Pain.
That was all seven-year-old Hiro remembered—the taste of blood, the ache in his ribs, the cold concrete beneath his cheek.
He'd told them to run. The Beast Folk kids. They'd escaped.
Worth it.
But now he couldn't move. Everything hurt. The alley spun.
Am I dying?
Then—a figure.
Blurred. Indistinct. Backlit by grey sky.
Small. A child, like him.
White... fur? Ears?
Beast Folk?
The figure knelt beside him. He felt warmth—a hand? A paw?—touching his shoulder.
"Are you..." The voice was tiny, frightened, young. "Are you okay?"
Hiro tried to answer. Couldn't. His vision darkened at the edges.
The hand—so small, so gentle—squeezed his shoulder.
"Thank you," the voice whispered. "Thank you for saving them."
And then—
Nothing.
Hiro jolted awake, gasping.
His bedroom. His bed. Morning light filtered through curtains.
Just a dream.
No—a memory. One he'd almost forgotten.
He touched his shoulder where phantom warmth still lingered.
Who was that?
He'd saved Beast Folk kids that day. He remembered the beating. The pain.
But someone had found him after.
Someone had stayed.
Who?
BUZZ BUZZ BUZZ
His phone pulled him fully awake. Kaede's texts flooded his screen.
The memory faded like smoke.
But the question remained.
Who is that?
The morning sun streamed through Hiro's bedroom window, casting golden rectangles across the hardwood floor. He stood before his full-length mirror, adjusting his collar for the third time in as many minutes. The blue button-down shirt—not too formal, not too casual—seemed like a good choice an hour ago. Now he wasn't so sure.
His hands trembled as he smoothed down the fabric.
"It's just dinner," he muttered to his reflection. "With her parents. No big deal."
The young man staring back at him looked thoroughly unconvinced. His dark hair was neatly combed, his clothes pressed and clean, but his eyes betrayed the anxiety churning in his stomach.
"They're beast folk," he continued, trying to steady his voice. "They'll understand... differences. Right?"
The question hung in the air, unanswered.
His phone buzzed on the dresser, making him jump. He grabbed it quickly, Luna's name lighting up the screen with a text message:
"Can't wait to see you! Address attached. Take the train to the east district. 💕"
Hiro's thumb hovered over the message, his eyes lingering on that small heart emoji. Despite his nerves, he couldn't help but smile. Then he clicked on the address.
His smile faded.
East district. The words seemed to echo in his mind, carrying weight he hadn't expected. He knew what that meant—everyone in the city knew what that meant, even if they pretended not to.
He grabbed his wallet and keys, took one last look at his reflection, and headed for the door. Whatever he was about to face, Luna was worth it.
The Seika City Metro Station was bustling with Saturday afternoon traffic. Business people returning from half-days at the office, families heading out for shopping or entertainment, teenagers laughing and shoving each other as they traveled in packs. Hiro bought his ticket and made his way to Platform 7—the eastbound line.
The train that arrived was sleek and modern, all chrome and glass with cushioned seats in neat rows. Hiro found a spot by the window and settled in as the doors hissed shut. The automated voice announced their departure in crisp, professional tones.
"Now departing for East District Line. Next stop: Central Business District."
As the train lurched into motion, Hiro pressed his forehead against the cool glass, watching the city scroll past. The buildings here in the western district—his district—gleamed in the afternoon sunlight. Skyscrapers of steel and glass reached toward the clouds, their surfaces reflecting the sky like mirrors. Below, the streets were immaculate: fresh pavement, manicured trees in decorative planters, pristine sidewalks where well-dressed pedestrians strolled without a care.
He saw the café where he and his mother sometimes had Sunday brunch, all outdoor seating and white linen tablecloths. He saw the technology store where he'd bought his laptop, its massive windows displaying the latest gadgets. He saw the park where he used to play as a child, its grass so perfectly maintained it looked artificial.
Everything was perfect. Everything was clean. Everything was expensive.
The train made its first stop. Central Business District. Most of the passengers here were human—suits and briefcases, designer handbags and polished shoes. A few got off, a few got on, all moving with the confident stride of people who belonged.
The doors closed. The train moved on.
At the second stop, Hiro noticed the first change. The buildings outside were still nice, still well-maintained, but not quite as new. The glass wasn't quite as gleaming. And among the passengers boarding the train, he saw them: demi-humans.
A woman with cat ears discreetly hidden under a hat. A man with scales barely visible at his collar. A teenager with a tail carefully tucked into his jacket. They moved quietly, keeping to themselves, acutely aware of the human passengers who watched them from the corners of their eyes.
Several humans stood up and moved to different cars. Not obviously, not dramatically—just casual repositioning that happened to take them farther from the demi-human passengers. Hiro watched it happen, his jaw tightening.
Third stop. The buildings outside were older now, their paint faded but still serviceable. Small shops lined the streets instead of corporate chains: family restaurants, independent grocers, repair shops with hand-painted signs. The humans on the train had dwindled to perhaps a third of the passengers. Demi-humans were the majority now—cat, dog, lizard, bird features openly visible. They no longer tried to hide what they were.
Hiro looked around the car. He was one of maybe five humans left in this section. An elderly couple sat near the front, their faces carefully neutral. A businessman typed furiously on his phone, deliberately not looking up. A young woman with headphones stared out the opposite window.
Fourth stop. The transition was stark. The buildings were functional but worn, their concrete facades cracked and stained. Street lamps stood at irregular intervals, some visibly broken. The platforms themselves showed signs of neglect—chipped tiles, faded paint, benches with missing slats.
The elderly couple got off. So did the businessman. Now it was just Hiro, the woman with headphones, and about two dozen demi-humans and beast folk.
The woman glanced at Hiro, then quickly looked away. At the next stop, she left too.
Now Hiro was the only human in the car.
The beast folk and demi-human passengers looked at him with expressions ranging from curiosity to confusion to something like pity. A mother pulled her young child closer, not in fear, but in protection—as if worried what this human might represent.
Hiro kept his eyes forward, trying to appear calm even as his heart hammered against his ribs.
The automated voice announced: "Now arriving: East District. Final stop."
The train station in the East District looked like it belonged to a different city entirely. Where the western stations gleamed with modern architecture and careful maintenance, this one was a relic from another era—and not a well-preserved one.
Hiro stepped onto the platform and was immediately struck by the state of decay. The tiles beneath his feet were cracked and missing in places, revealing the concrete underneath. Fluorescent lights flickered overhead, several of them completely dead. The walls bore layers of graffiti, some artistic, some just vandalism, all speaking to years of neglect.
A vending machine stood against one wall, its glass shattered and interior gutted. The electronic board that should have displayed arrival times showed nothing but dead pixels. Even the air smelled different here—stale and faintly metallic, tinged with urban decay.
Hiro followed the signs to the exit, climbing stairs where the handrail was loose and wobbling. He emerged onto the street and stopped, his breath catching in his throat.
Before him stood The Barrier.
He'd known it existed, of course. Everyone knew about The Barrier. But knowing something exists and seeing it with your own eyes are two entirely different things.
The wall stretched in both directions as far as he could see, a massive concrete structure at least twenty feet high. But what struck Hiro most was how different it looked depending on which side you viewed it from.
Behind him, toward the human district, the wall was practically a work of art. Beautiful murals decorated its surface—scenes of unity and progress, painted in bright, optimistic colors. Decorative plants grew at its base, carefully tended. Soft lighting illuminated it at night. From that side, you might almost mistake it for a cultural installation, something meant to beautify the city rather than divide it.
In the middle, in the demi-human district, the wall was plain but serviceable. Bare concrete, some graffiti, but generally intact. Functional. Gates with checkpoints allowed passage, but the message was clear: you are being monitored, evaluated, controlled.
But here, on the beast folk side, the wall showed its true nature.
The concrete was crumbling, stained with rust from exposed rebar. No one had painted it, cleaned it, or maintained it in what looked like decades. Graffiti covered every available surface, but not the artistic kind—this was raw anger and desperation scrawled in spray paint. The base of the wall was littered with debris. It looked less like a border and more like a prison wall.
Hiro walked toward the nearest checkpoint, a small booth where a bored-looking security guard sat scrolling through his phone. The guard was human, wearing a uniform that marked him as city security. As Hiro approached, the man looked up, his expression shifting from boredom to surprise.
"Business in the beast district?" the guard asked, his tone making it clear this was unusual.
"Visiting a friend," Hiro replied evenly.
The guard looked him up and down, taking in his nice clothes and neat appearance. His eyebrows rose. "You sure? Not many humans come here voluntarily. Especially not ones who look like they got somewhere better to be."
Hiro felt his jaw tighten, but he kept his voice level. "I'm sure."
The guard studied him for another moment, then shrugged with theatrical indifference. "Your funeral. Watch your wallet—these beast folk'll steal anything that ain't nailed down."
The casual prejudice hit Hiro like a slap. His hands clenched into fists at his sides, but he forced himself to take a breath. Getting into an argument with the guard wouldn't help anyone, least of all Luna.
"I'll keep that in mind," he said through gritted teeth.
The guard waved him through with a smirk. "Don't say I didn't warn ya."
Hiro walked past the checkpoint and through the gate. Behind him, he heard the guard mutter to himself: "Damn fool. Probably going for the cheap thrills. They always come back running."
Hiro's fingernails bit into his palms, but he kept walking.
The moment Hiro crossed through the gate, it was as if he'd stepped into a completely different world.
The street beyond the wall was a stark contrast to everything he'd known. Where his district had gleaming skyscrapers, this one had aging apartment buildings with cracked facades and boarded-up windows. Where his streets were smooth and clean, these were potholed and littered—not from carelessness, Hiro realized, but from lack of municipal services. Where his neighborhood had trees and parks and careful landscaping, this one had empty lots and crumbling infrastructure.
But what struck him most wasn't the poverty itself—it was the people.
Beast folk of every variety walked these streets. Wolves, bears, cats, dogs, foxes, and species Hiro couldn't even identify. Unlike the demi-humans on the train who'd hidden their features, these people wore their beast characteristics openly because they had no choice. Their features were too prominent to hide.
A wolf-featured man with grey fur walked past, his work clothes stained and worn, carrying a lunch pail that had seen better days. A cat woman sat on a stoop, nursing a baby while two other children played in the street with a ball that was more tape than original material. A bear-featured teenager pushed an elderly fox woman in a wheelchair, both of them wearing clothes that had been mended multiple times.
They stared at Hiro as he passed. Some with suspicion—what was a human doing here? Some with curiosity—was he lost? And some with a kind of desperate hope that made Hiro's chest ache.
He walked past a row of small businesses: a grocery store with bars on the windows, a repair shop advertising services in hand-painted letters, a clinic with a "Free Services" sign that looked like it got a lot of use. Many storefronts were simply closed, their windows dark and their doorways locked with chains.
"Lost, young man?"
Hiro turned to find an elderly beast folk man with dog features sitting on a bench. His fur was grey with age, his clothes clean but shabby. He looked at Hiro with rheumy eyes that held decades of experience.
"No, sir," Hiro replied politely. "I'm visiting someone."
The old man's eyebrows rose in genuine surprise. "Visiting? A human visiting us?" He chuckled, but the sound was bitter. "That's a first. In all my years, can't say I've seen that before."
He studied Hiro with new interest. "Must be someone mighty special, to bring you all the way out here."
"She is," Hiro said softly.
The old man's expression softened. He nodded slowly, as if that explained everything. "Well then. You be careful, son. Not because it's dangerous here—we're not what they say we are. But because being seen caring about one of us... that can bring its own troubles."
"I know," Hiro said. "Thank you, sir."
The old man waved him on, and Hiro continued down the street. But the man's words stayed with him, mixing with everything he was seeing, everything he was feeling.
This is where Luna lives, he thought. Where she's always lived.
He watched children playing in the street, their laughter genuine despite their poverty. He saw families crowded onto stoops, sharing space and conversation because their apartments were too small. He saw workers returning from jobs that clearly exhausted them, their faces lined with fatigue.
While I lived in comfort... she lived here.
A mother walked past, carrying bags from multiple jobs based on the different uniforms visible in her arms. Her husband walked beside her, his arm in a sling, clearly injured and unable to work. Between them walked a small child who looked up at Hiro with wide, wondering eyes.
The same city. The same world. But completely different.
Hiro's hands clenched into fists. His nails dug into his palms, and he felt that familiar heat beginning to build behind his eyes—the first sign of transformation. He took a deep breath, forcing it down, forcing himself to stay calm.
This isn't right, he thought, his inner voice sharp with anger. This isn't RIGHT.
Luna's building was exactly what Hiro had expected and nothing like he'd imagined. It was a five-story apartment complex that had probably been modest but serviceable when first built. Now it was simply old, its concrete exterior stained and cracked, several windows repaired with tape, the front door hanging slightly crooked on its hinges.
Hiro pulled open the door and stepped into a dim lobby. The mailboxes on the wall were dented and scratched, many with broken locks. A handwritten sign next to the elevator read: "OUT OF ORDER—SORRY."
He found the stairwell and began to climb. The steps were worn smooth in the centers from decades of footsteps. The handrail was loose. Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, one of them flickering in an irregular pattern that made Hiro's eyes hurt.
Second floor. Third floor. He could hear life behind the doors he passed—televisions, conversations, a baby crying, someone cooking something that smelled delicious despite the circumstances.
Apartment 3-C.
Hiro stood before the door, his heart pounding. He straightened his collar one more time, ran a hand through his hair, and took a deep breath. Then he raised his fist and knocked.
The door opened almost immediately, as if someone had been waiting right on the other side.
Luna stood in the doorway, and Hiro's breath caught.
She wore a simple dress—nothing fancy, probably the nicest thing she owned—in a soft blue that complemented her white fur beautifully. Her silver hair was down, cascading over her shoulders. Her wolf ears were perked forward with excitement, and her tail was wagging so fast it was almost a blur.
"Hiro!" Her whole face lit up. "You made it!"
Despite everything—the poverty, the barrier, the long journey—Hiro found himself smiling. "Of course I did."
Luna grabbed his hand and pulled him inside, her excitement palpable. "Come in, come in! My parents are so excited to meet you!"
The apartment was small—very small. What would be a spacious living room in Hiro's home was here a combined living room, dining area, and kitchen. The furniture was old but well-maintained, showing signs of careful repair. A couch with a faded floral pattern sat against one wall. A small television on a stand occupied one corner. The kitchen area consisted of a two-burner stove, a half-size refrigerator, and a sink with a slow drip.
But what struck Hiro most was how loved the space was. Family photos covered the walls—Luna as a child, Luna on her first day of school, Luna receiving her scholarship acceptance letter. Handmade decorations hung in the windows. A small vase of wildflowers sat on the kitchen counter. The space was humble, but it was clearly a home.
Two figures stood in the kitchen area, watching him with expressions that mixed curiosity with caution.
Luna's father was a full beast folk wolf, his grey and white fur showing signs of age that matched the weariness in his eyes. He was strongly built, but his hands were calloused and scarred—the hands of someone who worked hard for every yen he earned. He wore simple clothes, work pants and a plain shirt, even at home on a Saturday. Something about his posture suggested he was always ready to return to work at a moment's notice.
Luna's mother was also wolf beast folk, her fur a pristine white like Luna's. She wore an apron over her dress and wiped her hands on a towel, having clearly just finished cooking. Where her husband carried the weight of hard labor and worry, she radiated a gentle warmth that immediately reminded Hiro of his own mother.
An awkward silence filled the room.
Hiro didn't hesitate. He stepped forward and bowed deeply—a formal, respectful gesture that made Luna gasp quietly beside him.
"Mr. and Mrs. Shirohane," he said clearly. "Thank you for inviting me into your home. It's an honor to meet you."
He held the bow, waiting.
Luna's parents exchanged surprised looks. This wasn't what they'd expected. Human teenagers rarely showed such formal respect, especially not to beast folk.
"Oh!" Luna's mother hurried forward, her voice warm and welcoming. "Please, stand up! There's no need to be so formal!"
Hiro straightened as she approached, her eyes kind and curious.
"You're the young man who saved our Luna," she said softly. It wasn't a question.
"I..." Hiro felt heat rise to his cheeks. "I did what anyone should have done, Mrs. Shirohane."
"Not anyone." Luna's father's voice was gruff but not unkind. He stepped forward, his golden eyes—so like Luna's—studying Hiro intently. "Most humans wouldn't have cared. Most humans would have walked right past."
Hiro met his gaze steadily. "Then they're wrong, sir."
The silence stretched out. Hiro could feel himself being evaluated, measured, judged. He didn't look away.
Finally, Luna's father's expression softened just slightly. The corner of his mouth twitched in what might have been the beginning of a smile.
"Sit," he said, gesturing to the small table already set for dinner. "The food's ready."
They gathered around the low table in the center of the room. It was barely large enough for four people, and Hiro found himself sitting close to Luna, their shoulders nearly touching. He didn't mind.
The food spread before them was simple but lovingly prepared: steamed rice in a large bowl, sautéed vegetables, a small amount of meat—beef, carefully portioned—and homemade miso soup that filled the apartment with its savory aroma.
Hiro immediately noticed that the portion of meat placed before him was larger than anyone else's. Significantly larger. Luna's parents had given him what was probably meant to be two servings, leaving less for themselves.
His throat tightened.
"This looks wonderful," he said sincerely. "Thank you so much for having me."
"It's nothing fancy," Luna's mother said quickly, apologetically. "We don't—"
"It's perfect," Hiro interrupted gently. "Truly."
He picked up his chopsticks and took a bite of the vegetables. His eyes widened genuinely. "This is delicious, Mrs. Shirohane. Really delicious."
Luna's mother beamed, her tail wagging slightly. Luna ducked her head, but Hiro could see her ears perk up happily, her own tail swishing under the table.
"So, Hiro." Luna's father leaned back slightly, his posture still guarded. "You're a student at Seika Academy?"
"Yes, sir. Second year."
"That's a prestigious school. One of the best in the city." A pause. "Human school. Your family must be... well-off."
Hiro hesitated, aware of how his answer would sound in this tiny apartment. "We're... comfortable, yes."
The guilt must have shown on his face because Luna's mother reached over to pat his hand gently. "There's nothing wrong with that, dear. Every parent wants their children to have good opportunities."
But Luna's father wasn't quite done. "And you don't mind being seen with Luna? At that prestigious human school?"
"Taro!" Luna's mother scolded.
"It's alright, Mrs. Shirohane," Hiro said quickly. He turned to face Luna's father directly, his voice firm. "I'm not just okay with being seen with Luna, sir. I'm honored to be seen with her. She's the most remarkable person I've ever met."
Luna made a small squeaking sound, her ears flattening against her head in embarrassment. "Dad, please..."
But her father wasn't looking at her. He was looking at Hiro, his expression unreadable. "Honored," he repeated slowly. "That's a strong word."
"It's the right word," Hiro replied without hesitation.
"And when your human friends make comments? When people stare? When you get treated differently because you're with a beast folk girl?"
"They already do," Hiro said quietly. "And I don't care. Luna is... she's important to me. More than I can properly express. What anyone else thinks about that doesn't matter."
He looked at Luna as he said it. Her eyes were wide, shimmering slightly with unshed tears. Her tail had stopped moving, as if she was holding perfectly still to hear every word.
"More important than your social standing?" Luna's father pressed. "More important than how you're perceived by your community?"
"Dad!" Luna's voice cracked slightly.
But Hiro reached over and took her hand, right there in front of her parents. "Luna is more important than any of that," he said firmly. "She's brilliant, kind, brave, and stronger than anyone I know. Being with her doesn't lower my standing. It makes me want to be better than I am."
The silence that followed felt like it lasted an eternity. Luna's father studied Hiro's face, looking for any sign of deception or uncertainty.
He found none.
Finally, slowly, Luna's father nodded. "Good," he said simply. "That's good."
Luna's mother was dabbing at her eyes with her apron. "Oh, Taro, I told you he was a good boy."
"Still had to make sure," he muttered, but his expression had softened considerably. "Can't be too careful. Not with my daughter."
The tension in the room released like a held breath. Luna squeezed Hiro's hand under the table, and when he glanced at her, she was smiling through her tears.
The rest of dinner passed in much more comfortable conversation. Luna's mother asked Hiro about school, about his interests, about his favorite subjects. Luna's father talked about his work at the factory—long hours, hard labor, but steady employment that kept the family fed. They asked about Hiro's family, and he found himself talking about his parents, carefully navigating around the complicated topic of his mixed heritage.
When dinner ended, Luna's mother refused to let Hiro help with dishes despite his insistence. "You're a guest," she said firmly. "Luna, why don't you show Hiro your room?"
Luna's face turned bright red. "Mom!"
"What? You're proud of your scholarship, aren't you? Show him your award."
Luna's room was barely bigger than a closet in Hiro's house. A single bed took up most of the space, covered with a faded quilt that looked handmade. A small desk was pushed against one wall, its surface covered with textbooks, notebooks, and papers. A narrow window looked out over the street below. A small closet held what Hiro suspected was her entire wardrobe.
But the room was hers. Posters of singers and anime characters covered the walls. Books were stacked everywhere—on the desk, beside the bed, on the narrow shelf above the desk. And there, in a simple frame on the wall, was her scholarship acceptance letter to Seika Academy.
"Sorry it's so small," Luna said quietly, fidgeting with her hands. "I know compared to your room—"
"It's yours," Hiro interrupted, looking around with genuine interest. "That makes it special."
He stepped closer to the framed letter, reading the words he'd heard about but never seen:
"Dear Ms. Shirohane, Congratulations! We are pleased to inform you that you have been selected as a recipient of the Seika Academy Merit Scholarship..."
"You earned this," Hiro said softly. "Against all odds. Against a system designed to keep you out."
Luna moved to stand beside him, looking up at the letter. "I had to," she said simply. "It was the only way."
She turned to look out her window. From here, they could see the sprawl of the beast folk district—the crumbling buildings, the potholed streets, the struggling businesses. The barrier wall loomed in the distance, a constant reminder of division.
"I want to change things," Luna said, her voice quiet but determined. "For my parents. For everyone here. I want to prove that we're not what they think we are. That we're just as capable, just as worthy."
"You will," Hiro said with absolute conviction. "I believe that. When you become that lawyer you told me about, you'll tear down barriers that have stood for generations."
Luna turned to him, her eyes bright. "Thank you. For coming here. For meeting them. For seeing where I come from and not running away."
"Why would I run?" Hiro asked, genuinely confused. "This is part of who you are. Your strength, your determination—it all comes from this." He gestured around the small room, then to the window. "How could I not want to understand that?"
Luna's eyes filled with tears again. "I was so scared," she whispered. "Scared that you'd see this and realize I'm not... that I'm just—"
"Luna." Hiro took both her hands, waiting until she looked up at him. "You're not 'just' anything. You're extraordinary. This apartment, this district—they don't define you. But they shaped you into someone I admire more than anyone I've ever known."
A tear slipped down her cheek. Hiro reached up, gently brushing it away with his thumb.
"I care about you," he said softly. "All of you. The brilliant student, the kind friend, the determined daughter, the girl from the east district who refuses to be limited by walls and prejudice. All of you."
They stood close in the small room, the space between them charged with unspoken feelings. Luna's ears were perked forward, her tail still. Her eyes searched his face as if trying to memorize every detail.
"Hiro, I—"
"Luna! Hiro!" Luna's mother's voice called from the other room. "I made dessert!"
The moment broke. Luna stepped back quickly, wiping at her eyes. "Coming, Mom!"
She looked at Hiro, managing a watery smile. "We should..."
"Yeah," Hiro agreed, though part of him wanted to stay in this moment, in this small room where everything felt simple and honest.
They returned to the main room where Luna's mother had produced a modest plate of dorayaki—red bean pancakes—that she'd clearly made herself. When it was time to leave, Hiro found himself reluctant to go. The small apartment had become warm and welcoming, the initial awkwardness replaced by genuine connection.
"You're welcome here anytime, Hiro," Luna's father said, extending his hand. His grip was firm, the handshake of a working man, but his eyes held approval. "Really. Our door is open to you."
"Thank you, Mr. Shirohane." Hiro shook his hand firmly. "For the meal, for the conversation, for..." He paused, searching for words. "For raising such an incredible daughter."
Luna's father's stern expression cracked into a genuine smile. "That's all her mother's doing. I just try to keep up."
"Oh, Taro." Luna's mother hugged Hiro warmly, the embrace of a mother who'd already adopted him into her heart. "Please come back soon! And be safe going home. It's getting dark."
"I will," Hiro promised. "Thank you again."
Luna walked him to the door. "Text me when you get home?" she asked softly.
"Of course." Hiro paused in the doorway, looking back at the small apartment, at Luna's parents waving goodbye. "Thank you, Luna. For trusting me enough to bring me here."
"Thank you for coming," she replied. "I know it's not—"
"It's perfect," he interrupted. "Your family is wonderful."
Luna's smile could have lit up the entire district.
"Actually," Hiro said as they stepped into the hallway, "I'm not going straight home yet."
"Oh?" Luna tilted her head curiously, her ears swiveling toward him.
"My grandparents live nearby. I thought I'd visit them while I'm in the area."
Luna's eyes widened. "Your grandparents live here? In the beast district?"
"Close to it. The border area between beast and demi-human districts."
He hesitated, then decided it was time to share something he'd kept private. "My grandfather is beast folk. Wolf, actually. My grandmother is demi-human—fox features."
Luna's jaw literally dropped. "Wait... you never told me—"
"I know," Hiro said quickly. "It's complicated. My family is... it's a long story."
"But that means you're..."
"One quarter beast folk, one quarter demi-human, half human." Hiro smiled ruefully. "I'm a bit of everything and not quite anything."
Luna stared at him, processing this new information. "That's why you understood," she said slowly. "From the beginning. Why you weren't afraid, why you knew about transformations, why you—"
"Why I felt connected to you," Hiro finished softly. "Yes."
Luna insisted on walking with him partway, refusing to let him navigate the district alone as night approached. They walked side by side through the darkening streets, street lamps flickering to life overhead—the ones that still worked, anyway.
"So your grandfather is wolf beast folk," Luna said as they walked. "Like my family."
"Yes. That's actually part of why I... when I first saw you, something felt familiar. Like I'd been searching for something I didn't know I'd lost."
Luna's tail swished happily despite the serious conversation. "And your grandmother?"
"Demi-human. Fox features, like my mother. They live together, on the border. Between both worlds."
"Like you," Luna observed quietly.
"Like me," Hiro agreed.
They reached a slightly better-maintained area where the buildings were older but more solid, the streets cleaner. The border zone between districts, where demi-humans and beast folk lived in an uneasy mix.
"This is me," Hiro said, stopping before a modest but well-kept house. Unlike the apartments around it, this was a standalone home with a small yard and a fence that had seen better days but was still standing.
"Your grandparents own a house?" Luna asked, surprised.
"My grandfather bought it decades ago, before the walls went up and the districts became so divided. Now it's worth less than he paid for it, but it's theirs."
He turned to Luna. "Do you want to come in? Meet them?"
Luna's ears perked up. "Really? I wouldn't want to intrude—"
"You wouldn't be intruding. Besides..." He smiled. "I think they'd love to meet you. I've, um, mentioned you before."
"You have?" Luna's tail started wagging again.
Hiro's cheeks reddened. "Maybe a few times."
The door opened before Hiro could knock, revealing a woman with fox ears and a bushy orange-red tail that swished behind her. She was older, her muzzle showing grey, but her eyes were bright and welcoming. She wore traditional clothing—a simple kimono in muted colors that suited her elegant bearing.
"Hiro!" She immediately pulled him into a hug. "What a wonderful surprise!"
"Hi, Grandmother." Hiro returned the embrace, feeling the familiar comfort of her presence.
She pulled back and immediately noticed Luna. Her eyes widened with delight. "And you brought a friend! Oh, how lovely!" She looked Luna up and down, taking in her wolf features with obvious approval. "A wolf beast folk! How wonderful!"
"Akane, let the kids inside before you interrogate them." A deep, gruff voice came from inside the house.
Hiro's grandfather appeared behind his wife—a full beast folk wolf with black fur streaked with grey. He was still broad-shouldered and strong despite his age, his golden eyes sharp and observant. He wore simple worker's clothes, even at home.
"Come in, come in!" Akane ushered them inside enthusiastically.
The house was warm and welcoming, filled with the mixed decorations of three cultures: beast folk, demi-human, and human. Photos covered every available surface—three generations of family, their features growing more mixed with each generation.
They settled in the living room, where the smell of tea was already brewing. Hiro suspected his grandmother had sensed their arrival somehow—she always seemed to know when family was near.
"So!" Akane sat down with barely contained excitement. "You must be Luna! Hiro's told us so much about you!"
Luna's ears flattened in surprise. "He has?"
"Oh yes! The brilliant wolf girl from his school, the one who's going to be a lawyer, the one who makes him smile in ways we haven't seen before—"
"Grandmother," Hiro groaned, his face burning.
Daiki chuckled, a deep rumbling sound. "The boy talks about you constantly, Luna. 'Luna said this,' 'Luna did that,' 'you should have seen how Luna handled this situation.'"
"Grandfather!"
Luna was blushing too, but she was also smiling, her tail wagging despite her embarrassment.
Akane poured tea for everyone, and they settled into conversation. She asked Luna about her family,her studies, her dreams for the future. Luna answered honestly, finding herself relaxing in the presence of these warm, accepting people who seemed genuinely interested in her life.
"You know, Luna," Daiki said after a while, his voice turning more serious. "I grew up in this district. The east district, just like you."
Luna looked at him with new interest. "Really?"
He nodded slowly, his golden eyes distant with memory. "Poverty. Discrimination. The walls—though they were different back then, not quite so... permanent. It was worse in some ways. Better in others. But the struggle was the same."
He looked down at his hands—large, scarred, the knuckles slightly misshapen from decades of hard labor. "I worked in factories my whole life. Started when I was twelve years old. Broke my body to feed my family, one shift at a time."
"Like my father," Luna said quietly, understanding flickering in her eyes.
"Exactly like your father." Daiki met her gaze. "I see that same weariness in every beast folk worker I pass on the street. That bone-deep exhaustion that comes from fighting just to survive, every single day."
Akane reached over and took his hand, her fox tail curling around his arm in a gesture of comfort and solidarity.
"When I met Akane," Daiki continued, "she was demi-human. Fox features, working in her family's small shop near the border. I thought..." He paused, his voice roughening with emotion. "I thought I didn't deserve her. How could someone like me—a beast folk factory worker, covered in scars and grime—deserve someone so beautiful, so refined?"
"And I thought society would reject us," Akane added softly. "My family warned me. His friends warned him. Everyone said it wouldn't work, that the divisions were too great, that we were inviting hardship."
"But we built our life anyway," Daiki said firmly. "It wasn't easy. It's never been easy. But we did it."
He looked at Hiro now, his expression intense. "Our son—Hiro's father—was born half-and-half. Beast folk and demi-human. He faced prejudice from both sides. Beast folk said he wasn't beast enough. Demi-humans said he was too beast. He grew up not fitting anywhere."
Hiro shifted uncomfortably, knowing where this was going.
"Then he married a human woman—Hiro's mother. A kind woman who loved him despite everything society told her about mixed relationships. And they had Hiro."
Daiki stood, moving to stand before his grandson. "Three bloodlines in one boy. Human, demi-human, beast folk. It hasn't been easy for him either. Has it, Hiro?"
"No," Hiro admitted quietly.
"Because you never fit anywhere," Daiki said. It wasn't a question.
"No." Hiro's voice was barely a whisper.
Daiki placed a heavy hand on Hiro's shoulder. "That's because you belong everywhere, boy. You're not caught between worlds—you're a bridge connecting them. Don't hide what you are. Not from yourself. Not from those who matter."
He glanced meaningfully at Luna. "She knows, doesn't she? About your beast heritage? About what you can do?"
Hiro nodded.
"Good." Daiki's grip tightened slightly, approving. "That's how it should be. No secrets between people who care about each other. No shame about what you are."
Luna was watching this exchange with wide eyes, pieces of Hiro's puzzle clicking into place. His understanding of her struggles, his knowledge of transformation, his fierce protectiveness—it all made sense now.
"Grandfather," Hiro said, his voice strained. "I don't know if I can be what you're describing. I don't know if I'm strong enough."
"You are," Daiki said with absolute certainty. "You already have been, every day of your life. And you'll keep being strong, because you have something I didn't have at your age."
"What's that?"
Daiki looked at Luna. "Someone worth being strong for."
After tea and more conversation, Daiki gestured to Hiro. "Come outside with me, boy. Just for a minute."
They stepped into the small backyard, leaving Luna and Akane chatting inside. The night air was cool, and from here, they could see the lights of the city—the bright, gleaming western districts and the dimmer, struggling eastern ones.
"You're struggling with control," Daiki said without preamble.
Hiro jerked in surprise. "How did you—?"
Daiki held up his hands, turning them so Hiro could see the scarred knuckles in the moonlight. "Because I see the same scars forming on yours. I did the same thing for years. Punching walls, trees, anything solid to release the rage without transforming."
Hiro looked down at his own hands, at the bruises and cuts that never quite seemed to heal.
"Beast blood is powerful," Daiki continued, sitting down on the back steps. "Especially wolf blood. And when it's mixed with human emotion, human complexity... it can feel overwhelming."
"I'm afraid I'll lose control," Hiro confessed, sitting beside him. "That I'll transform at the wrong time, hurt someone I care about."
"You won't."
"How can you be so sure?"
Daiki looked at him seriously. "Because you have something to protect. That girl in there?" He jerked his thumb toward the house. "She's your anchor."
Hiro's eyes widened.
"When I met your grandmother," Daiki explained, "my control actually improved. Everyone expected the opposite—that the stress of a mixed relationship would make my transformations worse. But it was the reverse. Because I had someone worth staying human for. Someone I'd rather die than hurt."
"But what if something happens?" Hiro's voice cracked slightly. "What if I'm not strong enough when it matters?"
"You transform to protect her, Hiro. Not hurt her. That's the difference." Daiki's voice was firm, absolute. "I've lived with this blood for seventy years. I know what it's capable of. And I know that the beast inside you—it's not your enemy. It's part of you. It wants to protect what you love."
"The bullies at school, when they cornered Luna..." Hiro swallowed hard. "I almost lost it. I felt the transformation coming, and it was different. Stronger. More violent."
"Because your instinct was to protect her," Daiki said. "That's not loss of control—that's controlled fury. There's a difference."
"How do I know which is which?"
"Because you stopped, didn't you? You didn't fully transform. You held back just enough." Daiki clapped him on the shoulder. "That's control, boy. Real control isn't never feeling the beast. It's feeling it and choosing when to let it out and when to hold it back."
They sat in silence for a moment, the sounds of the city humming around them.
"Your grandmother saved me," Daiki said quietly. "Not from the beast—from myself. From the rage and hopelessness of living in that district with no way out. She gave me something to live for beyond survival. I think Luna might be doing the same for you."
Hiro thought about Luna—her smile, her determination, the way she never gave up despite everything stacked against her. The way she looked at him like he was someone special, someone worth knowing.
"She is," he admitted.
"Then trust yourself," Daiki said. "And trust her. When the time comes that you need your beast blood—and it will come, mark my words—you'll know how to use it. Because you'll be using it for her."
They stood, heading back inside. At the door, Daiki stopped him.
"One more thing, Hiro. That district where she lives? Where I grew up?"
"Yes?"
"It's getting worse. Every year, conditions deteriorate. The walls grow higher, the services fewer, the opportunities scarcer." His expression was grim. "Something's going to break eventually. And when it does, you'll need to decide which side of that wall you're on."
"I already know which side I'm on," Hiro said without hesitation.
Daiki smiled—the first real smile Hiro had seen from him all evening. "I thought you might. Good. The world needs people willing to stand in the breach."
The walk back to Luna's apartment felt different now. The streets hadn't changed—they were still potholed and poorly lit, still lined with struggling businesses and worn buildings. But Hiro saw them differently now, saw them through the lens of his grandfather's stories and Luna's daily reality.
"Your grandparents are wonderful," Luna said as they walked. "Your grandmother is so warm, and your grandfather... he's incredibly strong, isn't he? Not just physically."
"He had to be," Hiro replied. "To survive. To build a life despite everything trying to tear it down."
"Like you," Luna said softly.
Hiro looked at her, surprised. "Like me?"
"You're strong too. Maybe you don't see it, but you are." She stopped walking, turning to face him. "You live between worlds, never quite fitting in either. That has to be exhausting. But you keep going. You keep being kind, keep standing up for what's right, keep..." She trailed off, blushing. "Keep being you."
They had reached her building. The flickering streetlight cast them in alternating shadow and dim light.
"Hiro," Luna said, her voice small. "Seeing where I live, meeting my parents, seeing the district... does it change how you see me?"
"Yes," Hiro said immediately.
Luna's face fell, her ears drooping.
"It makes me admire you more," Hiro continued quickly, stepping closer. "You came from this." He gestured at the surrounding poverty. "You grew up with nothing, in a system designed to keep you down, in a district society has forgotten. And despite all of that—despite every obstacle and barrier and wall—you earned a scholarship to the best academy in the city."
He took her hands in his, feeling how small they were, how much strength they carried.
"You're incredible, Luna. I thought I knew that before, but now I *know* it. You're the strongest person I've ever met."
Luna's eyes filled with tears. "I was so afraid," she whispered. "Afraid that you'd see all this and realize I'm not good enough, that I'm just some poor beast folk girl from the wrong side of the wall who doesn't belong in your world."
"Luna." Hiro cupped her face gently, his thumbs brushing away her tears. "You don't belong in my world—my world needs to rise to belong in yours. And one day... I'm going to help make that happen."
"What do you mean?"
Hiro looked past her at the district—the poverty, the neglect, the systemic abandonment. His jaw set with determination.
"I'm going to help change this. All of this." His voice was fierce, certain. "These walls, these barriers, this inequality—it's wrong. And I'm going to be part of tearing it down."
"How?" Luna asked, not doubting, just curious.
"I don't know yet," Hiro admitted. "But I'll find a way. We'll find a way. You with your law degree, changing things from the inside. Me with..." He paused. "Whatever I can do. However I can help."
Luna threw her arms around him, hugging him tightly. Hiro wrapped his arms around her, feeling her wolf ears brush against his cheek, her tail wagging against his leg.
"Thank you," she whispered into his chest. "For seeing me. For seeing us. For caring."
"Always," Hiro promised. "Always."
They stood like that for a long moment, wrapped in each other under the flickering streetlight, two young people from different worlds finding common ground in each other's arms.
Finally, reluctantly, they pulled apart.
"I should go," Hiro said. "It's getting late, and you should get inside."
"Text me when you get home?" Luna asked for the second time that night.
"The second I walk through the door," Hiro promised.
He watched until she was safely inside her building, waited until he saw a light turn on in what he knew was her third-floor apartment. Then, and only then, did he turn and begin the long walk back to the train station.
---
The train ride home was a reverse journey through the city's stratification. Each stop showed the transformation in reverse—from poverty to modest living to comfortable middle class to opulent wealth.
Hiro sat by the window again, watching the city change. But this time, he couldn't unsee what he'd seen. Couldn't unknow what he now knew.
The platform at his stop in the western district gleamed under perfect lighting. The automated voice announced arrivals and departures in that crisp, professional tone. Everything was clean, maintained, perfect.
He walked through streets where every tree was manicured, every building gleaming, every storefront lit and welcoming. His apartment building rose before him, all modern architecture and expensive materials.
The doorman greeted him with a smile. "Good evening, Mr. Tanaka."
"Evening," Hiro replied automatically.
He rode the elevator to the fifteenth floor, walked down the carpeted hallway to his family's apartment. Let himself in quietly—his parents were probably asleep by now.
His room looked exactly as he'd left it that morning. Large, clean, filled with everything a teenage boy could want. His bed was twice the size of Luna's. His closet held more clothes than her entire family probably owned. His desk, his computer, his bookshelf, his gaming system—all of it suddenly felt obscene in its excess.
He moved to his window, looking out over the glittering cityscape. From here, he could just barely see the eastern districts in the distance, identifiable only by their dimmer lights and lower buildings.
*The same city,* he thought. *But completely different worlds.*
His phone buzzed. A text from Luna:
*"Thank you for today. It meant everything. Sleep well 💕"*
Hiro smiled, typing back: *"Thank you for trusting me. Sweet dreams."*
He set his phone down and looked at his reflection in the dark window. For just a moment, his eyes flashed gold—beast blood responding to his tumultuous emotions.
His grandfather's words echoed in his mind: *"You're a bridge, boy. Between worlds. Don't hide what you are."*
And Luna's question: *"Does it change how you see me?"*
Hiro's hands clenched into fists. Not from anger at Luna, but from anger at the injustice of it all. The walls, the barriers, the systematic oppression that kept people like Luna's family trapped in poverty while people like his own family lived in luxury.
*This isn't right,* he thought, the same thought he'd had walking through the beast district. *This isn't RIGHT.*
His reflection stared back at him, golden eyes fading back to brown. But something had changed today. Something fundamental had shifted inside him.
He'd seen Luna's world—really seen it. Not just heard about it or intellectually understood it, but witnessed it firsthand. The poverty, the struggle, the strength required just to survive, let alone thrive.
And he'd learned about his own heritage—his grandfather's stories, the mixed blood running through his veins, the complicated legacy of being caught between worlds.
*No,* he corrected himself. *Not caught between. A bridge connecting them.*
He thought about the barrier wall, that massive concrete structure dividing the city. From one side, it looked like art. From the other, like a prison wall. The perfect metaphor for how the same reality could appear completely different depending on which side you viewed it from.
*Grandfather was right,* Hiro thought. *Something's going to break. The pressure building in those districts, the inequality, the injustice—it can't last forever.*
And when it did break, he needed to be ready. He needed to be strong enough, controlled enough, brave enough to stand in that breach and do something that mattered.
Luna was his anchor, his grandfather had said. The person he'd rather die than hurt. The one worth staying human for.
But she was also his inspiration. Watching her fight against a system designed to defeat her, watching her climb barriers meant to be insurmountable, watching her refuse to accept the limitations society tried to impose—it made him want to fight too.
*I don't know how yet,* he thought, his reflection's eyes flashing gold once more. *But I'm going to help tear down those walls. All of them—the physical ones and the invisible ones.*
He turned from the window, exhaustion finally catching up to him. It had been a long day, emotionally draining and eye-opening in equal measure.
As he prepared for bed, his phone buzzed one more time. Another message from Luna:
*"My parents really liked you. Dad said you're 'good people.' That's high praise from him."*
Hiro smiled, texting back: *"I really liked them too. Your family is wonderful, Luna. You're lucky to have each other."*
Her response came quickly: *"I know. I'm lucky in a lot of ways. Including meeting you."*
Hiro's heart squeezed in his chest. He typed: *"I'm the lucky one. Trust me."*
He set his phone on his nightstand and climbed into bed, his mind still processing everything he'd experienced. As he drifted toward sleep, his thoughts jumbled together—Luna's smile, her tiny apartment, the barrier wall, his grandfather's scarred hands, the poverty-stricken streets, Luna's determination, the flickering streetlights, her father's approval, her mother's kindness, the inequality of it all...
And underlying it all, a growing determination. A sense of purpose crystallizing in his chest like ice forming on a winter pond.
He didn't know how yet. Didn't know when. But someday, somehow, he was going to make a difference. He was going to use whatever advantages he had—his mixed heritage, his family's resources, his position straddling multiple worlds—to help create change.
For Luna. For her family. For everyone trapped on the wrong side of those walls.
*I promise,* he thought as sleep finally claimed him. *I promise I'll help make things better.*
In his dreams, he stood before the barrier wall with Luna beside him. And together, with others—thousands of others—they pushed. The concrete cracked, crumbled, fell.
And on the other side, the sun was rising.