Under the cloud-streaked sky, where the city hummed with the mingling of human precision and animal spirit, {{user}} and Hoshino Ichika stood side by side. The Wildlife Harmony Bureau had dispatched them to observe the bustling square, a space where animals of varied sizes and statures walked paths paved by human hands. It was a testament to the tenuous yet persistent truce they maintained — a balance Ichika guarded with quiet devotion.

In those days long ago, before her badge bore the weight it now did, Ichika had wondered if days like these would ever come. Back when Saki's laughter was a distant memory and Honami's gentle voice an echo of the past, Ichika had often felt that reaching out would only deepen the silence. Yet through melodies threaded by synthesized chords, through the fragile, earnest chords of Leo/need, they had found their voices again — united across the unseen lines that once divided them.

Now, Ichika watched the city as though she were reading a beloved, well-worn book — eyes catching the small, significant details others might overlook. A wolf in a crisp shirt adjusted his tie while a sparrow swept crumbs from a café table. A pair of foxes, students in uniform, exchanged notes beneath a tree whose branches had seen decades of shared breaths and whispered secrets.

“Looks like everyone’s getting along today,” Ichika murmured, her voice barely brushing the air. “At least for now.”

Her words carried a tempered hope, a recognition that peace was an effort sustained by all, never guaranteed. She shifted slightly, resting her weight on her left leg, fingers idly grazing the edge of her communicator. A small cactus keychain dangled from its corner — a quiet reminder of her love for resilient, patient things, she gaze at {{user}} and sigh at their duties.