A squirrel will raise the baby tiger.
No one uttered a word as we left the main estate and crossed the garden.
The anxiety of our upcoming mission seemed to weigh heavily upon everyone's shoulders.
Following the promenade along the small lake in the garden and venturing a little further inward, a two-story annex came into view.
The closer we drew to the annex, the thicker the potent pheromones of a beast became.
Swallowing hard, everyone stepped through the entrance of the lavish annex.
Inside, maids stood lined up in an impeccably arranged parlor.
When Maurice, who had been leading the way, turned around, the young ladies came to an immediate halt.
The concentration of pheromones wafting through the air had been alarming for some time now.
That was true even though no creature resembling a predator was anywhere in sight in this space.
Everyone's eyes followed the direction of Maurice's gesturing hand.
When Maurice snapped his middle finger and thumb together with a sharp crack, the head maid stepped forward.
The moment the head maid finished speaking, nervous murmurs broke out among the applicants.
That was only natural; following the usual course of development, a beastfolk's feral nature should have all but disappeared by age seven, giving way to complete humanization.
Gulp. Shasha’s swallowed breath echoed through the quiet parlor.
Every single person in the room fully shared in that dread.
Everyone watched as Shasha slowly ascended to the second floor.
How much time had passed?
When Shasha came sprinting back down to the first floor, her face was deathly pale.
She was even dry-heaving, staggering on her feet.
A young lady who appeared to be an acquaintance rushed forward to support Shasha.
The young ladies gathered around Shasha asked in hushed voices.
Stepping up beside her, Maurice dismissed the budding rumor in a low, sharp voice.
The warning belatedly resurfaced in my mind: leaking anything seen, heard, or felt here to the outside world would result in punishment for defaming House Blantiger. Flustered as she was, Shasha had clearly forgotten as well.
Maurice’s gaze swept across everyone.
At Maurice's command, Jane stepped before the young ladies once more.
Singled out, Melissa followed the guiding maid up the stairs, her fingertips trembling violently.
Immediately afterward, a piercing shriek rang out.
Every eye turned simultaneously toward the landing.
Melissa came tumbling frantically down the stairs.
Clutched in her hand was a torn sleeve.
From then on, it was a repeated cycle of the same scene.
When their turns came, the remaining young ladies would tremble as they headed to the second floor, only to inevitably dash back down to the first floor with screams or groans of agony.
Of all things, I was the very last in line.
In the intervening time, my trembling had only doubled.
***
The higher I climbed the stairs to the second floor, the thicker the scent of pheromones grew.
The aroma that brushed the tip of my nose surged deep into my nostrils with every breath I drew.
It was dense enough to make me momentarily dizzy.
No matter how young the child was, a beast of prey remained a beast of prey.
Dread washed over me like a rising tide at the thought of whatever unpredictable situation might unfold.
‘Seven years old… He's just a child of barely seven. Pull yourself together, Lulubell.’
Soothing my racing heart nonetheless, I stood before the young duke's door.
Knock, knock.
When I knocked gently on the door, the sound of labored, huffing breaths came through.
It was an expected reaction.
I hadn't knocked hoping for a warm welcome either; it had merely been a polite signal before entering.
Slowly opening the door, I looked at the child pacing near the bed.
I did my best not to grimace against the stinging pheromones prickling my nose.
I turned a calm and gentle gaze upon him.
Stomping around the room in large strides as if enraged, his eyes nevertheless looked brimful of fear.
I calmly introduced myself first.
As if responding to my composed voice, the child's ears twitched alertly.
On the backs of his hands, faint stripes showed through like faded tattoos.
The most distinctive trait of all was his tail.
Noticing my gaze drift toward his tail, the boy let out a furious shout.
With his tail sticking straight up, he dropped both hands to the floor and growled at me.
It wasn't that I felt no surprise at the fact he hadn't fully humanized, but I certainly didn't feel afraid or disgusted.
If anything, my very first thought was how utterly adorable he looked.
“Would you like to make a bet with me? If I lose, I'll really get lost.”
There's one thing you don't know: I have an endless line of younger siblings ranging from one year old to twenty.
I deliberately curled the corner of my mouth into a teasing smirk.
A smile like that was bound to stoke an opponent's competitive spirit.
Any child with even an ounce of competitive pride would take the bet to prove they held higher rank over the other person.
Right on cue.
His little hands darted hurriedly down toward his feet.
Back in my childhood, when our family circumstances left us without a single toy, I had to invent all sorts of bets to play with my younger siblings.
The sock-stripping game was a nightly tournament among the siblings who still had baby fat on their cheeks.
And I was the undisputed champion of this game.
Having successfully peeled off his socks in the blink of an eye, Hokan shot a proud grin in my direction.
Soon, however, the boy's eyes stretched wide in shock.
It was because I was putting on new socks in a posture thoroughly divorced from aristocratic dignity.
Lying sprawled out on the floor with one leg kicked high in the air, I was cramming my foot into a tiny child's sock.
I muttered aloud on purpose, projecting my voice.
Refusing to fall behind, Hokan scrambled to pull on his new socks.
I had to lure the child into a state where he felt he was constantly on the verge of winning or losing.
If he thought he'd lost completely, he'd merely throw a tantrum; if he believed he'd won entirely, I wouldn't be able to steer him into the next wager.
Perhaps because the newly knitted socks were tight, Hokan strained with all his might to pull them on.
To show that I was pouring every ounce of passion and sincerity into this brutally difficult game, I rolled around on the floor while wriggling into my socks.
Even while tumbling across the floor, I never forgot to keep an eye on Hokan.
My goal was to pretend I'd snatched victory just as he was nearly finished.
Just as Hokan, having slipped one sock onto his foot, was nearly finished with the other—
I thrust both feet out toward Hokan, flashing a triumphant smile of sheer jubilation.
Hokan spun around abruptly, dashed over to the window, and began huffing in frustration.
At my words, the boy whipped his head around and glared at me.
