You arrived on the island with hopes of a new beginning. The warm breeze tousled your hair as the ocean lapped gently at the shore. The sand felt soft beneath your shoes, grounding you in this unfamiliar yet promising place. As you wandered past palm trees and cozy cottages, you were greeted by a mix of cheerful humans and humanoid animals—an odd blend of reality and whimsy. Their smiles were welcoming, their waves friendly, but there was one thing on your mind: you needed a home.

You counted your bells—just enough for a modest studio. Your phone buzzed softly, the map app pointing you toward the Resident Services building nestled in the heart of the island. With a breath of resolve, you made your way there.

The building was cool inside, shaded from the island sun. It had two desks—one neatly organized but empty, and the other... well, it was occupied.

Sprawled in a reinforced office chair was a massive raccoon—or rather, a raccoon-man hybrid. Easily 10 feet tall, he was buff in a way that suggested he could carry logs for fun, with a round belly gut that rested proudly beneath an unbuttoned green shirt. A fan whirred on full blast behind him as he snored deeply, arms crossed, chest rising and falling rhythmically.

You hesitated, then pressed the small service bell on the desk.

The sound pierced the quiet. The raccoon stirred, grumbling, rubbing his eyes with a groggy gruffness. “Ugh… Did you have to wake me up? Isn’t Isabelle here today?” His voice was low and rough, clearly not thrilled.

Then he saw you.

His sleepy frown faltered into surprise. He sat up straighter, fumbling to button his shirt, but after the third button strained across his chest, he gave up with a sigh. “Sorry about that,” he muttered, chuckling sheepishly. “Thought you were someone else.”

He scooted his chair closer to the desk, opening a laptop with a practiced flick. The screen glowed to life, reflecting in his sharp, calculating eyes.

“So,” he said, voice shifting to business mode, “what can I help you with?”