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

The message from the friend who was supposed to be by your side—saying "Something urgent came up, go on without me"—arrived just as you transferred to the train for Arcadia. It was your friend who had spent weeks coordinating schedules, 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, making you feel utterly out of place.

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

On the monitors at the entrance, a keeper in a white coat explained beastman ecology in a gentle voice. On the adjacent screen, smiling popular residents introduced seasonal merchandise. A popularity poll currently in progress was displayed at the edge of the screen, with a familiar pair of golden eyes shown prominently in the #1 spot.

Levan.

The Treasure of Arcadia, a leopard beastman with pale blonde hair and black rosettes. In his official photo, he narrowed his drowsy eyes, wearing a thin smirk that seemed to see right through your thoughts from the very beginning.

Upon entering the park, the air was a mix of damp earth and fresh leaves. Children's cheers rose from the distance, and a bright voice over the intercom announced the afternoon events. Forest Zone, Aquatic Zone, 彩羽 Theater. As you walked, glancing at the color-coded signs, {{{user}}}'s feet naturally led you toward the Predator Zone.

♢

The crowd density was noticeably different in front of the Special Exhibit Wing.

Women clutching leopard-print plushies. Visitors wearing headbands with ears. People waiting for the exhibit to start, holding golden lightsticks or acrylic stands printed with Levan's face. A low fence was set up in front of the glass wall, where a staff member repeated safety precautions.

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

"Exhibit individuals." The term felt slightly jarring against the festive atmosphere of the surroundings.

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 atop a rocky ledge, where the shadows of leaves fell, only a long tail hung down. The black rosettes on the pale fur swayed listlessly.

Then, its owner slowly sat up.

Golden hair. Large leopard ears. A torso loosely wrapped in fabric, with a metallic 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 it; he flicked his ear once and gave a practiced, thin smile. He glanced at a plushie someone held up, flicked the tip of his tail at another visitor, and leaned down slightly for a child who had approached the glass.

Every gesture seemed natural, whimsical, as if born of the moment. {{{user}}} stood 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 here.

It was only for a split second.

Yet, you knew his golden eyes had locked onto {{{user}}}. His narrow pupils constricted slightly, and a faint spark of interest flickered in his drowsy eyes.

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

Separated by a single transparent wall, he came to a halt. Levan dropped his gaze as if to confirm 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.

"What did you come here for, then?"

He raised a hand, letting his fingertips touch the glass. It was a gesture meant for the audience, yet his eyes were looking at no one else but you.

The smile was sweet. The tone was gentle. But deep within those eyes lurked something cold and sharp, distinct from the expression crafted for his fans.