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At the very end of Lune Street stood a large white manor with tall windows and ivy climbing its walls.
That house belonged to Nicholas.
Everyone in town knew his name.
He had moved there five years ago. No one knew much about him before that. He arrived with money, confidence, and a silver cat that never left his side.
Nicholas was beautiful, but not in a soft way. He walked like he already knew what everyone was thinking. He spoke only when he meant to. When he looked at someone, they felt seen in a way that made them uncomfortable.
Many people wanted to court him.
None of them succeeded.
Then one afternoon, he stepped onto his balcony and changed everything.
The town square was full. Word had spread that he had something important to say.
He stood tall, hands resting lightly on the stone railing. The silver cat sat beside her, tail wrapped neatly around its paws. A small golden key hung from a velvet ribbon around its neck.
“I will marry,” Nicholas said calmly, “the one who can open my front door.”
People leaned forward.
“With the key,” he continued, “that hangs around my cat’s neck.”
Gasps sounded out around the entire crowd. Then shouts and laughter rang out.
The cat blinked. It stood, stretched slowly, and jumped from the balcony to the roof below.
The hunt began.
<><><><>
At first, it looked almost fun.
Men ran through the streets laughing, thinking it would be easy. It was just a cat, after all.
But this was not a normal cat.
It moved like water. It slipped through narrow spaces. It climbed straight up the walls. It jumped from roof to roof with ease.
If someone almost caught it, it would pause just long enough for them to feel hope.
Then it would disappear.
Days passed.
Then weeks.
Suitors came from nearby towns. Some brought nets. Some brought food. Some tried to trick it. Others tried to grab it when it slept.
It never worked.
The cat learned quickly. It avoided traps. It refused food from strangers. It stayed just out of reach. People grew frustrated. Arguments broke out.
One man fell into a cart of cabbages. Another tore his coat climbing a fence. A third spent an entire day hiding behind a chimney only for the cat to never show up.
From his balcony, Nicholas watched quietly.
He never helped.
He never stopped them.
But sometimes, if you looked carefully, you could see the smallest smile at the corner of his mouth.
<><><><>
Harua arrived on a warm afternoon during the fourth week of chasing.
He came with one small suitcase and rented a room above the bakery. He didn’t talk much at first. He listened.
On his second day in town, he saw three grown men sprint past him, knocking over a fruit stand.
He stepped aside just in time.
“What are they doing?” he asked the baker.
“Trying to catch Nicholas’s cat,” she replied. “For the key.”
Harua looked up.
The silver sat was sitting calmly on a windowsill above the chaos. Its amber eyes were bright and alert. It was not afraid.
It was… amused.
The cat looked down at Harua.
Their eyes met.
Harua didn’t move.
He didn’t gasp or point. He just tilted his head slightly.
The cat blinked once. Then it jumped away.
That night, Harua sat by his window and thought. The suitors chased. The cat ran. That seemed simple enough. So maybe the answer was just as simple.
Don’t chase.
<><><><>
The next morning, Harua brought a book to the market square. He chose a quiet corner and sat on the ground with his back against a wall. He opened his book and began to read.
After a while, he felt something. Not a touch, a presence.
He looked up slowly.
The silver cat sat on a crate across the square. Watching him.
He gave a small nod. Then he looked back at his book.
He did not smile. He did not call the cat over. He did not move closer.
An hour passed.
The cat stayed.
When Harua finished his chapter, he stood up and stretched. “See you tomorrow,” he said lightly, though he didn’t know if the cat understood.
He walked away. The cat stayed on the crate.
But its eyes followed him until he turned the corner.
<><><><>
The next day, the cat came sooner. It sat a little closer.
Harua brought dried fish, but he did not offer it directly. He placed it on the ground near him and continued reading.
The cat ignored it for a long time.
Then, slowly, it ate.
Harua pretended not to notice.
On the fourth day, the cat moved close enough that he could hear it breathing.
On the sixth day, its tail brushed his knee.
His heart jumped, but he didn’t react.
Trust, he knew, breaks easily.
It must grow slowly.
On the eighth day, it rained.
Everyone ran for shelter. Harua stayed where he was, pulling his coat tighter around his shoulders. The cat stood under a wooden cart, looking uncertain. Harua shifted slightly and opened on side of his coat.
He didn’t speak. He didn’t call. He just made space.
For a long moment, nothing happened.
Then the cat stepped out from under the car and walked toward him. It paused in front of him, then, carefully, it climbed into the space he had made.
Its body was warm against his side. He let out a slow breath.
“Hi,” he whispered.
The cat purred. It was a soft, steady sound.
Harua smiled, but only a little.
<><><><>
The first time Harua touched the cat, he waited. The cat leaned its head against his hand.
That was permission.
He slowly lifted his fingers and rested them gently on its fur. It was softer than he expected. The ribbon brushed his skin. The key felt cool at first, then warm.
He did not reach for it.
Days passed.
The cat began following him through the streets. It waited outside the bakery. It walked beside him instead of ahead.
People began whispering.
“He’s close.”
“He’s planning to take it.”
But Harua wasn’t thinking about the key anymore.
He actually liked the cat.
One evening, as the sun turned the sky orange, the cat jumped into his lap and lay there fully.
It looked up at him. Its eyes were calm.
Then it turned its neck so the key rested against his wrist.
Harua froze.
“Are you sure?” he asked quietly.
The cat blinked slowly.
That felt yes.
Harua’s hands shook as he untied the velvet ribbon. The knot came undone easily.
The key slipped into his palm.
The cat did not pull away.
It stayed.
<><><><>
A crowd gathered as Harua walked to Nicholas’s house.
Harua felt nervous now. Not about the town.
About Nicholas.
Nicholas stood at the top of the steps when Harua reached the door.
Their eyes met.
Harua held up the key.
Nicholas said nothing.
Harua placed the key in the lock. It turned smoothly and the door opened.
The crowd gasped. The cat walked forward past him. Then something strange happened.
Light shimmered around its body. Its shape began to change.
Fur faded into skin. Paws became hands. The tail disappeared.
In the place of the cat stood a young man with silver hair and the same bright amber eyes.
The crowd fell silent.
Harua stared.
The young man stretched his arms casually.
“That was exhausting,” he said.
Nicholas walked down the steps behind him calmly.
“This,” he said, “is Yuma.”
“His best friend,” Yuma added with a grin.
Harua blinked. “You were the cat.”
“Yes.”
“You gave me the key.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Yuma looked at him carefully.
“Because you didn’t try to take it.”
He crossed his arms. “You waited. You listened. You made space.” He smiled softly. “I would only give it to someone who understood that trust cannot be forced.”
Harua looked at Nicholas. “And now?” he asked.
Nicholas held out his hand. “Now,” he said gently, “you may come inside.”
Harua took his hand.
The door stayed open.
And this time, no one chased anything.