"So this is what they call a high-class private room, huh," Ayaan remarked, seemingly moved by the experience. He, Hoshikaze, and I were sitting together in a private suite, and after I introduced them to each other, Ayaan spoke his thoughts. "I thought the Shishigumi had no ties to the Horns Conglomerate," he added, observing the behavior of the staff and the special treatment we were receiving.

"Basically, the Shishigumi operates under the Horns Conglomerate. Even the logo is based on my father's antlers," Hoshikaze replied with a hint of irritation. "I honestly don’t get how anyone can fail to see that."

"But why would these two organizations be connected? One’s a conglomerate with wealth that could rival nations, and the other’s an infamous criminal syndicate," Ayaan commented, munching on his salad. Then, as though struck by a sudden realization, his expression turned slightly awkward.

"No, it’s not some money-laundering operation," Hoshikaze waved a hand and chuckled. "Though the story is a bit long. To put it simply, my father used to lead the Shishigumi. After it disbanded, he helped them rebuild by founding a legitimate business." Hoshikaze’s smile hinted at some private thought.

"So you’re both Beastars’ children, and that’s why you know each other?" Ayaan asked, continuing the conversation.

"You could say that," Hoshikaze said, thanking the server who had just delivered our meals. "Have you met Harou’s father?" he asked Ayaan. "What did you think of him?"

"Not as terrifying as the rumors suggest, but the sheer presence he exudes is unlike anything I’ve ever felt from another animal," Ayaan replied thoughtfully.

"Speaking of which, Aida just left without saying a word. I’m curious about the reason for her recommendation," I mentioned casually, not wanting to delve into the details of what had transpired during the seminar, which was meant to remain confidential.

"Maybe you should just ask your dad directly next time," Hoshikaze suggested.

As the server removed the cloche from Hoshikaze’s plate, his expression shifted dramatically. Curious, I glanced at his plate.

"Manila was deliberately picking a fight." Hoshikaze muttered, rubbing his temples as his plate revealed a dish full of eggplant encircling a steak. "Did Manila come by earlier?" he asked the server.

"Yes, sir. The chef insisted on personally preparing your meal. It’s not even his shift today, but we couldn’t bring ourselves to refuse him," the server explained.

Hoshikaze scowled, stabbed a piece of eggplant with his fork, and put it in his mouth—only to immediately spit it out. "Nope. There’s no way I can eat this while my taste buds are intact," he said, starting to cut into the steak.

Ayaan looked on in surprise. "When my father did the same thing, other lions praised him for it," Hoshikaze joked, though Ayaan didn’t seem to catch the humor.

"What?" Ayaan’s voice betrayed his shock.

"That’s right. Most animals probably haven’t heard this story, but Louis, the patriarch of the Horn, ate venison for quite a while," Hoshikaze explained. "According to my father, though, he always spat it out and never actually digested it."

Ayaan looked lost for words, his expression suggesting he couldn’t quite process what this meant as a non-meat-eating Indian lion.

As for me? The pale-colored, medium-rare steak with a hint of blood on my plate already told my nose what kind of meat this was. My nostrils flared uncontrollably. I couldn’t describe the scent.

"Hoshikaze, are you sure about this? I’m starting to think this is one of your twisted jokes," I said, cutting a piece of meat and inspecting it closely. A strange, unfamiliar sensation stirred within me.

"I’m mostly guessing. But..." He hesitated. "From Shuntaro’s reaction, I suspect it might have the same effect on you."

I placed the piece of meat in my mouth and bit down. Hoshikaze was right.

"Is this why rabbit meat isn’t supplied in Central City’s black markets?" I asked, and Hoshikaze nodded. Mechanically, I cut another piece. "What morbid humor. This is precisely why I don’t believe in higher powers," I muttered.

Delicious. Incredibly delicious. For the first time in years, my taste buds reacted to something. This was the joy of eating.

I had to summon every ounce of willpower to suppress the trembling excitement in my body and resist the urge to drop my fork and knife and tear into the meat with my teeth. Lately, it felt like I’d been exhausting my willpower far too often. Life was becoming too much of a struggle.

Still, this was just too ironic. Once Shuntaro returns, Hoshikaze won’t have the chance to secretly bring rabbit meat into Central City’s black market again. I should swear off rabbit meat for life—it’s infuriating. A nonexistent god with a cruel sense of humor.

I blinked away the tears in my eyes, and Ayaan politely pretended not to notice. After finishing my plate, I finally calmed down. As long as I didn’t develop an addiction, I wouldn’t have to confront these feelings again. Or perhaps, deep down, I longed for it? No—I didn’t want to know. I’d already decided to give up on plenty of things before.

"Hoshikaze, you mentioned Shuntaro had a similar reaction?" I asked, realizing I’d been too distracted to consider the implications earlier.

"That was our first trip to the black market. Shuntaro lost control and started attacking every living creature around him. If your father hadn’t been there, we’d all be dead. That’s why I had Eire send four men to stand by next door today, just in case your reaction was too intense," Hoshikaze explained nonchalantly.

"Don’t you think you should’ve told me about this in advance?" I complained, exasperated.

"I didn’t want to ruin your first experience," Hoshikaze replied with a dismissive wave. "Years later, when Shuntaro returned to manage the black market, all restaurants stopped serving rabbit meat. So I had a pretty good idea."

I’d never considered Shuntaro’s feelings before. If he experienced the same thing, does that mean we might be able to understand each other? Perhaps there’s a chance for reconciliation. I silently added this to my mental to-do list for when he returned.

"Compared to today’s chaos, I learned something important yesterday," I said, referring to my first seminar, which made Hoshikaze snort with laughter. "Turns out, I’m a utilitarian."

He raised an eyebrow inquisitively.

"I used to wonder how to define right and wrong, especially when circumstances and variables are so complex. How do you decide what’s truly the right thing to do?" I leaned back in my chair.

"But thought experiments like the trolley problem and its variations taught me that right and wrong are indeed relative. What does that mean? Many animals throw up their hands and claim that since there’s no absolute right or wrong, anything goes.

"That’s cowardly. It’s the lazy excuse of those unwilling to think. Right and wrong exist because rules exist. Without rules, there’s no way to judge. True, no rule fits every situation, nor is there always an optimal rule for every scenario. But rules are what make it possible to discern right from wrong.

"Our biological instincts don’t always align with moral judgment. Instinct rewards actions that benefit the gene pool by making us feel good—like the satisfaction of doing something ‘right.’ Conversely, it punishes detrimental actions with guilt or social ostracism.

"But moral judgment transcends instinct unless you fully embrace it as your standard. Most would agree that such an approach wouldn’t further our civilization. When you adopt a standard for judging right and wrong, there will inevitably come a day when doing the right thing causes you pain. The ultimate test is whether you’re willing to endure that pain for the sake of what’s right.

"So, rational beings with sound minds must make decisions based on their chosen standard—not their preferences. And I believe maximizing overall benefit is paramount. Exitus ?cta probat. That makes me a utilitarian. Even with more parameters to consider, calculating costs and benefits leads to the best solution.

"Thus, I’ve finally answered a question that’s plagued me for a long time: If, in the Black Forest, a hungry wolf devours a red deer, is it the right thing to do? The answer is no." I locked eyes with Hoshikaze.

"If the wolf eats the red deer, even if he survives, he’ll lose something unimaginably precious: the future experiences he could’ve shared with the deer. He’d lose the hand to help him climb mountains, the companion to stand beside him atop the peaks, and the voice to describe the scent of things never seen before. These values far outweigh the life lost to colors and flames yet unknown."

Hoshikaze’s brown eyes blinked, taking in my words.

"While I think you’ve mixed up some moral theories..." He burst into laughter, making an exaggerated gesture. "Let’s toast to that—a utilitarian wolf is born!"

And so, an Indian lion eating salad and a red deer eating venison raised their glasses together, celebrating the birth of a utilitarian wolf.

***

"Sorry for leaving you hanging; I got a little too excited while talking," Harou said as we strolled through the streets of the black market.

"Haha, not at all. I find it interesting to listen to you," I replied, brushing my mane. I was still not used to its length—it felt a little too exposed for my taste.

"But that sounded way too much like a love confession," I teased, recalling what Harou had said to the young master of the Horns Conglomerate. Just a bit of playful ribbing; it shouldn’t cross the line. That red deer who eats venison had introduced a strange kind of shock to my worldview. Were all of Harou's friends this complex?

"Haha, not at all," he replied, but his ears turned red. Maybe I should be more mindful of what I say.

"Hoshikaze and I are basically..." He trailed off, his eyes darting quickly over the ground as if searching for the right words, before muttering something I couldn’t understand.

Was that Oceanic? I’d studied it in middle school, but my listening skills were nowhere near good enough to follow it like that. I gave Harou a puzzled look. Was he trying to explain their relationship?

"Never mind. You've heard enough from me for today—maybe some other time," he said, unexpectedly postponing the topic. Suddenly, there were two loud clicks, and the entire area plunged into darkness.

"This kind of thing used to be common in the black market," Harou said as we walked on. "The lack of funding for maintenance affects not just the streetlights but also the damaged roads." He muttered a curse under his breath after tripping over a glass bottle.

Three lions, visibly drunk, stumbled toward us. Harou sidestepped them deftly, wrinkling his nose and giving his head a little shake. Even from where I stood, the alcohol stench was overwhelming.

"Criminology studies show that something as simple as broken streetlights or shattered windows significantly increases crime rates. It starts with graffiti or littering and escalates to robbery and even murder. This is the famous 'broken windows theory,'" Harou said, kicking a rock and clicking his tongue. He mumbled something about negligence.

"Interestingly, the reverse is true as well. Simply fixing the streetlights and windows can improve public safety significantly, even more effectively than allocating the same resources to police patrols," he added, taking a deep breath as if savoring the medley of scents in the black market. That’s when I noticed something unusual.

"Your eyes... they weren't red before, were they?" I asked, walking beside him.

"You noticed, huh? This is something only animals with night vision can see. Since I lack a tapetum lucidum, you're seeing the color of the blood vessels in my eyes," Harou explained as we continued wandering through the dark streets. Around us, other animals carried on with their business as if the lack of light didn’t matter.

I recalled that the tapetum lucidum's function was... "Harou, does that mean you can’t see in the dark?" I asked cautiously. "I started suspecting when you kept tripping over debris earlier. Are you using your sense of smell to navigate? That’s how you avoided those three lions coming out of the izakaya but didn’t notice the brick," I said.

Harou chuckled softly, a sound that carried a mix of satisfaction and ease. Truly an unusual wolf.

"Exactly. I don’t have night vision*, but my sense of smell is highly developed, allowing me to pinpoint the approximate location of scented objects and navigate freely. But, you know, I really wonder..." Harou spun around twice quickly, dodging a hurried short-snouted crocodile with a sidestep.

"What color is the deepest part of the night?" He slowed his pace so I could keep up. "Animals with night vision can’t see it, and animals without night vision can’t either. So, what kind of color could it be?"

After a moment of thought, I answered, "Wouldn’t it just be complete darkness? Perhaps that’s the true color of a night without light."

Harou tilted his head in thought. "I’m not sure. But I think I might have seen it once, in a hazy state of consciousness—the deepest part of the night." He rubbed his temples as if trying to recall something. "What was it he said back then?"

"Get up, you big dumb wolf! You’re heavy!" It was glowing red.

***

The wind on the rooftop was particularly strong today. I leaned against the iron railing, gazing down at the black market. Harou seemed to be in an especially good mood tonight, dancing through the dark streets with his unique steps, like a newborn puppy playing with its tail.

He once mentioned something about gaps and rules, but I never really understood.

It looked like that lion’s presence had put Harou at ease. The little wolf pup crying in the dark had grown up.

Speaking of which, where was the other pup? He’d probably lose his mind seeing the black market in its current neglected state under my management. Maybe when he’s yelling at me, we’ll finally have a proper conversation. I wonder where he is now.