Volume 6 Chapter 55 First Day in Nyalem
Edited by: Kanaa-senpai
”Even a cat must not eat if it does not work. There’s no fish for lazy felines who spend all day sunbathing,” said the stern woman, handing him a broom.
The tower stretched endlessly. Klock stood on a spiral staircase that clung to the outer wall.
His footing rested on floating slabs of stone, suspended in the sky. Who in their right mind had designed something so suicidal? One glance down, and even the bravest man’s guts would shrivel tight at the sight of the clouds yawning far below. One slip here meant a final, spectacular fall from life itself.
’…Am I going to die?‘
Swallowing his instinct to scream, Klock began the death-defying task of sweeping. With each stroke, dust and crumbs scattered into the abyss, carried away by the wind until they vanished. Watching them disappear only made his knees weak, and he clutched the railing before he collapsed.
The so-called stairs were nothing more than slabs rammed into the tower wall, lined upward without end. Whoever built this was an idiot. Whoever chose to live here—cat Beastkin or not—were lunatics.
No—wait. They can fly. For winged folk, this might be the safest place in the world.
And in another sense, it was a fortress. No Beastkin who lived on the ground would dare climb this monstrosity. Even if enemies tried, the sheer effort would break them before they reached the top. From high ground, one could simply rain death down upon them. In that way, perhaps it all made sense.
But still—how far does this thing go?
”Clean the stairs,” they’d said. Ha! He could sweep until his grave and never finish.
Klock set his jaw and brushed briskly. At least this was one of the few jobs even a man like him could manage: nothing but moving his arms.
The broom rasped across stone. Tiny pebbles clinked off the edge, and he froze. Every glimpse of the empty sky beneath made his guts twist and shriek in terror.
”This is impossible,” he muttered, gripping the broom. “No one could do this. I’ll just…pretend I did, then hide in some room.”
With a sigh, he decided to quit before his nerve snapped. He started to climb down—
”Whoa—what the hell?!”
Three cat-girls sat right behind him. Beastkin—humanoid but with twitching ears and long tails, dressed in neat dresses. They had been silently watching, perched on the very step he was supposed to clean.
’Are they spying on me?‘
Klock pictured the secretary cat—the rigid one who’d shoved the broom into his hands. She was all business, the type to keep tabs on everything. It wouldn’t surprise him if she had dispatched watchers.
”Fine, you damned cats,” he muttered. “I’ll work, alright?”
He had no choice. He was a slave here, the lowest rung, permitted food only if he worked. He’d eaten nothing since his trial this morning—only white cheese the wolf princess had shared with him yesterday. Without supper, hunger would grow dangerous. He had to show diligence, even if only as a performance.
He swept again. Down one step, sweep the one above. Down another, sweep again. The stairs were a meter and a half wide, and one step took only a moment.
But when he reached their step, he stopped. He gestured with his hands: Move. He shooed them away.
”…Nya.”
One girl gave a faint sound. Nothing more. They only tilted their heads and stared, refusing to budge.
’You want me to give way?‘
With a grunt, he shoved his leg between them and climbed down, brushing past. They sniffed him as he passed, but let him through. He set his broom and resumed sweeping.
And then—one of them jumped down right in front of him. She sat squarely in his way.
”…What?”
When he tried to sweep, she simply planted herself there, staring up at him with round eyes, expression blank, as if to say I’m just here now.
Klock scowled. Did they not realize they were obstructing him? With no choice, he stepped down again.
But at once, another cat-girl hopped after him, sitting square in his path. Then the third. All three began blocking him deliberately. When he nudged them with the broom—
”…Nya,” one said softly, sniffing.
The others pressed close, sniffing his legs, brushing him with their hands.
’What is wrong with these brats? Bored out of their minds?‘
It reminded him of Suzette glaring whenever he tried to tease her mid-housework. He knew the impulse: when a woman turned her back, a man wanted to seize her from behind.
But these girls shoved their faces right up near his, practically nose to nose. With an exasperated sigh, he pushed one away and tried to escape further down.
The stone steps clacked underfoot. Five steps down, he risked a glance back—
There they were. Sitting, staring, right behind him.
He quickened his pace. Ten steps, then another look back—still there. Closer than before, trailing so near they could sniff his tailbone if he had one.
And now, all three wore faint, mischievous smirks.
Cats will be cats, he thought grimly.
”…Am I allowed to smack them?”
No. He knew the truth. He’d been marked as a plaything.
At least they weren’t spies. But they’d made real work impossible. The job itself didn’t matter, but getting caught slacking off and missing dinner would be disaster.
He couldn’t yell at them—slave to master, that line was forbidden. And if Elna heard he’d raised his voice to her people, she’d take it personally.
So Klock swallowed his anger, broom in hand, as three mischievous shadows clung to his every step.
Dash for it? Impossible—he’d probably slip and fall. Realizing there was nowhere to run, he decided instead to press the offensive. He stretched out a hand toward the girl standing before him and—
Click—his fingers found and pinched her through her clothes.
”…”
The girl gave no reaction at all. He rolled the small nub gently between his fingers. She only stared, perfectly still, as though warning him: Don’t move while being watched. Even when the tiny peak began to stiffen, her vacant gaze never wavered.
Forget it. Time to slack off.
Even harassment had failed, so Klock gave up. He turned his back on the girls and descended to the nearby landing. Ignoring their soft footfalls as they followed, he entered a connecting chamber inside the tower and leaned against the wall to sit.
Sensing the break in action, the girls padded closer. They sniffed at him like curious strays, then—cautiously—one clambered onto his crossed legs. Testing him, she shifted and adjusted until finally settling neatly between his knees.
Completely a cat. Human skin outside, pure feline within. Her bearing wasn’t the scrappy arrogance of a stray dog-sized alley cat—it was the lazy entitlement of a house pet, or even a large hunting cat.
’What would Cianie think, if she saw this?‘
Before reincarnation, she had kept a cat, and when she became Sylvia she’d named her beloved pet after her old self, Cianie.
The girl curled atop his lap, purring into the best position. Another girl approached from the side, sniffing close, leaning toward his throat as though about to steal a kiss. The last one simply plopped down nearby, knees hugged, pressing against him for warmth.
”What exactly are you doing here?”
At the sound of that voice, all three bolted. They shot away with a sharp whoosh, scampering up the terrifying spiral stairs as if the heights meant nothing.
Klock, left alone, scrambled upright. In front of him landed the secretary cat, poised and graceful.
”Klock. I asked you to clean. If you have no desire to work, that’s fine—but don’t expect me to spare you in my report to Lady Elna. Dinner? Any leftovers will be discarded, not fed to the dogs. Unless, of course, you’d prefer to serve as my scratching post? I have been searching for a suitably textured face.”
She flashed sharp claws with a gleam. Klock hurried back to the staircase and resumed cleaning.
”Next, fold the laundry. Human nails are round, I hear—you may be more suited than us.”
The room she led him to contained several large bamboo baskets, each filled with freshly washed clothing, likely retrieved from where they’d been hung to dry. Finally, an indoor chore.
When the secretary cat left, Klock found himself alone again. Folding clothes? He had no idea how. He grabbed the top garment—a small, single-color underlayer, fabric stretched at the chest. The sort that would cling tight to the body. He folded it twice, thrice, then tossed it aside.
Something felt wrong.
Only thirty seconds in, he could feel eyes on him. He picked another garment, folded it sloppily, and set it down—then spun around. Something darted out of sight beyond the doorframe.
’Three of them, maybe?‘
He turned back to the basket, pulling out a skirt. Would it even be proper for a man to fold a woman’s clothes? He pushed the thought away and bent the fabric.
A sound—he whirled again. A cat-girl lay stretched behind him as though she’d been there all along, lounging without a care. Different from the earlier three, this one was curvier, chest more prominent.
’Of course. Nothing but women in this place.‘
She turned her head aside, pretending innocence. Klock sighed and bent back to the basket—
’Oh come on.‘
A cat-girl sat inside the basket, gazing up with wide, shining eyes, as though declaring, This is my bed now. The folded laundry beneath her had been crushed flat.
Holding back a vein-throbbing burst of anger, Klock tipped the basket. The girl tumbled out along with the garments, and he realized—it was the very one he’d groped earlier. He seized her by the scruff and flung her toward the door.
Then froze.
The busty cat-girl had vanished. She’d been at the doorway just moments ago. Realization dawned—it was a diversion. He spun around too late. Another basket lay overturned, the girl barely visible beneath the heap of laundry.
’I’m about to snap.‘
But he couldn’t. Their status outweighed his. He had to treat them with care.
Klock breathed deeply. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the first girl sprawled nearby, watching for an opening. War loomed. He braced himself and lifted the basket.
Clothes scattered across the floor. The busty girl leapt up, clamping laundry in her teeth before springing to the window. Another dashed past like a polite intruder—excuse me!—and slammed into an upright basket, scattering its contents before retreating.
Klock lunged with his own basket to trap one, but she slipped outside. The next moment, every basket toppled over. Four more cat-girls had joined the fray, kicking baskets and scattering folded garments across the room.
Among them—yes—the same girl who had sat innocently in his lap earlier. She met his glare and grinned.
”—You little mewling brats!!”
With that bellow, Klock hurled the basket aside. The signal sent the girls scattering. They ran; he chased. They bounded up stairs with laundry clenched in their teeth, springing without fear.
They were fast. Too fast, and utterly fearless of heights. Each time he seemed about to catch one, she’d stop, glance back, and then dart off again as he lunged.
To win, he’d need more than speed. He’d need cunning—he’d need to outthink them.
He tried reading their movements, cornering them with quick thinking. Yet they vaulted up to higher floors with impossible jumps, always just out of reach. To catch them, he’d need wall-climbing skills himself. And when he paused for breath, they popped back into view, whipping laundry in the air and taunting him with sly smiles from every direction.
Rising fury smothered all other feelings.
Driven mad by the cat brats’ antics—T/N: insult combining “cat” + “brat”—Klock’s anger burned hotter than his fear of heights. Beneath him, only clouds; one slip, instant death. And yet he no longer cared. More pressing was his new obsession: lining them up and slapping each face, then spanking each backside a hundred times until they understood the strength of an adult.
He ran and ran, until breath failed him and he had to stop. Sanity crept back. What am I even doing? With a defeated sigh, he slumped down. At once, the girls returned, circling him, their rough tongues licking his face.
When play ended, it was naptime.
One by one, they leaned against him, seven cat-girls closing in like a furry tide. He could still mete out punishment, but somehow it no longer seemed worth it. Exhausted, Klock sprawled on the carpet and gazed up at the ceiling.
He needed to get back to work—before his face earned permanent claw marks. The thought flickered, but then he decided: five more minutes.
Too late. No sooner had he reached that conclusion than he met the blazing eyes of the secretary cat, hands on hips, smiling with deadly sweetness.
The cat-girls sensed danger first and bolted. Klock tried to flee with them, but a sharp hand caught his shoulder, and then came the bite. Afterward, he endured a long scolding before helping to gather the scattered laundry.
* * *
”Kuro! Supper time! Get over here!” someone called.
Hours later, as he waited in his quarters, the slave mark pulsed—summoning him to dinner. At least he hadn’t been denied food. The secretary cat’s glares had grown spikier than claws, but some mercy had been shown.
Was this what being a slave was supposed to be?
He’d imagined backbreaking labor, or forced battles with weapons.
The slave mark guided him toward his master, Elna. With a weary sigh, Klock dragged himself from his room, shuffling upward. On the way, three cat-girls flanked him again—the same troublemakers who had first picked a fight.
Maybe because he never spoke, they never spoke either. Their glances were quick, shy, curious. Without names to call them by, the most he could do was ruffle their heads. When he did, they answered with blank, wide-eyed stares. After indulging them a moment, he pressed on toward the dining hall, where Elna awaited.
Notes:
• Clea – younger dog beastkin sister who also serviced Klock previously.
• Suzette – The older maid from Viscount Fennec. The head maid at the Viscount Fennec’s villa. She is confident, clear-spoken, and professional.
• Elna – Female. A young apprentice mage. Her appearance is that of a child with white hair reaching her shoulders. She wears a black hooded mantle with strange patterns. Her relationship is as an apprentice to Hermine, the Great Mage. Her power involves advanced magic, including spatial teleportation. Her combat style is magical, and she is described as childish and easily provoked.
• Cianie – A noble girl with a fluffy white and light blue dress, indicating her high status. She has a hesitant and flustered personality but is kind and courteous. Her relationship with Klock begins as an accidental encounter and develops into a romantic interest. She has a fiancé but expresses feelings for Klock, complicating their relationship.
• Sylvia – The hero who accuses Klock of abandoning her in her past life. She was reborn as Anna after dying in a fire and holds a grudge against Klock.
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Edited by Kanaa-senpai.
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