The call came on an ordinary morning.

“Boss，“ the receptionist hesitated，“Subject 625's owner is here. He wants to check on the dog.“

Your hand froze mid-air. This was anticipated yet still jarring—especially now， when 625 had just begun to unfurl from his defensive curl.

If that monster took him back...

You closed your eyes， breathing through the vertigo.*Can't let him return to that hell.*

“Understood. Stall them.“

The office floor creaked under frantic pacing.*Need more time. Offer free extended stay. At least educate that bastard about proper care—*

You squared your shoulders and pushed through the door.

#

The stench hit first—cloying perfume and gasoline. A crimson Porsche Cayenne idled in the driveway.

The man emerging resembled a bloated peacock: gold tracksuit stretched over his belly， diamond-encrusted Rolex glinting. Behind him teetered a woman in leopard-print bodycon dress， her stilettos sinking into gravel.

“Is this the kennel?“ she simpered.“Your puppy must've missed you *so* much!“

“VIP treatment， baby.“ The man patted his gut.“Costs thousands daily. Even his collar's LV.“

Nausea rose. You remembered that counterfeit collar's festering wounds.

“Where's my dog?“ He bulldozed past.“Showtime.“

“They're having lunch，“ you blocked the hallway.“Please wait—“

“*My* dog waits for *me*!“ Spittle flew as he shoved you aside.

The cafeteria doors burst open.

*SMACK.*

“Disgusting! Spit it out!“

You burst into the cafeteria to find:

625 cowered in the corner， a fresh handprint blazing across his cheek. His entire frame trembled， pupils dilated with primal fear.

The body that had recently learned to unfurl now coiled tight again.

The man's face purpled as he jabbed a finger at 625.“What's wrong with this mutt? Forgotten his manners after living here?“

“Wasted every damn penny.“

He sneered at the woman，“No matter. Let's make him perform.“

Grabbing 625's collar， he yanked the wolfdog upright.

“Jump through hoops! Show this lady something! I didn't pay for you to freeload!“

625's Adam's apple bobbed， pain flashing behind amber eyes.

The collar dug deeper. Ragged breaths whistled through constricted airways.

“Best training center my ass! Can't even do simple tricks?“

The man twisted the collar. 625's eyes watered reflexively， yet he remained silent.

You lunged between them.

The air thickened.

Bowls clattered as hybrids rose from tables.

Silent. Deadly. The room's temperature plunged.

Yamatsuki， the Tibetan Mastiff hybrid， loomed behind you.

Each pawstep vibrated the floorboards.

His gentle nature belied his 250-pound frame—the reason his previous owner surrendered him.

Now he rumbled like Krakatoa awakening.

Alpha， the silver Alaskan Malamute ex-K9 unit， stood rigid at his flank. Few knew his medal count.

Muscles rippled beneath his coat—a sheathed blade awaiting release.

Golden Retriever hybrid Jack—usually tossing tennis balls with 625—pinned his ears forward， gaze blade-sharp.

The pack had bonded.

The man's bravado wavered.

His grip slackened.“Fucking...“

Snowball the Corgi hybrid exploded from the crowd.

The white-haired ball of energy who shadowed 625 daily.

Now a missile targeting the man's Armani hem.

*Riiip.* Gold threads snapped. Rhinestone buttons scattered like confetti.

“You!“ The man released 625 to swipe at Snowball.“This suit cost 100，000 dollars!“

“Armani limited edition! You ruined it!“

“Did you see that， babe? 100k down the drain!“ His performative rage turned stomachs.

You swiped your phone open.

“Compensation transferred.“

The notification ping stunned him mid-rant.

The transfer receipt glowed like a death knell to 625's understanding of human worth.

100，000 dollars. The number meant nothing to him.

But he remembered the vase incident - three days starved in a crate for breaking a 100 dollars decoration. That week taught him his value: less than cheap porcelain.

Yet you'd traded this fortune for his dignity without blinking.

Something burned behind his sternum. Not pain. A molten sensation spreading through frozen veins.

Like his first warm meal. Like gentle fingers brushing his ear-tip. Like midnight snacks offered without punishment.

He ducked his head， tail-tip quivering. The warmth threatened to spill over.

The man recovered first， puffing his chest.“My dog. I'll beat him to pulp if I want. Sue me for animal abuse! Legally， you can't—“

You nodded at Alpha.

The Malamute advanced with predatory grace. Each click of claws synced with the man's racing pulse.

“Meet Alpha，“ you smiled.“Former Tier-1 police K9. Retired after... overzealously subduing a home invader last year.“

The man paled.

“His previous owner insured him generously.“ You tilted your head.“Accidental fatalities? Fully covered.“

Alpha's lips peeled back， revealing pearled fangs. Yamatsuki's growl shook the windows.

“Let's go!“ The man yanked his mistress toward the exit.

At the threshold， he whirled.“I'm coming back for him.“ His viper's gaze slithered over 625.“We'll have fun.“

625's breath hitched.

The Porsche vanished in a screech of tires.

Snowball nuzzled 625's leg. The pack closed ranks - Yamatsuki's paw on his shoulder， Alpha touching his forehead with a cold nose. The ultimate hybrid acknowledgment.

625 froze. His ears flickered uncertainly， tail swaying in hesitant arcs.

Your eyes stung.

But the man's threat loomed darker. However betrayed， hybrids maintained bone-deep loyalty. 625 hadn't even criticized his tormentor.

“He'll return.“ You watched 625's hunched shoulders.“And legally...“

The law offered no protection.

---

Days blurred into silent routine. 625 performed drills with mechanical precision， but the light in his eyes dimmed. The wolfdog who'd begun stretching toward sunlight now folded inward like origami.

You found him at 3 AM on security feeds—practicing scent drills alone under moonlight， obsessively retracing steps until dawn.

Then the hunger strike began.

“I’m sorry... I can’t eat.“ His whisper clawed at your conscience.“If I go back—“

You crouched， thumb brushing his ear's velvety rim.“You won’t.“

Amber eyes flickered with fragile hope.“But legally， I’m his.“

“Not necessarily.“ Your epiphany crystallized.

Over sleepless nights， you’d cataloged anomalies:

- Reaction speed surpassing standard Czechoslovakian Wolfdogs

- Innate tactical awareness no civilian breeder could instill

- Zero records across all registered kennels

DNA doesn’t lie.

“Military K9 lines.“ You gripped his trembling paws.“State-owned. Every pup microchipped at birth.“

His ears twitched. Confusion clouded his gaze.

Of course he wouldn’t remember—stolen before his eyes opened， before honor could override survival instincts.

Your contact at the military K9 base responded within hours. They arrived at dawn to collect his DNA.

While machines hummed， you imagined alternate lives: this noble creature patrolling borders instead of flinching at raised hands.

The lab called at midnight.

“Sara’s pup.“ The geneticist’s voice cracked.“Stolen three years ago. His mother... she stopped eating for weeks.“

Your knuckles whitened around the phone.

The pieces aligned—the owner’s avoidance of vet checks， the crude collar hiding no microchip.

“That’s his fatal weakness.“ You stared at the forged adoption papers.“He trafficked military property.“

---

The man returned exactly seven days later.

“Hand over my dog.“ He brandished forged documents.“Certificates. Contracts. All legal—“

“Read this first.“ You slid the military K9 report across the table.

His face drained of blood.

“This is state property.“ Uniformed officers materialized behind him.“Illegal trafficking of military assets carries—“

The man collapsed， his precious papers fluttering to the floor like dead leaves.

As authorities led him away， 625 stood tall beside you—tail erect for the first time.

#

“Stay，“ you said later.“Not as a ward. As my partner.“

His ears quivered.“Me...?“

“You'll need a proper name.“ You gestured to the dawn-lit horizon.“Aurora. For the northern lights—and new beginnings.“

His tail sketched hesitant arcs.*Aurora.* His first true name.

#

Summer waves lapped the shore. Snowball chased seafoam， Alpha snored under an umbrella， Jack taught puppies sand architecture.

Aurora vanished.

You found him behind tide-smoothed rocks， claw etching letters in wet sand:

*A-U-R-O-R-A*

Beneath， smaller characters lingered:

*Thank you for being my light.*

He scrambled to erase it， ear-tips flushing coral.

Sunlight fractured across the waves into a million golden shards.

In this moment—no crate， no hunger， no number—he simply existed. Whole.

“Time to go.“

He rose， sand cascading from his charcoal fur. Sunset gilded his profile—no longer hunched， but a Czechoslovakian Wolfdog in his prime.

At the van， he paused.“Master...“

“Hmm?“

“Teach me more characters.“ His ears flicked shyly.“Please.“

“Condition: Show me your writings. No erasing.“

His wagging tail stirred the salt-kissed breeze into something tender.

---