"Mulan." A petite cat gracefully leapt onto the round table next to a boy, sniffing his bloodstained hand and gently calling out.

The cat's voice was magnetic, and its androgynous warmth seemed to reverberate in the human brain, making one unable to stop wanting to hear more.

However, if a professional magician carefully analyzed the magical fluctuations on the cat's body, they would come to a shocking conclusion; it can actually control magic to such a precise extent that it can manipulate throat vibrations to produce human-like sounds.

"You're hurt," the cat said.

The boy nodded slowly, wearily glancing at the cat before lowering his head weakly.

His body seemed to be slightly convulsing from pain. His upper and lower lips trembled gently as if afraid of something, rubbing against each other like lovers locked in an abusive relationship, oozing a trickle of blood.

This seemingly fragile boy was like a dusty piece of art.

Fragile in silence, and without radiance.

"Mulan, look at me."

The cat's enchanting eyes were as captivating as the pendant shimmering on its neck.

But the boy ignored it.

"Are you sulking?"

"You love punishing yourself for other people's mistakes, don't you?"

The cat extended a paw and touched the boy's injured hand on the table.

The boy thought the cat was going to treat his wound, but it ultimately didn't, which made him slightly unhappy.

"Mulan, you have to be strong."

"Their praise for me is just the pity and posturing of the privileged towards the lower races."

"The more I struggle, the more they will generously reward me with a few pocket money."

"They just want to see me grateful and indebted."

"They see me as a joke."

"Jokes are temporary and not lasting."

"But you can support yourself with real talents and knowledge."

"If you can..."

The boy angrily pounded the table, his hand instantly looking as if it had been sliced by a knife, shedding a large piece of skin.

"I don't want to hear this!"

"I want to know why you still refuse to teach me an instrument?"

The boy shouted at the cat in anger.

The fragility and hesitation flickering in his eyes diminished his momentum.

"I just said it, I said..."

The cat earnestly spoke to the boy, its never-ending chatterbox seemed to be wound up, squeaking as it opened its lid.

"...I don't want to learn how to repair instruments." The boy's grief-stricken expression interrupted what the cat was about to say next.

"If I wanted to live as a cursed child, I could still manage to have enough to eat."

"At worst, I could join the revolutionary army of the equal rights movement."

"But I don't just want that..."

The boy clenched his fist.

"I want to make a name for myself, I want to stand out!"

"I want to exercise the rights bestowed upon us by nature, just like any normal person..."

"Just like you."

The boy turned his head to look at the cat, furrowing his brow and twisting his lips, as if he had been bullied.

"I didn't come here to learn any piano tuning skills..."

Tick, tock.

Blood trickled from the boy's mangled arm, dripping onto the floor. The cat withdrew its pained gaze and forced its eyes upward.

It saw the organ, polished by the boy to a terrifying and shiny extent. It sighed in a human-like manner.

As one of the few beings capable of playing this gigantic organ solely with its own power, it knew that maintaining this organ, with its 33,112 wind pipes, 1,477 tone control stoppers, 19 tone color zones, and 7 rows of keyboards, was by no means as easy as the boy claimed.

The little cat propped its two paws against the table, arching its back as much as possible, and lazily stretched out with an unserious yawn. It glanced at the boy with one eye, licked its fur lightly, and leaped lightly onto the boy's thigh.

Its clear purring seemed to have a magical power.

A warm flow, as if rising from the bottom of a hot spring, spread from the boy's thigh, irrigating his entire body.

"Mulan."

"Compared to other animals."

"Humans are beings more prone to getting lost."

"They would regard glittering transparent stones as treasures and consider imaginary constructs more important than their own lives, all for this reason."

The cat curled up and nestled on the boy's thigh, gently remarking.

"Do you remember why you wanted to learn music?"

"Because I want to become famous, I want..."

Fire shot from the boy's eyes, undeniable and seemingly impossible to extinguish.

"So, why do you want to become famous?" the cat asked.

The boy's gaze hesitated for a moment, then became firm again.

"It's my mother's dying wish. Because of me, my mother was killed by those shameless scoundrels!"

"When I become successful, I will make those scumbags pay back tenfold, a hundredfold of what they owe my mother!"

"...The cat's purring stopped, as if it had been scared silent by the boy's excitement.

"Are you sure this is your mother's dying wish?"

"Do you need me to help you uncover the true version?"

The cat opened its vertical pupils, its penetrating gaze leaving no room to hide and delving into every corner.

The boy remained silent for a while before speaking again; "My mother's wish was for me to seek revenge..."

Looking into the cat's cold, star-like eyes, the bitterness in the boy's mouth seemed to have swallowed an entire field of hops.

The cat shook its head.

"No."

"She only wanted you to live a safe and happy life."