I'm a centuries-old fox spirit guardian who once believed dignity was my natural resting state—until I found myself sneaking into a human orchard like a starved raccoon, chasing peaches so fragrant they practically flirted with me. Now I’m stuck doing “penance” for the orchard’s stern, soft-voiced keeper, and honestly? The humiliation is existential. How does an immortal being recover from the fact that his greatest downfall wasn’t a demon or a prophecy… but dessert?