"Hey!" The red-jerseyed wolfhound caught the ball intended for me with his hands, took a couple of steps, and then kicked it away.

"Isn't that against the rules?" I asked Nighteye, feeling a bit annoyed.

"Well, you really should familiarize yourself with Caid Rules first," he replied with a big, toothy grin before darting off after the ball.

Ignoring the boos from the sidelines, I focused on doing my best, determined to show them my sportsmanship.

"You're pretty good for someone from Central City."

In the locker room, everyone was laughing and chatting. Many animals came over to pat me on the back, and I even got a few enthusiastic hugs.

"You've got to stick with the team," a large, muscular gray wolf said as he approached. His fur gleamed with a silver sheen as he moved. I recalled that he was probably the team captain.

"Gray wolf, Crescent," he introduced himself.

I gave his extended hand a firm shake. "Gray wolf, Shuntaro."

He smiled, his gray eyes glinting with warmth.

"Quite an exotic-sounding name. Maybe we can give you a snappier name later," he joked. I chuckled in response, appreciating everyone's friendly welcome.

After my fur was mostly dry, I left the communal drying tunnel in search of my locker. Ah, Nighteye was still there, the tips of his fur slightly damp and dotted with tiny droplets of water.

"Hey," he greeted me, his tail swaying slightly to the right in a gentle arc. Even though I knew Nighteye's care for me was a direct order from Clover, my tail instinctively mirrored his movement.

"Thanks for inviting me to… Caid," I said, though I wasn't entirely sure what to call this sport.

"In Ireland, we just call it 'football,'" Nighteye chuckled at my hesitation, his black eyes narrowing with amusement. It was fascinating how wolves' body language transcended dimensions and remained universally understandable, even to dogs—though the more neotenized the breed, the harder it was to communicate.

"Still, I appreciate it. I know Clover is a very strict instructor. I hope you haven't gotten into trouble because of me," I said, vividly recalling the three grueling years at the preparatory academy, during which Clover had nearly run me into the ground.

"Haha, so you knew all along," he said with a slightly awkward laugh, shutting his locker door and turning to face me. Nighteye had the classic Western build, making me, who often stood out for my height back in Central Nation, blend seamlessly into the wolf pack here.

Nighteye was a black-furred wolf, a rarity for an adult wolf after their coat change. I had always found fully black wolves to exude a certain mystique. The silver fang-shaped pendant, symbolizing the relics of Rex, hung prominently around Nighteye's chest, marking him as a Rexist of the Roman sect—a common belief in Ireland.

Normally, Nighteye's glossy black fur radiated vitality, but now, weighed down by moisture, it clung to his body, revealing the sinewy lines of his muscles. Not as hulking as Crescent, the team captain, but for our fifteen years of age, Nighteye was impressively fit. His sharp, almost angular frame conveyed both strength and agility. I couldn't resist reaching out to gently stroke the fur on his chest and abdomen.

"Hah, are you in need of intraspecies contact? Or did just mentioning Instructor Clover bring back some terrifying memories?" Nighteye joked.

I wasn't really listening to his words. Something about the sensation distracted me. Though damp, his fur was slightly prickly yet warm—so warm.

"So far, nothing major has happened, but please don't do anything too extreme, or Clover really will nail my tail to the wall," he continued. Despite having slept in the same dorm during those three years, I had always paid extra attention to Nighteye, knowing he had been assigned as my minder by Clover.

Hmph, it was probably that idiot dad who said something to the academy. Then again, Clover might have been trying to curry favor with someone influential. As a Beastar from Central Nation, my status was exactly the kind of asset mercenary corporations like "Irish Wolfhounds" would want to recruit.

The Irish Wolfhound, the world's largest and most elite mercenary group, operated more like a corporation than a military organization. They had their own military academy, offering a seamless progression from preparatory academy to officer academy to their specialized political warfare university. The mercenary group prioritized recruits from their affiliated institutions.

I'll finish my training and change this society my way. Dad, Louis, your methods are too slow. For those who refuse to listen, you need to bare your fangs. That's what our fangs are for.

"I'm serious," Nighteye said. "I heard that two years ago, a gray wolf screamed for two hours before Clover let him down. I'd rather not find out if that rumor is true."

Warm and soft… Wait, what did he just say?

"Alright, I'll be careful. But isn't this camp overrun with gray wolves? I thought it would mostly be wolfhounds," I replied absentmindedly, savoring the pleasant sensation of his fur.

"Didn't you pay attention in your preparatory classes? Wolfhounds were originally bred from gray wolves. And in all countries that were once part of the Wolf Empire's* territory, gray wolves make up the majority of the population—Ireland included," Nighteye explained with a hint of exasperation. If only the whole world were like this, or at least if I had been born in a place like this.

"And just how much trauma did Instructor Clover leave you with? You're stressed just hearing her name. But aren't you petting me for a bit too long?" he asked.

Was he complaining? In my distracted state, I couldn't tell. I probably had been touching him for too long, but this comforting feeling—it was impossible to stop.

"Is it really that effective? I've never touched the fur of anyone outside my family," Nighteye joked, reaching out toward me but hesitating before his hand met my arm. "Oh."

A strange sensation spread from where Nighteye's hand touched me—a wave of something entirely unfamiliar. It was like a storm swept across my skin, leaving my blood vessels pulsing and my fur standing on end.

"It actually feels kind of nice," Nighteye said, distracted, as he began to stroke the fur on my arm. The moisture from his palm spread onto my fur, smoothing it down.

My hand moved along his chest, following the direction of his fur. Water droplets slid down, tracing the rise and fall of his heartbeat. Our eyes met. His dark pupils, nearly indistinguishable from the rest of his black eyes, were dilated to the limit, like an infinite abyss where one could drift forever.

Nighteye swallowed hard, and with the movement of his Adam's apple, a small droplet of water fell onto my hand, soaking into the still-disheveled fur and causing a faint ticklish sensation. The remaining droplets on his body fell to the locker room floor, creating a soft dripping sound. His breathing grew uneven as he gripped my bicep lightly, his other hand moving slowly toward my abdomen. When it reached the towel at my waist, he froze, clutching it tightly.

What was this feeling? Serotonin from intraspecies contact? This… was hard to describe. My chest felt like it was filled with tiny bubbles, rising and bursting endlessly. The numbness creeping into my limbs—was it instinct urging me on, or some complex emotion I couldn't yet grasp?

I wanted to close the distance between us but hesitated, trembling in my struggle. He was the same, hesitating and trembling.

I could smell Nighteye's scent. I had noticed it ever since he first introduced himself to me three years ago. It was imprinted deeply in my memory.

But in this moment, something about that scent had changed. It wasn't the smell itself—it was me. My interpretation and understanding of Nighteye's scent had fundamentally shifted, forming a concept entirely foreign and new to me.

What was this? Confused, I tried to navigate the mist of Nighteye's unfamiliar scent, stepping forward and letting our bodies touch.

The world stopped for us in that instant. All colors faded, all sounds became distant. Only endless darkness remained, along with the pounding of our hearts, echoing as one. I could feel something sprouting in our chests. Nighteye held me tightly, like the night sky enveloping the earth.

Suddenly, a sharp pain pierced my chest. Nighteye's body convulsed violently as he quickly let go and stepped back, as though fleeing from his deepest fear. His ragged breaths and contracted pupils were filled with complicated emotions. His Rex Fang pendant, now stained with our blood, hung between us.

In the abrupt silence, neither of us spoke. Nighteye's tail curled slightly inward, swaying toward the left.

He turned away, hastily grabbed his clothes from the locker, and ran out of the room without even closing the door properly. He said nothing.

I stood alone in the now-empty locker room, the door to Nighteye's locker swaying back and forth, creaking softly.

The chaos had scattered his belongings. Bending down, I picked them up and placed them back inside his locker. The mirror on the inside of the door reflected my image, seemingly no different from usual.

It wasn't until I finished tidying up that I noticed a photo stuck beside the mirror. It showed a red deer with massive antlers and a female wolf cradling a black wolf pup in her arms. Guilt washed over me, as though I had trespassed into Nighteye's private world, and I quickly closed the locker door.

The cold touch of the metal against my back helped me gradually calm down. My fingers still retained the warmth of Nighteye's fur.

What was that warmth? Was it just the effect of intraspecies contact? And what was this unending surge of emotion welling from deep within my chest?

As lights-out approached, the locker room's lights suddenly dimmed, leaving me in a monochrome world discernible only through far-red vision. For the first time, alone in this colorless darkness, I cried.