Shiro stood in front of 1450, fidgeting his toes outside the corridor with a tugging ache of panic in his chest and a straining pain in his head.

Here lies a problem: Shiro doesn’t have a way in. He thought about climbing through the window; he did that back in his old house. Then he remembered the elevator trip up to the floor, and he figured otherwise. Then he thought about asking the snake for help. It helped him into the elevators when he didn’t have the white card, it could probably also do the same for the door. Shiro turned on his heels and was about to head to the elevators when he realized once more that he didn’t have said card. He thought about going down for help again through the stairs, then he thought about how the snake was going to come up. The snake already looked too big to be comfortable in the lobby. One thing led to another and Shiro started to wonder how the snake even got through the main entrance in the first place. Then he gave up on asking the snake for help.

Besides, he wasn’t that comfortable with meeting the snake again, yet.

Still, the problem hasn’t gone anywhere. Shiro was still stuck outside 1450, with his only possibility of ever getting in laying onto the oblivious shoulders of Romps, who was probably still sitting in a lecture hall somewhere around the Academy. Shiro did skip out on the classes before everyone else, which meant he was in no position to complain.

He thought about camping out in his neighbour’s room, but thinking about it again, nobody would be in their dorms at this time. Even if they’re there, Shiro doubted they’ll let him in, at least willingly.

Essentially, Shiro locked himself in the dorm building until Romps would eventually come back along with the other students. In about half a dozen hours. He could use the stairs and go back to the Academy, but that would’ve defeated the purpose of coming up here in the first place.

In an act of pointless hopefulness, Shiro knocked on the door, trying the doorknob with his other hand whilst calling out, “Romps?”

Of course, nobody answered. Shiro wasn’t surprised when silence was the only response he received.

Shiro, quite out of his wits, took a deep breath and decided to sit this one out. He could probably catch a nap while he’s at it. He set down his briefcase and slumped down to his bottom with his back to the door, resting his head against the mahogany. He closed his eyes, events of the day flashing before his eyes in an instant. He took another deep breath and began thinking about them.

Why, he thought.

Why did he do it?

What was that for?

What did I do to him?

What did he want from me?

The questions piled in his head, rummaging in his mind like a box of toy bricks. There wasn’t much to think about, for the history between him and Dove can be written on a one-sided pamphlet. Ironically, it made it even harder to figure out. He played with the toy bricks from every angle and couldn’t find a single clue. Shiro could swear and bet on his teeth that he did nothing consciously of that sort to aggravate Dove. What could he have possibly done in such a short period to warrant such attention from the Doberman, he may never know.

He thought of asking the Doberman directly, but it was only a fleeting thought, soon discarded from his mind out of sensibility.

He went back to the toy bricks again, stacking them in various ways, seeking cohesion within the structure. No matter how he piled them up, nothing of sense came out. The more he thought of it the more frustrating it got. He quickly forgot all about the toy bricks and left them in their current state. He figured he’d think about it later in the day. If there’s anything Shiro has at the moment, it would be time. With nothing else on his mind, he decided to relax and take that nap he planned to have from before.

In the instant he delved into the empty darkness in his eyes, he felt his back float for a quick moment. Shiro didn’t know he was so stressed and down in a rut to the point where a simple shut-eye would elevate him this high. The skin behind his neck felt cool and airy, with a certain weight he never knew was there being lifted off his shoulders. It was like the mahogany door wasn’t even there, and that there was only Shiro, the floor and the empty air around.

For a split second, it felt heavenly. Too heavenly. So much so Shiro subconsciously reached out to the back of his head, to see if he’d fallen away from the physical world and into a dream state where the floor is made of cotton and the ceiling is rainbow and sunshine all day round.

Then it confirmed itself when Shiro’s head immediately hit the solid ground with a loud bang of his skull crashing against the wooden floor.

He snapped his eyes open, soaking in the reality check as he gazed upwards. The door hasn’t disappeared; someone just opened it.

Question is: who was it?

A figure swam into view. Its blurry image made it unclear at first, but then the colours swam back into Shiro’s sight. The figure bore a shade of a light brown tinge, soft and soothing to the eyes. As Shiro’s gaze sharpened itself he recognized a snout that seemed small and pointy, with a black, wet ball sitting at the end. Above the snout were a pair of eyes so narrow and tiny it seemed like they were in a perpetual state of being half-closed and half-opened. Just above the eyes were ears so big and cavernous that it was almost comical. They held Shiro’s attention for quite a while. One ear alone was half the size of its face. If it were to pull both its ears down it would’ve made itself a makeshift, organic mask.

The figure was a fox, and, if Shiro’s sentiment was right, a male one at that.

Shiro had two thoughts, one after another as he saw the fox. The first thought was towards the fox himself. Shiro had never seen him before and, as far as Shiro could understand, was the one that opened the door for him to fall flat on the back of his head. It meant that the fox was in 1450 the whole time, which brings more questions towards his identity and whatnot.

The next thought was more of a realization that Shiro was lying down on his back, facing a fox from his feet who had just opened the door for a random stranger that is Shiro himself. The ‘random stranger’ part could be debated upon, but it was way down in the priority list of things to be concerned over. Shiro immediately stiffened his knees and stood straight up.

Then the fox disappeared.

Shiro was bewildered at first. It was no illusion that the fox was there, for the door was open and there was no other logically possible explanation for it to be so. Still, he was nowhere to be seen. Shiro stared through the doorway and saw only the other side. The fox just wasn’t there at all. It was until when Shiro looked down when he realized what was going on.

The fox was short. Extremely short. His snout was barely above Shiro’s groin. He wasn’t stout, nor was he a dwarf. He just looked like a person who stopped growing by the age of ten. It wasn’t that he resembled a child. A child would exhibit all the niches and traits of a creature underdeveloped both physically and mentally, with a visible lack of life experience in their movement and a look of curiosity glowing from their expressions, eager to see what the world would offer to them. The fox just seemed tired and disinterested in everything in general. He was just very short with somewhat of a babyface. It was amplified even further by the loose clothing he wore; a white T-shirt draping over both his shoulders by the yoke and a pair of long, grey sweatpants, its cuffs crumpled at his ankles.

The fox simply turned on his back and left the door open with no questions asked. Unsure of what else to say nor do, Shiro simply followed him into 1450, shutting the door behind him as he went.

The room was just the same as when Shiro left it, with the exception being the round table. It was occupied by what could be described as a wall of text. One half of the table was occupied with open notebooks, all of them filled to the brim with words and scribbles and symbols Shiro couldn’t understand, with pens and multiple calculators strewn about here and there. The other half was conquered by open books, standing on their bottom, all facing the other half of the table where the notebooks lay open. There were literal layers of books towering over one another like walls, with open pages sitting on top of stacked books on the other end of the table to not get blocked by the books on the front. Looking at it from behind made it seem like a fortress, built with the covers of “Advanced Mathematics Volume 4” and “Complete Biological Evolution of Mammalian Creatures and Feral Beings Volume 7”. The only things missing are gated windows, a moat, guard towers, and a drawbridge.

The fox approached the fortress from the other side and sat himself down cross-legged on the floor, picking a pen and went on writing through one of the many notebooks on the table. Shiro went to his bed, leaving his briefcase on the floor and his head against his pillow.

At this point, Shiro had received all the time and comfort he needed to contemplate on all the questions in his head. He’s free to play with the toy bricks in his head, with all the hours in a day for him to stack them in any way he’d see fit to make sense from them. He could take a nap, wake up, and still find time to gather his thoughts and reason with them. But he didn’t do that. Instead, he had another question in his head. A question that presented itself rather more urgent than its predecessors.

Who is the fox???

Shiro stared at the fox as he laid on his side, trying to wonder where he’d seen this fox before, or if Romps had mentioned him from before and that Shiro had simply forgotten. Nothing of note came into mind. The longer Shiro stared at the fox the more confused he got. If anything, Shiro was the stranger here. He was only here since yesterday, after all. Yet again, he made somewhat of a big entrance on his first day. Being introduced as the Academy’s first transfer student on stage under a spotlight on your first day would bound to get your presence drilled into people’s heads.

It was a strange predicament. The way Shiro sees it, the fox should be the one asking who he is, not the other way around. He should’ve asked him when he saw him fall onto his feet in the doorway. He should’ve asked before he even opened the door. The fox didn’t do any of that. Instead, he treated Shiro’s entrance like a routine, with all the concern of a lazy Sunday afternoon. He said nothing to Shiro. He hadn’t said anything at all. Which further amplified Shiro’s anxiety. He willed the fox to say something, hoping he will break the ice and give him a chance to find out.

Then, as if on cue, the fox stood up.

The way he arose was completely nonchalant. He showed no urgency in his stance, with no intentions besides the simple act of getting off the floor. He started walking. Shiro tracked him with thumping anxiety as he watched the fox make his way towards the kitchen. Unaware of his actions, Shiro got off his bed and followed the fox from behind into the kitchen.

The fox walked up to the kitchen counter, which made the fox even shorter than he seemed. His eyes, barely peeking above the marble surface, was looking up to the cabinets on the top. Shiro observed from behind with great interest, unknown to the fox himself. He kept staring up, rooted to the spot as his small, narrow eyes remained locked onto the wooden doors. Then he squatted down. Standing behind the island, Shiro wasn’t quite sure what to expect from the fox at this point. He came with the intention to find out the fox’s identity and now he’s here to watch what he might do next.

The fox leapt up in one big jump, standing on one foot upon the kitchen counter with his hands holding the cabinet handles. He swung it open, sticking his snout into the snack-filled interior, inspecting every inch within looking for something. The fox didn’t find it. In one perilous move the fox spun on that one foot he stood on and landed on the other. He did the same thing, still finding nothing at the end.

Out of pure conscience, Shiro walked around the kitchen island and approached the fox in the middle of his acrobatic search. Something within Shiro told him that he wouldn’t bear watching the scene before him any further.

“H-Hey,” he stammered from his dry tongue.

The fox, hanging from the cabinet, swung his head towards the side, staring straight at Shiro as he turned.

“W-What’re you looking for?”

Then, for the first time since their initial meeting five minutes ago, the fox gave a vocal exchange with Shiro.

The fox said he needed a cup.

“Oh, i-it’s over here,” Shiro reached onto the other end of the kitchen cabinets and pulled open the door, revealing a cache of dishes, tidily stacked and arranged among stashes of unsalted chips and finger snacks shoved to the side for improvisational space. He easily reached in, effortlessly pulling out a tall, black mug from within and asked, “This the one?”

Out of nowhere, the fox pulled a frown on his face. Shiro didn’t expect that at all, and this wasn’t a surprise he felt welcome to witness. Shiro couldn’t even tell for the first few seconds. The fox’s slit-like eyes barely slanted inwards by a few degrees. Any other clues would be the slight furrowing folds above the fox’s snout, which looked less like wrath and more like petty, childlike anger. If he had bigger cheeks they’d probably be pouting.

The fox ignored Shiro like he was air. He simply shimmied to the side, ducking under Shiro’s arm and reaching into the open cabinet himself, standing on his toes as he did. He pulled out a shiny, stainless steel cup and closed the door, leaping back down onto the floor.

Shiro immediately backed off, still holding the black mug in his hand as he trembled anxiously. Any chance of ice breaking was already covered by a ten feet layer of snow by the massive blizzard of a mistake Shiro didn’t even know he'd done. The fox seemed offended at that time. Shiro quickly reviewed what he did. Was it the wrong cup he offered that offended the fox? Was it the way he offered it to him? Was it the fact that Shiro helped him in the first place?

As Shiro stood and panicked, the fox tipped his toe over the kitchen sink, about to fill a mugful of water when he glanced to the side and saw an electric flask sitting on the far side. He stood back down, staring at the flask with mild curiosity before looking back at Shiro, who was standing with his eyes wide open, silent and contemplating about what mistake he’d made in the last minute.

The fox called out to Shiro and asked about the electric flask.

“W-Wha- oh, that? Yea, I found it. Got it from the storeroom.”

The fox simply turned back and filled his mug from the flask.

It was a simple back and forth between him and the fox, but that was enough reassurance for Shiro. It wasn’t a complete restoration of hope, but the chances for conversation went back on a rather decent start. It was a whiplash of emotions Shiro just felt. He’d gone from anxious hope to desolation before shooting back to solace within the span of half a minute.

The fox approached Shiro again, this time holding both his mug and the flask in his hands.

Shiro didn’t get his intentions, “Hm?”

The fox raised the flask towards Shiro.

“O-Oh,” Shiro lowered the black mug in his hand, “Thanks.”

Shiro’s mug was about a third filled when the water flow was reduced from a steady stream to a mere few droplets. By that point, the fox had already tipped the flask so deep that the cap was looking to unhinge itself and drop down onto Shiro’s mug.

“Ah, I’ll take care of it,” he said, handing the flask to himself. The fox simply shrugged and started sipping through his mug, while Shiro cowered over the kitchen sink, refilling the flask.

Shiro immediately downed the water in the black mug. It wasn’t even his mug; it was a random pick he fished from the cabinet. He didn’t care. He needed something to cover the crippling unease throbbing in his heart. He wasn’t even concentrating with the flask. It was well overflowing and drenching the metallic bottom. He was busy composing himself for his next words. This was enough interaction to be considered a successful ice breaker, according to Shiro anyway. All he had to do was ask the crucial question. What he didn’t expect was how hard it felt, and how possibly awkward it would be.

Shiro gulped down the sourness in his throat, took a deep breath and made his best attempt in nonchalance.

“S-So uh,” Shiro's deep voice grumbled feebly, like a tiger with a sore throat. He turned back to see if the fox heard and sure enough, he was looking up towards Shiro with both cavernous ears pointing right in his general direction. Shiro wasn’t sure what else he was expecting.

“D-Don’t take this wrong. You’ll probably think it’s weird. I-It’s totally my fault. It’s just, uh… “

The fox had a tilted expression of confusion as Shiro spoke.

“I just wanna know…”

Shiro took a breath of faith and asked away.

“Who are you?”

And nothing happened for a while. The water kept spilling out of the flask, its sound accompanying the low hum of the air conditioning, dominating the empty soundscape. Shiro gazed towards the fox, holding his breath in anticipation while the fox stared back with a regular, unchanged poker face. The scene persisted for a few brief seconds before the fox shot an expression of disbelief (his eyes seemed to have widened by a fraction of an inch, along with a slight twitch on his nose), remaining so for a few breathless seconds before exploding into questions. He immediately pushed himself against Shiro, barraging him in a frenzy of questions.

In a state of panic, Shiro turned back to meet the fox, scrambling to explain himself to the fox. Within that brief second his mind temporarily forgot its surroundings. The fox’s sudden insistence prompted a shuffle in his mental list of priorities. In a flash, his train of thought was hijacked, its conductor - rationality, dragged away by the panic in his head, wrangling the controls, derailing every cell in his body and devoting them solely into solving the problem at hand.

Safe to say, Shiro wasn’t thinking straight. He turned his whole body to face the fox, forgetting that he was holding an overflowing flask on his other hand.

The flask was barely over the sink when the momentum flung almost half its content into the open air. The water cast itself as wide as a net, catching the nearest solid object in its way, that is the oblivious fox standing in its way. The initial contact screamed with a painful smack, like an open palm against bare skin. The water flushed down the fox in an instant, drenching his once smooth, light brown fur into a dripping wet towel. His shirt too faced no mercy, the water staining it as grey as the sweatpants he wore.

The two of them were stunned for a solid second. Shiro stared wide-eyed at the fox, now drenched on the top half with his pants and legs gradually drenched by the flowing water. The fox himself was as still as a statue, his eyes staring emptily to the front, still holding his mug, now overflowing in itself. For a brief moment, he didn’t seem to notice what happened to himself as if his mind was too preoccupied with shock than to catch up to the present.

Shiro scrambled down to apologize, dropping the flask in the sink and crouching down to the fox, “I-I’m sorry, I-I’ll-”

It was unknown about the factors that made Shiro do what he did after his apology. One can point fingers and put guesses on various angles. Some might say it was the fox’s inherent size that caused Shiro to act this way. Maybe it was Shiro’s hands that slipped, and that it was nothing but a mere accident. One might also argue that among the panic, Shiro’s head went haywire and short-circuited, driving his train of thought through a shortcut to the nearest solution. But, regardless of the context, nothing changed the fundamentals of Shiro’s subsequent action.

He grabbed the fox by his collar and raised him with his two hands, lifting the whole animal to his eye level in one sudden raise.

For a few fleeting seconds, both animals did a double-take as they scrambled to catch up to the present. Shiro himself needed a moment longer to process. In the first few seconds or so, Shiro had this tiny, nagging feeling in his oblivious head that there was something wrong with his actions as he continued to hold the fox by his collar in his fists. It was like a right-handed man writing with his left hand. It felt unnatural to him. He understood that he was working for a cause, but the methods he used seemed somewhat wrong, even if it was working towards the intended result. It was when he saw the fox’s reaction when he finally realized what he did.

The fox was stuck in a trance, his eyes widening (by a mere millimetre) in consternation. He didn’t even seem to be breathing at that moment, for he was too startled and disturbed to even perform any reasonable acts of livelihood out of pure self-preservation. For that tiny sliver of a moment, the concept of ‘if I don’t move he can’t see me’ took over the fox’s body, trumping his pride, honour, and dignity for the sake of his survival. He was, quite literally, frozen in place, his fingers still holding onto the metal cup in his hand, now dribbling water all over the kitchen floor.

At that specific moment, right at that angle, by the serendipitous law of probability and chance, a ray from the afternoon sunlight bounced in from the balcony, hitting the marble surface of the kitchen island, reflecting itself onto the fox’s cup before shooting straight towards where Shiro stood. In a miraculous feat, the light managed to fire directly towards Shiro’s eye where it would unanimously catch his attention. His eyes instinctively caught the glint and tracked it towards the frightened fox’s palm. He stared at the silver, stainless steel mug for a full second; the very same mug the fox fetched from the cabinet himself moments earlier.

Suddenly, Shiro remembered something Romps told him this morning; a common, unremarkable recollection of a recent time that somehow managed to spark the neurons in his brain at the sight of a rather dull mug.

He looked back to the fox in his hands, who was too afraid to even breath, and asked.

“V-Vox?”

 

---

 

The entrance of 1450 opened up hours later in the night. Romphaneous stepped in, kicking his shoes to the side and walking up to the round table. He made his way inside, seeing the scene before him and asked.

“S’going on here?”

Shiro, dressed in his usual black tracksuit, kneeling right beside Vox’s fortress of text, was about to open his mouth and answer when Vox himself, wearing the same thing as the wolf, same size and all, with crumpled sleeves balling over his wrists and puffy cuffs all over his thighs, stabbed a blunt end of a pen at Shiro’s nose and shut him up before he could say anything. Shiro promptly closed his mouth and stayed kneeling beside Vox while the fox continued writing on his notebook, with hints of a bad mood seething from his expression (his cheeks were almost puffing).

“Whatever,” Romps simply shrugged his shoulders as he dropped his stuff on his bed, “You’re early today, Shiro. What happened?”

“I skipped,” Shiro answered.

“Right…”

He took off his uniform jacket and threw it across his bed, leaving his white tank top on, the fur exploding across his body as it freed itself. He left both Shiro and Vox, walking to the back of the dorm, beyond the wall and the kitchen. Shiro tracked him as he went, curious of the Bearded Collie. For some reason, Romps seemed quite odd. He looked a little less jocular than before, with a heavy tone hanging over his words today. It was probably fatigue. Exhaustion does things to one’s frame of mind.

A few seconds passed before Romps emerged once more. He came out holding a broom; the same broom he used on Lucille last night. Shiro noticed it first, followed by Vox, who both looked at Romps for a long moment, staring in an inquisitive silence.

Shiro took quite a while before asking, “Romps? Wha-”

“Do me a favour, can ya?”

“Y-Yea, but what’re you-”

“Thanks, can you stand over there?” Romps pointed to the doorway, leading out to the corridor outside.

“I-” Shiro did what Romps said, “S-sure.”

Vox glanced from Shiro to Romps and back to Shiro, wondering the same thing as the wolf, trying to figure out what’s going on. Shiro walked to the doorway, a quizzical expression accompanying him as he went. He turned back and faced Romps, asking him again.

“Romps, what-”

Then, without a second word, Romps turned the broom over his head and brought it down, holding it like a spear, aiming it towards Shiro like a primitive warrior defending his territory from outsiders.

A mild sensation of déjà vu washed over Shiro. Instinctively, he threw up his hands, raising them over his shoulders.

“R-Romps?”

The cherry Romphaneous from yesterday seemed to have been buried deep down somewhere no one could find. This Romps looked vindictive. Fearful, even. When Romps held the broom yesterday you could still see a faint glimmer of his personality, held back by the childish, historic grudge he had with a spider. He still had an inner leash holding him back. That leash was gone this time. He was hanging by the fine thread of self-control. This was something akin to vengeance. An act of retribution as judge, jury and executioner, condemning Shiro for a crime he didn't even know he committed.

“What is your connection with Dove?”

“What?”

“I’m not asking twice.”

Romps didn’t sound like he was giving empty threats.

“I only know him,” Shiro admitted, “That’s it-”

Romps immediately cut him off, “People don’t go punching folks they ‘only know’ and you sure as darn don’t walk away breathing if the guy you ‘only know’ is Dove. What’s your business with that dog and don’t play innocent puppy-eye games, I dare you.”

“I-I don’t know either. He just came to me. I never did-”

“I said no games, Shiro,” Romps prodded the broom further towards the wolf, the tension rising rapidly as he pushed closer and closer.

Among the chaos Vox stood up, rushing between both canines, shuffling in Shiro’s oversized track pants, holding his arm up towards the sheepdog in an attempt to defuse the situation. The fox could only reach up as high as Romps’ chest, but his presence was well established with his voice as he calmed Romps down, asking him to put the broom down and explain what’s going on.

“Get your phone out,” Romps spoke without moving his gaze from Shiro.

Vox stared at Romps blankly for a second. Then he asked again, pleading with him to make sense of the situation.

“Get your phone out,” Romps repeated himself.

He made a furtive glance towards the frightened Shiro before going back to the round table, fishing out his phone from the pile of books.

“Get on the Academy Forums and tell me the first thing you see.”

A high-strung silence rang in the air as the breathless atmosphere persisted, only interrupted by the tiny clicks emitting from Vox’s phone. A few moments went by before Vox looked up and told Romps the first thing he saw.

“Watch it.”

Vox tapped on his phone and turned it to the side. A bright glow shone from the screen, illuminating Vox’s face as he stared. A rowdy ambience sounded off from the device, with noises of chatter and talk playing off that was too filtered and distorted to make anything out of. Shiro turned his head away, looking away from Vox. It didn’t seem like Shiro was gazing at something but rather, he was gazing at anything but Vox’s general direction.

The sounds continued for a short time, playing for the next half-minute or so when a sudden pause exploded from Vox’s phone. The pause obliterated all forms of sound in its wake, leaving only an electric static whizzing in the background. The buzz went on for a good few seconds before it stopped. It was only then when Shiro decided to look back. Vox held a different expression this time. Apprehension. It wasn’t to a degree where he looks horrified, but there was definitely a certain level of alarm in his face. He held his phone in his hands, slowly inching away behind Romps, keeping a close gaze on Shiro from beside his leg.

“I knew there was something wrong the moment you came in here,” Romps growled.

Shiro didn’t say anything. It wasn’t that he didn’t have the words, but rather that he simply kept his silence. He gave no reaction, leaving only a blank, grim stare.

“There’s no way Rormund would simply snatch up some kid off a farmyard and toss him into the Academy. Everyone’s here for a reason. They don’t hunt for A-list kids for a whole century if they’re gonna screw up their legacy this easy with a guy like you. I should’ve known; I was a fool to play your little innocent game. You’re hiding something and I can darn well smell it from a mile away. Can’t believe it took me till today to notice the stink.

“If I knew you’re gonna get a crazed hound on our backs I would’ve hit you when I first met you. I’m not gonna get my behind handed over just because you ticked off some dog on crazy pills.

“Hell, you might be some spy sent here to screw us, aren’t you?”

That had hit the epitome of Shiro’s tolerance. It was ridiculous. Borderline absurd. Out of all the conclusions anyone could’ve drawn out this was the most outlandish of all. So much so that Shiro had to let out a bewildered, “What?”

“Yeah, they don’t come often but they sure as hell exists. Thought that never happened before? Rich guys with grudges so deep they’ll train literal kids just to screw with their children. Blackmail, ransom; you think those never show up? I have to give credit to you, though. I’ve never heard anyone putting themselves on the line just to get their targets in trouble. You think we don’t know who we are? You’re looking at a billionaire heir and a darn prince of a nation. You think you can screw us over like we’re blind? Think again.”

Shiro didn’t respond. Romps kept the broom up and firmly pointed towards Shiro. There was no illusion as to the sheepdog’s intentions. It was an absolute display of self-defence. An example of self above all else. He would use that broom with no hesitation whatsoever, mercilessly so until the threat is no more.

Shiro’s blank stare stayed on his face for some time.

Then his arms fell. They rested to the side of his hips. His expression went with them. His eyebrows fell inwards, with folds pulling up his snout as it revealed his sharp canines. His face no longer showed anything emotionally describable as shock, but something that grew more and more towards the corner of vexation by the seconds. His ears twitched erratically, with his tail standing on its end.

Shiro snarled, “Is this a joke?”

He advanced towards both Romps and Vox, ignoring the threat that stood between them. Though as it stands now, the roles have seemed to change. The broom had become the final bastion for the sheepdog and the fox.

“A spy? That’s who I am?”

“Hey, hey,” Romps started to back off, pushing Vox behind him step by step, “Back off. Stay-”

“I should be asking questions here,” Shiro grabbed onto the broom, clutching it in one firm grip of his right hand.

“I was screamed at when I came here. Shamed on stage. I was laughed at. Because I’m not one of them. I wouldn’t care if I came here myself. But I didn’t.

“I never asked for this.

“I don’t know what Dove wants from me. I don’t know what anyone wants from me. I don’t know why I’m here. I don’t know why they wouldn’t tell me. I don’t know why I never asked. But I know I never did anything to anyone. I kept my head down. I did nothing to nobody. And this is what I get.

“I get punched on my second day and get called a fucking spy.”

Shiro ended his words on a drawl. A dark growl screaming from his lungs, dulled by the folds of flesh within his throat.

“Tell me, Romps,” Shiro slowly approached the sheepdog, “Is this a game only rich people do? Am I being played here? Are you playing with me? Be honest with me. Don’t lie. If this is a joke, I don’t think it’s funny. Not even a little bit. Tell me the truth.

“If it is really a joke, I can make it real funny for you.”

He ended up standing a mere hair thread before Romps, staring him down from the top, shrouding his entire presence under his shadow. From below, the sheepdog couldn’t tell what expression Shiro held from there, and somewhere deep down in him, he was grateful for that.

Romps had his gaze on Shiro before slowly twitching to the side, his eyes falling onto the broom itself. Shiro too tracked his snout and landed on the same place as his eyes.

The broom was twisted on the end where Shiro’s fingers once laid on. The end was arced outwards by a near 45 degrees, shards of bent metal shooting out from both angles. The head was pointed slightly to the side, breaking away from the handle.

Shiro let go of the broom, and just as he did Vox popped out from behind Romps and snatched the broom right from the sheepdog’s hands. He pulled it to the back, shoving it far from the two of them. Both were surprised by him. The fox kept hold of the broom, watching the two’s reaction for a startling moment before rushing to the other side of the dorm, beyond the kitchen, presumably to put the broom back to its place, away from anyone’s hands.

Both were left alone, or more specifically, Romps was left alone with Shiro.

The two were silent at the moment, left to themselves.

Then Shiro dropped down on his bed, sitting on the side, letting out a deep breath as he did. His face came back into view. His blank stare returned, with a more neutral taste to his expression this time around.

Romps stayed where he was, watching Shiro as he took his moment.

Then Shiro spoke.

“Why’d you do it?”

Romps replied, “I was scared of you. Now I’m just scared of Dove.”

“You could’ve just asked.”

“I was scared of you.”

“... …”

“I’m sorry.”

“Who’s Dove?”

“He’s the son of a security firm working in the Aca-”

“Who is Dove, Romps.”

Romps took a moment before responding.

“Do you want the long story or the short story?”

“Short.”

“Do you mind?”

Shiro scooted to the side. Romps sat down beside him. He waited for a second, running his hands from his snout to his neck whilst taking a few breaths. Then he answered.

“There’s a ranking list in this school. Since you want the short story, I won’t go into detail. Bottom line is, this list’s been going on since Rormund started accepting new members besides the Founder’s picks. The tradition lasted until now. There are ten spots on the list. If you want a spot, you find one of the guys on the list and ask for it. They most probably won’t, so most people end up making them give it up, or until they can do nothing but give it up. You don’t get anything out of being on the list, officially. But you’ll never have to worry about queues in the cafeteria or getting good seats in classes.

“Dove broke to the third spot in his first year. The seven guys before him never stood a chance. Number three didn’t even oppose; he just upped and gave it to him. He hasn’t got to number two yet because the guy’s good enough to hold his spot. But it’s mainly because he isn’t in the Academy. He never comes for classes, only for the final exams.”

“You can do that?” Shiro asked.

“If attendance doesn’t matter in the Academy, why would you stay anyway? As long as you’re here for the finals, they wouldn’t care. The guy’s on his fourth year here, and he’s never stayed a night in the dorm unless it’s finals week. He does all his studying outside. I don’t know how anyone could find better teachers than the ones over here but to each their own, I guess.

“When he comes back again this year he’ll probably stay a lot longer than before. But not in the dorms, I suppose.

“Oh, right. His spot was taken yesterday night. By some guy on the number seven spot. But he took it back this morning so that doesn’t matter anyway.

“Look, in short, stay away from Dove. I don’t know why he wants you but the guy’s relentless. If he goes east take a detour south and run to the west as fast as possible.”

Shiro didn’t say anything else. He simply nodded.

“What about Leo?” he asked.

“Less said about him, the better.”

Shiro gave the same response.

“What about Bara?”

“All in all, stay away from that gang. If you see a Doberman, or a leopard, or a bear, just go the opposite direction. Don’t even risk it. They’re bad news. That’s all you need to know.”

“I’ll stop going to class.”

Romps rebound from Shiro, leaning away from him, surprised by his frank resolution, “N-Not like that. You still need to study. You got to pass your finals. If you fail it twice, you’re expelled.”

“I failed once already,” Shiro admitted, “Miss Secretary said I can’t fail again.”

“All the more reason to not skip classes.”

“So how do I stay away from them?”

Romps was struck with that question. He fell beneath his shoulders, propping his head with his hand, resting an elbow on his thigh. He thought for quite a while, with Shiro staring at him curiously from the side, wondering what he’ll come up with.

“Join a club?” Romps suggested suddenly.

“A club?”

“Yeah, preferably those with frequent meetings. Or those with a club room you can camp in during the lunch rush.”

“They don’t exactly like me. Don’t think they’ll let me in.”

“Well, there’s gotta be someone who doesn’t want you dead. If there are guys like me and Vox, there would probably be guys like us in the Junior classes, right?”

Shiro didn’t answer. Instead, he kept this sort of longing gaze on Romps. His feline, ruby-red eyes reflected the snow-white on Romps’ fur as it laid on the sheepdog for a passing moment.

“Shiro?” Romps waved his hand across the wolf’s eye, watching to see if he would fetch a reaction from him.

Then Shiro suddenly spoke, “Thank you.”

Romps was taken aback. He had his mouth ajar, unsure of what to say for a brief moment before succumbing down to a simple, “Y-You’re welcome?”

Shiro turned away from Romps, carrying an empty stare looking into an immeasurable distance. He looked down onto his feet, simmering in a thoughtless mind as the claws stared back to Shiro with a wicked gleam.

Then another pair of feet showed up in his eyes. They were rather small, with toes as small as beans, dressed in light brown fur.

Shiro looked back up, only to see Vox standing before him. He was holding two mugs. One of them was white and fat, while the other was tall and black. Both were filled with water, clear and pristine in its contents. The fox told them to grab it fast, for his sleeves were getting in the way and he couldn’t hold on for much longer.

Romps handed the mug to himself, which Shiro, feeling a slight cringe in his heart remembering a certain event from a certain afternoon, held the black mug with a feeble, “T-Thanks.”

Then, just as the two canines grabbed the mug Vox threw great punches with both his fists, hitting both Shiro and Romps on their shoulders. There wasn’t power to be felt from Vox’s rather tiny knuckles, but Shiro felt the weight behind them.

“Oi, you hid behind me when it happened,” Romps pushed Vox on the chest with his thumb, “You’re coming down with me.”

Vox went in for a flick aiming towards Romps’ forehead, which the sheepdog narrowly dodged. Before Romps could retaliate the fox skipped back to his fortress of text, hiding behind his tower of books.

“I’ll get you next time,” Romps grumbled as he took a sip from his mug. It wasn’t obvious, but Shiro spotted a smirk from the corner of the sheepdog’s snout.

They stayed silent, sipping water from their mugs for a long while. They said nothing between each other. Instead, they swallowed their words with water, and more water if more words ever came.

Romps ran out of water first. He stood up, dangling the mug from his finger, as he made his way to the kitchen. He dropped the mug into the kitchen sink and went up to his bed. He crouched down, fetching clothes from the drawers under his bed and went to the other side of the dorm.

Just before he went over the wall, he spoke, “So Are you telling us your secret?”

Shiro looked up to Romps, along with Vox. Shiro, still with his blank stare, kept silent for a moment. Vox slowly turned to meet Shiro, looking at him with a wordless sense of anticipation.

“You stopped Dove’s fist,” Romps said, “That still doesn’t change, does it?”

For a brief second, a piece of residual tension began to grow in the atmosphere like a cancer cell.

Then Shiro answered, “I’ll stay away from Dove. You’ll never need to know.”

Romps gave a nod, “Fair enough.”

Then he disappeared behind the wall, on his way to the bathroom.

“Wait,” Shiro called out.

Romps popped out from the wall, “What?”

“Am I in trouble?”

Romps held a suspicious expression, “For what?”

“The broom.”

 

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