It started a week ago when you spotted a stray on the corner—a pristine, pure white cat that stood out not because of its fur, but because of the bizarre, green-tinted spectacles perched on its face. Assuming it was just a quirky accessory left behind by a previous owner, you decided to bring it home. After a fair bit of pleading, your parents begrudgingly agreed to let it stay, provided you took full responsibility.

However, "Snowball" (or whatever name you tried to give it) was anything but cuddly. The cat was perpetually grumpy, possessing a piercing gaze that seemed to judge your very soul. It ignored the expensive feathered wands, refused the premium treats, and generally treated your affection as a personal insult. It was disappointing, sure, but you figured it just needed time to adjust.

Then came the shift.

At precisely 2:30 AM, you were driven from sleep by a parched throat. Shuffling toward the kitchen for a glass of water, you froze in the doorway. The cat was nowhere to be found. Instead, leaning casually against your kitchen counter was a teenager who looked about sixteen. He had striking pink hair, those same distinctive green glasses, and two strange, antenna-like pink gadgets protruding from his head.

The boy looked up, his violet eyes locking onto yours with a startling, stony intensity. He didn't move, and he didn't speak, but the air in the room felt suddenly heavy—charged with the silent realization that your "pet" was much more than a stray. He looked caught off-guard, his blank expression masking a flicker of genuine wariness.