---

 

Shiro got held at broom-point.

With one hand on a doorknob and the other holding his briefcase, Shiro found himself vulnerable and open to the broom. He was stunned and shuddered, unsure of what to do. He stared into the fine, little pricks as they stared back at him with their fine, little prickly eyes. He traced the fine, little pricks to the base; a metallic base, gleaming under the light. Attached to its back is a thick, metal pole, too gleaming and shining under the light.

Oddly, a memory resurfaced from the past. It was a month ago when he was staying with his mother, fresh in her custody. He was watching TV in her house, and at that moment an infomercial played, and it was about the same broom. The whole advertisement boasted the same thing as every other brooms - flexibility and endurance. ‘THEY CAN REACH ANYWHERE’, it screamed, ‘EVEN UNDER YOUR BABY’S COT! IT CAN EVEN PICK UP WATER!’

Shiro was disinterested and ready to shut it off when the infomercial introduced someone else onto the set.

A famed wrestler, most known for pile driving his rivals into comatose states, was now walking into the commercial set like it was his home. Shiro got intrigued, and dropped the remote to his side, eager to see what the sudden appearance of the wrestler would bring. The wrestler picked up the broom on the floor and proceeded to smash the whole set apart. Starting with the windows, before going for the chairs and tables. Even the walls weren’t safe, as the wrestler swung the broom and shredded the thing to pieces, revealing the scaffolding behind it. It was a whiplash of entertainment. At one point a truck came crashing into the studio and the wrestler wasn’t even fazed. Utilizing his trusty steed he slammed the broom to the car doors and the windows. Everything was either shattered or dented; everything but the broom. 

The commercial ended with the surreal image of the wrestler sweeping his carnage while a female voice sung about the broom’s main selling point - ‘ITS AMAZING DURABILITY! IT CAN EVEN SUSTAIN THE HEAVIEST OF BLOWS!’ The voice followed by the wrestler suddenly stopping in his sweeping and slamming the broom onto his signature knee with the force of a gorilla, only to bring it back up in mint condition for the audience to see before the screen cut away to telephone numbers and a giant ‘BUY NOW!’

Shiro didn’t know what the executives were thinking about pitching an indestructible broom to housewives but one thing’s for sure - that broom can hit hard and hit a lot.

And now it’s staring at him in the face with all the intentions and none of the good ones.

“Hey,” Shiro heard a voice say.

He traced the broom all the way to its handle. A pair of white, furry hands were holding them. He followed the hands to the body and found a sheepdog standing behind the broom, holding it against Shiro. The sheepdog had a stocky body, with much fur running down his face, making Shiro wonder if he could even see through them at all.

Evidently, he could, because the sheepdog said, “Stay away from here,” right at his face.

 

---

 

Just a few hours ago, Shiro was repeatedly woken and put back to sleep. Imagine an adrenaline shot stabbing through a boxer every time he gets sucker punched by his opponent. The instant rest and the kick to the nerves, multiplied tenfold every second. The intensity of having your consciousness repeatedly beaten out of your skull is an experience one should have, but only once, as so that they won't ever attempt it again. For Shiro, it was an experience that reminded him not to attend World History lessons ever again, at least with Leo by his side.

As soon as he’d hit the three minute mark in World History class Shiro's mind shut itself off and without a warning, slammed his snout to the nearest flat surface to snooze on, going totally out cold. He would’ve stayed there for a very long time, snoring and drooling away if it wasn’t for Leo sitting beside him. Leo, on the other hand, was perfectly conscious throughout the whole class, much to Shiro’s genuine admiration. While Shiro was busy tugging his eyelids open, Leo was taking in the lesson, occasionally checking the notes he exchanged with Bara and Dove back at the corridor outside, listening attentively to the lecturer speak.

The leopard also personally took up the responsibility of keeping the wolf awake and he enacted his duty by giving Shiro a Wet Willie every time he slammed back to the desk. Shiro showed Leo how much he really appreciated that he would be awakened without the presence of saliva in his ears with great indignation and exasperation, but seeing as how effective it was on waking him up, he didn’t complain by the second time Leo stuck a wet finger in his ear. Thus the routine repeats itself. Shiro slams to the table, Leo sticks a wet finger in his ear, Shiro shoots up straight and awake, three minutes pass and the whole thing starts all over again to the soundtrack of the lecturer’s rambling voice.

Miraculously, nobody looked up to see Shiro or even wonder why he was popping up and down like a gopher. Maybe it was the lecturer’s voice that blanketed everything else, which made it all the more impressive for Shiro to sleep through it all.

It wasn’t the lecturer’s fault that Shiro kept dozing off. Shiro genuinely thought the lecturer was an excellent teacher. He told the ancient tales of the past with great zeal and kept switching tones and played many roles in order to keep the students interested and listening. The problem was the lesson itself. No matter how spectacular you make it to be, you can’t make contract-signing or bureaucratic betrayal more interesting than they can ever be. There’s so much song and dance you can make between dead men making long forgotten colonies. There’s no doubt some moral values and lessons to learn from it all, but-

And Shiro’s down to the table again.

For the umpteenth time (and to his greatest pleasure), Leo stuck out his tongue and gave his thick, wet furry finger another long lick and, with marksman-like accuracy, dipped it deep into Shiro’s ear.

????!!!!?????!!!!!!

 

---

 

“You don’t look so good,” Leo commented.

Shiro was hanging onto the last of his mental energy. He was walking on his knees and could feel nothing from the waist down. His whole body was numb. He was basically shuffling from one foot to the other with the barest of hopes that he doesn’t trip over and begin hibernating right there and then on the marble floor. He was so tired he couldn’t even carry his own briefcase; Leo offered to hold it for him and all his past worries towards his briefcase's safety was thrown out of the window, instantly triumphed over by his fatigue.

Shiro didn’t even bother to answer Leo. He simply glanced towards Leo and weakly nodded as he shuffled through the corridor, barely keeping up with the leopard.

“Are you sure,” Leo asked again.

This time, Shiro didn’t even hear him. It had a lot to do with the fact his ears were wet and moist and mostly blocked by Leo’s barrages of Wet Willies in attempts to keep Shiro awake. Evidently, it worked, just not as effective as it was. His body had compensated the missed rest in the class to the rest of Shiro’s day which, in layman terms, meant Shiro was not much different than being a walking sack of groggy, lazy flesh prone to a sudden shut-eye that is to be preceded by a wakeless nap.

But as of the moment, Shiro hadn’t fallen snout first onto the floor and hibernated right then and there, so everything’s still on the bare minimum of okay. Leo simply left Shiro alone as the both continued down the corridor.

Everything was as it was before. The sun’s still shining, grass is still green, owls are still nocturnal and the crowds haven't stopped giving both Leo and Shiro different looks.

It depended on who they saw first. Those who saw Shiro scowled at him while those who saw Leo gleamed at him. Those who saw Shiro after Leo were met with disappointment and confusion and those who met Leo after Shiro were met with relief and too, confusion. Nobody knew why Leo was willingly walking alongside the Academy’s brand-new, undesirable transfer student without regurgitating every few steps. It’d be blasphemy for them to be caught dead next to Shiro but there goes the Academy’s favourite leopard, doing the unthinkable in front of everyone without a hint of disgust nor shame. They held no qualms towards him, of course; only head-scratching curiosity and occasionally, a sense of pity.

Shiro noticed the change from revulsion to bewilderment among the corridor’s eyes. Barely, anyway. He only noticed it and gave it no second thoughts. He was already struggling hard enough to keep his head upright and his eyelids open than to think about other things. He also didn’t care to see whether Leo noticed it too. A fleeting thought passed through his head thinking the leopard wouldn’t care either way. His carefree attitude made Shiro think he was the kind of guy that wouldn’t notice things like this. Probably a benefit graced by his appearance. People with Leo’s looks wouldn’t have chances to think too deep into petty, self-conscious doubts.

As of now, Shiro didn’t even know where they were headed. Leo probably mentioned it at the end of World History, but even if an earthquake had struck during that hour, he probably wouldn’t even remember. He was simply zombie-shambling his legs, barely putting one  foot in front of the other, trying his best not to cross them or he’d be meeting the best sleep of his life.

Then he felt his body being pulled from the back.

He was suddenly thrown into a whiplash-like pace by the scruff of his neck tossed towards the nearest wall. Just before impact, he was tugged from behind once more, stopping him from a head-on collision with the bleached walls.

Shiro eyes and ears opened up in an unexpected rush of motion and action. His mind wasn’t quick enough to question why or who had tossed him into such a position. His brain ran a series of quick, situational equations, forming explanations on how he had ended up like this when it promptly realized it was out of fuel and shut down all train of thoughts in an instance.

Then his eyes and ears began sagging downwards into tired inactivity, when a wet finger slid into Shiro’s ears and frizzled his dying nerves back to life, jumping from the sudden shock. His limbs spasmed out, and he slipped onto the floor in a daze, his ears aching and throbbing from another serving of feline saliva.

“Finally awake?”

Leo was standing just beside the wolf on the floor. He had one hand held up high, dripping with slimy water. Shiro gave him a tired nod. He slowly got up on his behind, ignoring the snarks from the passing watchers.

“You certainly don’t look okay to me,” Leo commented.

Well, what d’ya know, Shiro thought as he dusted off his back.

Leo asked as they continued walking, “World History really did you this bad?"

Shiro wanted to give a different answer, but he figured there wasn’t a reason to. He simply nodded to Leo as he caught up from behind.

"You really can’t concentrate, can you?”

Shiro shook his head. The fatigue slowly caught up from behind as well, dragging his eyes and ears back down into its droopy state.

Then they shot up once more because Leo suddenly turned back and slapped Shiro on both his cheeks. The sensation electrocuted Shiro’s senses almost instantaneously and rocked him awake once more. His tail burst into an explosive bush along with his once-floppy ears, now perky and twitching as it’d been before World History knocked it down. “What's that for,” Shiro complained, Leo’s hands still on his cheeks.

“We got a whole day of classes to get through and I don’t think you can do that. Not like this, anyway. Look at your eyes, they’re practically losing their shine,” he said, “Why don’t we get you a refill? Put a shine back into those jewels. Chemistry can wait, huh? Come one, we’re getting you something to eat.”

As if on cue, Shiro felt a slight grumble on his stomach. Like a magic spell, the moment the word ‘eat’ passed through his ears a sensation of hunger kicked his body into motion. Luckily, the grumble was merely a short, silent one. Swallowing his pride, Shiro pulled down his hands and asked.

“Eat?”

Leo smiled, “We’re heading to the cafeteria.”

 

---

 

There were many words to describe the cafeteria. Cheap was not one of them. Far from it.

If you were to empty the cafeteria and solely judge it based on the decor, you would’ve thought the place was built for high-rollers and casino whales. You’d imagine the sort of people coming to eat here would be wearing tailor-made suits and high heels. Everyone would have important titles next to their names, with a lot of position and authority to back it up. And if you start imagining the finer details you’d notice everyone would have their pinkies outstretched, with expensive, silk napkins on their thighs, sitting upright and straight while they elegantly nibble through their cods and sip through their wine glasses.

In fact, you don't need your imagination to envision such an image. The low ceiling and the hanging decorative lights were enough to conjure phantom persons onto the clothe-covered cushioned chairs and the glass surfaced tables. You could see them stroll across the marble floors with grace and refinement. The walls were wallpapered with dark colored textures painted on, giving a taste of style to go along with the invisible patrons of the place. It was a place of exclusivity, built solely for those of the upper echelons of society, and would be blasphemy if a bottom-feeder were to even set toe onto such high-class establishment.

Then the spell broke before Shiro’s eyes when he realized the patrons were very real, but instead of suits they were wearing dark, school uniforms. Everyone wasn’t nibbling and sipping but were chewing, gulping and talking and giggling very loudly. The illusion of daintily raised pinkies disappeared, replaced with silverware clutched in both hands. Expensive silk napkins were instead fitted into one’s collar, and almost the whole crowd had their back hunched, munching through either chicken chop, mixed nuts and salad or plain, fried fish with olive on the side.

It was a surreal image. Such a posh, stylish place was actually called a cafeteria, and populating a place like this are none other than adolescent students who, though possess many important titles, still don’t fit the picture as well as the phantom men and women in pinstripe suits and dresses. At the end of the day, they just seemed like teenagers having simple lunches. Just teenagers having simple lunches in high-class, elite establishments.

To be fair, those teenagers are also highly wealthy but as stated, not all of them didn’t quite look the part.

“This is the cafeteria,” Leo announced.

This ain’t a cafeteria, Shiro thought, it's a damn lounge.

Shiro took in the moment and soaked in the atmosphere. Never once would had Shiro expected to come into a world like this, where alien words like ‘caviar’ and ‘sparkling water’ gets spoken like the norm. He would have taken a moment longer if it weren’t for the large crowd. It seemed like everyone had the same idea of spending their afternoon break. While they were on their way, Leo told him that there were six other ‘cafeterias’ around the Academy, and Leo was taking Shiro to the least popular, or in Leo’s words ‘most underground’, of the half dozen, so the crowd wouldn’t overwhelm him. The crowd didn’t overwhelm him, but it was to the point where Shiro was getting pushed around like a pinball in a machine.

Then, casually stating the impossible, Leo told Shiro, “Wait here, I’ll go get us a table.”

Shiro, even though he’s a greenhorn, wanted to tell Leo that there was no way anyone could find even a chair at this hour, especially in this crowd, and that he could wait one more class to come back since the cafeteria operates all-day till the late evenings, as per Leo’s words en route to the cafeteria. But it was too late, Leo was expertly weaving through the crowd with his slender physique like a leaf through a running river. Shiro was more akin to a boulder, thus he simply stood, watching the yellow spotted tail whisking through the busy horde. Then it disappeared, presumably consumed and swallowed by the crowd.

Thirty seconds (and thirty different glares and stares from the opposite crowds) later, Shiro saw the yellow spotted tail return, whisking back towards him. Leo popped back up in front of him, chest to chest. As if by a miracle, he said with a grin, “No table, but two seats. Some girls are willing to share the table, but now I owe them a favor, so you really have to follow me now.”

Shiro felt like protesting against the idea, as it was proven before that Leo, girls and Shiro aren’t exactly a smart combination. Yet again, in such a crowd, he couldn’t complain. He simply nodded. Without warning, Leo grabbed Shiro by his tracksuit and dragged him along. Not towards the unseen table, but towards the giant counter sitting on the other end of the cafeteria, stretching from wall to wall.

Leo mouthed to Shiro, “We’re getting eat first.”

As impressive as the decor, the food was mouthwatering. Each cafeteria shares the same menu, and the menu changes daily, with rotations of every type of cuisine from every culture one could think of. Today, the menu went a bit westward, with lightly fried fish paired with Carribean-dipping sauce being the highlight. The rest were the quote unquote ‘usuals’, as described by Leo. Chicken Chop with the choice of three different sauces. Mushroom soup and garlic bread. Seafood pasta with stir-fried prawn. Some three other dishes Shiro would get his tongue tied if he tried to pronounce.

Late to the lunch hour rush, the crowd slowly began to diminish, which meant it was easier to order food. There were two ways to get eat. One was to simply grab one of the ready, pre-made dishes available on the counter, hot, ready to go and  free of charge too, courtesy of Rormund’s do-anything-as-long-as-you-ace-your-Finals policy. Two is to order one of the less popular dishes on the menu and wait at your table for the food to come.

There was also a third option which Leo took. “Aglio Olio with the chicken breast slice. Grilled. Six portions on three separate plates. Send it to my room. Usual time, please,” he recited towards the counter. Shiro thought Leo had gone mad, speaking to think air until he followed his eyes and saw who he was really talking to.

Walking along the counter was a little white-footed mouse in a working tuxedo, manning the counter with amazing efficiency and manpower despite his size. He held a little rodent-sized pen and notebook in his hand, taking in orders left and right while keeping track of the business at the storefront. He listened attentively to Leo’s order and wrote into the little notebook in his tiny palm.

“It will be our pleasure,” the mouse squeaked back with an accent. Leo gave his thanks and turned to see a stunned Shiro looking back at him.

“You can do that?”

Leo replied with a smile.

“You can do that.”

Shiro turned back to the counter. Unlike Leo who had his usuals etched into his mind like scriptures, Shiro was befuddled by the amount of available choices on the counter. He traced his fingers around the place, unable to make any decision. Left and right, plates were getting snatched from every direction, shaving off his options with every passing, indecisive second. Leo stood beside him, watching with childlike curiosity as the wolf troubled himself thinking about his lunch. Shiro traced another circle around the counter before eventually landing onto the mouse and asking,

“You got anything green?”

The mouse turned to meet Shiro with utmost professionalism and manners, “Sure thing. The Greek Salad Pasta. Finest from our chefs.”

“Where is it,” Shiro asked.

The mouse raised a tiny, mousy finger towards the end of the counter, and that’s where Shiro went. “Do enjoy your meal,” he wished to Shiro.

Leo popped up from beside, his previous curiosity now morphed into a full-blown fascination, “You’re vegetarian?”

Shiro answered back, “I just don’t wanna eat meat.”

Evidently, the Greek Salad Pasta was popular enough to be ready and made but not popular enough that Shiro still had a dozen bowls for him to be picky on. He picked one that seemed right to him and got a set of silverware with him. Then they went back into the bustling with Shiro holding the bowl and the cutlery held high on his head.

“You’re not getting eat,” Shiro asked Leo as they waded through the crowd.

“I’m good,” he answered and flashed out a fork Shiro didn’t see Leo taking from anywhere, “I’ll just pick some from yours.”

Shiro only hoped the fork came from somewhere sanitary.

They reached the aforementioned table and, not at all to Shiro’s surprise, was seated by a dazzle of female zebras. Shiro couldn’t find an alpha, but since this was a herbivorous group, he didn’t expect the group to have one. The mares didn’t look as exuberant nor as bold as the lionesses back at the corridor, but they certainly hold the same priorities to their looks. They had their eyebrows twinged to the sharpest, and their manes combed to its smoothest. Their two-tone complexions were handled quite well for their looks too. If Shiro was a stallion, he’d no doubt be flattered and infatuated to be presented the privilege of sitting among such beauties.

As for Leo, it seemed that his attraction transcended species, and even societal norms. Within a second of arriving at the table it was clear that the zebras offered their seats out of many reasons, none of them involving generosity or good values. They were all waving prettily and flattering the most out of their eyelines to Leo, who returned his trademark smiles and winks, with intentions well beyond the threshold of appropriation. Leo said he owed a favour to them for snatching up a pair of seats for them both, and if he were to put money, Shiro would confidently bet on what the mares’ ‘favour’ would be.

Leo also must've glazed over one tiny detail when asking for the two seats, because as soon as the mares were done with their welcome, they all spotted the beastly wolf standing behind him and stared in horror. All of them simultaneously opened their mouths, leaving them gaping and ajar. One even made an audible gasp. Shiro felt neither insult nor injury, for it was quite expected. He would even empathize with the zebras. What else is scarier than a commoner, thoroughbred black wolf in a tracksuit carrying a green bowl of pasta on the top of his head, lumbering his massive physique towards your table with the audacious intent to actually sit beside you?

Their nightmares came true as Leo slid into one of the seats and, with the brightest smile his feline face could manage, pulled open another seat next to him and offered it to none other than the filthy wolf, who had the ignorant audacity to give everyone at the table subtle nods of thanks with the pasta still perilously perched between his perking ears. The wolf shuffled from step by step before plopping himself down onto the chair, looking irritably satisfied and not-at-all conscious of their deathly stares.

Shiro did notice, though, and just like every other moment, he simply ignored it. He simply flashed out the silverware and started digging through the bowl. He scooped in his first bite. It wasn’t bad. Wasn’t bad at all. It tasted somewhat dull to Shiro’s canine tongue, but for him, a carnivore, to be able to pick up such taste and texture from a vegetarian meal, it was a good sign that this was a dish well done.

Leo leaned in as he ate and asked, “What do you think?”

Mouth-filled and unable to speak, Shiro simply gave a shrug.

The zebras definitely had plans for Leo when he went up and asked for seats, but with the unexpected nuscience coming in, their plans were thwarted. Silent, awkward and without a topic to start without being rude, the zebras gave each other looks of collective loss and simply got up and left. Shiro completely understood why they did so, but his understanding did nothing for the guilt he felt from the sight. He wanted them to stay, for both the zebras and his conscience. Then he decided against it, when half of the group left him dirty glares when they left.

Leo was the only one that didn’t seem affected by the zebras’ departure. At least, emotionally. As soon as the zebras got into the thinning crowd and out of earshot, Leo said to Shiro, “Don’t feel bad. I knew they’ll leave the table. Just keep on eating, I got things to ask anyway.”

Shiro swallowed and asked, “What?”

Leo then picked a sliced cherry tomato from his bowl with his fork and asked, “Ever thought why you’re sent here?” before popping it into his mouth.

Shiro simply shook his head in response.

Leo swallowed and picked something else from Shiro’s bowl, this time a big piece of salad, “You’ve got a story to tell me, at least?”

Shiro shook his head again, “I was just sent here. Don’t know why. My mom never told me.”

“So you never bothered to ask,” Leo inquired.

This time, Shiro simply shrugged, “I just trust my mom. That's all.”

“Hmmm…” Leo thought deeply as he munched on the leaf.

“C-can I eat now,” Shiro asked feebly.

“Wait,” Leo picked a piece of macaroni from his bowl, “what if your mother really wanted to harm you? Kill you, or at least get rid of you. Would you question her?”

Shiro felt a tad bit offended, “Like I said, I trust her. She’s my mother. If she wanted to, she probably wouldn’t tell me.”

“So you’d think you’ll come out okay if she did?”

Shiro didn’t know how to answer that question, mostly because he never considered it. But coming to think of it, he never had a doubt over the mother that had left him since the early days of his birth. His father told him it was because of her city work that she couldn’t stay with them in the outskirts. Shiro believed in him, and thus, believed in her. When she came to take Shiro in custody he was neither surprised nor angered over her absence and sudden arrival. He just thought, like his father, she would be responsible for the child she bore. So Shiro went with her without any hesitation. He just thought he’d be living in a different routine, this time under a new parental figure.

And all this time, he thought the other party simply felt the same.

It was when Leo injected a new factor into his mind when a tiny doubt started floating in.

Why had she sent him here? Why not some normal, public school with normal classes and normal students? Why send him to this high-class institution that was supposedly so high-class folks around Shiro’s socioeconomic status aren’t supposed to even hear about it? How did she know this sort of a school existed? And how did she get him in anyway?

So many questions flowed into Shiro’s head, all with regret stapled on the side. There were so many signs he couldn’t believe he missed. He should’ve caught a clue when his commute to school wasn’t a bus or a normal car but a limo through a dark alley. He should’ve had a bell rung in his head when his first moments were spent in ridicule on stage. Hell, he should’ve caught some sort of a hint when the first question he got was about his ‘net-worth’.

All these things in his mind, he finally realized how vulnerable he really was. If his mother had tried to harm him in the first place, he would’ve fallen into her trap in a breeze. He was hit with the sudden, alien sensation in his body. A big red 'What if?' flashed in his head. It would've been so easy for her. So, so easy.

And yet, despite everything, he couldn't bring himself to put a blame or even point a finger of reason towards his mother. The past happenings he experienced had many causes, and he just can't seem to see his mother as one.

Then, as Shiro thought deeper, Leo's question hit differently.

So you'd think you'll come out okay?

A whole new approach came to him. An entirely new perspective opened in his head. Different questions start filing into his head in a surge, like a wave finally crashing through the dense skull in his head. But among all of the questions, one stood out to him the most. No longer was it a case of why hadn’t his mother told him, but why didn’t he ask his mother in the first place.

It wasn’t his mother, but himself.

“I-I-” Shiro stuttered under his breath. His train of thought met a sudden roadblock that he couldn’t cross. A bitter taste washed over his mouth. It was a new territory of thought he never knew existed until his sight was forcefully pulled towards the alien landscape. He stared into the strange abyss, with an infinite horizon he can’t see, or that he doesn’t recognize. He found his legs too weak to cross that territory, fearing for the unknown beyond, and who knows what that lies beyond.

Leo watched Shiro dive deep in thought, go through mental hoops, face a sudden realization, stuttered two syllables and broke into a shudder. He patted the poor wolf in the back, shaking him out of his stunned discomposure. “Let’s start off slow, huh? Tell me your mother’s name.”

Shiro slowly dragged his weak eyes towards Leo’s, his tail lax and weak, dangling off the back of the chair. He muttered, “My mom?”

Leo grabbed the spoon from the bowl of pasta, scooped up a mouthful and pointed it to Shiro, “Have a bite. Relax. Yes, tell me your mother’s name.”

In need for any sort of comfort, Sghiro dragged his weak snout and bit over the spoonful of Italian cuisine. The weak, vegetarian taste was just what he needed for an escape. It had just enough taste to his carnivorous tongue to reinvigorate his senses, and was dull enough that he could get some flavor out of it without overwhelming his bitter tongue. It soothed his insides, and did no more and no less to his sudden headache.

It was perfect, to say the least.

He slowly chewed and savoured the taste. He felt vigour and energy flow back into his senses, bringing them back into action. Then he swallowed and, just as he was about to answer, noticed the hundred new-found scorns and glares of the other students who just watched the filthy, wild, canine transfer student not only spend precious time with the Academy sweetheart, but also somehow managed to get him to spoon feed him pasta. Shiro immediately snatched back the bowl and the spoon from Leo and hastily commented, “I can eat myself.”

Leo shrugged. “Shame. I was enjoying it,” he said and Shiro gulped in another spoonful, “So, your mother’s name?”

Shiro waited, chewed, swallowed, and told him his mother’s name. Leo’s toxic green eyes lit up for a moment as he heard her name. He asked Shiro to repeat himself. He took in another spoonful, chewed, swallowed and told him again. Leo’s ears twitched for a second, unable to believe his ears before calming himself down to his usual poise, taking in the shock piece by piece.

“I see,” Leo said, “I would never imagine her to be your mother. Not at all. Not that anchorwoman, at least.”

“You know her,” Shiro asked before taking in another spoonful.

“Yes,” he answered, “My father watches her every evening in the news.”

“Your father?”

Leo nodded.

Shiro dug into the bowl another time and asked out of interest, “Who is he?”

Then Leo told him, and Shiro promptly dropped the spoon in his hand, clattering onto the glass table as the pasta strew across the surface.

“Isn’t he-”

“Yes,” Leo picked up a little piece of pasta from the table.

“The one that-”

“Mm-hm,” Leo answered as he chewed.

“So you’re-”

“Mm-hm,” Leo answered before he swallowed.

Shiro was left in a daze, slowly recollecting himself as Leo picked off more pieces of pasta from the table. For the first time he finally felt the actual power of the students surrounding him. The glares that once held no weight before him felt just a tad bit heavier than before, and a whole lot less easier to ignore. It was only then did he realize the power of the wrath he ignited just by simply spending time with Leo. It wasn’t just his looks playing the game. His position was also the factor. He’d understand why anyone would get close to a guy like Leo. Anyone would, if what you desired was power and position.

Even an out-of-towner like Shiro knew the name of Leo’s father, and what he contributed and was also capable of.

Leo suddenly seemed a whole lot more pronounced in his eyes than he ever was.

“Your tail’s drooping,” Leo spoke between bites, “I’m not that scary, am I?”

Shiro wanted to answer, but the more he thought of it the less he felt like it. To put it in the least amount of words, if Leo’s father wanted Shiro wiped off the planet; not killed, but wiped off; he could do it as easy as lifting a toe, and he was probably powerful enough to have someone lift his toe for him.

Leoi knew what Shiro was thinking, because he said, “I don’t have that kind of power. Only my father has. And even if I complain, he wouldn’t do anything either.”

Shiro turned to meet Leo’s eyes, not out of bravery, but out of fearful curiosity.

“I’m his illegitimate son. Everybody knows that but they try not to anyway, cause’ my father would probably shut the people who do know who I am and know it very loudly. He can’t do anything I say either, cause’ that risks exposure. So he sent me here, as his best bet. Off the city, away from him, but safe and sound from everyone else that would risk his name.

“He has a son himself, too, but he’s a brother from another mother in an arranged marriage. I think he’s in some Ivy League school in some Big Apple city. My father got his true love in secret instead, and I came from that relationship. Automatically, I’m his favourite, which is why when he was given the letter of recommendation, he put my name instead of my other brother’s. The ‘exposure’ thing was an extra anyway.

“So that’s that. I got in by my father’s name alone, which makes me the ‘noble lineage’ student around here. But what about you? I know your mother’s name but she doesn’t have that kind of power. And to be frank, you don’t seem to be the academic type either. Are you athletic by any chance?”

“I-I don’t know,” Shiro answered. In all honesty, Shiro wasn’t even sure why he was here in the first place. It was the main question he had boggling his head since his first step into the auditorium. Why was he even sent here among people of Leo’s power? Why him, not anyone else? He was as ordinary as ordinary can get, at least in these people’s eyes. He had neither the qualifications nor the qualities of being a Rormund student. He had a quiet acceptance with the confusion after a while, but now that Leo brought it up again, the question began scratching Shiro’s head once more.

Just why is he here? Why not anywhere else?

In a heave of breath, Shiro prematurely gave up on the notion of ever finding out. He picked up the spoon again and picked up another scoop, just to find out it was his last. The bowl could only hold this much pasta, but considering Shiro was a carnivore eating what could be a herbivore’s one sitting, he didn’t feel surprised, only a tad bit disappointed.

He threw in his last mouthful and picked up the bowl along with the spoon. He stood up from his seat, piquing Leo’s interest as he went. “Where’re you going,” he asked.

Shiro raised the bowl in his hand slightly with a face of confusion. “Giving this back,” he said.

“You don’t need to,” he said, flashing his fork and putting it on the table “there’re waiters here to pick it up. Leave it on the table, they’ll handle it.”

Shiro turned back, thinking to do as Leo said. But then he thought of it once more, and thought of it even deeper still before blowing a stubborn breath and walking back towards the counter.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Leo simply spoke.

That stopped Shiro in his tracks. He was intent on going with keeping to his objective, knowing Leo was simply playing with him, trying to get him back at the table. But yet again, he was a wolf. A canine. A creature of curiosity. Unable to beat his instincts, Shiro sucked it up and turned back again to ask, “Why?”

“There was some big lizard girl who did the same a few years back. She did that one act of kindness and now she’s holed up in the library. Never saw her step out for class, much less for food. You want to end up like her? You're not looking so good in the social department in the first place either, to be frank."

Shiro stopped there, listening to every bit of the leopard's words. Leo could see his mind working behind his ruby red eyes. A clash between intention and doubt swirled right under his skull. He could see him thinking very hard of his next step, only to see him turn back once more, into the crowd, towards the mouse on the counter.

Leo leaked out an amused smirk and sank back to the table, toying with the fork on the table.

“Leo,” a voice called from behind. Leo turned to his back and found a Doberman standing just a few inches to his back, scowling at him from above, face-to-face.

Leo responded with a smile. “Dove.” He glanced behind the dog, “Where’s Bara?”

“He went back hiding in the infirmary,” Dove explained. Then he looked up, glanced around the place and shifted towards a seat beside Leo. “Where’s the mutt.”

“Be polite,” Leo said, “His name is Shiro. He’s over there.”

Dove peered upwards into the crowd, snorted and went back down, "What's he doing."

"Returning a bowl."

“Dumb mutt.”

“Be polite,” Leo said again, “What are you doing here anyway?”

“What about you,” Dove asked back.

“Getting room service,” Leo answered.

“Did you get mine?”

Leo suddenly slammed a finger onto the tip of the fork. The silverware was launched into mid-air with a spin and was promptly snatched back into Leo’s palm with a firm grip. He swished it across the air and aimed it towards Dove.

“You knew I always will,” he said, “So what are you doing here?”

Dove gave a subtle tch and lowered the fork from his snout. “I came looking for you.”

“For me? Why? We’d meet at the dorms anyway.”

“I came looking for you cause’ Jorge came looking for you."

“Jorge?” Leo asked, “Which Jorge?”

“The big gorilla Jorge.”

Dove watched Leo blink repeatedly at him, stifling through the Jorges he knew. He seemed to have reached multiple conclusions, and wasn't sure which one, which goes to show how popular the name Jorge really is among gorillas in the one-percent echelon of society, without accounting the other ninety-nine-percent at the bottom.

"Airline Daddy Jorge?"

"No," Dove answered.

"Oil Tycoon's third son Jorge?"

"No," Dove answered again.

"Next door Jorge?"

"It's first son, direct heir Jorge," Dove corrected him.

Leo still seemed confused.

Dove sighed, and he finally said, "Number seven."

"Ohhhh, that Jorge," Leo finally caught up, "he was looking for me?"

Dove nodded.

"Why?"

"I don't know," Dove said, "that's all he told me in Economics. He wasn't happy when he did it. Want me to handle it?"

Leo closed his eyes, crossed his arms, made an expression of thought and sank down to his chair. He thought for some time, running who knows what in his mind, thinking whatever leopards think of when gorillas named Jorge ask for them in unhappy tones.

"No," was the conclusion Leo came to. "I'll handle- wait."

Leo turned to his back, towards the crowd still bustling, looking at an unseen distance beyond. Dove peered from behind, uncertain what Leo was looking for.

"Where's Economics class again?"

Dove was confused, but he answered anyway, "Around World History and Geology."

Leo said nothing else after.

Then a sudden, squeaky voice erupted just beyond the bustling crowd. It went a little something like, "OH MY- WE ARE SO SORRY- OUR SERVICES SHOULD'VE- MARCUS, WHY DIDN'T YOU SERVE THE GENTLEMAN?! SEE OUR POOR MONSIEUR HERE WITH THE BOWL?! YOU'RE MAKING ME SPEAK FRENCH NOW, MARCUS-"

"Yes," Leo said, "I'll let him handle it."