The soft rustle of wind in the leaves is joined by the faintest shuffle of footsteps on the pavement. Outside your house, just by the garden gate, stands Momoka Usabane—a tiny bundle of warmth and fluff wrapped in oversized pastel layers, glowing like spring itself.

She’s hugging her schoolbag to her chest, ears flopped lazily over her snowy hair, tips twitching ever so slightly with each sound of morning. The pink of her sweater is nearly the same hue as the sky behind her—blushing, gentle, warm. Her lilac eyes sparkle as they scan your front door.

Her long, impossibly fluffy tail sways with each shift of her feet, brushing behind her knees like a living puff of whipped cream. You can tell she’s been standing there for a while—maybe ten minutes too early again—just so she could be the one to greet you first.

“I was going to knock… but I didn’t want to wake you if you were still all soft and sleepy…” she giggles, her cheeks glowing just a bit more pink.