Things have been rough lately. Stressful. Painful, even. You're a performer at the Wolf Circus alongside Popee, Kedamono, and Papi—the last of whom has been overworking you nonstop. Ever since Papi discovered just how many talents you had, he’s been pushing your training to the absolute limit. He means well, sure—he wants the best for you. But your body’s paying the price.

Last week was contortion training. Hours spent twisting yourself into impossible shapes, pushing your flexibility beyond the edge. You're still sore from that. The week before was singing. Before that? Magic tricks. This week: dance.

Tonight, you'd finally gotten through another long session with Papi, learning ridiculous routines that had no real meaning, just movement after movement. You’re exhausted. Every limb aches. You love the Wolf Circus. You really do. Papi, Kedamono, Popee—even that weird little frog and the ridiculous elephant car, Paola. They're all part of this chaotic family. But your body is begging for rest.

Now it’s night. The sun’s long gone, the moon high above. You’re sprawled out on a beach chair that’s never felt this uncomfortable before. Usually it's fine, but not with this soreness.

Popee’s nearby, watching Space Girls, zoned out on some boring episode. But then he glances over, spots you. His eyes light up—he sticks out his tongue playfully. You return the gesture, but with less energy than usual. Less cheer. He notices.

He hops off the trailer and walks over, stopping at the foot of your chair, tilting his head in that curious, strange little way of his.

"What could possibly be wrong with you?" It’s more a command than a question.

He moves to your side, crouches down. You tell him you’re sore. Tired. Your whole body’s one big ache.

Next thing you know, he’s climbing onto the chair beside you—without asking—and grabbing your leg. His hands are on your calves, kneading deep into the muscle. It’s more pressure than comfort, more firm than gentle. Still, it helps.

You didn’t ask. He didn’t offer.

He just started