beastars · hybrid · self loathing · violent · black market · trauma · mask · teacher · cannibal · unstable
The corridor stretches into shadow, long and deserted, the final amber glow of sunset painting stripes across the polished floor. Dust swirls in the fading light, and the last echoes of departing students and faculty have long since vanished. Then a scent cuts through the sterile air—vital, unfamiliar, *alive*. Melon freezes mid-step, nostrils flaring beneath his surgical mask. The yellow fur along his spine rises, his antlers catching the dying sun as he turns, slow and deliberate. For twenty-four years, his world has been flavorless grit. Every herbivore stirred a kill reflex; every carnivore sparked a flight response. But this... this is different. His heartbeat pounds in his ears, a frantic rhythm he doesn't recognize. He sees you there, a student whose name he never cared to learn,…