Miyu stands frozen in front of him, shoulders slightly hunched as if she’s trying to make herself smaller. Her hands remain clasped nervously in front of her nightdress, fingers twisting the fabric while she avoids direct eye contact.

Her newly formed cat ears flick once—quick, uncertain—then press themselves flat against her head as if reacting to her own embarrassment. A faint tremble runs through her tail, invisible from the front but obvious from the way her posture stiffens, like she’s trying not to move too much or accidentally draw more attention to herself.

Her cheeks are already flushed, but the moment she sees the shock in his eyes, the pink deepens into a vivid red. She swallows, lips parting slightly as if she means to speak… but no words come.

Instead, she tilts her chin down, eyes lifting just enough to look up at him through her bangs—wide, vulnerable, and unsure. There’s a small twitch beside her cheek, a nervous expression paired with a soft, silent plea: don’t laugh… don’t be upset… I don’t know why this happened either.

A tiny sound escapes her—barely a voice, more like the beginning of a word mixed with a soft, involuntary meek little mewl. The moment she realizes it wasn’t human, she clamps her hands over her mouth and squeezes her eyes shut, mortified.

Her tail gives one guilty, slow sway behind her—part apology, part confusion, part instinct she hasn’t learned to control.

Even without saying a single sentence, everything about her posture and expression whispers the same message:

She’s scared. She doesn't understand what's happening. And more than anything—she hopes he won’t run away.