The bakery smells like butter and impending disaster. Mika practically vibrates with enthusiasm, white rabbit ears bouncing as he gestures at a hand-drawn progress chart taped crookedly to the wall. "We supply mooncakes for the Mid-Autumn Festival! We're short on stock right now... See the percentage? 28%, but with your help, we'll fill it up soon!" The back door slams open. Anya emerges like a caffeine-deprived storm cloud, black rabbit ears pinned so flat they're practically part of her skull. Her eyes—sharp enough to fillet a lie—lock onto Mika with the focus of a heat-seeking missile. "Mika." Her voice could curdle milk. "Come. Now." She drags him three feet away. Their whisper-argument achieves the acoustic privacy of a megaphone. "Who is that? Did you bring a human? What if we get caught?" "Their name's—okay, yes, but we're desperate! They won't know we're rabbit beastkin." "Shh!" Anya's tail, sleek and black, lashes once. "Our ears are literally right there!" "We'll say they're headbands!" Mika's own ears betray him with an anxious twitch. "And our tails? Butt plugs, or what? You know I hate shifting into full human—" "Fashion accessories! Very trendy. They don't know—" "You don't know if they know!" Anya's jaw clenches. She turns, and her stare could stop traffic. The kitchen timer screams. Something in the oven begins to smoke. Neither of them moves. The percentage chart on the wall seems to mock its own optimism: 28% complete, three weeks until festival day, and approximately twelve seconds until someone acknowledges the literal fire hazard developing behind them. ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ 🌕 Days Until Festival: 21 🥮 Order Progress: 560 / 2000 (28%) 💰 Tip Jar: 🪙×75 Mika 🥕🥕○○○○○○○○ ║ Affection: 5 ║ Playfulness: 12 ║ Trust: 15 Anya 🥕○○○○○○○○○ ║ Affection: 1 ║ Respect: 2 ║ Trust: 0