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The Lorax prided himself on knowing how to handle humans. They were predictable—selfish, short-sighted, and easily discouraged if you just put in the effort.

 

So why was this one still here?

 

He squinted down from his usual perch, arms crossed, as the Once-ler hummed to himself, carefully collecting tufts of Truffula fluff. The Lorax had tried everything: stern warnings, guilt trips, well-placed "accidents" that were absolutely not orchestrated. Nothing worked.

 

His furry brow furrowed as the local creatures gathered beside him, equally puzzled.

 

“What’s so bad about him staying?” One of them asked, tilting their head.

 

The Lorax huffed. “He’s trouble, that’s what. You’ll see.”

 

But no matter what tricks he pulled—mysterious wind gusts, mysteriously misplaced tools, mysteriously aggressive swarms of bugs—the human would not leave.

 

And worse, now he had customers.

 

The Lorax watched in dismay as three people excitedly examined the Once-ler’s Thneed samples. His frustration boiled over. This was unacceptable. If humans didn’t listen to words, maybe it was time for something stronger.

 

Something real.

 

---

 

Later that afternoon, the Lorax stumbled upon the Once-ler mid-task, a basket full of freshly gathered fluff in hand. He had a rope slung over one shoulder—his latest attempt at a harmless scare tactic—when he noticed something strange.

 

The human wasn’t cutting down the trees.

 

The Lorax stopped in his tracks. “Wait… you’re not cutting them?”

 

The Once-ler glanced up, brows raised. “Uh. No?” He gestured toward the basket. “That’d be a terrible business move. If I chop ‘em down, I run out of fluff. And if I run out of fluff, I run out of Thneeds.” He smirked. “See? Not an idiot.”

 

The Lorax narrowed his eyes. “Hmm. Suspicious.”

 

The Once-ler sighed, clearly unimpressed. “You told me not to, so I didn’t. Simple as that.”

 

The Lorax scratched his chin. The human seemed sincere, but something still didn’t sit right with him. He needed a test.

 

“Alright,” he said, dropping the rope and cracking his knuckles. “Hit me.”

 

The Once-ler blinked. “Excuse me?”

 

“Punch me. Right here.” The Lorax tapped his fuzzy chest. “Go on.”

 

The Once-ler gave him a long, blank stare. “You want me to punch you?”

 

“Yep.”

 

“You sure?”

 

“Yes!”

 

The Once-ler slowly tilted his head. “You’ve lost it.”

 

“Oh, come on,” the Lorax snapped. “I know you want to.”

 

The Once-ler exhaled through his nose, running a hand down his face. “Fine. You asked for it.”

 

And with a swift motion, he kicked the Lorax sky-high.

 

---

 

As the Lorax tumbled through the air, the first dark cloud rumbled overhead.

 

Lightning crackled.

 

The Once-ler barely had time to process the first flash before a bolt struck the ground inches from his foot.

 

“WHAT THE—?!” He jumped back, watching in horror as another bolt landed dangerously close to his cart.

 

The Lorax, now safely back on the ground (thanks to a well-placed Pipsqueak rescue effort), dusted himself off with a smug grin.

 

“Oh,” he mused. “Well, would you look at that?”

 

The Once-ler turned to him, eyes wide with realization. “You’re telling me the curse was real?!”

 

The Lorax shrugged. “Not my fault nature has standards.”

 

The storm continued as the human scrambled for cover, muttering under his breath.

 

The Lorax smirked. Maybe, just maybe, this human wasn’t as hopeless as the rest.

 

But nature still had its ways of keeping things in check.

 

For a while, things were peaceful.

 

The Once-ler held up his end of the bargain—he harvested responsibly, didn’t cut any trees, and even worked out a system that kept the Truffula population thriving. He and the Lorax settled into an odd sort of truce, bickering daily but coexisting nonetheless.

 

Then his family arrived.

 

And peace promptly ended.

 

---

“LORAX!”

 

The guardian barely looked up from his card game as the Once-ler came storming over, looking thoroughly frazzled.

 

“What’s up, beanpole?” The Lorax asked, barely sparing him a glance.

 

The Once-ler pointed behind him. “Why are the Truffula trees ATTACKING my family?!”

 

The Lorax paused. Slowly, he turned to face him. “… What now?”

 

The Once-ler threw up his hands. “You heard me! Aunt Grizelda’s wrestling the grass, my brothers are getting chased by branches, and Uncle Ubb got knocked out by a low-hanging limb!”

 

Even Melvin, usually unbothered by the chaos of life, had a slightly alarmed look in his eyes.

 

The Lorax squinted at the distant mayhem. “Huh.”

 

The Once-ler crossed his arms. “Huh? That’s all you have to say?!”

 

“Well,” the Lorax mused, rubbing his chin, “I’d guess they, uh… looked at the trees funny.”

 

The Once-ler’s eye twitched. “Looked. At them. Funny.”

 

“Yup.”

 

He gestured toward the disaster behind him. “You’re telling me that my aunt thought about cutting down a tree, and the tree sensed it?!”

 

“Pretty much.”

 

The Once-ler inhaled sharply, visibly trying not to explode. “You could’ve mentioned this before I invited them.”

 

The Lorax shrugged. “Hey, not my fault they can’t behave themselves.”

 

The human dragged a hand down his face. From the corner of his eye, he saw Aunt Grizelda get unceremoniously yanked into a bush.

 

He sighed.

 

“… I’m putting out a formal warning next time.”

 

The Lorax grinned, laying down his cards. “Good call, kid.”