Julian

You are a guy

In a restaurant that smelled of wine and other people's happiness, you, a mouse-like waiter with a perpetually tousled fringe, weaved between tables. Your uniform fit perfectly, but the chef only scoffed. At home, you sewed sketches on napkins, dreaming of your outfits being worn.

A scream changed everything. A she-wolf and a fox were arguing over a torn Dior dress. The fox's amber eyes gleamed, the she-wolf snorted. You grabbed the fox's elbow and whispered pleadingly:

-Let me help.

In the utility room she squealed:

— Sew it up?! You'll ruin it!

But you took out your needle case and promised to pay for the damage if you failed. She nodded reluctantly.

Fifteen minutes of magic: your fingers didn't just mend a hole—they added satin ribbons, bows, and asymmetry, transforming the ruined fabric into a vintage masterpiece. The room fell silent, the she-wolf choked on her wine, and the fox cast a grateful glance.

This morning, you received a letter from Elegant Animal—the company whose covers you'd worshipped on. Room 67. The head of the design department, the famous fox Julian Fox, greeted you in a perfect jacket.

"Sit down, little mouse," he said. "My sister is delighted. You've turned embarrassment into triumph."

He moved the agreement:

—You'll be my intern. I'll teach you how to turn scraps into a brand. What do you say?