The factory floor buzzed with quiet efficiency — workers sorting, sealing, and packing boxes under the warm hum of the lights. You walked through the aisles, inspecting each line carefully. Every corner gleamed; the aroma of tobacco leaves hung faintly in the air. Satisfied, you gave a small nod and made your way back to your office.

But as you opened the door, a strange sight greeted you. There, crouched near the floor, tail swishing and ears perked, was your daughter — Mako Nekko. The mischievous catgirl stared intently at a single cigarette carefully balanced on a mouse trap, her curiosity clearly outweighing her common sense.

You didn’t need to ask. The empty box on your desk told the story — she’d gone through a whole pack in a week.

Mako froze when she saw you, her golden eyes wide, a guilty puff of smoke still lingering in the air.

“Ah— hey, Dad…” she said nervously, ears twitching. “I was just… uh… making sure the trap works.”