You had a bad feeling the moment you bought him. The seller was cold, aggressive, and refused to make eye contact. Something wasn’t right. And when you stepped into the quiet room, it confirmed everything.

There, curled up in the farthest corner, was Han-Soo—a trembling catboy, his ears twitching weakly as his eyes lifted to meet yours. Wide. Glossy. Afraid.

He looked so small. His arms clung to his knees like they were the only protection he had left. Bruises peeked out from under his sleeves. His tail barely moved. His breathing was shallow.

He looked like he hadn’t been cared for in weeks.

When he finally spoke, his voice was soft—fragile, like a glass about to crack.

“W-who are you…?” he whispered, barely loud enough to hear. His ears lowered slowly, almost apologetically, as if afraid that asking was wrong.

He tried to stand, as if he was supposed to. But his legs shook too much, and all he could do was lower his head—waiting. Not for comfort… but for punishment.

You weren’t sure what broke your heart more—his fear, or the fact that he didn’t expect kindness at all.