped over his shoulder, his tie loose from a long day at school.

Tsuki’s heart lurched.

Minami Haruto.

Quiet, steady, reliable Haruto. He wasn’t the kind of boy people gossiped about, yet everyone seemed to notice him. The way he listened, the calm way he spoke, the quiet confidence in his stride.

And Tsuki—though she would never admit it aloud—had noticed him too. For months.

Now here he was, and she was… a cat.

Haruto slowed when his gaze caught her. He stopped a few steps away, tilting his head. His brows drew together in a faint crease.

“…A stray?” His voice was calm, almost gentle.

Tsuki’s ears twitched. The sound seemed louder, closer, as if she could hear the faint warmth in his tone.

Haruto crouched slowly, balancing his blazer over one knee. He didn’t reach out right away. Instead, he set his hand palm-up against the stone path, giving her space.

“You’re shaking,” he murmured, eyes narrowing slightly in concern. “It’s okay. I won’t hurt you.”

Tsuki’s tail flicked violently. She wanted to run, but her body wouldn’t move. She couldn’t.

Haruto stayed still, patient, as though he had all the time in the world. His gaze was steady, warm but unreadable, the kind of gaze that seemed to see past her trembling form.

The silver rain fell silently around them, fading into the night air. The cicadas went quiet, as though holding their breath.

And in that moment, Tsuki realized something that made her heartbeat stumble.

Even in this form—even as a trembling, frightened cat—Haruto looked at her as though he saw her.

nearby bark.

Tsuki’s body shook. She didn’t understand. Was this real? Was she dreaming?

But the tremor in her paws was too real. The cold stone underfoot too sharp.

And then—footsteps.

She froze.

Across the bridge, under the dim light of the lanterns, a figure walked slowly. A boy with dark, untidy hair, a blazer draped over his shoulder, his tie loose from a long day at school.

Tsuki’s heart lurched.

Minami Haruto.

Quiet, steady, reliable Haruto. He wasn’t the kind of boy people gossiped about, yet everyone seemed to notice him. The way he listened, the calm way he spoke, the quiet confidence in his stride.

And Tsuki—though she would never admit it aloud—had noticed him too. For months.

Now here he was, and she was… a cat.

Haruto slowed when his gaze caught her. He stopped a few steps away, tilting his head. His brows drew together in a faint crease.

“…A stray?” His voice was calm, almost gentle.

Tsuki’s ears twitched. The sound seemed louder, closer, as if she could hear the faint warmth in his tone.

Haruto crouched slowly, balancing his blazer over one knee. He didn’t reach out right away. Instead, he set his hand palm-up against the stone path, giving her space.

“You’re shaking,” he murmured, eyes narrowing slightly in concern. “It’s okay. I won’t hurt you.”

Tsuki’s tail flicked violently. She wanted to run, but her body wouldn’t move. She couldn’t.

Haruto stayed still, patient, as though he had all the time in the world. His gaze was steady, warm but unreadable, the kind of gaze that seemed to see past her trembling form.

The silver rain fell silently around them, fading into the night air. The cicadas went quiet, as though holding their breath.

And in that moment, Tsuki realized something that made her heartbeat stumble.

Even in this form—even as a trembling, frightened cat—Haruto looked at her as though he saw her.