---
San didn't sit. He crossed his arms and stood at attention like he was guarding a vault, not babysitting a brat in silk pajamas.
Hyme arched a brow, golden eyes glinting. "You're not very obedient, are you?"
"I'm here to serve drinks, not play house," San replied, keeping his voice level.
Hyme's ears twitched in mild amusement. "That's a shame. I was told you were very popular with the other guests. Muscles, manners, and mute. A perfect combination." He gave a little yawn, baring one sharp fang. "Guess that was false advertising."
San's jaw twitched. He wasn't sure what this cat wanted—attention, attitude, or maybe just someone to fight—but he wasn't going to play along.
Hyme stretched, lazy and slow, his long legs dangling off the couch. "You seem uncomfortable, human. Do you not like hybrids?"
"I don't like being toyed with," San muttered.
That got a reaction.
Hyme sat up properly, his smile curling wider like a cat spotting a mouse. "Then good news. I'm not here to play with you."
San frowned. "Then why did you request me?"
Hyme stood and walked over, the soft pat-pat of his bare feet on the plush rug the only sound in the room. Up close, he was even smaller than San expected—barely reaching his shoulder. But that smug, unbothered aura made him seem ten feet tall.
"I'm offering you a job," Hyme said simply.
San blinked. "What?"
"Leave this bar. Work for me. I need a nanny." Hyme tilted his head. "A full-time one. Live-in."
San blinked again, harder this time. "You want me to babysit you?"
Hyme's tail flicked behind him, irritated. "I'm not a baby. I'm seventeen."
"That's barely older than my protein powder," San muttered under his breath.
Hyme ignored the comment and kept going. "I'm tired of the house staff. They're boring. They treat me like glass. I want someone strong, quiet, and easy on the eyes." He gave San a slow up-and-down look. "You'll do."
San took a step back. "No offense, but—"
"I'll pay you triple what you earn here," Hyme added smoothly. "And you'll get your own room. Access to the indoor gym. Daily meals prepared by an actual chef. And… you'll never have to purr for tips again."
San stared. That… was tempting.
Too tempting.
"What's the catch?" he asked flatly.
Hyme smiled, sweet and deadly. "You do everything I say. No questions. No complaints."
San hesitated.
Money. A roof. Real food. And no more being groped by cat girls every shift.
He could survive one spoiled kitten, right?
"…Fine," he said, finally. "But no weird requests."
Hyme purred. "We'll see."
---
Later that night, San returned to his apartment and began stuffing his things into a duffel bag. Clothes. Supplements. Protein bars. His last bit of pride.
"You're insane," Kai said on the phone. "You're moving in with a catboy prince who wants to pay you to be his nanny?"
San grunted, slamming the bag shut. "I need the money."
"You also need therapy."
San hung up.
---
The next morning, a sleek black car came to pick him up. The driver bowed without a word. The house? A mansion so large it made San's childhood apartment look like a broom closet.
Hyme was waiting at the front steps, dressed in an oversized hoodie and loose pajama pants, sipping from a glittery cup shaped like a paw.
"Welcome, doggy," he said with a smirk.
San scowled. "Don't call me that."
Hyme's grin widened. "Too late. You're mine now."
As San stepped into the mansion, something deep inside told him:
This kitten was going to ruin his life.
And he was absolutely right.
---