I ran my fingertip over the small, constantly shifting dots on the terminal, reading the words filled with ornate imagery and hidden meanings. Some seemed to reference ancient names and figures, while others were related to plants. I thought that by analyzing the recipes, places of origin, and specific terms related to the process, I might uncover something intriguing—I could almost smell the potential for a major discovery.

"Long Island Iced Tea," I said to the bartender, lest him really run out of patience. A bar that still employed a living bartender must be rare these days, likely due to a focus on temper and customer service.

For someone like me who has never drunk alcohol before, it seemed wise to start with a non-alcoholic beverage.

I set the terminal aside, disconnecting from the bar's local network, deciding to continue my research into the stories hidden within the drink menu another time. The ancient texts I encountered while writing my thesis weren't this difficult to decipher—what an unexpected discovery.

To be honest, if it weren't for my collaborator arranging to meet here, I probably wouldn't have stepped foot in such a place in my lifetime.

Lifting my head, I sniffed the air. The hardwood from Gaia's temperate forests still exuded a faint fragrance even after centuries had passed. The warm, rich scent reflected the complex history layered beneath its surface. I gently brushed my hand across the table, trying to decode the secrets hidden in the fine grain.

Beyond the bar itself, the patrons contributed to the atmosphere: otters, lions, grey wolves, zebras… there were even two dragons in the corner. Before entering, I had noticed a flag by the door that signified everyone was welcome.

The unique sound produced by magnetic boots on wood—a steady yet resilient waveform—was unlike the sharpness of metal, the solidity of rock, or the tautness of polymers. I thought to myself, I like this feeling, as I continued to explore another set of patterns on the table's surface.

Aside from that, there were some even more… subtle signals.

A maned wolf sitting near me at the bar kept nervously glancing around, seemingly unaware that his drink had long been empty, yet he still unconsciously brought the glass to his lips. Let me guess… he's either desperately scouting for a target or extremely nervous about an upcoming meeting. The former seems more likely, though the small dotted aura surrounding him could apply to either situation.

In the corner, the two dragons were speaking in hushed tones, clearly not wanting to draw too much attention, their gazes almost exclusively fixed on each other. The mist-like aura around them moved slowly, resonating with the unique pulsation all dragons possess, creating an uneven pattern of density. They didn't strike me as fierce pirates, probably just ordinary dragons. Though some might take issue with that assessment.

As for the reindeer sitting alone at another table, I didn't need to observe the jagged lines around him to know he was here to drown his sorrows—the clinking of empty glasses on the table made that clear. He now had his head buried in his hands, nose nearly touching the table. The frequency of the lines was steady for now, so there might not be a need to worry about a drunken outburst just yet, but if things kept going this way, it was hard to say. I considered calming his aura but decided against it, fearing I might make things worse. The pride and dignity of cervids usually don't allow them to show such a state of despair in front of others—whatever hit him must have been severe.

Ha, am I projecting a stereotype onto a species I don't truly understand? If that guy found out, I'd probably get another lecture.

“Is all you see just another herbivore?" The memory of certain scenes flashed through my mind, making the corners of my mouth involuntarily curl up.

Speaking of herbivores… I'm still not quite sure how to interact with them.

“Open inbox, read the message from Valles Marineris University on the seventh of this month," I commanded the terminal, taking a sip of my drink.

“Dear Dr. London, Jack: After reading your work and reviewing the recent topics your research lab has focused on, I believe our collaboration could bring fresh perspectives to both parties, along with many potential opportunities in the future…"

Such a formal tone… I hadn't seen something so traditionally written in a while. I hope he's not trying to fit into a stereotype he thinks I have about herbivores—I really can't deal with the complicated social interactions of guessing and not saying things outright.

“…Regarding the Lunar, being able to see with one's own eyes and personally experience the diverse society that we've only heard about before is truly an honor… Looking forward to meeting you. Sincerely, Nara Tohru."

I recalled that in the Federation, it's customary to place the surname first, so Nara… he must come from an old family as well. I did a bit of searching; there wasn't much information about Tohru himself, typical of the privacy-conscious herbivores from the Federation, who rarely even use social media.

However, in terms of academic publications, he's made a name for himself as a scholar in historical and cultural studies, particularly prolific for a young postdoctoral researcher. His expertise lies in ancient texts, and recent conference papers indicate a growing focus on various ancient ruins.

That's probably why he reached out to us. Successfully translating ancient poems and restoring that giant, ancient bronze statue—just excavated last year from the Mare Tranquillitatis base ruins—our lab has gained interstellar renown in this field. But this will be the first time we collaborate with a Federation scholar on a long-term basis.

“You'll be in charge," the boss concluded before ending our last meeting.

“Huh, why me?" The other research team members all emitted signals of agreement, but I couldn't accept the sudden decision.

“Well, it can't be Tara or Moody, right?" the boss said matter-of-factly. The other two senior postdocs surrounded themselves with a wave of indifference, and I could practically smell the schadenfreude in the air. I really can't stand hyenas. “The other party is a small muntjac, and large carnivores would scare him."

“But I'm a wolf!" I desperately tried to make one last stand. And you're aware that you're a black-footed cat, right?

“That's irrelevant." What are you even saying? Didn't you just worry about scaring the muntjac? “Besides, didn't you live with a herbivore for six years as a roommate? You'll be fine." The boss signaled for everyone to leave after finishing, leaving me alone in the empty meeting room.

Reflecting on the helplessness I felt back then, I sighed again and downed some more of the liquid, trying to swallow the bitterness along with it. I ignored the glance the maned wolf threw my way, pondering how this ice tea tasted different from what I imagined. Perhaps this is the profundity of ancient cultures?

“Cognac, straight from the bottle."

The sudden voice from my right nearly made me jump. I wiped the tea I had just spit out from my mouth and calmly placed my glass back on the bar.

When did he get there? Why… why is there nothing? If I focused very hard, I could barely make out… an outline, because all the waves that passed through that space disappeared. I could roughly infer his shape from the void. What's going on? This has never happened before—I almost couldn't perceive his presence.

I sniffed the air, trying to distinguish his scent from the overwhelming mix in the bar or identify anything about him from the faint friction sounds of his movements.

“Did I scare you?" he asked, a playful tone in his voice. “The fur on your tail is all puffed up."

I felt the tips of my ears grow hot, and I worked to lower my tail and calm myself. The bartender handing him the bottle confirmed that this guy was real, not a figment of my imagination, but I still couldn't clearly sense him. I was startled, but I didn't want to admit it.

“I was just deep in thought and got a bit distracted," I said offhandedly. He responded with a light laugh, clearly not believing me. For the first time, I found myself unable to confirm someone's thoughts or feelings by the rhythmic waves I usually relied on—this made me uneasy.

“Your expression is making me curious about what's troubling you so much. Care to share? Someone once told me that keeping too much bottled up is bad for your health." He suggested, the bubbling sound from the bottle adding a somewhat frivolous tone.

“Uh… perhaps we could start by introducing ourselves?" I deflected, wanting to learn more about him, to understand why he could hide from my perception. Any hint would do, even though I suspected his flippant tone was meant to flirt with me. Or am I just overthinking it? Damn, losing the ability to read the atmosphere is a real pain—how do others deal with this?

“Oh, sorry, where are my manners?" He paused, as if considering something. “I'm José, a coyote." He laughed lightly, as if finding his own name amusing. What a… strange person.

“Jack London," I offered my right hand, and he shook it, indicating no ill intent. “A grey wolf, as you can clearly see." I added, even though I was still not used to the Empire's habit of always bringing up species, but as an expert in xenocultural, I had to set an example.

“From the English House?" he asked, a hint of surprise in his tone.

“Oh, no, that's not it." People from the Empire always reacted this way, and I was starting to consider printing the explanation on a business card. “My family arrived on the Lunar before the Empire was established, but if you must know, I'm part of the Nyx faction—the London House." I gestured to my fur, even though I never really understood what that actually meant.

“Oh, I see," he said flatly, the detachment in his tone unmistakable. “Black as night."

“I'm not trying to pry into your personal life, it's just..." It was hard to admit how awkward I felt. “...you don't smell like a coyote." That scent… it was much more complicated.

A brief silence followed, the only sound being the deep thud of a bottle placed on the wooden bar. I took a sip of my own drink, wondering if I had said something wrong.

“Actually, I'm a mutt," he said, still using that slightly detached tone. “It's always made me a bit self-conscious, so I don't like bringing it up."

“Oh, I'm sorry." I cleared my throat, apologizing and hoping he didn't feel too offended. “I didn't mean to." So Imperial citizens had issues like this too? I could've sworn dogs still ranked higher than all the other canines. Not being able to read the atmosphere was truly frustrating.

“No, it's nothing," he continued, but the flippancy was gone from his voice. “It's just… I have a request that might be a bit forward."

“What is it?" I asked, curiosity piqued. So his earlier offer to listen to my troubles was just an excuse? But I didn't mind; I was more interested in understanding what made this strange mutt so unique.

“You remind me of someone…" I heard his fingernails gently tapping on the bar, a slow but deep rhythm. “Can I look into your eyes?"