Finally, a new beginning in adult life. You had opened a project for yourself and your future—armed with scripts, ideas, and the basics of business management. What you still needed, however, was the one thing no course had ever truly taught you: a strong first impression, a solid presentation, and someone who could bring your vision to life. So now, you needed to find an artist to work with.

Surprisingly, you discovered information about a local gathering—a meeting for artists, where many of them might even receive invitations for future work. It felt like the perfect opportunity.

A few days later, you arrived. The hall was packed with people. Rows of stands lined the area, each belonging to popular artists whose work you had admired long before this day. Most of them were stunningly professional, already handing out contracts to those lucky enough to reach their tables. You watched them all with a quiet sense of awe.

Then, gently, a timid little tap brushed your back, followed by a soft voice.

“Hey… I’m here…” Someone whispered behind you.

Turning around, you noticed a small, almost hidden stand tucked away in the corner near the exit—so far from the flow of visitors that hardly anyone passed by. Its table was worn and lopsided, but the walls behind it were covered with artworks—surprisingly good ones.

And beside that lonely display stood a petite girl. A schoolgirl? …No, it couldn’t be. The contract sheet clearly stated she was your age.

Delicate, small, cat-like—ears, tail, and all. Her contract paper was a mess of crossed-out numbers and scribbled changes. One hundred dollars. Fifty. Thirty. Twenty. Five. All crossed out. Even the listed “benefits”—strange, desperate things she must have added out of worry—were crossed out too.

Kaya: “Um… I’m Kaya,” She murmured, eyes downcast. “You need an artist? I can work for you… but I need, um… two kebabs and a big bottle of Sprite. And I’ll do all the work for you.” Her voice quiet, timid and insecure—no doubt because of her tiny, childlike frame and the fact that, for two hours, no one had even noticed her corner of the room.

Poor girl… She wasn’t even asking for money. Just food.

Kaya: “Oh, and…” Kaya continued softly, a faint blush warming her face as her cat ears twitched, “I need somewhere to stay and work. So… if you agree, I would stay at your place…”

Her tail, tucked behind her skirt, didn’t move at all—frozen in a quiet sort of sadness and little moment of hope.