My beloved can transform

I am Jack Folger, an ordinary eight-year-old boy.

You'll notice the sheer relief in my voice when I call myself "ordinary." Don't blame me for that. If you lived in a house where your grandmother might suddenly turn into an owl during dinner because of some sage in the soup, you'd understand just how precious "ordinary" really is.

"Vivian!"

That was my dad. Vivian is my mother's name. While addressing my mom, my dutiful father was busy trying to relocate my grandmother-who was still wearing her glasses and hooting softly-a tawny owl now, into a birdcage.

"How could you forget again that we can't put sage in Mother's soup?"

"Oh! Sorry, darling! I think I must have used the wrong herbs."

"Don't apologize to me, Vivian."

Amid the chaos, my grandfather, Donald, sitting at the head of the table, let out a cackle and raised his glass in a toast.

"Nothing makes me happier than seeing Sapphina become what she ought to be," Grandpa declared, downing his drink. "You know, her nagging could make a vampire dance right out of its coffin!" That was one of Grandpa's old jokes. It wasn't very funny the first time, and it certainly wasn't funny now-especially given what happened next.

"Dad! Stop! That's not your-"

Mom cried out, but it was too late. After drinking the anise-flavored liquor intended for cooking, Grandpa turned into a large field mouse, slumped in his chair, hiccupping drunkenly.

"Quick! Jack! Help!"

Dad, while trying to stop the owl-whose eyes were now gleaming at the sight of the mouse-from taking flight, barked orders at me.

"Hide Grandpa, quick! Whatever you do, don't let Grandma see him!"

Dad's concern was justified. If we didn't hide him, it would be a disaster. Everyone knows what a plump field mouse means to an owl!

I really wonder how my grandparents ever got together in the first place.

Before marriage, did they not know about each other's... alternate forms?

Love is blind, and marriage is the first step into the grave-sayings that fit my grandfather perfectly.

After settling Grandma and Grandpa, returning to the dinner table was the start of another battle.

"This isn't the first time, Vivian." Dad pointed an angry finger at Mom. "Do you hate my father or my mother?"

"I don't, darling, I really didn't mean to."

My mother sat at the table, chewing on the tablecloth, her face full of remorse. I truly believed her. She isn't that malicious, and she certainly didn't plan to make the headlines of the Therianthropy Weekly. She's just a bit... scatterbrained.

"Didn't mean to? What do you mean, didn't mean to!"

Dad, having the upper hand, showed no signs of letting up.

"Wait until Dad gets eaten by Mom and comes out the other end as a pile of droppings! Then you can look at that pile, bite your lip with tears in your eyes, and say, 'I really didn't mean to!'!"

The atmosphere was tense, but Dad's words reminded me of that famous talking, singing cartoon character, Mr. Golden Poo. It made me think that if Grandpa really ended up like that, it might not be so bad.

"Blame me? Is that all you know how to do?"

Finally, Mom's embarrassment turned to anger.

"Edward Folger! I married you and work hard every day to keep this family together! I look after your parents, raise your son, cook, clean, and do the laundry! When you were desperately pursuing me, pestering me back then, why didn't you mention that you have a mother who turns into an owl with sage, a father who becomes a field mouse with ouzo, and that they are natural enemies!"

"What's the point of saying all that now? Would it have changed anything?"

Dad deflated slightly. He's a reasonable man; his anger doesn't last long. Plus, he loves Mom dearly. Love has a way of deflating a man in front of a woman. And also, he really doesn't like seeing Mom lose her temper.

"Of course it would have!" Now it was Mom's turn to erupt. "If I'd known your family was so... complicated, maybe I would have thought twice about marrying you, you koala!"

Mom's final shriek turned into a honk. My mother, having transformed into a beautiful, proud swan, wagged her tail and waddled out of the dining room.

That's why Dad hates making Mom angry. Rage turns his wife into a swan.

Chasing after the swan, Dad also left the dining room.

Looking around the messy room, with food and dishes everywhere, I was speechless.

Truth be told, this ending wasn't even the worst part. The real nightmare is how often it happens.

So tell me, isn't being an ordinary eight-year-old boy my greatest wish?

I want to be like other eight-year-old boys-to have a grandfather who reads the newspaper all day, a grandmother who knits and smiles in a rocking chair, a father who works hard and only has time to play ball with me on weekends, and a mother who bakes cakes, makes cookies, and nags incessantly.

But I can't blame anyone for this. It's just the family I was born into.

I'm an eight-year-old boy. While I look no different from any other human boy my age, I am different. In my veins flows the potential to transform into a beast.

Some attribute this to our ancestors committing some act that defied the gods.

But my great-grandparents didn't see it that way.

They called it a gift from the heavens, giving us another option, besides being human.

Aside from the transformations, we age, die, and get injured just like humans. In fact, most of the time, to avoid trouble, our kind tries to appear only in human form.

Every child of the Therianthrope race carries the potential for transformation within them. But no one knows when that latent gene will activate, or what the final form will be. In other words, everyone is a potential new case.

One meticulous great-grandfather spent a long time compiling a book titled Don't Be Afraid! Embrace Your Change!It documents all the transformation cases he encountered. This book is essential reading, a staple in every Therianthrope child's library.

I have a copy in my study, of course.

But I sincerely hope I never have to use it.

Little did I know, I would soon be seeking its help.

That night, the atmosphere in the dining room made me decide to leave the house. Although Therianthropes have long lived among humans, to avoid trouble, we usually try to minimize being close neighbors with them.

My house is at the end of a long street, separated from the nearest neighbor by a large yard.

But I know Mom isn't satisfied with this. She often complains to Dad, saying she wants to live in an ancient castle like the Blacks. And every time she voices this wish, Dad gets angry.

"Ultimately, you're still hung up on that vampire bat who didn't marry you."

At this, Mom would immediately retort, "Get your facts straight. It was Iwho didn't marry him, not that he didn't want to marry me."

Mom is proud. I heard she once had a thing with Jess's father, Hill Black.

I'm not interested in these adult entanglements. I don't care where we live. All I crave is peace.

Jess is my good friend, the same age as me. He's a boy from a vampire family. Vampires are different from us. After generations of interbreeding with humans, their descendants are strictly forbidden from directly consuming human blood and are accepted by human society. Unlike us, whose existence remains largely a legend to humans, to avoid unnecessary trouble.

This night, the moon was full.

I wandered towards the nearest house next door and was surprised to hear voices.

The place next door had been empty for a long time. When did new neighbors move in?

The voices I heard weren't in familiar English or Italian. The language was completely foreign to me, the syllables sounding like an Eastern language. Then I heard a young girl's voice-unhurried, soft, gentle, and sweet. It was pleasant, soothing, and very... enticing.

An eight-year-old boy, at an age where the opposite sex is supposed to be the enemy, yet I suddenly felt curious about a girl's voice. It was utterly bizarre.

Yes, at that time, I didn't know this girl would later become my natural enemy.

I then climbed the big tree next to their house. For me, that's easier than eating.

The view from the tree was good. I could see the people in the yard clearly.

It was a perfectly normal human family: a middle-aged couple and a pair of handsome siblings.

I was right; it was indeed a family of Asian immigrants. The parents looked about forty. The brother was two or three years older than me. As for the sister-the reason I climbed the tree-she looked very young, maybe only six years old. She had her back to me, so besides her slightly curly, baby-fine long hair, I couldn't see her face clearly.

This family was harmonious and happy, very different from my chaotic, feather-flying household.

Although I couldn't understand their conversation, seeing the small table in the yard laden with drinks and food, I guessed they were having a picnic.

A picnic at night?

These Asians are really strange.

The parents were looking at the moon, talking to the children, seemingly telling stories. On their table were piles of round cakes, greenish pomelos, water caltrops, melons, fruits, and burning incense sticks. It looked more like they were making an offering to ancestors.

But I didn't understand what they were worshipping, as there was no idol or picture on the table.

I turned my gaze to the moon. Could it be... they were worshipping the moon?

What a strange custom.

The next moment, several streams of liquid splashed in my direction, pulling my thoughts from the moon back to earth.

At first, I thought I'd been discovered, but then I realized the boy splashing the liquid was just fooling around, not targeting me.

Getting wet was one thing, but when I sniffed, I realized it wasn't water but red wine, fragrant with alcohol. They had finished worshipping the moon and were now tossing the offered wine to heaven and earth. I pursed my lips. What a strange custom! Such a waste.

Despite the wine shower, I was thankfully undiscovered. I breathed a sigh of relief and prepared to quickly slide down the tree and slip away.

I swear, I only meant to climb down faster. But suddenly, an unknown reaction, erupting from deep within me, sent tremors racing through my blood. And then, I fell from the tree.

"Steve, we're going inside. You stay and play with your sister in the yard for a little while longer, then it's time for bed. Don't forget you have to report to your new school tomorrow."

After the Whites dropped their instructions and left, eleven-year-old Steve responded with a distracted "Hmm," showing no intention of moving. It was clear he wasn't the least bit worried about starting at a new school tomorrow. Steve was a prodigy, his thoughts often far beyond his years, something few could understand-least of all his five-years-younger sister, Elsa.

Although, she always tried very hard to enter his world.

Like right now, the six-year-old girl was trying to squeeze in front of her brother to see what he was so intently studying in the damp, muddy hole.

"Elsa."

The little girl made a sound of acknowledgment without turning her head.

"You're in my way." Steve was always direct.

"I know." Knowing it and doing something about it were two different things; she didn't move. "But if I don't, I can't see what you're doing. You never tell me what you're thinking or what you're up to..."

"And what if I did?" Steve said dismissively. "You wouldn't understand anyway."

"How do you know I wouldn't if you never try?" Elsa persisted stubbornly. "You could try! I'm not moving. Stop acting like I'm an idiot."

"You're not an idiot, but you are a scaredy-cat." His tone remained calm and unhurried. "It's fine if you block my view. I'm just worried that if a skeletal claw or a bloody tongue suddenly shoots out of that hole, I might not be able to save you in time."

The little girl shrieked, scrambling backward and falling onto the ground. It took her a moment to realize she'd been tricked.

"Bad brother! You scared me again!" She pouted, her eyes welling up with tears.

"I didn't." He looked expressionlessly at his sister's tears. This was one reason he didn't like playing with her-girls were always being bossy, trying to gain advantage, and turning on the waterworks at the drop of a hat. So tedious. "You're just too easily scared."

The two siblings parted ways-the brother successfully got rid of his little shadow, and the sister swore for what felt like the hundredth time that she would never, ever speak to her horrible brother again.

Brushing the dirt off her little white dress, Elsa stuck her tongue out at her brother and turned to leave. It was fine. Without him, she could still have fun by herself.

That's what she said, but the six-year-old knew deep down she didn't mean it.

Really, she didn't mean it at all.

For miles around, she didn't have a single friend. The only people she could talk to were her family.

Steve was her only playmate. That's why, even after countless cold shoulders from him, she still doggedly pestered him.

Their father, Dennis, had taken a position as the General Manager for the Rome division of a well-known international Italian wine company. That's why the family had emigrated from Asia to Italy.

Six-year-old Elsa naturally didn't understand the nuances of good or bad wine, nor did she grasp what the people in this new country cared about.

All she knew was that after moving here, her childhood had turned from bright to gloomy. Her little playmates had vanished overnight.

Before immigrating, Dennis had tried to hire tutors to help the two children with the language barrier, but the time was short, and for little Elsa, it was hardly effective.

Learning was never a problem for Steve. Within three months, the prodigy boy was already proficiently using multiple languages.

Poor Elsa, still not fully fluent in her native tongue, now had to face a new language. Not being able to speak or understand plunged her into frustration, making her subconsciously resist learning and socializing. She preferred to live in her own little world.

That's why she constantly clung to her brother. That's why she magnanimously forgave him after being slighted. Because in this foreign land, she was lonely.

Really, very lonely.

With a rustling sound, Elsa, still sulking, pushed open the small gate and left home. Even if she was going to forgive her brother, she needed a cooling-off period to show her resolve. But in less than three minutes, the little girl came running back, not just returned, but with eyes shining with excitement. All the anger from moments ago had completely vanished.

She ran back to her brother, all grievances forgotten.

"Steve! Look what I found under the tree outside the gate!" She proudly presented her treasure. "A puppy!"

"A puppy?!"

Steve turned his attention to his sister. He frowned, using two fingers to pick up the strange little creature from her arms-a creature with beautiful golden-brown short fur and a pair of blue eyes.

The little thing bared its tiny fangs and growled at him. It clearly didn't like him.

"Elsa, put it back." Steve narrowed his eyes.

"Why?"

As if afraid her treasure would be taken, Elsa hurriedly snatched it back from her brother.

"I found it! I'll beg Mom to let me keep it. Our yard is so big, keeping a little dog is no problem. I'll bathe it, feed it, let it sleep with me. It can play house with me, hide-and-seek, frisbee..." She chattered on, outlining the future she'd already envisioned for herself and the little creature.

He interrupted her slowly. "Elsa, I'm telling you to put it back because it's not a puppy. It's a wolf. A wolf cub whose teeth aren't even fully grown yet."

"Steve, you're wrong. It's not. It's just a very ordinary, very good little dog."

"Look closer, little sister."

Steve used his finger to guide his sister's gaze over the little creature's features.

"Its ears are small and pointed, its tail hangs down, its legs are a bit longer than a regular dog's, and its little fangs," he concluded, looking at his sister, "In short, it's a wolf. A wild wolf completely unsuitable for being kept as a pet. And besides..."

He sniffed towards the little creature and then laughed. "It's a little wolf that likes its drink. Look at it, reeking of wine. Probably lured here by the scent of our family's wine."

"I don't care how it got here, and I don't care if it's a wolf or a dog," Elsa clutched the wolf cub tightly to her chest, "It's mine."

Steve fell silent, studying his sister and the little creature held tightly in her arms-who wasn't struggling but seemed to be blushing. The cub's golden-brown fur made the two red patches on its cheeks even more obvious.

A blushing wolf cub? Now that was peculiar. He found it amusing.

"Suit yourself, Elsa. I never like interfering with others' choices. But don't say I didn't warn you. A wolf's nature is a very cruel thing. Bloodthirsty, carnivorous, and often fiercely hungry. You can hold it, but don't hold it too tight. Be careful..." his voice softened with a hint of threat, "...that a cool breeze doesn't suddenly blow through your chest because it accidentally bites a hole clean through you, front to back."

Elsa steadied herself, suppressing a shriek.

"You can't scare me, brother. I'll train it well, I won't let it bite anyone." She declared as if taking an oath. "I'll find a way to make it behave."

"Behave?" Steve chuckled. "Elsa, I look forward to your success. But before you succeed, be careful it doesn't eat you first."

"It won't."

"This little wolf of unknown origin," he glanced casually at the little girl and the wolf cub, "is blushing right now. If its blush isn't from lack of oxygen, then it means it likes being hugged by a girl. And it blushes too. So, whether it will eat you or not remains to be seen."

"You're talking nonsense again."

"I'm not." He lifted the beautiful golden wild wolf cub from his sister's arms, examining it while making appreciative noises. "Indeed, a little male wolf. No wonder it can't resist my beautiful sister. However," he laughed at the little creature, whose limbs were pinned helplessly, "currently, its... weapon... is still rather petite. It seems it has the intention but lacks the means to commit the crime."

A snarl accompanied the wolf cub twisting its head to snap at Steve. He easily dodged it, unperturbed.

"Not bad, Elsa! Your little wolf has spirit. Whether it understands or not, it certainly reacts strongly to insults against its pride."

"Stop teasing it, give it back, brother! It's really angry!" Elsa, straining on her tiptoes but still unable to reach, looked frantic.

He narrowed his eyes at his slightly angry sister. "You really want to keep it?"

"Really!" She nodded so vigorously it was almost a ninety-degree bow. "Starting tomorrow, even you will be going to school. Here, besides Mom, I have no playmates and no one to talk to. It will be my first friend in Italy."

"Friend?" Steve gave a lazy laugh. "With your broken English or your three phrases of Italian?"

"Who says you can only communicate with Italian animals using those two languages?" Elsa's face flushed red with indignation.

"You'll teach it your mother tongue to communicate?"

She nodded emphatically.

"Interesting!" He handed the wolf cub back to his sister. "Remember to teach it Italian traffic signs, so that when you take it out someday and it can't understand anything, you'll only be left to collect its corpse."

"Brother, I hate it when you curse it like that," Elsa stuck her tongue out at her brother. "It will live to be a hundred! It'll still be here after you're dead!"

"Throw away your brother for a wolf?" Steve grinned. "Elsa, you're only six, don't be so fickle. You want to keep it, so what's its name?"

"Name?" She pondered. "Its fur is golden, like a lion, so let's call it..."

"Simba?" He frowned.

"Yes! Yes!" She clapped her hands excitedly. "Let's call it Simba! Brother, don't you think it's a good name?"

"Good, very good," he shrugged indifferently, stretching as he prepared to go back inside. "Elsa, time for bed."

"I know." Elsa buried her face in the little golden wolf's soft fur, her muffled voice almost lost in the yellow fluff.

Turning slightly, Steve glanced at the wolf cub, who was watching him warily from his sister's arms. He shrugged and took the lead, strolling back into the house.

He never liked being a killjoy. And it was clear that right now, both the little girl and the little wolf had made it plain they didn't need this 'Steve' anymore.

"Simba, listen to me. A little wolf that smells nice will have more people like it!"

After a struggle, Elsa finally managed to press Simba into the water. Truth be told, there were several moments when the wolf cub had the chance to bite its way free from the little girl's grasp and escape. But it didn't.

It clearly didn't want the little girl to bathe it, but it was even more unwilling to bite or scratch her.

Soon, a little wolf's head emerged from the bubble-filled tub-a little wolf that looked very unhappy but had resigned itself to its fate.

Ignoring the wolf's displeasure, Elsa carefully rinsed her beloved pet with the showerhead, then wrapped it in a fluffy white towel. After drying it, she cradled the wolf cub in her arms like a baby, pressing her clean, pretty little face warmly against the sullen-looking wolf.

"Simba, now you smell wonderful! This way you can sleep with me. It's too late tonight. Tomorrow morning, I'll ask Mom and Dad if I can keep you. When you're a bit bigger, I'll build you a little house in the yard. But until then, you'll sleep with me."

Carrying the wolf cub on tiptoe into her room, she placed it on her small bed, moving aside the Barbie doll that usually slept with her.

"Simba is here, Barbie, you're demoted!" Elsa smiled sweetly at the golden wolf cub. "Simba, from now on, you are the most important to me! This is great, so great. Starting tomorrow, I won't be all alone anymore."

Next, she took off her clothes in front of the wolf cub and put on her little nightgown.

"Hey! Simba!" She giggled, playfully tapping the wolf cub's cheek, which was turned away and flushed red. "Brother wasn't kidding! You really are a blushing little wolf!"

The wolf cub lowered its head, as if in reflection or perhaps disdain.

"Enough playing, Simba. Let's sleep."

Elsa let out a soft, delicate yawn. The little girl's features were exquisite, like a living doll. She climbed onto the bed, knelt, said her prayers to the moon and God, then crawled under the covers with the wolf cub. Lying down, she blinked her large, utterly innocent eyes at it.

"Goodnight, my dear Simba. Tomorrow! Tomorrow is a new beginning for both of us!"

A six-year-old's mind holds no complex thoughts. Within seconds, Elsa was emitting soft, even snores.

Hearing the sound, the wolf cub raised its head and slowly extricated itself from under the covers.

The little girl had forgotten to close the window before sleep. Gentle moonlight silvered the room.

Bathed in moonlight, the beautiful golden-furred wolf cub suddenly opened its mouth and leaned over the sleeping Elsa. It extended a small, pink tongue and licked the soft, lovely little face.

After this kiss-like action, it jumped onto the windowsill.

It looked back once more at the sleeping Elsa, then leaped lightly out the window, back into the night.

The golden wolf cub was gone.

"Oh, heavens! Can someone please tell me where my beloved son is?"

In Edward Folger's house, his distraught wife, Vivian, was weeping softly.

"It's alright, Vivian." Donald let out a boozy hiccup before continuing. "Everyone knows the Folger family's capabilities. Who would dare kidnap my precious grandson?"

"Maybe no one kidnapped him. I'm afraid..." Edward grumbled, "...he ran away from home. Can't blame Jack. With a mother who's always scatterbrained and turns into a swan when she gets angry, where even dinner isn't peaceful... if I were him, I'd want to run away too."

"Edward Folger!" Vivian's dark, curly hair seemed to stand on end, her voice rising an octave, poised for another transformation. "What are you saying?"

"I said-"

Anger over his missing only son made Edward lose control. The scathing words were on the tip of his tongue when suddenly, all three of them heard a thud against the door.

"Stop arguing! It must be Jack!"

Donald got up, went to the door, and turned the knob.

"See, I told you the boy was fine. You parents always worry too much..."

His words stuck in his throat. He opened the door. Outside wasn't his precious grandson, but...

"A little yellow dog?!"

Donald scratched the few remaining hairs on his head. "What's going on? Edward, since when did you get a dog?"

"I didn't, Dad."

Edward replied respectfully, his face full of confusion. He stared wide-eyed as the little golden-furred creature, ignoring the three stunned adults, strode into the house with its head held high, looking as comfortable as if it were its own home. It even gave a low growl at Donald, as if highly displeased with being called a dog.

"Oh my god! It's Jack! It's my darling, my precious Jack!"

Vivian shrieked and rushed to the little golden creature's side.

"Look at its blue eyes! Only my little darling has such beautiful blue eyes! Believe me, I'm his mother, I can't be wrong."

"My little Jack... he transformed?"

Edward also knelt beside the little creature, looking at the golden fur on his son's body with reverent awe. "Oh, in the name of the Sacred Therianthrope! Look at him, Dad! You need to change your reading glasses! He's not a dog. My son, Edward Folger's son-" his voice was excited, "-is a wolf!"

"A wolf?" Donald started cleaning his glasses. He crouched down, looking at the golden wolf cub with the same reverent and apologetic expression as his son. "Yes, yes! It's just that Jack is still small, I misjudged. It's fine. When he's bigger, he'll become a majestic, imposing big wolf. Not like us, just poor little field mice, silly owls, and timid koalas."

"And..." Edward snorted, lowering his voice, "...a white swan with nothing but a pecking attitude."

Vivian had no time to glare at her husband, as her mind was completely occupied by the fact of her son's transformation.

"Yes!" Her eyes shone with starlight. "When he grows up, my baby will be a great werewolf! In the recorded history of our Therianthrope race, those who can transform into wolves mostly hold important places in history. If not an emperor, then a great general whose name shakes the age..."

The three grew more and more excited, seemingly having already foreseen a brilliant future for the little golden wolf.

In a moment when no one was paying attention, the little golden wolf pushed away the hands around it and quietly padded into the study.

Early the next morning, Elsa cried for a long time when she discovered the wolf was gone from her bed.

She even ran to her brother's room and turned it upside down searching. In the end, she had to accept the fact: Simba had left on its own.

There were no signs of any dissected small animals in Steve's room, but there were claw marks on her windowsill left by the departing wolf.

She was heartbroken because she had always believed the little wolf liked her, just as she liked it.

She didn't agree with Steve's assertion that it was just her wishful thinking.

---

Three years passed quickly. Steve had started secondary school two years prior and left home to be a boarder. Although Elsa was now in the third grade, her language barriers and inherent aloofness kept her as lonely as ever. She grew quiet, and those who didn't know her well mistook her silence for coldness and found her difficult to approach.

One day, Elsa went to Rome with her mother, Rachel, to run some errands.

After finishing their business, her mother took her to a piazza. There, she sat with her mother at an outdoor café, watching street performers and vendors weave through the crowd, listening to her mother and a friend exchange gossip.

Naturally, this gossip held no interest for nine-year-old Elsa, but the piazza's fountain captured her attention.

Seeing her daughter engrossed in the scenery, Rachel seized the moment to change the subject. "Elsa, Mom knows you're young but already interested in fashion design. Italy will be a great place to cultivate that talent. But first, you need to learn the language. You can't just cover your ears and eyes like a little ostrich, pretending nothing's wrong whenever there's a problem."

"I'm not a little ostrich, Mom. I just don't like talking to people I'm not familiar with." Elsa turned her head away, clearly not liking this topic.

"Elsa, how about this?" Rachel held her daughter's soft little hand in hers. "I'll hire a tutor for you, specifically to practice Italian, French, and German with you."

"I don't want to!" She pulled her hand back, her face unhappy. "Mom, you know I hate being with strangers."

Rachel sighed, having to set this troublesome matter aside for now.

"Elsa, the Mid-Autumn Festival is almost here. This year, your brother has exams and won't be back, and your father has a business trip to Venice. It will be just the two of us at home. I'll make lots of traditional dishes for you then..."

Her mother's voice continued at the café table, but Elsa's mind had already wandered.

So fast, another year had passed?

Every year around this time, she thought of that little golden-furred, blue-eyed wolf. The little golden wolf she had possessed for just one night.

Propping her head on her hands on the table, she tilted her head in thought.

That night felt distant now. Sometimes she couldn't help but think that the little golden wolf was just an illusion born from her loneliness.

---

Today was Elsa's day to be on duty, and it seemed to be her unlucky day.

First thing in the morning, she couldn't understand the teacher's instructions and sent materials meant to be kept into the shredder. After standing in punishment for half the morning, she then missed the lunch bell and didn't get to eat. So by the time P.E. class came around in the afternoon, her stomach was empty.

Another important duty was to collect the sports equipment after class. So after all the other students left, she and another girl had to stay in the gym to gather the balls-they had volleyball today.

Less than two seconds into cleaning up, the girl named Grace said something in Italian to Elsa, waved her hand, and left. Elsa watched her retreating back without a word and continued her task. She was used to this treatment. Not being proficient in Italian and not knowing how to stand up for herself meant most classmates took advantage of her. After all, she wouldn't tell the teacher or throw a tantrum.

She was like an ice sculpture-hard to figure out, without much emotional fluctuation.

Soon after she bent down to organize the ball basket, a loud rumble of basketball shoes and voices erupted from outside the door. A group of tall foreign boys, wearing the school basketball team uniforms, entered. It seemed it was after-school activity time, and the gym was now the basketball team's domain.

Distracted, a basketball flew straight towards Elsa, hitting her on the head. Pain shot through her as she fell to the ground. Empty stomach, stars in her eyes-she was on the verge of losing consciousness.

In the moment before she blacked out, she vaguely felt a tall, golden figure scoop her into its arms.

Strange, it should have been a golden human figure, but in her heart, she inexplicably superimposed that image with the little golden wolf from three years ago.

Maybe it was because they both had that beautiful golden hair or fur.

How could a person and a wolf be confused as one?

Before this absurd thought could be clarified, a fog descended, and Elsa lost consciousness.

---

Even before opening her eyes, Elsa could hear Italian murmuring beside her. To avoid trouble, she kept her eyes shut, pretending to be asleep, planning to wake up only after everyone had left.

Time ticked by. The room grew quiet. She cautiously opened her eyes and instantly fell into a vast, boundless azure ocean.

Oh! It wasn't a real ocean, just a pair of a man's blue eyes. Deep, sapphire-blue pupils like the sea. They were so close because the owner of those blue eyes was leaning over her, his face inches away, close enough to share breaths.

Startled, she widened her eyes and scrambled backward against the headboard. Thump!Her head hit the iron railing. A new injury on top of the old one. The pain made her cry out, tears welling in her eyes.

"Don't tell me you're trying to knock yourself stupid." The owner of the blue eyes laughed lightly.

Hearing his voice, Elsa rubbed her head and stared, feeling something was odd.

The tall, handsome foreign boy in front of her, wearing a basketball jersey, had blond hair and blue eyes. But the language he spoke was her mother tongue. Though accented a bit strangely, it was genuinely a language she understood.

The shared language made her relax slightly. She stopped rubbing her head and asked curiously, "Who are you?"

"Jack Folger. Fifth grade, two years above you."

"Hi! Hello!" Elsa seemed a bit flustered, but the brightness in her eyes didn't diminish. My god, a boy who spoke her language, who she could communicate with?! A seemingly friendly, easy-going foreign boy-would he be her first friend in this country? "My name is..."

"Elsa."

He accurately spoke her name. The two syllables slid smoothly from his lips, clearer than any other words he'd said, as if practiced many times.

"You know my name?" She was surprised again.

"There aren't many Asians in this school."

"Do you like Asians?"

Jack lowered his head and glanced at Elsa. He had no intention of answering that question. She'd had a rough day already; he didn't want to scare her further. Nor could he tell her he wasn't that broad-minded; he'd learned the language because, since three years ago, a girl named Elsa had begun to occupy his thoughts.

"Is your head feeling better?" he asked with concern.

"Mm, it doesn't hurt anymore."

She gave a soft, slight smile, want to tell him that knowing she might have a new friend made any pain insignificant.

She had thought today was an unlucky day, but now it seemed God was still merciful.

Seeing her smile, his heart first swayed, then turned to apprehension. He still couldn't forget his first, flustered transformation experience in front of her.

She was an angelic human girl, and he was a Therianthrope boy who could turn into a wolf at any time.

Since that night, he hadn't been able to forget her, yet he had to remind himself to keep his distance. He knew he should fancy Therianthrope girls, as that would avoid the complications his transformation could bring to a relationship. Yet, over the years, he had still learned her language and studied her culture and customs.

Now, fate had used a ball to push her right in front of him.

And he, should he continue to hide and avoid?

Jack questioned himself, struggling for a long time before finally extending his hand to her.

"Let me take you home."

Elsa nodded, without a second thought, she reached out and took the hand he offered in friendship.

But they didn't go home immediately. Hearing the sounds from her stomach while she was unconscious, he decided to feed her first.

Riding his bicycle, Jack took Elsa onto a country path. On both sides stretched endless vineyards and olive groves. Elsa had seen these sights many times before, but now, in her good mood, even the breeze felt especially refreshing and beautiful!

Jack parked the bike in front of a shop. It was the most famous local gelateria, with ice cream in all sorts of flavors, renowned for its quality and popularity.

After eating two hot dogs, Elsa stopped in front of the ice cream counter, her lovely eyes dazzled by the dozens of flavors. Besides the usual vanilla and chocolate, there were many new fruit flavors she'd never tasted or heard of-various berries, citrus, etc.

"I don't know which flavor to choose."

Elsa sighed and looked at Jack, her face troubled by indecision.

She looked at him, genuinely perplexed. He only saw the uniquely charming, childish appeal in her dilemma, just like the stubborn childishness she'd shown when forcing little Simba to take a bath.

"Do you often get like this," Jack leaned against the counter beside her, "not even sure what it is you really like the most?"

"I do not."

She pouted, somewhat indignant but unable to completely deny it. She did tend to be a little greedy and willful at times.

He ignored her and proceeded to order samples of all the flavors she had considered.

Faced with the ten-plus varieties of ice cream that required two large trays to hold, Elsa's childish eyes widened.

"Can we finish all this?"

"Don't worry," he carried the trays and led her to a table facing the lake, setting all the ice cream down. "I have a big stomach. You try them all. Finish the ones you like, and I'll take care of the leftovers."

"But that means," facing the numerous choices, Elsa was excited but also felt a slight apology towards Jack, "you'll have to eat what I've already tasted?"

"Do you have any contagious diseases?" he asked casually.

"Probably not." That... probably wasn't the point, right?

"Then it's fine. Eat up." Jack pushed the colorful cups of ice cream towards her. "They won't taste as good once they melt."

Elsa finally dropped her reservations and showed a childlike smile, tasting them one by one.

"The green mango is good, the cranberry is a bit sour, the sweet orange is so fragrant..."

She happily gave her verdict with each spoonful, eating and playing simultaneously. It was a while before she noticed Jack sitting opposite hadn't touched a single bite, his gaze fixed on her face and her happy tongue.

"Why aren't you eating?"

She temporarily reined in her excitement, reminding herself not to get carried away and neglect her hard-won new friend.

"You eat first. I need to save room for the leftovers later."

"Don't be like that!"

She scooped a spoonful of the sweet orange ice cream and delivered it into Jack's mouth, not noticing it was the same spoon she had just licked.

"Sweet?" she asked expectantly, looking up at him.

"Sweet!"

Jack gave her the answer she wanted, knowing in his heart the sweetness came from the spoon that had touched her tongue.

"Giving me so many choices," Elsa sighed and shook her head, "aren't you afraid my tongue will freeze and go numb, and I won't be able to tell which one I wanted most?"

"Giving you so many choices," he shrugged nonchalantly, "is to prevent you from having the regret of missing out."

She looked at him, deep emotion rising in her eyes. "Jack, do you have any younger brothers or sisters?"

"No, why do you ask?" He stared at her sharp little tongue, reddened by the ice cream, reminding him of a budding rose.

"You're like a big brother, very good at taking care of people." Elsa showed a satisfied smile.

"Really?" He shook his head, not agreeing. "No, I don't. No younger siblings, no older siblings either. I'm an only child."

"Then," she showed an eager, expectant smile again, "you must really want a little sister, right?"

He didn't answer, because he knew the answer she wanted, but had no intention of satisfying her.

He might not have a sister, but he knew very well in his heart that for her, he definitely had no intention of just being a brother.

"Having a brother doesn't mean you won't be lonely." Jack looked at Elsa, reminding her.

"That's true. I have a brother," she sighed, her smile fading, "but that really doesn't mean I'm not lonely."

"Your loneliness comes from being withdrawn and the language barrier. It has nothing to do with having a brother or not."

"You seem..." admiration crept into her eyes, "...to understand me very well?"

"Your loneliness," he reached out and gently tapped the tip of her nose, "is written plainly on your face."

---

On the way home, Elsa sat on the bicycle carrier, her arms around Jack's waist. They talked about everything under the sun, not feeling like they had just met, but like old friends reunited after many years.

When they arrived home, and Elsa learned that Jack's house was on the same street as hers, she was shocked once more.

"Your house is so close to mine?"

She looked up, following his pointing finger towards the old mansion at the end of the street, shrouded in an aura of mystery by the locals.

Mom had said the people living there were a reclusive family that didn't like socializing. Rumor had it they were descendants of a medieval noble family, arrogant and looking down on ordinary people. Who would have thought such a family would raise a boy as approachable as Jack?

"I've lived here for almost three years, and we," Elsa found it incredible, "have never met before?"

Jack remained silent. Actually, he often couldn't resist watching her from afar in secret, but she was completely unaware.

"Starting tomorrow, I'll pick you up and drop you off from school. It'll be a good chance to practice your Italian too."

Without consulting her, he made the decision for her. Uncharacteristically, unlike her usual aversion to strangers getting close, she accepted his suggestion.

She was even somewhat looking forward to his care and protection.

"Jack, you're so good to me. Are you my guardian spirit?"

Elsa spoke sincerely. The refreshing taste of over a dozen ice creams still lingered on her taste buds, and her heart felt sweet as honey from being valued.

"If I am," he looked at her, "then, what else do you want?"

She thought for a moment, then revealed a childlike smile.

"I know this might sound a bit strange, but since you live around here..." her eyes shone with memory, "...have you ever seen a very cute, very beautiful little golden wolf? Oh, no, it's been three years, it should be bigger now. Its fur is a lot like your hair, golden and shiny. Sorry, I'm not saying your hair is like wolf fur, I mean..."

She scratched her head, flustered, unable to continue.

"You like that little wolf? Remember it? Want to find it?" he scrutinized her.

"Yes, yes!" She nodded vigorously. "In fact, I even gave it a name, 'Simba'. It's a bit stubborn, a bit proud, but really, really cute. I think it probably remembers me too."

"It's strange. You look as delicate as a little rabbit. Why would you want to keep a wolf as a pet?"

"Not a pet," Elsa explained hurriedly. "Although I really had that thought once, I figured it out later. For a wolf, the vast outdoors should be its home. I'm just very worried about it. I really want to see if it's safe and sound."

Jack looked at her for a moment, then slowly spoke. "Here, watch closely, learn this." He placed his palms together against his chest, forming an inverted triangle with his hands.

"What's this?" She stared, dumbfounded.

"It's a secret magic passed down from ancient times. Here, copy my gesture."

She stretched out her hands, imitating him, making an inverted triangle against her chest. "And then?" she asked dumbly.

"And then?"

He looked at her, dead serious. "You must close your eyes, chant the spell, and state your wish in your mind. Soon, that wish will come true."

"Slow down, Jack," Elsa looked anxious. "You said it too fast. Say it again."

"Not that I want to laugh at you, Elsa, but your language skills really are a bit lacking."

Receiving her glare, Jack calmly repeated the spell he had just made up.

He wanted to laugh; she did not. He could see the girl was very serious about making a wish.

He sighed. Because of her sincerity, because he was her guardian spirit, perhaps he should help grant her wish.

---

Three days later, as her mother Rachel had forewarned, her father and Steve were absent. It was a quiet evening.

But just before bed, as Elsa was about to close the window, a flash of brilliant gold in the yard caught her attention. She ran downstairs, not even bothering with a robe, just in her thin nightgown.

"Simba!"

She cried out happily, rushing forward and bending down to hug the golden wolf that was now almost chest-high.

Oh, no! Simba was no longer a little wolf.

Although its beautiful golden fur remained, its body had lengthened and showed signs of majesty, a size between a cub and an adult wolf. There was a ruff of darker brown fur around its neck, its four legs strong and powerful, its expression proud and untamed. Its eyes held a domineering air, and its slightly bared white teeth looked fully grown.

Any wild beast emitting such a fierce aura would frighten anyone, but not Elsa. Seeing it only made her feel reassured and happy. From the feelings it conveyed, she was convinced Simba would not harm her.

"Hmm, the magic Jack taught me really works! Tomorrow I must thank him and ask him," Elsa hugged and kissed Simba, again seeing its almost blushing reaction, "if he wants a god-sister or not?"

Simba let out a low grunt, as if exasperated by the suggestion.

"Hey, Simba!"

She hugged the golden wolf and sat down with it on the grassy lawn under the bright, full moon.

"Where have you been all these years? Have you been well? Made any good friends?" She bent down, sniffing its golden fur. "It must be because of that time I bathed you. You've become a very clean wolf."

"See the moon in the sky? Today is a very important festival in my country. This festival symbolizes reunion. So on this day, we must be with the family we love. If you understand me, you must come see me every year on this day, okay? Otherwise, I'll miss you terribly."

Holding Simba, she chattered on and on. The golden wolf was surprisingly tame, nestling in her arms, letting her pinch and poke.

"Simba, you must think I'm very noisy!"

She laughed. She often had very childish impulses, but usually controlled them well, rarely showing them in front of people. But Simba was different; it wouldn't laugh at her.

"Can't help it. Being a little mute all day at school, I don't know how long it's been since I've talked properly. But don't worry about me. Next time you come, I won't be like this, okay? I have a new friend now. His name is Jack. He even promised to practice Italian with me! Next time you come, maybe I can speak Italian to you!"

That night, they played frisbee and hide-and-seek. The grown Simba could even carry her on its back, darting and leaping through the deserted alleys late at night, making her cling to its back, gripping its long fur tightly.

A girl and a wolf played almost wildly under the bright moonlight.

Later, seeing Simba covered in mud, Elsa wanted to bathe it. She giggled, instructing, "Don't go. I'll go get some things and be right back. Wait for me!"

She was back in just a minute, carrying a large towel, a bristle brush, and shower gel.

But this time, Simba didn't intend to let her have her way like three years ago. The moment it sensed Elsa's intention to bathe it, it fled in a panic.

Elsa, returning to the yard, was left staring at the empty garden, a sudden sense of loss washing over her.