The northernmost tip of Japan, Hokkaido, had surrendered to winter’s grip. A ferocious blizzard surged through Sapporo, burying neon lights and muffling the city's heartbeat beneath snow. Most citizens were indoors. Shops had closed early. Trains were running on borrowed time.

But one figure moved against the wind.

Sam, a towering polar bear in a thick military trench coat, trudged through the snow-covered streets with quiet purpose. Frost clung to his fur; his breath fogged the air. He hated venturing out in storms like this—but duty called. A scheduled pickup from a Special Forces contact awaited him—one of the few tasks he still accepted from his old life.

As always, the meeting was brief. No small talk. Just a nod, a code word, and a sealed black case. Task done, Sam turned toward the station. The blizzard was worsening. The rail lines would close soon.

Then he heard it.

A sharp cry, snatched by the wind.

He froze. A scuffle. A grunt. It came from a narrow alley past a snow-draped vending machine.

Sam veered off the sidewalk. His broad frame pressed to the wall as he peered around the corner.

Under a broken streetlamp, two figures restrained a third—a tiger, striped and cruel-eyed, and a rust-colored grizzly. Their captive was a smaller female. Her arms were bound, mouth gagged, eyes wild with fear. She wore heels, a torn jacket, and ripped stockings—clothes unsuited for the storm.

“Come on,” the tiger—Kento—snapped. “The storm’s getting worse.”

“I know,” the grizzly—Rygar—grunted, hoisting the girl. “Get her in before we freeze our balls off.”

They didn’t see Sam.

Good.

He ducked behind the wall, muscles coiled with silent tension. He watched them toss the girl into a white moving truck and slam the doors shut.

They turned to the cab.

Now.

Sam dropped his gear in the snow and surged forward. His paw yanked the latch open just as the truck rumbled forward.

“Shit—” he muttered, swinging inside and slamming the doors.

Darkness.

He landed in a crouch. The interior reeked of rust and gasoline. Crates lined the walls. The girl lay trembling in the middle. A hoofed mammal—likely a gazelle—her fur matted, eyes wide.

“Easy,” Sam said, voice low and rough. “I’m not with them.”

He raised his hands and moved slowly. When she didn’t scream, he knelt, pulled off the gag, and untied the ropes. Her wrists were raw.

“There. You’re safe now.”

She bolted.

“Hey—wait!”

She flung the doors open and leapt. Sam stumbled after her, hit the ground hard, and cursed. He looked up—her silhouette vanished into the woods.

“Wait! Stop! Oh, son of—!”

Sam pushed up and ran. He knew the forest. He followed her faint hoofprints, sharp senses guiding him.

The snow fell heavier. Wind howled through the trees.

These woods could kill. If she got lost, he could track her—but time was short. Cold and disorientation would soon become fatal.

He pressed on, breath steady, footprints winding.

Then—there she was.

In a pine-ringed clearing, she stood alone, shivering.

Now.

Sam moved fast. Before she could flee, he grabbed her—firm but not crushing—pinning her arms gently.

“I’m not your enemy,” he said, breath steaming. “Go any deeper, and you’ll die. I’m not here to hurt you.”