The broom moved across the ground in steady strokes—push, sweep, push, sweep.
Henry Osa had learned long ago not to think while he worked. Thinking led to remembering and remembering led to pain.
But today, six years to the date, the memories refused to stay buried.
He paused, leaning on the worn broom handle. The morning air was cool against his skin. Somewhere in the distance, he could hear voices—laughter, conversation, the sounds of people starting their day and sound of vehicles zooming through the road. Those are normal people, people with families and futures.
Osa looked down at his hands. Thin. Callused. Sixteen years old and still completely an ordinary human.
No claws. No scales. No transformation. Nothing at all.
His parents had been legends—his mother a brown-scale cat hybrid, his father a silver-fur leopard. High-level members of the Blue Fur Organization, respected and feared across hundreds of thousands of kilometers. People had bowed to them. Stepped aside when they passed.
Now those same people whispered when they saw their son.
Disgrace, Trash and Failed bloodline.
Their words followed him everywhere. They always had, even before his parents died—the other children mocking the "broken golden child" who couldn't awaken. But after the accident six years ago, the whispers turned venomous.
Without his parents' protection, people no longer bothered to hide their contempt.
Osa's hand drifted to the ring on his right thumb. Plain silver, unremarkable.
The only thing they'd left him. He'd tried everything to unlock it—thinking perhaps it was a storage ring, that his parents had left him something, anything that might help him survive in this world.
It never responded.
Just like his bloodline.
His vision blurred, and he blinked hard against the burning in his eyes. Sixteen years old. Still no awakening. Every day that passed made it more certain—he would never be a hybrid. Never avenge them. Never even learn the truth about how two of the strongest hybrids in Blue Fur City could simply... die.
The Blue Fur Organization had given no answers. The leader, Blue Fur himself, rumored to possesses a B-grade talent—he was practically untouchable.
What could a worthless F-grade do against that?
Nothing, the voice in his head keep whispering.
"You can do nothing". Foe the past six years.
The broom slipped from his fingers, clattering against the ground.
Osa sank onto a nearby rock, burying his face in his hands. The grief crashed over him like it always did on this day—six years ago, when everything changed. When his world ended.
When Manager Aaron the estate manager had come to his door...
"It was a cool evening that day..."
FLASHBACK BEGINS:
Six years ago...
The young Osa—barely ten years old—sat alone in his parents' house, staring at nothing.
It had been three days since the funeral. Three days since they'd lowered his mother and father into the ground. Three days since his world shattered into pieces he didn't know how to put back together.
He was thin. Too thin. He couldn't remember the last time he'd eaten. Food tasted like ash. Sleep brought nightmares. The house felt enormous and empty, every shadow seems to be hiding the memory of his parents' voices, their laughter and even their presence.
They're gone, he kept thinking. They're really gone.
The sun was setting, casting its last orange rays through the window, when he heard the knock at the door.
Osa didn't move at first. He didn't want to see anyone. Didn't want their pity, their hollow condolences, their empty promises that "everything would be okay."
But the knocking continued. Persistent and Demanding.
Finally, Osa dragged himself to the door and opened it.
Manager Aaron stood on the threshold with a smile. But something about his smile made Osa's skin crawl.
"Hello, Osa," Aaron said, his voice smooth as oil. His eyes swept over the boy—taking in the hollow cheeks, the trembling hands, the grief-stricken expression.
"I heard about your parents terrible tragedy. It was really just terrible."
Osa said nothing.
Aaron's smile widened, showing too many teeth.
"You shouldn't be alone at a time like this. A boy your age needs guidance and Protection."
He placed a hand on Osa's shoulder, and the grip was just a bit too tight.
"Why don't you come stay with me for a while? I'm the estate manager, after all. It's my responsibility to look after you."
Something about this felt wrong. But Osa was so tired, so broken, that he couldn't find the words to refuse.
"I... I don't know—"
"I insist," Aaron said, his smile never wavering. "Pack your things. We'll leave right away."
Osa hesitated, then noticed something that made his grief-fogged mind pause. Manager Aaron had arrived without a vehicle. Their estate was over thirty kilometers from the nearest residential area, yet Aaron stood before him without a single drop of sweat on his face. His breathing was calm, relaxed.
He ran here, Osa realized. All that distance, and he's not even tired.
A hybrid. Manager Aaron was a hybrid.
And for some reason, that made Osa feel... safer? If a hybrid was willing to help him, maybe things would be okay. Maybe he wasn't completely alone.
Osa packed quickly—a few clothes, some personal items, and the silver ring his parents had kept on their shelf. He'd found it among their belongings and slipped it onto his thumb. It was too large, but he cinched it tight. Something of theirs. Something to hold onto.
They walked together into the fading light.
As they traveled, Osa's mind churned with questions he couldn't voice.
How did my parents die? They were high-level hybrids. What could possibly kill them both?
His mother had been a brown-scale cat, his father a silver-fur leopard—genuine powerhouses within the Blue Fur Organization, second only to the elders and Blue Fur himself.
What kind of enemy could take them down?
If I were a hybrid, Osa thought bitterly, someone would tell me the truth. But I'm nothing. Just a failed son.
"Only the strong can truly enjoy life's blessings," he muttered under his breath.
Manager Aaron glanced back but said nothing.
They walked for what felt like hours. Osa barely paid attention to where they were going—his mind was elsewhere, lost in grief and unanswered questions.
Then, suddenly, a stench hit him. Sharp, Rotten and Wrong.
Osa's head snapped up.
They were standing in an abandoned playground. Rusted swings creaked in the wind with broken equipment littering the cracked pavement.
The place felt dead—forgotten and made his chest tightened. He couldn't help but blunted out
"Where... where are we?"