The first thing I noticed was the door. But it took a few seconds for my brain to register what was wrong.

Today, the familiar wooden panel with its worn brass handle looked different. The paint was damp in spots, streaks of water sliding down as if someone had scrubbed too hard and failed to erase the damage.

Some half-visible words were sprawled across the surface in harsh black spray.

…RID-LOVERS OUT.

The first part was smeared beyond recognition, dragged into something ugly.

My throat became dry, and the noise of the street seemed distant, as if I’d been submerged underwater.

I hovered my hand over the letters.

One day.

I’d been gone for one fucking day.

The door creaked open.

Kazuo stood there with his sleeves rolled up. The fur on his fingers was wet, and his skin red as though he’d been scrubbing for a while.

“Finally,” he said. “You wanna give me a hand? This crap won’t come off easy.” His voice was too calm.

I blinked, still staring at the mess on the door. “What happened?”

The answer was obvious, but I needed to hear him say it.

Kazuo followed my gaze. Something flickered in his eyes before his face settled back into neutral, and he shrugged. “What it looks like. Some dickhead with too much time.”

“They got to us, too?” I swallowed.

“Seems so.” He pressed the rag into my hand. “Well, you scrubbing, or keep standing there?”

I grabbed it and stared at the door again.

My thoughts refused to line up.

They’d found us.

Did they know about the people who came here? About me?

What if they were watching us… right now?

Panic crashed over me. My heart started pounding, and my breath was coming too fast. No matter how much air I pulled in, it wasn’t enough.

I was right on the verge of a full panic attack, which, apparently, had become a regular thing for me lately.

Bad karma, maybe.

Or simply terrible luck.

Fuck.

A furry hand suddenly appeared in my field of vision, holding out a disposable medical mask. I looked up. Kazuo was watching me closely.

“I was going to offer you the usual one,” he said quietly. “But a fox mask would draw too much attention right now. This is better. At least you won’t have to breathe this shit in.”

For a moment, neither of us moved. We just looked at each other. His eyes held understanding, real understanding.

I took the mask and slipped it over my face. The fabric settled in place, and the panic loosened its grip enough to draw in a slow breath.

Then I turned back to the door and started scrubbing.

“What are we gonna do about this?” I asked after some minutes.

Kazuo scrubbed in silence for some time. “Dunno yet,” he said finally. “But first things first, let’s clean up what we can. Then we’ll see.”

Usually, he’d joke, throw in some remark about the “artistry” of vandalism, or make a bet on how long it’d take. Not today.

I pressed harder, rubbing until my fingers ached.

“Alright,” I said. “Let’s get it done.”

An hour later, I leaned against the bar. My arms were sore, palms raw from the rag. My shirt was dotted with gray stains.

Now the door looked… passable. To anyone else, it might seem as nothing more than water damage. But I knew the mark was still there.

The bar opened like normal, and everything was where it was supposed to be.

But for me… nothing felt right.

Kazuo moved behind the counter as always, but he paused too long over bottles, fingers resting against the glass as if trying to remain calm.

I knew how much the bar meant to him.

It wasn’t just a place he worked. It was his home, the one he had built with his own hands, piece by piece, choice by choice. And someone had violated it. Someone had left those disgusting words on something so important to him.

I didn’t know what to say.

I was scared. I was afraid of being found, of what might happen next, of how close this all felt. But underneath that fear, there was a worry for Kazuo. I wanted to ease it somehow. To take even a fraction of that weight off his shoulders.

I had no idea how.

I’d never been good at comforting. At saying the right thing when it mattered. And Kazuo… Kazuo was good at hiding his feelings. Too good.

When the guests started coming in, one after another, ordering drinks as though nothing had happened, no one noticed anything.

Yes, Kazuo was quieter than usual.

Yes, he lingered a little longer over the bottle labels.

Yes, the bar didn’t smell like pancakes that night — the thing he’d been obsessed with lately.

But for some reason, no one seemed to notice what a hard time he was having.

I watched him work, and the words stayed stuck in my throat.

I let my gaze drift over the bar, over the room as it slowly began to fill. Humans. Beastkin. And hybrids, too.

At first glance, nothing had changed. But if you looked closely, you could see it. Even though the hybrids still came in, still talked, still laughed, nervous as hell, but still here, not a single one of them showed their animal traits.

Their ears were hidden. No whiskers in sight. Definitely no tails.

They’d chosen to cover up the parts of themselves they’d inherited from the beastkin parents, trying to look as human as possible.

They were uncomfortable because they sensed that something was off.

And yet they came here.

They came because this place made them feel safe.

What would happen to them now?