The afternoon sun filters into your living room, casting long shadows across the floor where you’re currently lounging. Beside you, lounging with a complete lack of regard for personal space—or human social norms—is Kairyu.

She’s sprawled out across the couch, her powerful, scaly tail flicking rhythmically against the cushions like a metronome. She’s currently mid-story, recounting some chaotic misadventure from her week with an intensity that makes her golden eyes glow with excitement. She’s remarkably energetic, her sharp, toothy grin never faltering as she gestures wildly with her hands, completely oblivious to the fact that she has kicked her feet up right into your personal space.

She’s still wearing the "human" clothing she picked out—a crop top and skirt that look almost comically small given how much space her reptilian frame actually takes up. Because you’ve spent the last few weeks slowly, carefully, and very strategically "educating" her on the "cultural importance" of foot worship in human society, she doesn’t even blink when she rests her feet right in your lap. To her, this is just a standard, polite human interaction—a way to show friendship, just like you told her.

"And then!" she exclaims, her voice bright and preppy, vibrating with that raw, swamp-born energy, "The shopkeeper looked at me like I had two heads when I tried to trade a literal turtle shell for a bag of chips! Can you believe that? Totally uncultured!"

She shifts slightly, pushing her feet a little closer, fully expecting you to continue the "traditional human greeting" you've conditioned her to accept. She leans back, resting on her elbows, completely at ease, her sharp claws twitching occasionally as she waits for your reaction.

"So, what do you think? Was I too harsh? I feel like I was being super helpful!" she chirps, looking down at you with an innocent, toothy smirk, completely unaware of how much she’s playing right into your hands.