“Buttons.”
Theodor spoke briefly, swallowing a sigh. The fox looked down at its chest.
“Buttons?”
“You fastened them wrong. You skipped the third hole.”
Theodor approached. The fox tried to step back without realizing it, but was blocked by the bed behind it.
Then Theodor’s pale hand reached in and grabbed the shirt collar. When his cool fingers brushed the nape of its neck, the fox’s shoulders shrank.
Theodor unfastened the wrongly buttoned buttons one by one without hesitation. Click, click. The sound of buttons unfastening filled the silence. When his fingertips brushed the nape, the fox shrank its neck as if ticklish. Adrian’s touch was always rough yet warm, but Theodor’s hands were cold. It wanted to avoid them.
“Stay still.”
Theodor gave a quiet warning to the flinching fox. He began fastening the buttons to their proper holes again. The shirt fastened neatly up to the neck constricted uncomfortably.
“Uncomfortable.”
When the fox raised its hand to scratch its neck, Theodor lightly batted away that wrist.
“Endure it. You must observe propriety. That is, if you don’t want to look like a beast.”
If you don’t want to look like a beast. At those words, the fox obediently lowered its hand.
“What is your name?”
“Name?”
“Yes.”
The fox’s eyes rolled around.
A name. Come to think of it, it had no name. No, it had one but had forgotten it. Because there was no one to call it by name. The villagers called it ‘mutt’ or ‘stray dog,’ and in the forest they distinguished each other by scent and presence.
Adrian called it with an affectionate voice. ‘Come here.’ Or ‘Good boy.’ Sometimes he clicked his tongue and called it ‘troublemaker’ too. But that wasn’t a name.
“Don’t have one.”
“You don’t?”
The tip of Theodor’s eyebrow twitched slightly. Not even a name. It was unexpected that despite the Emperor cherishing it so much, he hadn’t given it even the most basic name.
“It’s inconvenient without a form of address. I’ll give you one.”
Giving a name was an act no different from putting a new collar on a masterless dog. Theodor thought of quite plausible names. Something with sacred meaning, or perhaps just an easy-to-call nickname.
“How about Lucian? It means light.”
The fox blinked. Lucian. It rolled it around in its mouth. Luuuciaaaan. It was unfamiliar.
“Or how about Bell? It has a small and cute feeling that seems to suit you well.”
Theodor observed the fox’s reaction. However, it furrowed its brow and shook its head. Rather, it seemed to dislike the small and cute feeling.
“You don’t like it?”
“Don’t like it.”
“Then Noah? It means rest.”
“Don’t like it.”
It was firm. The corners of Theodor’s lips trembled very slightly. To kick away the kindness being offered. For a beast, it was picky.
“If you dislike them all, what will you do? Do you plan to be called ‘hey,’ ‘you,’ ‘mutt’ for life?”
The fox closed its mouth tight, then answered hesitantly.
“Adrian will…”
“…?”
“Adrian will, give me one.”
The fox’s blue eyes shone with certainty.
A name was something special. It shouldn’t be carelessly given by just anyone. Though it didn’t know much about the ways of the human world, the fox’s instinct said so. That the only person who should define and call its existence was Adrian. That only the name he would call while stroking its head would become its true name.
That blind trust touched Theodor’s nerves. Such absolute loyalty to an emperor who had done nothing more than feed and shelter it a few times. When the emperor in question hadn’t even bothered to give it a name and had neglected it. Foolish and stupid.
However, Theodor didn’t show it. Rather, he nodded his head generously.
“Is that so? How admirable, wishing for His Majesty to give you one directly.”
Inwardly swallowing his sneer, he stepped back.
“Fine. Then let’s put the name on hold. For the time being, I’ll call you Fox for convenience.”
The fox nodded. Its true identity was a nine-tailed fox, but it could be considered a type of fox, so it was fine to be called that. It didn’t matter as long as it wasn’t just called ‘mutt.’
“Then the most important confirmation procedure remains.”
Theodor grabbed the fox’s shoulders and turned it toward the bed.
“Sit.”
The fox obediently perched on the edge of the bed. The soft mattress sank beneath its bottom. Theodor pulled over a chair and sat directly facing the fox. They were close enough that their knees almost touched.
Theodor placed his clasped hands on his knees and stared at the fox. It was indeed heterogeneous. Clear yet murky, seemingly sacred yet bewitching.
“First question. What is your identity? I can tell you’re not an ordinary fox. Are you a magical beast? Or a spirit?”
The fox’s brow narrowed. Magical beast. It was unpleasant to be treated the same as those black, sticky monsters it had encountered in the forest. The fox shook its head vigorously.
“No. Not magical beast.”
“Then what? A spirit?”
The fox shook its head left and right again.
“Ni-ine-tailed fo-ox.”
“Nine-tailed fox?”
“Mm. Nine-tailed fox.”
The fox traced the image dimly remaining at the edge of its memory. Unlike itself, nine silver-white tails swayed.
“Nine tails. Big. Very big.”
Theodor rolled the unfamiliar word around in his mouth. Nine-tailed fox. A magical beast not yet discovered here? It was a name he’d never even heard of in the Empire. He examined the fox’s face as if tearing it apart piece by piece. Looking closely, it was clearly a beautiful appearance, but features rarely seen in the West. It couldn’t be from the Empire.
Then… the East?
Perhaps one of the different races or rare magical beasts that came from the East. Nine tails—even imagining it was bizarre.
“But you only have one tail, don’t you?”
The fox pouted.
“I know, me too.”
The fox glanced behind at its bottom. Though not visible now in human form, its tail when a fox was shabby. It tried to imagine nine fluffy and beautiful tails spreading out like a fan, but reality was pathetic. Just one tail like a worn broom handle with only a bit of white fur at the tip. That was all.
That inferiority complex weighed down the fox’s shoulders. Seeing such a fox, Theodor replied indifferently.
“What’s wrong with having one? It’s better than having none at all.”
It was dry to be consolation, and strangely persuasive to be reproach. The fox blinked. Hearing it put that way, it was true. It seemed better to have at least one tail than humans who had no tail at all.
The fox’s expression quickly softened. Simple-minded. Theodor thought inwardly as he extended his second finger.
“Then the second question. How do you transform? Do you recite an incantation? Or do you draw a magic circle?”
The fox tilted its head. Incantation? Magic circle? It didn’t know such things.
“Just… gets hot.”
“Gets hot?”
“Yeah. Here.”
The fox pressed the center of its chest firmly with a fingertip.
“Here gets really hot. Like swallowing fire. Then bones crack… fur goes in…”
Theodor focused on where the fox’s hand was positioned. The heart. The place where Eastern cultivators gathered qi, and where Western mages’ cores were located.
“What’s there?”
“Orb.”
“Orb?”
“Yeah. Fox orb.”
Fox orb. It was an unfamiliar concept, but intuitively understandable. It would likely be an organ similar to the mana stones commonly found in magical beasts. The source of life force and vessel of power.
Theodor rose from his chair and approached the fox. Without even asking permission, he rolled up the loose shirt hem. The fox’s white abdomen flinched and contracted at the sudden cold.
“Excuse me for a moment.”
Theodor’s long fingers pressed near the fox’s heart. When his cold fingertips touched the skin, the fox gasped.
“Stay still.”
Theodor closed his eyes and concentrated on his fingertips. He sent out divine power very finely to explore the interior. Below the skin, deep beyond the ribs. There really was something there.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
Different from the heartbeat, a heavy and slow pulse was transmitted through his palm. It was alive. No, it was starving. As soon as Theodor’s injected divine power touched it, that energy flicked its tongue like a snake trying to devour the divine power.
Theodor removed his hand before his divine power could be taken. His palm tingled. Though very brief, it was clear. That was not a pure mass of mana. His eyes changed. It was the moment simple curiosity transformed into certainty.
“So this is it.”
Theodor clenched and unclenched his trembling hand.
“This orb needs energy. The reason you consume tremendous calories when transforming into a human, and why you overate like yesterday, are all to fill this orb.”
The fox didn’t understand even half of Theodor’s words. It just nodded while pulling down the shirt because its chest felt ticklish.
“If hungry, weak. Can’t do it, transform.”
“I suppose so. Because there’s no fuel.”
Theodor stroked his chin. The Emperor suffered from a curse, and the fox needed energy to become human.
