Work Text:
The room felt wrong.
Gemini noticed it the moment he woke up.
It wasn’t loud—there was no crash, no alarm, no dramatic interruption. Just… wrong. Quiet in a way that pressed against his ears.
He frowned, eyes still half-lidded as he turned slightly, instinctively reaching to the other side of the bed.
Cold.
“…Aisi?”
No response.
That wasn’t unusual. Aisi woke up earlier than him most days, sometimes already reviewing match footage before Gemini even opened his eyes. But even then, there would be signs—his laptop humming, the soft tapping of keys, the faint rustle of notes.
Today?
Nothing.
Gemini pushed himself up, blinking away sleep. The curtains were still drawn. The room was dim, almost suffocating in its stillness.
Then he saw it.
Aisi’s phone.
Right there on the nightstand.
Buzzing.
Gemini stared at it, his frown deepening. The screen lit up again—another incoming call. The caller ID flashed one of the team staff’s names.
“…Why would he leave his phone?”
And then—
His glasses.
Folded neatly beside it.
That’s when something cold settled in his chest.
Aisi never went anywhere without his glasses.
Never.
Gemini grabbed the phone, declining the call before it could keep ringing. His movements were sharper now, more alert.
“Aisi?” he called again, louder this time.
He checked the bathroom.
Empty.
Closet.
Nothing.
The door.
Still locked from the inside.
Now his heartbeat started picking up.
-
Ten minutes later, the entire KPL Dream Team was awake.
And panicking.
“What do you mean he’s not there?!” one of the players snapped, still clutching his phone, the faint sounds of a paused ranked game echoing from the speaker.
“He didn’t go out?” another asked.
“The door was locked,” Gemini replied, voice low, controlled—but just barely. “From the inside.”
That shut everyone up.
Because that didn’t make sense.
At all.
The manager ran a hand through his hair. “We checked the cameras. No one matching Aisi’s appearance left this floor since last night.”
“Could he be in another room?” someone suggested weakly.
“With no phone? No glasses?” Gemini shot back.
Silence again.
Even the most easygoing players were tense now, gripping their phones tighter, some subconsciously refreshing their screens as if Aisi might somehow message them.
He didn’t.
Of course he didn’t.
Gemini exhaled slowly, forcing himself to think.
There had to be an explanation.
There always was.
“Call the front desk again,” he said. “Check every floor. Every room. I don’t care if we have to knock on every door—”
A soft sound interrupted him.
It was so quiet that, at first, no one reacted.
A faint rustle.
From the bed.
Gemini’s voice cut off mid-sentence.
Everyone turned.
The blanket shifted.
Just slightly.
And then—
A small head peeked out.
“…What?”
A kitten.
Tiny. Thin. Scruffy, but not dirty. Its fur was uneven, like it hadn’t been properly groomed in a while, but it wasn’t the kind of stray that had been wandering the streets for months either.
It blinked.
Slowly.
Calmly.
Like it had all the time in the world.
No one spoke.
Because that wasn’t the weirdest part.
The weirdest part was—
It was on Aisi’s side of the bed.
Gemini stared at it, something in his chest tightening in a way he couldn’t explain.
“…Where did that come from?” someone whispered.
No one had an answer.
The kitten stretched, small body arching lazily as if it had just woken up from a peaceful nap.
Then it looked up.
Directly at Gemini.
Its eyes—
Sharp.
Too sharp.
Too aware.
Gemini felt it then.
That same wrongness from earlier.
But stronger.
He stepped closer, slowly, as if approaching something fragile… or dangerous.
The kitten didn’t move away.
Didn’t hiss.
Didn’t flinch.
It just watched him.
Unblinking.
“…Aisi?” Gemini said, the name slipping out before he could stop himself.
The room went dead silent.
For a moment—
Nothing happened.
Then the kitten tilted its head.
And let out a soft, quiet—
“Meow.”
-
“No.”
“That’s a cat.”
“And Aisi is a human being.”
The room had dissolved into chaos again—but this time, it wasn’t about search routes or security footage.
It was about the kitten.
“Coach, we’re wasting time,” one of the players said, running a hand through his hair, frustration clear in his voice. “We should be looking outside, calling the organizers, the police—something—not standing here arguing about a stray.”
“It’s not a stray.”
Gemini didn’t raise his voice.
But the firmness in it made everyone pause.
The kitten, currently sitting on the bed like it owned the place, flicked its tail lazily.
Someone scoffed. “Oh, so what? It just spawned here?”
Gemini didn’t answer immediately.
Because that was exactly the problem.
It didn’t make sense.
Locked room. No signs of entry. No Aisi.
But this thing?
Just… there.
On his side of the bed.
Sleeping where Aisi should’ve been.
“…We don’t have time for this,” the manager cut in, though his tone was less certain now. “We’ll keep searching. For now, someone take the—”
“No.”
This time, Gemini’s voice was sharper.
Clearer.
Final.
“It stays.”
Silence.
“Coach—”
“It stays,” Gemini repeated, eyes still fixed on the kitten. “In this room.”
A beat.
“…With me.”
The protest came instantly.
“Are you serious?!”
“It could have diseases!”
“What if it scratches someone—”
“It won’t.”
Gemini reached out.
Carefully.
Slowly.
The kitten didn’t retreat.
Didn’t tense.
It simply watched him, those strange, sharp eyes tracking every movement.
And when his fingers finally brushed its head—
It leaned in.
Soft.
Warm.
Familiar.
Gemini froze.
Something twisted in his chest.
“…It stays,” he said again, quieter this time.
And for some reason—
No one argued after that.
-
The search continued.
Rooms. Floors. Cameras. Calls.
Nothing.
Aisi had vanished completely.
And somehow, that made the presence of the kitten even louder.
-
It didn’t take long for things to get… strange.
At first, it was small.
Easy to brush off.
The kitten followed Gemini everywhere.
Not just wandering—following.
If Gemini moved, it moved.
If he stopped, it stopped.
If he sat, it jumped up beside him like it had always belonged there.
“Okay, that’s… creepy,” one of the players muttered, watching as the kitten hopped onto the table where they had spread out notes and draft sheets.
“Shoo,” another tried, waving a hand lightly.
The kitten didn’t budge.
Instead, it turned—
And glared.
Actually glared.
The player froze. “…Did it just—?”
“Don’t start,” someone else cut in quickly. “It’s a cat.”
“Cats don’t judge you like that.”
As if proving the point, the kitten flicked its tail and turned away, completely ignoring him.
-
Then came the second thing.
Gemini was reviewing draft notes, pen tapping absently against the table as he muttered to himself.
“If they prioritize jungle early, we can counter with—”
A tug.
He stopped.
Looked down.
The kitten had latched onto the end of his sleeve, tiny teeth gripping the fabric as it pulled.
“…Hey.”
Another tug.
More insistent this time.
Almost… impatient.
“What?” Gemini frowned slightly. “What is it?”
The kitten released his sleeve—only to paw at the paper in front of him.
Specifically—
At one name.
Gemini’s eyes narrowed.
“That pick?”
The kitten blinked.
Then, as if satisfied, it plopped down right on top of the paper.
Like it had made its point.
Across the table, someone let out a nervous laugh. “Okay, coincidence. Definitely coincidence.”
“Yeah,” another agreed quickly. “Just a random movement.”
Gemini didn’t say anything.
But he didn’t move the paper either.
-
The third time—
Was harder to ignore.
“Coach, come look at this,” the manager called from across the room, waving him over.
Gemini stood, pushing his chair back.
He took one step—
And nearly tripped.
Something soft brushed against his ankle.
He looked down.
The kitten.
Again.
It wasn’t just standing there this time.
It was blocking him.
Tiny body planted firmly in front of his path, tail swishing once, twice.
“Move,” Gemini said automatically.
The kitten didn’t.
Instead, it looked up at him—
And let out a low, almost warning-like sound.
Not quite a hiss.
But not a normal meow either.
Gemini stilled.
“…What are you doing?”
Another step attempt.
The kitten immediately shifted, blocking him again.
Persistent.
Determined.
Like it was trying to stop him.
From going.
Gemini’s gaze flickered toward the manager, then back down to the kitten.
“…You don’t want me to go there?”
The kitten’s ears twitched.
Then—
It sat.
Right on his foot.
Like a final answer.
Across the room, someone whispered, “That’s… not normal.”
No one disagreed.
-
By the time evening rolled around, the atmosphere had shifted.
No one said it out loud.
But everyone felt it.
This wasn’t just a random kitten.
And this wasn’t just a coincidence.
Gemini sat on the edge of the bed, the room dim once more.
The kitten was beside him.
Quiet.
Still.
Watching.
He exhaled slowly, running a hand through his hair.
“…This is ridiculous,” he muttered.
A pause.
“…Aisi.”
The name came out softer this time.
Almost hesitant.
The kitten’s ears perked.
Gemini’s breath caught.
“…If this is some kind of joke,” he continued, voice low, “it’s not funny.”
Silence.
Then—
A soft weight against his side.
The kitten leaned into him.
Warm.
Familiar.
Just like before.
Gemini closed his eyes briefly.
“…You always do this,” he murmured. “Show up, don’t explain anything, and expect me to figure it out.”
The kitten let out a quiet sound.
Not quite a meow.
More like—
A response.
Gemini’s hand hovered for a second—
Then slowly rested on its head.
“…Aisi,” he said again.
This time—
The kitten didn’t just react.
It nudged his hand.
-
By the time evening rolled around, the atmosphere had shifted.
No one said it out loud.
But everyone felt it.
This wasn’t just a random kitten.
And this wasn’t just a coincidence.
Gemini sat on the edge of the bed, the room dim once more.
The kitten was beside him.
Quiet.
Still.
Watching.
He exhaled slowly, running a hand through his hair.
“…This is ridiculous,” he muttered.
A pause.
“…Aisi.”
The name came out softer this time.
Almost hesitant.
The kitten’s ears perked.
Gemini’s breath caught.
“…If this is some kind of joke,” he continued, voice low, “it’s not funny.”
Silence.
Then—
A soft weight against his side.
The kitten leaned into him.
Warm.
Familiar.
Just like before.
Gemini closed his eyes briefly.
“…You always do this,” he murmured. “Show up, don’t explain anything, and expect me to figure it out.”
The kitten let out a quiet sound.
Not quite a meow.
More like—
A response.
Gemini’s hand hovered for a second—
Then slowly rested on its head.
“…Aisi,” he said again.
This time—
The kitten didn’t just react.
It nudged his hand.
-
“Alright.”
The word alone was enough to make the entire room go quiet.
Gemini stood at the head of the table, arms crossed, gaze sweeping across the players—and then, briefly, down at the kitten sitting beside his notes.
Calm.
Too calm.
“…We’re doing a mock draft,” he continued. “Full process. Treat it like stage.”
A few players exchanged glances.
“You’re serious?” one of them asked. “We’re actually including the—”
“Yes.”
No hesitation.
No room for argument.
The player exhaled sharply, leaning back in his chair. “This is insane.”
“Then prove it wrong,” Gemini replied flatly.
That shut him up.
-
Phones were picked up.
The familiar interface of the game filled their screens, the draft room forming within seconds. Even now, muscle memory kicked in—positions taken, roles assumed, tension settling into something more familiar.
This?
This they understood.
This they could control.
…Hopefully.
The kitten hopped onto the table again.
No one tried to move it this time.
-
“First ban,” Gemini said, voice steady.
His eyes flicked down.
“…Aisi.”
The name came naturally now.
No one interrupted.
The kitten’s ears twitched.
Then—
It stood.
Walked across the table.
And placed a paw—
Directly on one of the hero icons displayed on Gemini’s phone.
The room went still.
“…You’ve got to be kidding me,” someone whispered.
Gemini didn’t react outwardly.
But his thumb hovered over the screen.
“That one?” he asked quietly.
The kitten looked up at him.
Blink.
Once.
Gemini locked it in.
-
“First ban,” Gemini said, voice steady.
His eyes flicked down.
“…Aisi.”
The name came naturally now.
No one interrupted.
The kitten’s ears twitched.
Then—
It stood.
Walked across the table.
And placed a paw—
Directly on one of the hero icons displayed on Gemini’s phone.
The room went still.
“…You’ve got to be kidding me,” someone whispered.
Gemini didn’t react outwardly.
But his thumb hovered over the screen.
“That one?” he asked quietly.
The kitten looked up at him.
Blink.
Once.
Gemini locked it in.
-
By the third phase—
No one was speaking anymore.
Because it wasn’t just random.
Every ban made sense.
Not just safe choices—but targeted.
Specific.
Calculated.
Like someone who knew exactly what the opposing team preferred to run.
“…Coach,” one of the players said slowly, voice tight, “that’s literally what Aisi suggested yesterday.”
Gemini didn’t answer.
His focus never left the kitten.
-
Like someone who knew exactly what the opposing team preferred to run.
“…Coach,” one of the players said slowly, voice tight, “that’s literally what Aisi suggested yesterday.”
Gemini didn’t answer.
His focus never left the kitten.
“First pick.”
This time, Gemini didn’t offer options.
He simply waited.
“…Go on,” he said quietly.
The kitten tilted its head.
Then—
It walked forward.
Placed both front paws on the screen.
Covering a single hero icon completely.
Confident.
Certain.
Gemini’s lips pressed into a thin line.
“…You’re sure.”
The kitten didn’t move.
Lock.
-
The room erupted.
“No way—”
“That’s perfect into their comp!”
“They hate playing against that—”
Gemini raised a hand.
Silence fell instantly.
But this time, it wasn’t forced.
It was… shaken.
-
Halfway through the draft—
Someone snapped.
“This proves nothing.”
All eyes turned.
It was one of the players who had been the most vocal earlier, jaw tight, frustration clear.
“It’s just reacting to movement or something. You’re all reading too much into it.”
No one argued.
But no one agreed either.
The tension shifted.
“…Then test it,” Gemini said.
Simple.
Direct.
The player’s eyes flickered.
Then narrowed.
“Fine.”
-
“Coach,” he said, leaning forward, voice almost challenging, “what if we pick this?”
He deliberately hovered over a hero that made no sense in the current draft.
Bad synergy.
Worse timing.
A throw pick.
Something Aisi would never allow.
Gemini didn’t answer.
He just looked down.
“…Aisi?”
The kitten froze.
For the first time—
Its entire body went still.
Then—
It moved.
Fast.
A sharp swipe—
“—Ow, what the—?!”
The player jerked back, hissing as a thin red line appeared across his finger.
The kitten stood in front of the phone now.
Fur slightly puffed.
Eyes sharp.
Focused.
Unmistakably—
Angry.
The room fell dead silent.
“…Okay,” someone said faintly. “Okay, I’m convinced. I’m convinced.”
“No, you’re not just convinced,” another muttered. “You’re not testing that again.”
The player who got scratched stared at his finger, then at the kitten.
“…It knew.”
No one laughed.
-
After that—
No one questioned it again.
The rest of the draft flowed.
Smooth.
Sharp.
Almost… familiar.
Gemini found himself slipping into rhythm.
The same rhythm he always had—
“…We need pressure in mid.”
A pause.
The kitten tapped once.
“…Noted.”
“Jungle pathing will be contested early.”
No movement.
“…So no?”
The kitten turned away.
“…Got it.”
Yes.
No.
Agree.
Reject.
It was all there.
Clear.
Consistent.
Like they had done this a hundred times before.
Like nothing had changed.
Like Aisi was still right beside him.
-
After that—
No one questioned it again.
The rest of the draft flowed.
Smooth.
Sharp.
Almost… familiar.
Gemini found himself slipping into rhythm.
The same rhythm he always had—
“…We need pressure in mid.”
A pause.
The kitten tapped once.
“…Noted.”
“Jungle pathing will be contested early.”
No movement.
“…So no?”
The kitten turned away.
“…Got it.”
Yes.
No.
Agree.
Reject.
It was all there.
Clear.
Consistent.
Like they had done this a hundred times before.
Like nothing had changed.
Like Aisi was still right beside him.
-
Gemini woke up—
—and immediately choked on fur.
“—What the—?!”
He jerked upright, coughing, hands instinctively pushing at the soft weight sprawled across his face.
A very familiar, very unapologetic meow followed.
“…Aisi.”
The name came out flat.
Accusing.
The kitten, now sitting squarely on his chest, blinked down at him like it had done absolutely nothing wrong.
There was fur everywhere.
On his pillow. His blanket. His shirt.
His mouth.
Gemini dragged a hand down his face, already feeling a headache forming. “You’re shedding.”
The kitten tilted its head.
“…Don’t look at me like that. You are.”
A slow blink.
Then—without warning—it flopped sideways dramatically, rolling onto its back like it had just been gravely wronged.
Gemini stared.
“…You’re unbelievable.”
The kitten kicked its tiny legs once.
As if agreeing.
Outside of drafts and scrims—
It was a completely different creature.
Gone was the sharp, calculating presence.
Gone was the unsettling precision.
Instead—
It was chaos.
“Don’t touch that.”
The kitten paused mid-step.
Its paw hovered over the edge of Gemini’s desk, where a cup of still-hot coffee sat dangerously close to the brink.
Gemini didn’t even look up from his phone. “I mean it.”
The paw moved closer.
Slowly.
Deliberately.
“…No.”
A pause.
The kitten blinked.
Then its paw inched forward another centimeter.
Gemini’s eye twitched. “Aisi.”
The name carried a warning now.
The kitten’s tail flicked.
Its paw got closer.
“I said, no. Aisi, honestly, it’s a—”
Tap.
The cup tipped.
Time slowed.
“…bad idea.”
Clatter.
Coffee spilled across the table.
The kitten jumped back neatly, landing without a single drop touching its fur.
Gemini closed his eyes.
Silence.
Then—
A quiet, very pleased—
“Meow.”
He exhaled slowly, pinching the bridge of his nose. “…You did that on purpose.”
The kitten sat there.
Looking proud.
“You’re not helping.”
Gemini was trying to review footage again.
Trying.
Keyword: trying.
Because the kitten had decided that this—
this exact moment—
was the perfect time to attack his sleeve.
Tiny teeth latched on.
Tug.
Gemini didn’t even flinch this time. “No.”
Another tug.
More insistent.
“No.”
The kitten growled softly.
Actually growled.
Gemini lowered his phone, staring at it. “…You’re growling at me?”
The kitten tugged harder.
“…Aisi.”
That got a reaction.
The kitten paused.
Looked up.
Eyes bright.
Gemini narrowed his gaze. “Let go.”
A beat.
Then—
Slowly—
It released his sleeve.
Only to immediately pounce on it again.
Gemini stared.
“…You’re doing this on purpose.”
The kitten rolled onto its back, dragging his sleeve with it, kicking at it like it had just defeated a mighty enemy.
Gemini sighed.
“…At least you’re consistent.”
Later that afternoon—
The team gathered again, tension lighter now, though not gone.
The kitten was sprawled across Gemini’s lap this time, tail flicking lazily as if it owned the entire room.
“Coach,” one of the players started carefully, “about earlier—”
“No.”
Gemini didn’t even look up.
The player blinked. “I didn’t even say anything yet.”
“You’re going to suggest we rely on it too much,” Gemini replied calmly. “And the answer is still no.”
A pause.
“…I was actually going to ask if we can name it.”
That—
That made Gemini hesitate.
Slowly, he looked down.
The kitten looked back up at him.
Waiting.
“…No,” Gemini said again, quieter this time.
The kitten’s ears flattened.
Just slightly.
“…We’re not naming it,” he added. “It already has one.”
The room went quiet.
No one said it out loud.
But everyone heard it anyway.
Aisi.
That night—
Gemini sat alone again, notes scattered around him.
The kitten was on the bed, chasing its own tail in slow, clumsy circles.
“…You’re really something else,” he muttered.
The kitten flopped over, panting lightly from the effort.
Then it looked at him.
Gemini met its gaze.
For a moment—
Just a moment—
That sharpness returned.
That awareness.
That familiarity.
“…You’re going to make this difficult, aren’t you,” Gemini said softly.
The kitten blinked.
Then—
It stood.
Walked over.
And headbutted his hand.
Gentle.
Warm.
Like always.
Gemini let out a quiet breath.
“…Yeah,” he murmured.
“I figured.”
-
Gemini woke up—
—and the bed was empty.
For a split second, his brain didn’t process it.
Then it did.
He shot upright.
“…Aisi?”
Nothing.
The blanket beside him was cold. No weight. No fur. No soft, annoying presence pressing into his side or face.
Just empty.
Gemini was already on his feet before he fully woke up, heart pounding harder than it should.
“Aisi.”
Sharper now.
He scanned the room—desk, chair, floor—
Then—
By the door.
The kitten.
Still.
Silent.
Staring.
Its body was low, fur slightly puffed, tail stiff behind it.
Gemini frowned, breath uneven. “…What are you doing?”
It didn’t move.
Didn’t turn.
Its entire focus was locked on the door.
Like it was waiting.
Or—
Bracing.
A knock.
Three sharp raps.
Gemini froze.
The kitten’s fur puffed even more.
“Housekeeping, sir.”
Gemini hesitated, glancing down at the kitten again.
Something about this felt—
Wrong.
Still, he stepped forward and opened the door.
Two hotel staff stood outside, polite smiles already in place—though there was something tight underneath.
“I’m so sorry, sir,” one of them began, bowing slightly. “We’ve received reports of cat fur in the hallway, and it seems that this kitten had managed to slip in—”
They stepped inside.
And saw it.
The kitten.
For a brief second—
No one moved.
Then one of the staff sighed under their breath, expression shifting into thinly veiled disgust. “Ah… there it is.”
Gemini’s grip on the door tightened. “Wait—”
Too late.
They bent down and picked it up.
And everything—
Exploded.
The kitten screamed.
Not a normal sound.
Sharp. Raw. Violent.
Its body twisted instantly, claws lashing out, digging into skin and fabric without hesitation.
“—Ah! What the—?!”
It scratched.
Clawed.
Fought like it was being killed.
“Let go of it!” Gemini snapped, stepping forward immediately.
The staff tried to hold on, but the kitten was relentless—tiny body thrashing with a strength that didn’t match its size.
It bit.
Hard.
“Sir, please—!”
“I said let it go!”
Gemini grabbed it, pulling it free despite the chaos.
For a split second, he thought—
It would calm down.
It didn’t.
The moment it was in his hands, the kitten twisted again, claws catching his wrist—
—and then it bit him.
Hard enough to make him flinch.
“Aisi—!”
The name slipped out instinctively.
But—
Nothing changed.
No recognition.
No pause.
Just more struggling.
More panic.
More fear.
Gemini’s grip loosened just enough—
And the kitten bolted.
Straight across the room.
Into the farthest corner.
It pressed itself against the wall.
As far away as possible.
Tiny body trembling, fur completely puffed, ears flattened back.
A low, continuous hiss filled the room.
No one moved.
“…Sir, we should remove it,” one of the staff said, voice strained, still shaken from the scratches.
“No.”
Gemini didn’t even look at them.
“It’s not going anywhere.”
A tense pause.
“…We’ll send someone to clean later,” the other staff muttered quickly. “Please… keep it contained.”
They left.
The door clicked shut.
Silence.
Except for the hissing.
Gemini stood there for a moment, staring.
Then slowly—
Carefully—
He took a step forward.
“Aisi.”
No reaction.
Another step.
The kitten flinched violently, pressing itself even tighter into the corner.
The hiss sharpened.
Louder.
Warning.
Gemini stopped.
“…Hey.”
Softer now.
“It’s me.”
Nothing.
No recognition.
No response.
Just fear.
Raw.
Instinctive.
Wrong.
Gemini’s chest tightened.
“…Aisi,” he tried again, quieter, like before, like always.
The kitten’s eyes stayed locked on him—
Wide.
Unfamiliar.
Like it didn’t know him at all.
“…No,” Gemini murmured under his breath.
Another slow step.
“I’m not going to hurt you.”
The kitten’s body tensed further.
A sharp, sudden movement—
Gemini barely had time to react before it lunged forward—
Not to attack—
But to warn.
Claws scraping against the floor as it stopped just short, hissing violently.
Gemini froze.
Then slowly—
He stepped back.
Immediately, the kitten retreated to the corner again.
Putting distance between them.
Shaking.
“…This isn’t right.”
His voice was barely above a whisper.
Because this—
This wasn’t the same.
This wasn’t the kitten that followed him, argued with him, tugged at his sleeve, sat on his chest like it belonged there.
This wasn’t—
Aisi.
Gemini sank down slowly, keeping his distance.
“…What happened?”
No answer.
Of course.
The kitten just stayed there.
Watching.
Not trusting.
Not responding.
Not him.
Gemini ran a hand through his hair, exhaling shakily.
“…You knew.”
His gaze flickered to the door.
“You knew someone was coming.”
That’s why it was there.
That’s why it reacted first.
That’s why—
This happened.
Gemini swallowed.
“…Did they do something to you?”
The kitten didn’t respond.
Didn’t move.
Didn’t even blink this time.
Just—
Stayed.
Small.
Cornered.
Afraid.
For the first time since this all started—
Gemini didn’t know what to do.
-
Gemini woke up—
—and the bed was empty.
For a split second, his brain didn’t process it.
Then it did.
He shot upright.
“…Aisi?”
Nothing.
The blanket beside him was cold. No weight. No fur. No soft, annoying presence pressing into his side or face.
Just empty.
Gemini was already on his feet before he fully woke up, heart pounding harder than it should.
“Aisi.”
Sharper now.
He scanned the room—desk, chair, floor—
Then—
By the door.
The kitten.
Still.
Silent.
Staring.
Its body was low, fur slightly puffed, tail stiff behind it.
Gemini frowned, breath uneven. “…What are you doing?”
It didn’t move.
Didn’t turn.
Its entire focus was locked on the door.
Like it was waiting.
Or—
Bracing.
A knock.
Three sharp raps.
Gemini froze.
The kitten’s fur puffed even more.
“Housekeeping, sir.”
Gemini hesitated, glancing down at the kitten again.
Something about this felt—
Wrong.
Still, he stepped forward and opened the door.
Two hotel staff stood outside, polite smiles already in place—though there was something tight underneath.
“I’m so sorry, sir,” one of them began, bowing slightly. “We’ve received reports of cat fur in the hallway, and it seems that this kitten had managed to slip in—”
They stepped inside.
And saw it.
The kitten.
For a brief second—
No one moved.
Then one of the staff sighed under their breath, expression shifting into thinly veiled disgust. “Ah… there it is.”
Gemini’s grip on the door tightened. “Wait—”
Too late.
They bent down and picked it up.
And everything—
Exploded.
The kitten screamed.
Not a normal sound.
Sharp. Raw. Violent.
Its body twisted instantly, claws lashing out, digging into skin and fabric without hesitation.
“—Ah! What the—?!”
It scratched.
Clawed.
Fought like it was being killed.
“Let go of it!” Gemini snapped, stepping forward immediately.
The staff tried to hold on, but the kitten was relentless—tiny body thrashing with a strength that didn’t match its size.
It bit.
Hard.
“Sir, please—!”
“I said let it go!”
Gemini grabbed it, pulling it free despite the chaos.
For a split second, he thought—
It would calm down.
It didn’t.
The moment it was in his hands, the kitten twisted again, claws catching his wrist—
—and then it bit him.
Hard enough to make him flinch.
“Aisi—!”
The name slipped out instinctively.
But—
Nothing changed.
No recognition.
No pause.
Just more struggling.
More panic.
More fear.
Gemini’s grip loosened just enough—
And the kitten bolted.
Straight across the room.
Into the farthest corner.
It pressed itself against the wall.
As far away as possible.
Tiny body trembling, fur completely puffed, ears flattened back.
A low, continuous hiss filled the room.
No one moved.
“…Sir, we should remove it,” one of the staff said, voice strained, still shaken from the scratches.
“No.”
Gemini didn’t even look at them.
“It’s not going anywhere.”
A tense pause.
“…We’ll send someone to clean later,” the other staff muttered quickly. “Please… keep it contained.”
They left.
The door clicked shut.
Silence.
Except for the hissing.
Gemini stood there for a moment, staring.
Then slowly—
Carefully—
He took a step forward.
“Aisi.”
No reaction.
Another step.
The kitten flinched violently, pressing itself even tighter into the corner.
The hiss sharpened.
Louder.
Warning.
Gemini stopped.
“…Hey.”
Softer now.
“It’s me.”
Nothing.
No recognition.
No response.
Just fear.
Raw.
Instinctive.
Wrong.
Gemini’s chest tightened.
“…Aisi,” he tried again, quieter, like before, like always.
The kitten’s eyes stayed locked on him—
Wide.
Unfamiliar.
Like it didn’t know him at all.
“…No,” Gemini murmured under his breath.
Another slow step.
“I’m not going to hurt you.”
The kitten’s body tensed further.
A sharp, sudden movement—
Gemini barely had time to react before it lunged forward—
Not to attack—
But to warn.
Claws scraping against the floor as it stopped just short, hissing violently.
Gemini froze.
Then slowly—
He stepped back.
Immediately, the kitten retreated to the corner again.
Putting distance between them.
Shaking.
“…This isn’t right.”
His voice was barely above a whisper.
Because this—
This wasn’t the same.
This wasn’t the kitten that followed him, argued with him, tugged at his sleeve, sat on his chest like it belonged there.
This wasn’t—
Aisi.
Gemini sank down slowly, keeping his distance.
“…What happened?”
No answer.
Of course.
The kitten just stayed there.
Watching.
Not trusting.
Not responding.
Not him.
Gemini ran a hand through his hair, exhaling shakily.
“…You knew.”
His gaze flickered to the door.
“You knew someone was coming.”
That’s why it was there.
That’s why it reacted first.
That’s why—
This happened.
Gemini swallowed.
“…Did they do something to you?”
The kitten didn’t respond.
Didn’t move.
Didn’t even blink this time.
Just—
Stayed.
Small.
Cornered.
Afraid.
For the first time since this all started—
Gemini didn’t know what to do.
-
At some point—
Gemini drifted.
Not fully asleep.
Not fully awake.
Just… there.
The exhaustion had finally caught up to him, dragging his thoughts into something hazy, something quiet. The room was dim, the silence stretching long and heavy—
Until—
A faint sensation.
Warm.
Wet.
Gemini’s fingers twitched.
His brows furrowed slightly as his mind struggled to catch up.
Something was—
…licking him?
Slowly, reluctantly, he stirred.
Awareness came in pieces.
The floor beneath him.
The dull ache in his back.
The faint sting on his wrist—
His eyes snapped open.
The kitten.
Right there.
Curled close against him.
Small body pressed into his side, trembling faintly—not from fear this time, but something softer.
Its head was lowered.
Tiny tongue brushing carefully over the shallow scratch on his wrist.
Once.
Twice.
Again.
Like it was trying to—
“…Aisi?”
The word came out hoarse.
Careful.
Fragile.
The kitten froze.
Just for a second.
Then—
It moved closer.
A soft weight against his arm.
A small head pressing insistently into his hand.
Again.
And again.
And again.
Like it couldn’t stop.
Like it wouldn’t stop.
Gemini didn’t move.
Didn’t breathe.
Didn’t dare.
The kitten made a quiet sound.
Not a hiss.
Not a meow.
Something softer.
Something almost… broken.
It nudged his hand harder this time.
Demanding.
Pleading.
Apologizing.
Gemini swallowed.
Slowly—
Carefully—
He shifted his fingers.
Just a little.
Just enough to touch.
The kitten stilled.
Then—
Leaned into it.
Immediate.
Instinctive.
Like it had been waiting.
“…You’re back.”
A whisper.
Barely there.
The kitten pressed closer.
Its tiny body curling against him, paws gripping lightly onto his sleeve—not tugging this time.
Holding.
Like it was afraid to let go.
“You bit me,” Gemini murmured quietly.
No accusation.
Just a statement.
The kitten made that soft sound again.
Then—
It licked his wrist once more.
Gentler this time.
Slower.
Careful.
Like it knew.
Like it remembered.
Gemini let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding.
His hand shifted, resting more firmly against its head.
“…It’s fine.”
The words were quiet.
Simple.
But the kitten reacted instantly.
It pushed into his hand again.
Harder.
More insistent.
As if—
That wasn’t enough.
As if it needed to say more.
But couldn’t.
So it did the only things it knew how.
It rubbed its head against his hand.
Again.
And again.
And again.
It pressed its body closer, curling tighter against him.
It held onto his sleeve, claws barely catching fabric—not to pull this time, but to stay.
To make sure he was still there.
To make sure he wouldn’t move away.
To make sure—
It wouldn’t be alone again.
“…You’re apologizing.”
Gemini’s voice was softer now.
Understanding.
The kitten stilled.
Then—
A small, quiet sound.
Not quite a yes.
But close enough.
Gemini closed his eyes briefly, his hand moving gently over its head.
“…You don’t have to.”
The kitten disagreed.
Immediately.
It nudged his hand again.
More insistently.
Then licked his wrist one more time.
As if repeating it.
As if insisting.
Gemini huffed a quiet breath.
“…Stubborn.”
The kitten didn’t deny it.
For a long time—
They stayed like that.
No fear.
No distance.
Just—
Close.
Familiar.
Safe.
“…Don’t do that again.”
A pause.
“…Scared me.”
The words were quiet.
Honest.
The kitten shifted slightly.
Then pressed even closer.
As if—
It understood.
Gemini’s fingers curled slightly into its fur.
“…Next time,” he murmured, voice low, steady again, “you warn me properly.”
A beat.
The kitten made a soft sound.
Agreement.
Outside—
The world kept moving.
The tournament.
The team.
The search.
Everything.
But in that moment—
None of it mattered.
Because whatever had broken—
Hadn’t disappeared completely.
And that meant—
There was still something to fight for.
-
For a long moment, Gemini didn’t move.
The kitten stayed where it was, small and warm in his hands—no resistance, no tension, just… there. Limp, trusting, like it would go wherever he decided.
That alone made something in his chest tighten.
Slowly, carefully, he lifted it.
“…What happened?”
His voice was quiet now. Not demanding.
Asking.
The kitten didn’t respond.
Didn’t shift.
Didn’t even blink.
Just stayed still in his hold, like it didn’t know how to answer.
Like it couldn’t.
Silence stretched between them.
Thick.
Heavy.
Until—
The kitten’s body tensed.
Suddenly.
Sharply.
Its eyes went wide.
And before Gemini could react, it twisted out of his hold—not violently, just fast—and darted toward the bathroom.
“…Hey—”
Gemini stood quickly, following after it.
The bathroom door—
Was open.
Just slightly.
He was sure—
He didn’t leave it like that.
The kitten skidded to a stop right in front of it.
Frozen.
Staring.
Gemini slowed behind it, something uneasy creeping up his spine.
“…What is it?”
Then—
Thump.
A very human, very unmistakable—
“Ow.”
Gemini froze.
The door creaked open further.
And someone stepped out.
Human.
Very human.
Very—
Naked.
“…Why are you looking at me like that?”
Gemini’s brain stopped working.
Because standing there—
Blanket hastily grabbed and wrapped around his waist—
Hair messy.
Expression confused.
Alive.
Was—
“Aisi.”
Aisi raised an eyebrow, adjusting the blanket like this was a completely normal situation. “Gemini, what—”
“You turned into a kitten.”
The words came out flat.
Immediate.
No hesitation.
Aisi blinked.
Then—
“Yeah.”
A shrug.
Casual.
Unbothered.
“So?”
Something inside Gemini snapped.
“What do you mean so?!” he snapped, voice rising for the first time since all of this started. “Aisi, you turned into a kitten! What do you mean so?!”
Aisi frowned slightly, like he didn’t understand the problem. “Gemini, listen—”
Then—
He froze.
Eyes widening.
“…Oh, fuck.”
Gemini didn’t even have time to process that.
Because right in front of him—
Aisi’s form—
Flickered.
Shrank.
Collapsed inward—
And—
Gone.
In his place—
A small, very familiar kitten stood.
Looking up at him.
Very much not calm this time.
Silence.
A long, heavy silence.
Gemini stared.
The kitten stared back.
Then—
The kitten’s ears flattened.
Its tail flicked sharply.
And if a kitten could look frustrated—
This one did.
Gemini dragged a hand down his face.
Slowly.
“…Okay.”
A breath.
“…Okay.”
Another breath.
“…We’re not going to panic.”
The kitten made a small, sharp sound.
Very clearly disagreeing.
Gemini pointed at it.
“You.”
The kitten blinked.
“You were just human.”
A pause.
“…Yes or no.”
The kitten hesitated.
Then—
A small nod.
Or at least, the closest thing a kitten could manage.
Gemini closed his eyes briefly.
“…And you’ve been like this the whole time?”
The kitten didn’t respond immediately.
Then—
A small shake of the head.
No.
“…You can turn back.”
The kitten’s tail flicked.
Uncertain.
Then—
A slow, reluctant nod.
“…But not control it.”
This time—
Immediate nod.
Gemini exhaled sharply.
“…Great.”
The kitten huffed.
Actually huffed.
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Then Gemini opened his eyes again, gaze sharpening slightly.
“…And the staff?”
The reaction was instant.
The kitten stiffened.
Fur puffing slightly.
A low, warning sound rumbling in its throat.
Gemini’s expression darkened.
“…Right.”
That answered enough.
He crouched down slowly, lowering himself to its level.
The kitten didn’t move away this time.
Didn’t retreat.
Just watched him.
Still tense.
Still frustrated.
Still—
Aisi.
“…You’re going to explain everything,” Gemini said quietly.
The kitten blinked.
Then sat down.
Tail wrapping around its paws.
Expression—
Unimpressed.
Gemini let out a short, incredulous breath.
“…Unbelievable.”
The kitten’s tail flicked again.
“But first,” Gemini added, glancing toward the bathroom, then back at the kitten, “you’re going to stay like this.”
The kitten narrowed its eyes.
Clearly unhappy.
“Because if anyone else sees you like that—” he gestured vaguely toward where Aisi had been standing moments ago “—we’re going to have a much bigger problem.”
A pause.
The kitten considered it.
Then—
Reluctantly—
It looked away.
Acceptance.
Gemini nodded once.
“…Good.”
A beat.
“…Also,” he added, deadpan, “next time you turn back, put some clothes on.”
The kitten made a choking sound.
Somehow.
For the first time since this all started—
Gemini almost smiled.
-
It took effort.
A ridiculous amount of effort.
And a level of patience Gemini didn’t think he had.
“…No, not that.”
The kitten huffed.
Its tiny paw smacked the phone screen again.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
The text box filled with absolute nonsense.
ajsdh12///--k
Gemini stared at it.
Then at the kitten.
“…You used to judge players for worse typing than this.”
The kitten froze.
Slowly turned its head.
And glared.
“Okay, okay,” Gemini muttered, holding his hands up slightly. “Just—keep going.”
It wasn’t easy.
Aisi—because at this point, there was no denying it—kept trying.
Paw tapping clumsily against the screen, occasionally managing to hit actual letters, more often just dragging across it and creating a mess.
But it was intentional.
Not random.
Not meaningless.
Every movement was deliberate.
Focused.
Frustrated.
Gemini leaned closer, elbows resting on his knees as he watched.
“…You’ve been like this before.”
A pause.
The kitten stilled.
Then—
A slow tap.
Yes.
Gemini’s expression shifted.
“…Not just here.”
Another pause.
Then—
Tap.
Yes.
Something cold settled in his chest.
“…It wasn’t an accident.”
The reaction this time was immediate.
The kitten’s paw hit the screen harder.
Faster.
Aggressive.
Yes.
Gemini exhaled slowly, running a hand through his hair.
“…The staff.”
The kitten froze again.
Then—
Its fur puffed slightly.
A low sound rumbled in its throat.
Not fear this time.
Anger.
“That’s a yes.”
The kitten didn’t even bother tapping.
It just turned its head away sharply.
Confirmation.
Gemini leaned back slightly, staring at the phone screen, at the mess of half-formed words and broken letters.
“…You’re going to give me something more than this,” he muttered.
The kitten huffed.
Then tried again.
It was slower this time.
More careful.
One paw lifted.
Lowered.
Lifted again.
Pressed.
Dragged.
Pressed.
And slowly—
Painfully—
Something started to form.
Not clean.
Not perfect.
But readable.
not hotel
Gemini frowned.
“…Not the hotel?”
The kitten tapped again.
staff
A pause.
Then—
not all
Gemini’s eyes sharpened.
“…So some of them.”
The kitten tapped once.
Yes.
“…And they did this to you.”
No hesitation this time.
The paw hit the screen hard.
Yes.
Silence fell.
Heavy.
Gemini’s grip tightened slightly on the edge of the bed.
“…Why?”
The kitten didn’t answer immediately.
Its paw hovered over the screen.
Then slowly—
Dropped.
Once.
Twice.
But nothing clear came out.
Just more broken letters.
draf...
know
see
Gemini’s brows furrowed.
“…Draft?”
The kitten’s ears twitched.
Then—
A small, sharp nod.
“…They know about our drafts?”
Another nod.
Faster this time.
“…They’re targeting you because of it.”
The kitten didn’t hesitate.
Yes.
Gemini let out a quiet breath, something dark flickering behind his eyes.
“…Unbelievable.”
The room fell quiet again.
The weight of it settling in.
Not random.
Not an accident.
Not something they could just… ignore.
“…How long?”
The question came quieter this time.
Careful.
Measured.
The kitten stilled.
Its paw lifted.
Hovered over the phone screen.
Then—
Pressed.
3
Gemini frowned slightly.
“…Three?”
The kitten didn’t move.
Just watched him.
“Weeks?”
A huff.
Sharp.
Immediate.
No.
“Months?”
Another huff.
More irritated this time.
Still no.
Gemini felt something tighten in his chest.
A slow, creeping dread.
“…Years?”
The kitten didn’t tap this time.
Didn’t move to the phone.
Instead—
It lowered itself.
Head resting on its paw.
Tail going completely still.
Limp.
Gemini’s blood ran cold.
“…You’re kidding.”
No response.
No denial.
No correction.
Just—
Silence.
“…Aisi.”
His voice was quieter now.
Different.
The kitten didn’t look up.
“…How long have you been dealing with this?”
Nothing.
Gemini swallowed.
Hard.
“…And you didn’t say anything.”
That—
That got a reaction.
The kitten’s ears flattened slightly.
Its paw curled in.
Guilt.
Gemini let out a slow breath, leaning back again, staring at the ceiling.
“…Of course you didn’t.”
A humorless huff.
“…You never do.”
The silence stretched.
Long.
Heavy.
Then—
The kitten moved.
Slowly.
Carefully.
It climbed onto his lap.
Not playful this time.
Not teasing.
Just—
Quiet.
Gemini didn’t look down immediately.
But his hand moved.
Resting lightly against its back.
“…We’re fixing this,” he said finally.
Firm.
Certain.
No hesitation.
The kitten stilled.
Then—
Slowly—
It leaned into his hand.
-
Gemini didn’t realize how long he had been staring.
The room was quiet again.
Too quiet.
His thoughts had gone somewhere far, tangled in everything Aisi had just told him—years, staff, drafts, being watched—
—and then he noticed.
The kitten hadn’t moved.
Not even a little.
“…Aisi?”
No response.
His chest tightened instantly.
“Aisi.”
Sharper this time.
Still nothing.
The kitten stayed curled in his lap, small body completely still.
For a split second—
Panic hit.
Hard.
Gemini’s hand hovered, then carefully pressed against its side—
Warm.
Soft.
Rising.
Falling.
Breathing.
He exhaled.
Long.
Shaky.
“…You’re just sleeping.”
The words came out quieter than he expected.
Almost disbelieving.
After everything—
After that—
It just…
Fell asleep.
Gemini let his shoulders drop slightly, the tension easing just enough to let exhaustion creep back in.
“…Unbelievable.”
There was no bite to it this time.
Just… tired fondness.
The kitten shifted faintly in its sleep, pressing closer into his lap, tiny paws curling against his shirt.
Instinctive.
Comfort-seeking.
Trusting.
Gemini looked down at it for a long moment.
“…We’ll talk later.”
A pause.
“…Properly.”
The kitten didn’t respond.
Of course it didn’t.
Carefully, he adjusted his position against the wall, making sure not to disturb it.
It didn’t wake.
Didn’t even stir.
Just stayed there, breathing slow and even.
“…Yeah,” Gemini murmured under his breath.
“You need this.”
At some point—
He drifted off too.
Not properly.
Not deeply.
Just enough for his thoughts to blur, for the exhaustion to pull him under, even sitting upright on the floor.
Bang.
The door slammed open.
Gemini jolted awake instantly.
Body tensing.
Mind snapping back into focus—
The kitten.
His gaze dropped immediately.
Still there.
Still asleep.
Unmoved.
Unaffected.
Gemini let out a quiet breath.
Then looked up.
“…Coach?”
The players stood at the door, a mix of confusion and concern written all over their faces.
“What happened?” one of them asked, stepping in cautiously.
“Manager said you’ve been in here all day—”
Their voices trailed off as they took in the scene.
Gemini.
On the floor.
Back against the wall.
And the kitten—
Curled in his lap.
Completely at ease.
“…Wait,” another player blinked. “It’s—”
“Calm?” someone finished.
“…Asleep?” a third added, incredulous.
Gemini didn’t answer immediately.
His hand moved absentmindedly, resting lightly against the kitten’s back.
Still warm.
Still steady.
“…It’s fine,” he said finally.
The players exchanged glances.
“That’s not what it looked like earlier,” one of them muttered.
“No,” Gemini agreed quietly.
“It wasn’t.”
A pause.
“Did something happen?” the manager asked carefully, stepping closer but not too close.
“Did it calm down on its own?”
Gemini hesitated.
Just for a second.
But it was enough.
Because he didn’t know.
Not really.
Not what to say.
Not what he was allowed to say.
His gaze dropped to the kitten again.
Still asleep.
Still trusting.
Still—
Aisi.
“…We talked,” Gemini said finally.
It wasn’t a lie.
But it wasn’t the truth either.
“Talked?” someone echoed, confused.
Gemini didn’t elaborate.
“…It’s fine now,” he added instead.
Firm.
Closing the topic.
The room fell quiet.
Not convinced.
But not pushing.
Not yet.
“…Coach,” one of the players said slowly, “if something’s wrong—”
“I know.”
Gemini cut him off.
Not harsh.
But final.
Another pause.
He exhaled slowly, eyes still on the kitten.
“…I just need to confirm something first.”
The players looked at each other again.
Confused.
Concerned.
But they didn’t argue.
“Alright,” the manager said after a moment. “We’ll… hold off for now.”
“Scrims are in two hours.”
Gemini nodded once.
“I’ll be there.”
They lingered for a second longer.
Then slowly—
They left.
The door closed behind them.
Silence returned.
Gemini didn’t move.
Didn’t speak.
Didn’t even look up.
“…You heard that, right?”
His voice was quiet.
Low.
Almost a murmur.
The kitten didn’t respond.
Still asleep.
Still curled up against him.
“…I’m not saying anything yet.”
A pause.
“…You tell me first.”
Another pause.
“…What you want.”
The kitten shifted slightly in its sleep.
Pressing closer.
Gemini exhaled softly.
“…Yeah.”
“I figured.”
For now—
He would wait.
-
Aisi woke up to noise.
Loud.
Sharp.
Too close.
“…—I’m telling you, something’s not right!”
“And I’m telling you Coach said to drop it—”
“You saw it too, didn’t you?! That wasn’t normal!”
Voices overlapped, rising, clashing—
Aisi’s eyes snapped open.
His body went rigid instantly.
Fur puffing—
Heart racing—
For a split second, instinct took over.
Run.
Hide.
Fight—
A hand pressed gently against his back.
Steady.
Warm.
“…Hey.”
Gemini.
The panic didn’t disappear immediately.
But it stopped escalating.
Aisi froze where he was, still half-curled in Gemini’s lap, eyes wide as he tried to process—
The room.
The people.
The voices.
Too many.
Too loud.
Too—
“Enough.”
Gemini’s voice cut through everything.
Not raised.
But sharp.
Controlled.
Immediate.
Silence dropped.
Fast.
“…You’re scaring it,” Gemini added, quieter now, but no less firm.
All eyes shifted.
To him.
To the kitten.
Aisi didn’t move.
Didn’t even blink.
His body was still tense, ears slightly back, but he wasn’t hissing this time.
Wasn’t running.
Just—
Watching.
“…We didn’t mean to,” one of the players said, lowering his voice instinctively.
“Yeah, we just—” another rubbed the back of his neck, clearly uneasy “—we’re worried.”
Gemini didn’t respond immediately.
His hand moved slowly, fingers brushing lightly through Aisi’s fur in a steady, grounding motion.
Once.
Twice.
Again.
“…I know,” he said finally.
“But not like this.”
Aisi’s breathing started to even out.
Gradually.
The sharp edge of panic dulling just enough.
Still—
He didn’t move.
Didn’t leave.
Didn’t even shift away.
If anything—
He pressed closer.
Gemini felt it.
The weight.
The grip.
Tiny claws catching lightly against his shirt—not enough to hurt.
Just enough to hold.
“…You’re fine,” Gemini murmured, just low enough that it wasn’t really meant for the others.
“Relax.”
Aisi didn’t respond.
Not outwardly.
But he didn’t pull away either.
“…Coach,” the manager said carefully, “we need to know what’s going on.”
A pause.
“…That’s not normal behavior.”
Gemini’s hand stilled for a second.
Then resumed.
Slow.
Calm.
Measured.
“I know.”
“That’s it?” one of the players couldn’t help but blurt out. “Coach, we’ve been dealing with this since yesterday—first it’s acting like Aisi, then it’s freaking out, then suddenly it’s calm again—”
“Stop.”
The word wasn’t loud.
But it landed.
Aisi flinched slightly at the raised voice.
And immediately—
Gemini’s hand pressed more firmly against him.
Grounding.
Reassuring.
“…You’re not helping,” Gemini said, gaze lifting just enough to meet theirs.
Silence again.
“…We just want to understand,” another player said more carefully this time.
“…Is it dangerous?”
That—
That made Gemini pause.
Just for a fraction of a second.
Aisi felt it.
The hesitation.
His grip tightened.
Just slightly.
“…No.”
Gemini answered.
Firm.
Certain.
The tension in the room shifted.
Not gone.
But… different.
“…Then what is it?” someone asked quietly.
Gemini didn’t answer.
Not this time.
Because the answer wasn’t his to give.
Aisi shifted slightly in his lap.
Not away.
Just enough to—
Settle.
More comfortably.
More securely.
He wasn’t leaving.
Not right now.
Not with this many people.
Not with this much noise.
Not when—
Gemini was right here.
“…We’ll talk about it later,” Gemini said finally.
A clear end to the conversation.
The players exchanged looks again.
Unhappy.
Unsatisfied.
But—
They didn’t push.
“…Scrims,” the manager reminded gently.
Gemini nodded once.
“I’ll be there.”
“Are you bringing… it?” someone asked hesitantly.
Gemini glanced down.
Aisi didn’t even pretend not to hear that.
His tail flicked once.
Sharp.
“…Yeah,” Gemini said simply.
“No,” came the immediate protest. “Coach, what if it—”
“It won’t.”
No hesitation.
No doubt.
Aisi stilled.
Just for a second.
“…How can you be sure?” another asked.
Gemini’s hand moved again, resting lightly against Aisi’s head.
“…Because I know him.”
The room went quiet.
No one argued after that.
Eventually, one by one—
They left again.
Reluctantly.
The door closed.
Silence returned.
Gemini exhaled slowly, shoulders relaxing just slightly.
“…You okay?”
Aisi didn’t answer right away.
Then—
A small shift.
A slight nudge against his hand.
Yes.
“…You don’t have to stay here,” Gemini added after a moment.
“Not if you don’t want to.”
Immediate reaction.
Aisi pressed closer.
Claws tightening slightly against his shirt.
Tail curling in.
A very clear—
No.
Gemini huffed a quiet breath.
“…Yeah.”
“I figured.”
His hand moved again, absentmindedly brushing through soft fur.
“…We’ll deal with them later.”
A pause.
“…Together.”
This time—
Aisi responded immediately.
A small, quiet sound.
Agreement.
For now—
He wasn’t moving.
And Gemini wasn’t making him.