"You're saying that one day during summer vacation, you woke up and found yourself turned into a cat?"

"Yeah."

"Then you thought it was a dream and went back to sleep, only to wake up normal?"

"Mm-hmm."

"Until the day before school started—you set an early alarm to pack, but when you didn’t hit snooze, you woke up as a cat?"

"Yes."

"So... these days... any changes?" Qin Yi rarely got headaches, but this was eerie. Could this guy have a mental illness? Those dark circles made him look the part.

"I set two alarms: 3 AM and 5:40 AM. Even borrowed the boss’s old phone to record it. Look."

Lin Jin pulled out his phone and played the video.

That night, he’d slept with the lights on. The camera showed him lying stiffly in bed until the alarm buzzed.

Drowsily, he rubbed his eyes and slapped it off. Almost instantly, he vanished.

No—not vanished. Where he’d been, no human remained. Only a tabby cat curled up in the blanket.

Qin Yi froze, staring at Lin Jin like he’d never seen him before. That unsettling gaze made Lin Jin’s skin crawl.

"Why are you staring at me like that...?" Lin Jin felt uneasy.

"Nothing. Keep watching," Qin Yi dodged.

Years later, when Lin Jin asked what he’d been thinking then, Qin Yi admitted he’d barely held back the urge to pet her little head.

Lin Jin hit play. The video continued.

The tabby slept soundly. Without the earlier weird shift, it’d look like any ordinary kitten.

Lin Jin fast-forwarded to 5:40 AM—the alarm rang again.

The cat blinked open its eyes. Its gleaming, 24K titanium-alloy cat eyes nearly blinded Qin Yi.

The tabby rubbed its eyes, glanced at its paws—and in that instant, the cat vanished. Left behind was a disheveled boy, staring dumbly at hands that had just been paws.