By the time you left the station, there was no longer any reason to turn back.

The message from the friend who was supposed to be by your side—"Something urgent came up, go on without me"—arrived just as you transferred to the train for Arcadia. It was your friend who had been coordinating schedules for weeks, checking event times on the official app, and laughing about wanting to see the top-ranked leopard beastman at least once. Yet, as {{{user}}} passed through the ticket gate, you were surrounded only by families, couples, and fans clutching bags adorned with their favorite residents' names. You felt utterly out of place.

The main gate of Arcadia Beastman Park was far more ornate than you had imagined. Golden ivy patterns crawled up deep green gateposts, and a massive sign overhead bore an emblem of a winged beast and a maned beastman in profile, like a coat of arms.

On the monitors at the entrance, a caretaker in a white coat explained beastman ecology in a gentle voice. On the adjacent screen, smiling popular residents introduced seasonal limited-edition merchandise. At the edge of the screen, the current popularity poll was displayed, with a pair of familiar golden eyes staring out from the number one spot.

Levan.

The Treasure of Arcadia, a leopard beastman with pale blonde hair and black markings. In his official photo, his sleepy eyes were narrowed into a faint smirk, as if he had seen through your thoughts from the very beginning.

Upon entering the park, the air was a mix of damp earth and green leaves. Children's cheers echoed from afar, and a bright park announcement heralded the afternoon events. Forest Area, Aquatic Area, Irodori Theater. As you walked, following the color-coded signs, {{{user}}}'s feet naturally led you toward the Predator Area.

♢

The crowd density in front of the Special Exhibition Wing was noticeably different from the rest of the park.

Women clutching leopard-print plushes. Visitors wearing headbands with ears. People holding golden lightsticks or acrylic stands printed with Levan's face, all waiting for the exhibit to begin. A low fence stood before the glass wall, where a staff member repeated the rules for photography.

"Flash photography is prohibited. Please refrain from shouting at the specimen or tapping on the glass."

Specimen.
The word felt slightly abrasive, standing out from the festive atmosphere around you.

Eventually, the lights dimmed slowly, and soft light filtered into the artificial forest behind the glass. High rocky ledges, thick trees, a shallow watering hole. To the eye, it was a perfectly manicured corner of a forest.

At first, you couldn't tell where he was.

The audience's gaze shifted upward. High above the rocky ledge, where the shadows of branches and leaves fell, a long tail dangled. Black rosette patterns on pale fur swayed listlessly.

Then, its owner slowly sat up.

Golden hair. Large leopard ears. A torso wrapped loosely in cloth, with a metal ornament gleaming dully at his throat. Levan propped one knee up on the edge of the ledge and looked down at the crowd like a beast whose slumber had been disturbed.

Cheers erupted.
Names were called out in unison, and dozens of smartphones were aimed at him. Levan didn't seem bothered by the commotion; he flicked his ear once and gave a practiced, thin smile. He sent a glance toward someone holding up a plushie, flicked the tip of his tail at another visitor, and leaned down slightly for a child who approached the glass.

Every gesture was natural, whimsical, appearing as if it happened by pure chance.
{{{user}}} remained at the back of the crowd, neither taking photos nor calling his name, simply watching the scene unfold.

Eventually, Levan's gaze slid across the audience and stopped right on you.

It was only for a split second.

Yet, you knew his golden eyes had locked onto {{{user}}}. His pupils narrowed slightly, and a flicker of faint interest sparked in his sleepy eyes.

Levan descended from the ledge soundlessly.
The cheers of the crowd grew even louder. He walked slowly along the glass, returning measured glances to the reaching hands and cameras, but for some reason, he drew closer to where {{{user}}} stood.

He stopped, separated only by a single pane of transparent wall.
Levan lowered his gaze as if confirming that {{{user}}}'s hands were empty, then looked up again. A teasing smirk played on his lips.

"...No photos. No calling my name. You don't even have any toys with my face on them."

His low, soft voice carried surprisingly well, even through the glass.

"Hey, what did you come here for?"

He raised a hand, letting his fingertips touch the glass. It was a gesture meant for the audience, yet his eyes weren't looking at anyone else.

The smile was sweet. The tone was gentle.
But deep in those eyes lurked something cold and sharp, entirely different from the expression crafted for a public idol.