Aoi was used to the heat of stage lights, but she had never felt them like this—across every inch of her body, leaving nowhere to hide.

Her handler stood just behind her, one hand fixed around her arm. Not guiding. Holding. The grip firm in the way someone holds something that might slip away if given the chance.

“Remember. You do not sit on the furniture—you kneel beside it. You do not speak unless spoken to. You do not—”

“I know,” Aoi cut in quietly. “I don’t mention what an awful bitch you’ve all been.”

The words slipped out before she could stop them.

The handler’s hand lifted.

Aoi didn’t flinch.

“You’ll smudge my makeup,” she said instead, calm, already pulling free.

For a second, it looked like the handler might follow through anyway.

Then—

“You all know and love her,” the host called out, voice carrying easily across the set, “the rising star of the Animal world—Himari Aoi!”

Aoi stepped forward into the light.

The audience was already watching her.

She turned to them first.

Smiled.

Bowed.

Then turned to the host and bowed again, just as deeply.

The movement shifted something inside her.

A small sound escaped before she could stop it.

Soft. Involuntary.

The audience laughed lightly.

Not cruelly.

Just… entertained.

The host watched her as she moved toward the guest sofa. It looked pristine, almost untouched—despite the steady rotation of celebrities who must have sat there week after week.

Aoi didn’t hesitate.

She lowered herself beside it instead.

When she knelt, folding neatly down until she sat back on her calves, no one reacted. No surprise. No correction.

This was expected.

The movement shifted the plug inside her again, a slow, intrusive reminder of its presence. Aoi felt her body tense around it, the sensation sharp enough to draw breath—

—but this time, she stayed quiet.

Her smile held.

“Thank you for coming on such short notice,” the host said politely. “This isn’t your first time here, is it?”

Aoi glanced sideways, just briefly, toward her handler standing in the shadows.

Then she nodded.

“Thank you for having me,” Aoi said, her smile never slipping. “It’s a pleasure to be back.”

The audience applauded.

“So,” the host continued, “how are you feeling? I’m sure the conversion was the last thing you expected.”

Aoi held her smile.

For a moment, she said nothing.

“It’s been an adjustment,” she said finally, light and composed, “but my team have been there to support me every step of the way.”

She turned her head slightly.

Smiled toward the handler.

A spotlight followed the movement, catching her in its beam.

The woman waved.

Smiled.

It didn’t land the way Aoi’s did.

“If it wasn’t for them,” Aoi added, her voice just as warm, “none of this would have happened.”

“And what were you doing when the Lottery picked you?” he asked, leaning back in his chair, cue card resting loosely in his hands.

Aoi didn’t need to look at it to know where it came from.

“I was in my apartment answering fan mail,” she said.

The lie came easily.

In reality, she had been curled up on her sofa, watching the clock, praying her watch wouldn’t turn.

“And when it happened,” he continued, “did you remove your clothing right away?”

Aoi flinched.

It was the kind of question that would have been unthinkable before. Now it was just part of the format.

“Of course I did,” she replied, her smile returning just as smoothly. “What Animal needs clothing, right?”

A ripple of soft laughter moved through the audience.

There was soft applause from the stands, as if congratulating her for complying with the system so readily. Aoi beamed back at them, bright and eager, shaping a heart with her fingers.

The host waited for the noise to settle.

“So,” he said, “I’m sure everyone’s wondering—why are you dressed like that?”

Aoi held her smile.

The answer came immediately.

I didn’t have a choice.

She swallowed it.

Her agency would crucify her if she made them look bad.

And she didn’t mean that figuratively.

She racked her brain for something that would sound right. Something they would accept.

Then she remembered the photoshoot. The moment they had put the ears on her. The way everyone had smiled.

“I thought it would be funny to be a…” she paused, drawing in a steady breath, “a Meatgirl Catgirl.”

The audience reacted exactly how she needed them to.

Light laughter.

Amusement.

Acceptance.

“Why don’t you stand up and show the crowd your costume?”

Aoi felt the heat rush to her face.

She didn’t need to look toward her handler. She already knew.

She pushed herself up onto her feet.

The movement made the tail shift again, a subtle, unwelcome reminder she couldn’t ignore. Her body reacted in ways she couldn’t fully control, made worse under the harsh stage lights.

“Looks like she’s enjoying it, folks,” the host said lightly.

Aoi turned back to the audience, smile fixed in place.

“Don’t say that,” she said, her tone soft, teasing. “What will people think?”

Usually she would exaggerate the reaction.

Now, if anything, she was holding it back.

In the heat of the moment, she knew what the crowd expected.

Poses. Smiles. Willingness.

She moved through them automatically, mimicking the ones from the photoshoot—tilting her head, shifting her weight, shaping her hands into something playful and catlike.

Each movement reminded her.

The tail shifted inside her with every change in posture, a constant presence she couldn’t escape. Her body reacted more with each passing second, subtle but noticeable, something she was struggling to keep contained.

A thought surfaced, sharp and unwelcome.

She was getting dangerously close to losing control.

And then it happened.

The host stepped in behind her, close enough that she barely registered the movement before his hand found the tail and gave it a small, deliberate pull.

Aoi folded forward.

The reaction hit her all at once—sharp, overwhelming. A sound slipped out of her before she could stop it, breaking through the careful control she’d held onto until now.

The audience erupted.

Laughter. Cheers.

Aoi’s breath shook as she tried to steady herself, her smile collapsing at the edges. Tears burned at the corners of her eyes, but she forced her head up, forced herself to face them.

“Oh my,” the host said lightly, stepping back into view, “looks like our Animal needed a little help.”

More laughter.

More applause.

Aoi swallowed hard, dragging her expression back into place.

Just a little longer.

Aoi was mortified.

Her body trembled as it slowly settled, the aftershocks refusing to leave her alone, refusing to let her regain control. It hadn’t mattered what she wanted. It hadn’t mattered that she was on stage.

The crowd had seen.

Phones were already out, capturing the moment—freezing it, sharing it, turning it into something that would outlive her.

Her handler stepped onto the set with a damp cloth in hand.

For a brief second, Aoi thought—hoped—they would take her off stage.

They didn’t.

She was repositioned where she stood. Legs parted. Held in place just enough that she couldn’t shift away.

The cloth pressed against her, wiping her down with the same detached care as before. Quick. Efficient. Public.

“Good girl,” her handler said softly.

Not warm.

Not kind.

“The crowd loved that.”

Aoi let out a slow breath, forcing her voice steady.

“Good for them,” she said.

Eventually she was guided back down beside the sofa, settling into a kneeling position once more. Her legs folded beneath her, posture neat, composed—like nothing had happened.

“Well,” the host said, smiling easily, “thank you for sharing that with us. I’m sure you must have been desperate for it?”

Aoi’s first instinct was to snap at him.

The words rose fast—sharp, angry, real.

But they never made it out.

Her training caught them before they could form.

She smiled.

Nodded.

There was nothing she could say that would take it back. Nothing that would make it smaller.

So she gave them what they wanted instead.

“Now, we’ve heard you’ll be reunited with an old friend on your big day—Anna, right?”

Aoi nodded, her smile returning easily.

“I’m excited to see her again,” she said. “I can’t think of a better way to end than under her care.”

The words came out smoothly.

Practiced.

They sounded like gratitude.

They sounded like trust.

Only Aoi knew how carefully she had chosen them.

“Now, we’ve got a bit of a surprise for you,” the host said, rising to his feet and gesturing toward the wings.

Aoi turned—

—and audibly gasped.

Anna stepped onto the stage.

Her skin caught the light as she walked, posture straight, movements unhurried. She was naked, just like Aoi, but there was no hesitation in her steps. No tension. She carried herself like she belonged there.

The audience reacted immediately.

Louder. Warmer.

Aoi pushed herself to her feet, her hands tightening at her sides as Anna approached.

She didn’t have time to think.

Anna closed the distance and pulled her into a tight embrace.

From the outside, it looked warm. Familiar.

A reunion.

Up close, it was something else.

Anna’s hands slid down her back, settling low, holding her there with quiet certainty.

Then, close to her ear—

“You always liked dressing up as an Animal, didn’t you?” she whispered.

Aoi’s breath caught.

For a fraction of a second, her smile almost slipped.

Then she pulled back, expression already back in place.

Anna let her go, stepping past her and lowering herself onto the sofa with easy familiarity.

Her words lingered.

Aoi’s smile hovered on the edge of breaking.

“Aoi-chan,” Anna said brightly, her voice carrying to the audience, “you always did have your head in the clouds.”

Aoi blinked.

Then it clicked back into place.

She laughed, light and practiced, the sound coming just easily enough.

“Yeah, silly me,” she said.

She moved to kneel at the opposite end of the sofa, folding herself neatly into position again.

Anna watched her for a moment—

then shifted slightly, angling herself just enough to keep Aoi within reach.

“Good to have you, Anna,” the host said. “This is your first television appearance since you decided to become a Butcher, correct?”

“It is,” Anna replied with a small nod.

Her posture remained relaxed, composed—like she’d done this a hundred times before.

“I was in America when I received word of Aoi’s conversion,” she continued. “My academy’s headmaster informed me that her agency had arranged for me to return. They wanted me here for her final moments.”

She turned her head slightly toward Aoi.

Smiled.

Not wide. Not performative.

Just enough.

“It seemed appropriate.”

Anna’s hand drifted to Aoi’s head, fingers sliding into her hair as if it were the most natural thing in the world. A slow, absent motion. Petting.

To the audience, it looked gentle. Familiar.

Aoi felt her jaw tighten.

She kept her smile in place, eyes forward, posture perfect.

She had liked Anna, once.

Back when they were idols together. Back when this kind of touch would have meant something else.

Now—

she hated her.

“You’ve been chosen to be her Butcher as well,” the host said. “Are you conflicted about having to slaughter an old friend?”

Anna shook her head, her fingers still moving through Aoi’s hair.

“If anything, I’m honoured,” she said. “Every Butcher has their first. Most of the time it doesn’t mean anything.”

A small pause.

“But this one does.”

Her tone didn’t change.

“I spent years being told where I fit. What I could be. How much space I was allowed to take.”

Her fingers slowed slightly, still petting. Still gentle.

“And now I’ve been given the centre of the stage.”

She glanced toward the audience, then back to Aoi.

“With Japan’s brightest star.”

A faint smile touched her lips.

“It feels… appropriate.”

Her hand tightened suddenly.

Not enough to hurt.

Just enough.

Aoi glanced sideways at Anna.

She knew this version of her.

Not from anything that had been said—but from the way she held herself. The way her voice stayed smooth while her hand lingered just a little too long. The way her eyes didn’t soften.

The girl Aoi remembered had been gentle. Soft-spoken. Careful with people.

This wasn’t that.

This was something else.

Something sharpened down into something useful.

Something bitter.

Something hungry.

“And what plans do you have for our brightest star?” the host asked. “The rumour mill is saying a final performance?”

Aoi realised, distantly, that no one was looking at her anymore.

The questions weren’t for her.

They didn’t need to be.

On one hand, it was a relief—fewer eyes, less pressure to respond. On the other, it felt… wrong. She was used to carrying these moments, used to being the one who answered, who guided the room.

Now she just sat there.

Listening.

“I can’t say too much,” Anna said, her tone measured, “but yes. It will be a performance.”

A small pause.

Her fingers drifted lower, brushing lightly at Aoi’s shoulder before settling again.

“Our Aoi is going to dance for the audience.”

Another pause.

“And we’ll make sure everyone remembers it.”

The host smiled, turning slightly in his seat.

“Now, Anna, it’s been a while since we’ve seen you. What was it like being back home in America?”

Anna didn’t hesitate.

“Different,” she said simply. “I grew up there, but it never really felt like… home. Not in the way this does.”

Her hand drifted back to Aoi’s hair as she spoke, fingers idly combing through it.

“I think I understand that better now.”

The host nodded, as if that made perfect sense.

“And the training?” he asked. “I think people are very curious about that. Is it difficult?”

“It’s structured,” Anna replied. “There’s a focus on discipline. Control. You’re taught how to carry yourself properly.”

Her fingers paused briefly in Aoi’s hair, then resumed.

“It’s not as harsh as people imagine. Just… thorough.”

Aoi kept her eyes forward.

Smiling.

Listening to herself being discussed like she wasn’t there.

“And one question I’m sure a lot of people have,” the host added lightly, “do you ever miss wearing clothes?”

A small pause.

Anna’s expression didn’t change.

“At first, maybe,” she said. “It’s something you’re used to. Something you think you need.”

Her hand slid from Aoi’s hair to rest lightly against her shoulder.

“But you adjust. It stops feeling necessary.”

Aoi’s fingers curled slightly in her lap.

She kept smiling.

No one looked at her.

“What about you, Aoi?” Anna asked, her tone light, almost conversational. “Do you miss clothes?”

Aoi blinked.

The question caught her off guard.

For a moment, she didn’t answer.

Her mind raced—through the last few days, through the cold, the exposure, the way her body had been looked at, handled, displayed.

Yes.

The word sat there, heavy and immediate.

She swallowed it.

Her smile brightened instead.

“A little, maybe,” she said, tilting her head slightly. “But you get used to it, right?”

She glanced at Anna, just briefly.

Playing along.

Agreeing.

Even now.

The rest of the interview carried on without her.

It was surreal—being the focus of it all, and yet not being spoken to. The questions flowed past her, around her, never landing.

What made it worse was that Anna wasn’t trying to take the spotlight.

She didn’t need to.

The attention settled on her naturally. On the Human.

Aoi remained where she was, kneeling beside the sofa.

Handled.

Acknowledged in passing.

Anna’s hand returned to her, idly stroking through her hair again, as if to reassure the audience that she was still there. Still present. Still part of it.

The Animal was being petted.

She was fine.

“Well, that’s all we have time for today. Thank you so much for coming in, Anna,” the host said, rising to his feet.

He stepped forward to shake her hand.

Anna took it—

then pulled him into a brief, easy hug instead, leaning into it with a confidence that felt almost playful. A touch of that brash American energy.

The audience loved it.

Laughter. Applause. A final swell of noise to close things out.
The lights shifted, softening.
The show was over.

Aoi stayed where she was.