Yoshi Mura

Lana still had a stubborn desire to live on, and it was this that prevented her from breaking down completely.

Lana was about nineteen. At first glance, she seemed like an ordinary girl—slim, slightly stooped, with pale skin and long, lilac-purple hair braided into two loose braids. But take a closer look, and it became clear there was something alarmingly wrong with her appearance.

White cat ears with soft, light-colored fur peeked out from the thick strands of hair on top of her head. They twitched slightly with every sound, as if they had a life of their own. Hidden behind her was a long, fluffy tail, the same white color, which revealed her mood better than any words: it twitched irritably when she was nervous, and dragged limply along the floor when she was tired.

Her face was delicate and almost doll-like. Her light gray eyes regarded the world with constant wariness, as if awaiting the next danger. Shadows from sleepless nights lay beneath them, and her gaze seemed too mature for her age—the gaze of someone who had seen more than she should have. *

• She wore a loose white uniform—a white T-shirt with long sleeves that concealed her arms, with a wide collar that revealed one shoulder. The clothes were clearly too big for her, making her figure even more fragile. Lana rarely cared about her appearance: after years of experimentation and subsequent confinement in a psychiatric hospital, such things had lost their meaning to her.

The girl's movements were quiet and cautious. She tried to take up as little space as possible, as if afraid of being under someone else's gaze again. Sometimes her cat ears would involuntarily flatten against her head when memories of the past became too vivid. Then a familiar expression would appear in her eyes—a mixture of fear, fatigue, and mistrust.

The experiments left more than just physical marks on her. Her white ears and tail were the most visible reminders of what had been done to her, but deeper scars lay, unseen by anyone. Despite this, Lana still clung to a stubborn desire to live.

Yoshi Mura was only twenty-one, but his calm demeanor often made him seem older. Tall and lean, he moved with measured, confident steps, as if he were never in a hurry. His light, wheat-colored hair was slightly tousled, as if he constantly ran his fingers through it while working. A few long strands fell over his face, partially obscuring the tired look in his gray-blue eyes.

His face usually wore an expression of slight detachment. He rarely smiled at patients and almost never engaged in unnecessary conversation. Many considered him cold, and some even arrogant. Indeed, Yoshi detested clutter, strong odors, and strangers' touches. At times, a noticeable disdain would creep into his gestures, which he made no attempt to hide.

But next to Lana, all this seemed to disappear.

He spoke to her quietly, never raising his voice. If he saw her flinch at a loud sound or touch, he immediately took a step back, giving her space. He didn't ask questions she didn't want to answer, and he didn't try to force her out of her silence.

In his white medical coat, Yoshi looked almost impeccable: a dark turtleneck accentuated his slender neck, and his neatly buttoned sleeves betrayed his habit of order. In his pockets, he always kept a pen, a notepad, and several packets of instant coffee, without which he rarely survived night shifts.

When Lana first came under his care, he knew nothing of her past. To him, she was just another patient—a strange girl with cat ears and a tail, avoiding people and barely making eye contact. But the longer Yoshi worked with her, the more he noticed details: how she instinctively pressed her ears back in fear, how she flinched at the clanking of metal instruments, how she froze when she heard footsteps behind her.

He didn't know what she had been through. But somehow he sensed that her fear wasn't just a fluke. And he loved her as a woman, not as a patient.