The bustling downtown district of Mzia Capital was alive with energy, a kaleidoscope of sights, sounds, and smells. Towering glass buildings reflected the morning sunlight, while streets teemed with a mix of humans and Regal Ones going about their day. Shops displayed colorful wares in their windows, and cafes spilled over with lively patrons. Somewhere in the distance, a street performer’s saxophone weaved an enchanting melody through the air.

Felix led his group through the crowded streets, his silvery-white hair catching the light as he tried to maintain some semblance of order. His four pets trailed behind—or, more accurately, around him—each moving at their own pace, making it impossible to keep everyone together for long.

Albrecht—having won two out of three games of rock paper scissors much to everyone's chagrin—steered the group toward an upscale boutique, its polished glass doors flanked by two impeccably dressed attendants. “We absolutely must get you a proper wardrobe,” Albrecht declared, ushering Felix inside before he could protest.

Because apparently, hoodies and combat boots were not proper wear.

The boutique’s polished floors gleamed under the soft glow of chandelier lights, and racks of tailored clothing were displayed like art pieces. Albrecht was in his element, speaking with the staff as though he owned the place—all the while determinedly carrying out his shopping spree as if it was not just fun but also a matter of the utmost importance.

The other three had wisely slipped away to some other part of the boutique the instant they were corralled through the doors. Leaving Felix to fend for himself as an unwilling participant in this whirlwind of fabrics, colors, and relentless commentary. 

“These garments,” Albrecht explained as he pulled Felix toward a fitting room, “are designed specifically for Regal Ones. They shift seamlessly with your transformations, ensuring you’re never… exposed.”

Felix blinked. “That’s a thing?”

“Of course,” Albrecht said, rolling his eyes. “You didn’t think your clothes would miraculously reappear after you transformed, did you?”

Felix flushed, recalling his transformations during the day of the choosing ceremony and how his clothes had remained intact. He’d assumed it was standard for Regal Ones, kind of like the cat version of magical girls. But apparently, his clothes were made of this special material and he wasn't any the wiser. 

“They’re expensive, naturally,” Albrecht continued, “but for someone of your status, they’re a necessity.”

Felix’s lips twitched in speechlessness. He asked hopefully, gesturing to the pile in his arms, “Well, is this all the clothes, then?”

Albrecht widened his clear green eyes, as if not spending an entire morning in fitting rooms was inconceivable. “Have you forgotten the fitting part? We've barely started!”

Before Felix could argue further, like who needs to try out the clothes when the size is correct and next time can they do the shopping online instead, a cheery voice interrupted.

“Hello there, sir!”

A salescat, a tall Regal One with chestnut-brown hair, and an overly cheerful voice, appeared seemingly out of nowhere. She wore a bright smile that screamed corporate enthusiasm.

“I couldn’t help but notice you browsing! Might I suggest this?” the salescat beamed, holding up an ensemble that could only be described as aggressively shiny. It consisted of a metallic silver blazer and matching pants that seemed to reflect the light with every movement. The fabric looked plastic and shiny, like vinyl, and Felix could feel his mouth dropping in silent horror.

“Absolutely not,” Felix began, but the salescat ignored him, holding the outfit closer.

“Now, now, this is a bestseller! Perfect for someone with your complexion. Just imagine how you’ll steal the show at any event—”

Albrecht swooped in like a knight in vintage suit armor, cutting off the salescat with a dazzling yet biting smile. “Miss, while your enthusiasm is... commendable, my master has far more refined tastes.”

He plucked the shiny monstrosity from the salescat’s hands and tossed it back onto the rack with a flourish. “Come along, dearest. We have real clothes to try.”

Wanting to put some distance between himself and that fashion mishap, Felix allowed Albrecht to whisk him toward the fitting rooms without much protest. The salescat was left staring after them with a fixed smile that now seemed more strained than cheerful.

The fitting room was spacious, lined with mirrors that reflected every angle and a plush bench that matched the theme of opulence. Felix stood awkwardly in the center, holding the pile of clothes Albrecht had deemed suitable.

“You don’t need to come in with me,” Felix said, glancing nervously at the door.

“Nonsense,” Albrecht replied, stepping inside and closing the door behind him. “It’s a pet’s duty to serve their master. Besides, I’ve dressed the Great Me countless times before. You’re in expert hands.”

Felix would have facepalmed but his hands were a little busy at the moment. In any case, the flush that was crawling up his neck to his face was already enough to make his point. “I can handle it myself.”

Albrecht blinked those green eyes, before affecting a moue of disappointment. “But dearest, I only wish to help.”

“Out,” Felix insisted flatly.

Albrecht sighed dramatically, a hand over his heart. “You wound me, my master. But if you insist...” He gave Felix a lingering look, leaf green eyes with a particular shine in them, before stepping out with an overly exaggerated slump to his shoulders.

The door clicked shut, leaving Felix alone in the fitting room, his face burning as he tried to regain his composure.

On the other side of the door.

Albrecht was met with the unimpressed stares of Sorath, Virgil, and Thel, who had all wandered back toward the fitting rooms, originally out of curiosity—or, in Virgil’s case, to laugh at Felix at his expense. Only to discover that the fool was them, apparently.

Virgil tilted his head, his expression a mix of mock concern and faux sweetness. “What’s the matter, Fitzgerald? Did our dear master not appreciate your... services?”

Albrecht sniffed, straightening his cravat with a flourish. “Unlike some people, I am perfectly capable of showing affection with class and sophistication.

“At least I did not sneak into someone’s bedroom at four in the morning.”

Virgil’s honey fake smile faltered, before renewing in greater degree. “And Felix has invited me back anytime for another early morning call.”

This time, it was Virgil on the receiving end of unimpressed stares.

The exchange earned the attention of several nearby salescats and salespeople, who had paused mid-task to watch this unfiltered drama unfold. Their eyes shone with the light of gossip, and a few exchanged raised eyebrows, clearly intrigued by the dynamic between this Regal One and his human pets.

Not that any of the men noticed, too busy staring each other down. 

When Felix finally emerged from the dressing room, dressed in one of the outfits Albrecht had chosen—an ivory silk blazer paired with tailored black trousers—the conversation came to an abrupt halt.

“You look divine,” Albrecht declared with genuine praise, looking pleased.

Sorath smirked, snapping a picture with his phone “Looking sharp, boss.”

Felix frowned, “Oh, and where were you guys when I needed your help earlier?”

“Oh, would you look at that bolo tie! It has my name written on it!” Virgil dashed off.

Sorath looked up at the ceiling and Thel also looked as exasperated as Felix felt. The only one happy was Albrecht. 

As they made their way to the register, Felix couldn’t shake the feeling of being part of a very strange spectacle. The salespeople and cats’ curious glances followed them, and he caught snippets of whispered conversations.

“Did you see how possessive they were?”
“Definitely the jealous sort.”
“Bold, aren’t they?”

Felix walked a little faster. It figures they would be the spectacle wherever they go. And just because Felix wanted to leave those stares as quickly as possible, he didn't fight nearly as hard with Albrecht over who got to pay for the purchases. (Not that he would've won, anyway.)

But this only prompted another round of whisperings and stares. And was that disapproval he saw?

“Ready to go?” Sorath asked as they exited the boutique, the golden afternoon light casting long shadows on the sidewalk.

“More than ready,” Felix replied, clutching the bags Albrecht had insisted on carrying for him.

*

As the group exited the boutique, the bustling energy of the downtown district enveloped them. Felix, still flushed from Albrecht’s antics and the prying eyes of the salespeople/cats, was ready for a breather. The group had been loud, lively, and chaotic—but now, somehow, he found himself walking alone with Thel.

“Wait... where is everyone?” Felix asked, glancing around.

Thel adjusted the cuffs of his crisp white shirt with a nonchalant air. “Fitzgerald mentioned crepes. St. Lilith and Goodwine seemed equally distracted by a shop selling something called bubble tea across the street. I wouldn’t be surprised if they’ve wandered off entirely.”

“...” Felix wisely changed the subject. “I've been meaning to ask, why do you guys refer to each other using your last names? Isn't it a bit too formal? Besides, I feel like ‘St. Lilith’ is more of a mouthful than ‘Virgil’.”

Thel’s dark eyes shifted briefly to Felix before looking ahead again. “Not particularly.”

“...”

Well. This one was a conversation ender. Felix never thought he might actually miss the others' chatter and antics.

Likely picking up on the awkwardness, Thel gestured to the street ahead. “Shall we keep walking? I imagine they’ll find their way back eventually.”

With a nod, Felix fell into step beside Thel, confused but grateful for the man's offer. The next second, Felix wanted to slap himself at actually being grateful over the tiny morsel of consideration the other threw at him.

This was called Stockholm syndrome, wasn't it?! Wasn't it?!