The next morning arrived as always: too early, with the sun beating down on the windows as if collecting debts. Marcel got up without a word, dressed without looking in the mirror, and walked to the bar as if every step were part of a ritual he didn't yet fully understand.

He walked in.

The bar greeted him with its usual murmur, as if whispering secrets no one should hear. Everything seemed the same. Except for Squall, who was already waiting for him.

"Good morning, walking defect," -Squall snorted from his floating cushion. "Ready to wipe the floor with your FUCKING dignity?"

Marcel swallowed. He didn't respond. He'd learned that silence hurt less than arguing. He grabbed his broom and started sweeping. But then, something changed.

"Do you think it's funny to talk to him like that?"

The voice was high-pitched. Firm. And it wasn't coming from him.

It came from a cat woman who had just entered the room, floating over a tray of empty glasses. She had white fur, golden eyes like sunshine trapped in honey, and wore a red scarf around her neck like a heroine from a Fairytale. She walked with the confidence of someone who's kicked ass on several levels of existence.

Squall turned around slowly.

"Oh, Alessandra… This is none of your business." -Squall said.

"Of course it is," -The cat woman said, coming closer, her gaze sharp. "This guy works here. And you have no right to talk to him like that. If I hear one more word like that from you… I swear I'll break your other ear."

The whole bar's ambiance seemed to shudder a little. A lamp went out just in case.

"Bah. Whatever. It's not worth arguing with someone with a history of five-dimensional violence," -Squall muttered, getting off his cushion and walking over to a ledge, feigning dignity while his tail twitched.

Marcel blinked. He looked at the cat woman. He didn't know what to say. Seems that... he found her... 'blue princess'.

"Are you okay?" -She asked, softer now.

He nodded awkwardly.

"Thank you, chérie. Je... je suis Marcel Lacroix. It's a pleasure to meet you." -Marcel said, presenting himself.

"Relax. You don't have to say it if you don't want to. I'm Alessandra. I've been working here for a while. I serve drinks. Sometimes i can be threatening." -Alessandra said.

Marcel smiled. For the first time in days.

"I'm... I'm new. I started yesterday. I'm in charge of... well, sweeping." -Marcel said.

"We all start with something, n'est-ce pas? Although sometimes that "something" is a cat... a bit disgusting, with a superiority complex. A peu trop sûr de lui, if you ask me." -Marcel added.

As they were talking, Elizabeth, appeared, as always: elegant and with that air of someone who knows more than she's letting on. She approached Alessandra and whispered something in her ear. Alessandra nodded, glancing at the protagonist.

"Is everything okay?" -Marcel asked, uneasy.

Elizabeth smiled serenely.

"I just wanted to explain your condition. So you're aware," -Elizabeth said, her voice calm. "Some of us need different maps to navigate this world. Alessandra is good with maps."

"Thank you." -Marcel murmured, looking down.

She touched him lightly on the shoulder.

"You don't have to thank me. But you do have to remember one thing: you're not here out of pity. You're here because the bar has been chosen you. And the bar is rarely wrong." -Alessandra said.

Then he walked away, his silhouette fading into the steam of a bottomless kettle. Alessandra looked at him thoughtfully.

"Do you know something? That woman sees things no one else sees. But she never tells you everything she knows. If she chose you, there's bound to be a reason. Even if you don't know what it is yet." -Alessandra said.

Marcel looked at her. And for the first time, he felt that maybe… he wasn't so alone there. That night, the bar was transformed. Not figuratively—it was literally transformed.

The walls opened like the petals of an old flower, and the wood creaked with suppressed excitement. Lanterns hung from the ceiling without strings, floating like fireflies with disco syndrome. A softly colored mist crept across the floor, as if the music itself had dissolved into vapor.

And then the cats arrived. Cats that had never been seen before. With impossible fur, long whiskers, eyes that shone like cosmic beacons. Some wore bow ties, others tutus, one rode on a turtle wearing a hat.

And they all danced. They twirled, jumped, pushed each other with accidental elegance. The music seemed to come from an organ played by an octopus from another plane. But it was beautiful. Joyful. Almost... healing.

Marcel watched from a corner with a floating glass of licor, being the special guest. Alessandra gently nudged him with her tail.

"Go on, silly. It's for you. It's your party." -Alessandra said.

He blinked.

"Mine?" -Marcel asked.

"Eliza says it's to celebrate you're now part of the bar. Although she probably has a secret, secretly manipulative motive, as always." -Alessandra said.

Elizabeth, from across the room, raised her glass and smiled at him. That smile that seemed to be holding something back.

He, still nervous, walked to the center. And he danced.

He didn't know how, but he did. Clumsily at first, then with that rare grace of someone who doesn't need rhythm when they have soul. The cats surrounded him, meowed encouragement, and briefly held him up like a human trophy in a threadbare sweatshirt.

And for the first time, he laughed.

Amid the lights and the music, Elizabeth quietly stepped away. She climbed onto the bookcase suspended above the bar, where the world fell silent. There, among dusty shelves and books that still whispered forgotten spells, she tried to remember something.

The prophecy.

"Only if the most beautiful gray cat in town passionately gives the true love's kiss to the heiress to the previous owner's fortune will the bar survive eternal oblivion. Only then will it be remembered. Only then will it be reborn. Otherwise, the bar is done fore."

She sighed. She knew perfectly well who the heiress was. And, though it didn't look like it, she also knew who the most beautiful gray cat was. Not because of his fur, but because of something deeper. Something only those who see through the cracks can perceive.

"You..." -Elizabeth whispered, watching the boy dance awkwardly below. "You don't know who you are yet. And I don't have the right to force you to feel anything. But the bar chose you. And that's no coincidence."

"If she must teach you to understand the world. To navigate your mind. To calm that beautiful chaos burning inside you... she will. But not so you'll love her. Not to fulfill the prophecy. But because you deserve to be happy. Even if you never love her. Even if you never kiss her." -Elizabeth said.

Now Elizabeth knew everything. Seeing the love growing on them, something was very clear.

Marcel is the grey cat that the prophecy acclaimed. She finally found him.