KARARAGI GIRL MEETS CATS
1
Hoshin of the Wasteland was a legendary figure, known to all across the world.
The legend of Hoshin began four centuries ago, during an era when the western regions were little more than a barren wasteland where numerous small nation-states vied for supremacy.
Among them was a nation so tiny that the other powers threatened to swallow it whole. Even by the most generous standards, it couldn’t be described as fertile. And yet, it was in this desolate land that Hoshin first planted his flag—in Kararagi.
According to legend, Hoshin was not blessed with military prowess.
According to legend, Hoshin was a master of persuasion, possessing a rare cunning that allowed him to guide the hearts of others.
According to legend, Hoshin befriended the leader of Kararagi and, before long, took control of the nation’s affairs from behind the scenes. In the blink of an eye, Kararagi had forged diplomatic ties with the other nation-states. Sometimes, Hoshin was friendly. Other times, he was scheming. And occasionally, he expanded Kararagi’s sphere of influence through sheer business acumen.
The larger nations overlooked the subtle machinations of the tiny state, convinced that no western land could ever rise to power. But by the time they realized their mistake, it was already too late.
Through a brilliant and intricate scheme, Hoshin united most of the smaller states under one banner, forming a grand coalition that no force could oppose.
And so, the west bid farewell to the era of warring lords, ushering in the age of the league of nations united under the city-state of Kararagi—forever associated with the name Hoshin of the Wasteland.
“Awww, no matter how many times I hear it, the legend of Hoshin always gives me tingles.”
The starry-eyed girl sighed with admiration as the tale concluded.
She was a charming little thing, her fine features giving her an air of elegance. Around eleven or twelve years old and slightly shorter than average, she was remarkably well-developed for her age.
Her silky purple hair shimmered in the dim light, while her round, golden-yellow eyes sparkled with curiosity. With her flawless skin and aristocratic bearing, anyone would have assumed she was the daughter of some aristocrat.
And yet, this girl—Anastasia—had no such distinguished background.
“Hmm? What? Why’re you staring? Rude much?”
Anastasia shot a suspicious look at the person watching her. There was nothing dainty or delicate in her mannerisms—no trace of a girl raised in a sheltered, luxurious home. Instead, she possessed cunning and wariness far beyond her years.
Class is as class does. Her shrewdness only confirmed his appraisal of her. He threw back his head, bared his fangs, and let out a hearty laugh.
“It’s nothin’. Just thinkin’ how that scrawny little street rat we found in some back alley sure turned out pretty. Mighty impressive.”
“Stuck in the past again, old man? Anyone ever tell you you’re annoying?”
“If you’re gonna go there, you’re way more annoyin’, Ana! Always pesterin’ folks to tell the same stories over and over. One of these days, you’ll have to drag those old yarns outta me. We’ll see how you like that.”
Anastasia scowled, puffing out her lips in an exaggerated pout. A large, rough hand ruffled her hair with deliberate force. She made no move to resist, but the displeasure in her eyes and expression remained. The man couldn’t help chuckling.
Her strong, willful spirit was admirable indeed. Without it, she wouldn’t have come as far as she had.
“Oh, whatever. Old folks love repeating themselves. I’ll hold back for your sake,” Anastasia said smugly.
“Ha-ha, you got a mouth on you, don’t ya. Where’d you even learn that from?”
“From the bar matron. One of the regulars said it. Never did get to hear what that dead-drunk geezer’s weakness was, though. Kinda regret quittin’ that job before I found out.”
Anastasia’s words were laced with playful sass as she dodged the hand messing with her hair. Adjusting her robe, she headed for the door.
“Break time’s over. Don’t slack off, old man, or Chuden’ll kick you to the curb.”
“Oooh, I’m shakin’ in my boots. We can’t fill my belly with just your pay, Ana.”
“Why do I gotta take care of your food, clothes, and shelter anyway?!”
“Ain’t it obvious? You’re gonna buy me and make me yours, ain’t ya?”
His sharp fangs gleamed as he smirked and ran thick fingers against his neck. There, cold against his skin, was a simple metal ring—a relic of his days spent as a slave. What had once been a symbol of bondage was now a reminder of a promise.
That single gesture made Anastasia falter for just a moment. She caught her breath when she also recalled that promise, then nodded firmly.
“Yeah…I know, I know. But…that’s why you better not go dying on me before I can earn my war chest. Got it? Take care of yourself!”
Anastasia rattled off a quick retort, stuck out her tongue, and darted out of the room. The man listened as her footsteps faded into the distance, a soft smile forming on his lips as he turned toward the window.
The sky outside was cloudy, and the slightly foggy glass reflected a faint outline of his own face. His massive frame was too large to be fully captured in a window’s reflection, and his beast-like features bore no resemblance to Anastasia’s in the slightest. With brown fur covering his exposed skin, Ricardo Welkin—unusually enormous compared to most dogmen—made no effort to conceal his inhuman nature.
Currently employed by the Chuden Company as a bodyguard, he was also a sort of guardian to Anastasia.
Though, of course, that was something Anastasia would never openly acknowledge.
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