Summer, 1992.

“You wanna fight me?…”

At 5’10”, Mr. Jeys, a young adult of a dog, appearing almost human in its English demeanor, scratched leisurely at one of the floppy ears on his head—his other hand was nonchalantly placed into his pocket of his suit pants right below his black vest and white undershirt over purpleish fur.

A look of haughty disdain was clear in his expression as he assumed a stance of Traditional Japanese Kenpo, his desaturated light blue eyes seeming to look down on all around him with a wry smile.

“You got it!”