Two weeks had passed, and Luna's body no longer screamed in agony when she woke. Her runs now had rhythm, her breathing paced and controlled.
The cane? Long gone. Bruises? Still there, but faded and worn like medals of war. She even landed a few solid counters during training, earning a rare glint of approval in Cherry's eyes.
Therapy had shifted from weekly to monthly, Dr. Falne giving her a nod of trust. "You've found your stride," she had said during their last session, "but keep checking in—emotionally, too, not just physically."
Dinner had become a different kind of battlefield.
Instead of defending herself from Cherry's throws, Luna now parried Emmerich's lessons on corporate politics and executive decisions, digesting bite-sized portions of what it meant to be a CEO. Emmerich would slide her a concise report or scenario to analyze. Luna, once overwhelmed, now, she could follow and even toss in ideas of her own.
She had carved a routine out of the chaos, a firm rhythm in body and mind.
Then came the barrage of messages.
Her phone buzzed relentlessly. One, two, seven… seventeen unread messages.
From: Ken🐾
[9:01 AM] You alive??
[9:02 AM] I KNOW YOU'RE ALIVE! YOU BETTER BE!
[9:03 AM] So anyway 😎 CAT CAFÉ IS READY FOR ROYAL INSPECTION
[9:04 AM] Soft launch tomorrow. Bring your highness self.
[9:04 AM] You. Me. George. Leroy. ALL OF US.
[9:05 AM] (George is pretending he's not excited but he is. He bought new shades just for this.)
[9:06 AM] Leroy said "fine" but in a way that means "hell yes"
[9:06 AM] Pls. I have bribed the cats with the best imported kibble.
Luna blinked at the stream, then huffed out a laugh.
She scrolled back and reread it again, smile widening.
That night, Luna was in high spirits. Her fork danced over her plate as she recounted her training progress.
"I didn't fall at all today," she beamed. "Cherry even told me, 'Not bad' with an actual nod."
"High praise," Emmerich replied, his lips twitching upward. "Soon she might even blink in approval."
"Scandalous," Luna grinned.
He handed her a printed summary—an internal issue from one of their subsidiary departments. "Now, what would you do with this conflict between the team leads?"
Luna skimmed it, lips pursing thoughtfully. "They're stepping on each other's roles. I'd streamline the structure, clearly define deliverables per lead, and run a one-month trial with oversight before finalizing."
Emmerich leaned back, pride clear in his gaze. "You're growing into this."
"And," Luna added between bites, "Ken is dragging me to inspect the newly renovated cat café tomorrow."
"Is this a mission of grave importance?" Emmerich asked dryly.
"It is," she said solemnly. "The cats require judgment. And Ken spammed me."
He nodded sagely. "Then have fun, just not too much that you don't want to go home."
"No promises," Luna laughed, eyes bright.
Later that night, as she prepared for bed, Luna set out an outfit that was soft, casual, but still nice. She hadn't realized how much she missed being around the others—Ken's off-hand commentary on what the cats might be saying, George's gruffness, even Leroy's lively grounding presence.
It had been weeks of self-discipline, training, and healing—now it was time to ease back into something else.
Something warm. Something soft.
Something like cats...
Luna smiled.
The morning was a flurry of disgruntled meows and accusatory tail flicks.
"You're acting like I'm dragging you to war," Luna huffed as she tried—yet again—to coax Milo into his padded travel crate.
The large, spoiled cat stood firm in front of the crate like a dignified feline emperor refusing exile. His fur was sleek from all the pampering the estate's maids lavished upon him, and he clearly thought this little adventure beneath his station.
"I gave you smoked salmon this morning."
Milo turned his face away.
"I carried you in my arms during a thunderstorm last week."
A disdainful flick of the ear.
"I personally sewed that ridiculous pillow you like."
He gave a long-suffering sigh—and finally, with the weight of royal resignation, stepped into the crate.
"Thank you, Your Highness," Luna muttered with exaggerated reverence as she zipped it up.
She met Ken by the bus station near the café where his hoverbike idled, and the first thing he did was squint at the carrier in her hand.
"Is that... Milo? You brought Milo?" he blinked, visibly stunned. "I thought he had a no-public-appearance clause in his life contract."
"He protested, but his fans await," Luna said solemnly.
From inside the carrier, Milo let out a low growl like a disapproving noble in court.
Ken reached over and scratched the mesh of the carrier. "Your Majesty. My condolences."
Then his eyes drifted toward the horizon, wistful.
"I wonder if the café still smells like cinnamon and vanilla. Man, I miss that place. And the couches. And the free lattés. And the extra snacks I ordered behind Leroy's back. Good times."
Luna raised a brow, lips twitching. "Are you reminiscing… or scheming for another long break?"
Ken sighed dramatically, pressing a hand to his chest. "All I want is another full month off, all expenses paid, and a fat pocket money allowance. That's not asking too much, right?"
Luna chuckled. "So modest."
But then Ken's joking manner dimmed slightly, his gaze flickering to her with a quiet sharpness. "...Seriously though, how've you been? After everything."
Luna's smile faltered for a breath, but then she shrugged, light but not dismissive. "Still emotionally strained," she said, tone laced with a teasing grin. "But today, the cats will cure it. So I'm fine."
Ken didn't say anything for a moment. Just watched her as if trying to see past the bright, composed words. After a beat, he gave a single, slow nod.
Then, with perfect timing, he beamed again. "You're strong, Luna. Stronger than me. So I won't worry too much."
Luna poked him in the ribs with one finger. "That's a backhanded way of saying I'm stubborn."
"No," Ken grinned, dodging the second poke. "That's me admitting you're terrifyingly capable and emotionally robust, which is scarier than any field op."
She laughed, real and full, as the morning sun painted the path ahead in soft golds.
Milo growled again from inside the carrier, offended by the noise.
Luna lifted the carrier. "Apologies, your majesty. The peasants are laughing again."
Ken smirked. "Let's go. Your fans await."
Just a few blocks away from the cat café's street corner, Luna spotted two familiar silhouettes standing like mismatched bookends—one composed and stately, the other pacing and grumbling to himself.
"Look who's already waiting," Luna said, nudging Ken with her elbow.
Ken squinted, and, upon recognizing George, immediately broke into a grin and jogged over.
"George! My man! Guess who's back in the managerial seat, huh?" Ken declared, puffing his chest like a cartoon general, his vacation had made him bolder. "That's right. Me. And you, my friend, are officially under my command once more."
George didn't miss a beat. "Fantastic. I missed being micromanaged by a sugar-addicted man-child."
Ken pouted, clutching his chest like George had stabbed him. "You wound me, George. But rules are rules. I say jump, you say—?"
"You're dead," George glared at Ken, then turned to Leroy. "Do I have permission to throw a macaron at him?"
Leroy smirked but raised a calming hand. "Ken, maybe don't poke the man who's still suffering withdrawal from his tropical sabbatical. George's coffee intake hasn't stabilized yet."
George muttered, "Still dreaming of hammocks and silence."
Meanwhile, Luna finally reached them, waving lightly at Leroy.
Leroy's expression softened as he stepped toward her. "You look better," he said, voice quieter and more thoughtful. "Are you... really okay?"
Luna gave a short laugh, warm and genuine. "A month of therapy, soul-crushing training, and a cat who sleeps on my face every night? I'm more than okay."
Still, Leroy studied her carefully, the faint crease between his brows not fully vanishing. "If it ever gets too much again… you can lean on me. You know that, right? Especially now that the café's back and you're back to work."
"Oh gods," Luna groaned playfully, poking him in the ribs. "Don't remind me I'm back to work. Let me live in denial for a few more seconds."
Leroy grinned. "Denial ends the moment we step through those doors."
And with that, the group turned the final corner and came face to face with the newly renovated cat café.
All four of them stopped in their tracks.
The building had always been charming—but now, it was stunning. A sleek modern exterior wrapped around warm rustic wood. Large arched windows revealed the inside bathed in golden light. Hanging planters overflowed with trailing ivy. A carved wooden sign—"Purradise Cat Lounge"—hung above the entrance, softly lit by enchanted lanterns that flickered like stars.
Inside, they could see gleaming marble counters, plush couches in cozy nooks, and cats perched on their own labyrinthine jungle gym structures that scaled the walls like vertical gardens. Soft instrumental jazz drifted out when the door briefly opened for another guest.
Ken's jaw dropped. "Okay, this is not a cat café. This is a temple."
George exhaled a long, reverent breath. "I suddenly forgive all of management's decisions."
Leroy chuckled. "Remind me to thank the renovation team. Twice."
Luna, eyes wide and shining, reached into Milo's carrier and pulled him out gently. The cat sniffed the air, yawned, and then stretched like he was royalty inspecting a summer palace.
"Well," Luna murmured, grinning at her friends, "let's go see what miracles this temple serves with their coffee."