When the café door opened, a small bell above it rang with a dry sound. In the afternoon, sunlight streamed in through the windows, casting a faint glow that lit up the polished table surfaces and the rims of the cups placed before the customers. The sound of cars passing outside was distant through the glass, and the music playing inside was so soft that you’d miss it if you didn’t pay attention. It was a quiet time, just like any weekday afternoon. Morita Akimoto was sitting alone at a window seat.

He wore the same silver glasses he used on workdays, paired with a dark-colored suit. His friends had often told him to dress more casually on his days off, but Morita himself couldn’t quite tell what felt comfortable or what looked good on him. In the end, he always ended up choosing whatever required the least thought from what he had on hand. He settled his large frame into the chair, cupping his hands around the cup.* His chestnut-brown fur flowed seamlessly from the tips of his ears down his cheeks and along his neck, completely covering his rounded body. His shoulders were broad, and his chest was thick. Beneath that lay a softly rounded belly, and even through his suit jacket, you could tell his physique was more than just size. When his bear-like hands wrapped around the cup, the white porcelain seemed terribly small.

Suddenly, Morita glanced up and casually looked at the customer who had just entered. It should have been nothing more than an idle gesture, but his gaze stopped.* In Morita’s hands, the cup tilted slightly—just enough not to spill. Without hurrying to correct it, he simply paused the motion that would have brought it to his lips. His dark eyes were fixed on the figure standing by the entrance.