CHAPTER 20: HELPING WOUNDED CAT

Rowen stepped closer, crouching down to the cat’s level.

"It’s okay," he said again, voice steady. "I’m going to pick you up now."

The cat’s ears twitched. She let out a weak hiss but didn’t have the strength to run. Her body stayed tense, legs tucked in tightly.

Rowen reached out carefully, sliding one arm under her chest and the other under her back legs. Her fur was thick and pitch black, warm but rough in places—probably from a tough fight.

She flinched when he lifted her, raising her claws in warning. She didn’t strike, but the message was clear: Don’t try anything.

"You’re heavier than you look," he muttered.

He made sure not to bump her injured leg as he carried her through the side alley to the shop.

The night was quiet. The only sound was Fern humming behind him.

Inside, the shop lights were dim. Rowen shut the back door, locked it, and gently laid the cat on the main table.

Rowen opened the drawer under the counter and pulled out his medical kit—a compact black case reinforced with sealing runes.

He set it beside the cat and flipped it open. Inside were bandages, wraps, and healing injectors.

Fern hovered nearby. "The wound’s stable, but deep."

Rowen knelt beside the table and gently lifted the injured leg, checking it by sight and touch. The cut was clean, but deep—muscle torn, bleeding slow

Fern hovered nearby. "The wound’s stable, but deep."

Rowen nodded. "She won’t recover without help."

Rowen checked the kit—only two healing injectors left. He’d need to restock soon.

He grabbed one of the injectors and pressed it gently to the side of her leg.

"This might sting."

The cat growled softly but didn’t resist. A quiet hiss followed as the healing solution entered her system.

The bleeding stopped within seconds. The muscle started to close—not a full heal, but stable.

Rowen cleaned the area with a clean cloth and wrapped it in a bandage.

"There," he said. "That should do it."

Rowen stood up and stretched his back. Then he turned and walked through the rear door behind the counter, heading out to the back of the shop.

Behind the building, there was a small garden space—half-wild, half-maintained. To one side sat a low storage shed, built against the wall behind the main shop room.

He opened the shed door and stepped inside. It was cramped but well-organized. Wooden baskets sat beside farming tools and planting supplies, with a few odds and ends stacked neatly along the shelves.

These tools had belonged to his grandfather, who used to farm in the small garden space behind the shop. After his grandfather passed away, the area had been left unused—quiet, almost forgotten. Rowen rarely came out here anymore.

He scanned the shelves until he found what he was looking for—a wide, shallow basket lined with padded cloth. It had originally been used to carry vegetables and fruit from the garden. Now, it would work just fine as a bed.

Rowen grabbed it and brought it back inside.

The cat would fit in it comfortably.

Rowen grabbed it and brought it back inside.

Fern was still floating near the table, watching the cat rest.

"Is she okay?" Rowen asked.

"Sleeping, but stable," Fern replied. "She used a lot of energy. Healing takes a toll."

Rowen nodded, placed the basket near the warming crystal in the corner, and gently lifted the cat from the table.

She stirred a little but didn’t resist.

He lowered her into the basket. She shifted once, curled into the cloth, and let out a soft breath.

Rowen pulled a blanket halfway over her and stepped back.

"Let’s get some sleep," he said.

Fern gave a soft chime and floated after him as Rowen turned off the shop lights.

The shop fell into silence.

Rowen locked the main door, then climbed the stairs to the room above—the small living space above the shop where he slept. It wasn’t much, just a bed, a desk, a few shelves, and a planter box by the window where Fern usually rested.

He set his jacket on the chair and pulled off his boots.

The moment he lay down, exhaustion kicked in. His body sank into the mattress, and his eyes closed almost instantly.

Within seconds, Rowen was asleep.

Next Morning

Rowen woke up to the faint glow of early sunlight pushing through the curtains. The room was quiet, the city outside still half-asleep.

6:00 AM.

He sat up slowly, rubbing the back of his neck. Fern floated out from his corner by the planter bed, already awake, his glow a little brighter than usual.

"Morning," Rowen said.

"Morning," Fern echoed.

Rowen got up, splashed his face with cold water from the basin near the window, and changed into a clean shirt. Fern did his usual floating lap around the room—his version of freshening up.

In the corner, a small counter held a compact kitchen setup. Just enough for simple meals.

Rowen grabbed a pan, cracked a few eggs, and tossed in some cut potatoes from storage. Within a few minutes, the scent of breakfast filled the room.

He set out two plates—one for himself and a small dish for Fern.

They ate quietly.

At 6:25, Rowen stood, washed the plates, and headed downstairs.

The shop was still dim and quiet. Black Cat was curled up in the basket, still asleep.

Rowen swept the floor, straightened the shelves, and checked the display case.

By 6:30, everything was in order.

He walked over to the front door, flipped the sign to OPEN, and unlocked the door.

The morning rush wouldn’t start for another hour or two—but the shop was ready.

Rowen sat behind the front desk, arms crossed, eyes half on the quiet street outside.

He glanced over at the basket in the corner where the cat still slept near the warming crystal.

She looks better now, he thought. Her breathing was steady, her body relaxed. For a stray—or whatever she really was—she looked surprisingly calm.

After a moment, Rowen muttered to himself, "She’s not bad to have around."

The thought settled in quietly: maybe he would adopt her.

About ten minutes passed.

She stretched slowly and opened her eyes. They locked onto Rowen instantly—sharp, alert. She didn’t move, just stared at him with that narrow, piercing glare.

A second later, her stomach let out a low growl.

Rowen raised an eyebrow. "Hungry?"

He stood up, walked to his small kitchen, and picked up a small ceramic bowl.

He poured in some leftover milk.

He carried it over and set it beside the basket.

The cat sniffed once, then leaned in and drank—slowly, calmly, like she wasn’t in any hurry. Each sip was measured.

Rowen crouched nearby, watching her quietly.

When she finished, Shade lifted her head and glanced toward the wooden shelf behind the counter—where fresh tomatoes and potatoes were stored.

Rowen noticed the look and followed her gaze.

"You want more?"

He stood, grabbed a couple of each—clean, fresh, and grown in his private space—and brought them over.

Cat sniffed at the vegetables, then carefully took a bite from the soft tomato.

Rowen blinked. "You’re eating vegetables now?"

She chewed without complaint.

He narrowed his eyes a little, watching her.

"She knows," he muttered. "These aren’t normal crops."

The potatoes and tomatoes weren’t just food—they were infused with low-grade mana, drawn from his cultivated space. Most animals wouldn’t notice. But this one? She seemed to recognize it right away.

Rowen sat back again, watching her eat the food in quiet comfort.

Definitely not an ordinary cat.

Rowen leaned back in the chair behind the front desk, arms crossed, eyes still on the cat.

She was finishing the last bite of potato—calm, quiet, and clearly comfortable. No growling, no tension. Just settled in like she belonged here.

He watched her for a while, then exhaled.

"I’m not about to let a cute cat like you go back out there looking like this," he muttered.

Cat looked up at him, eyes sharp and half-focused.

"And by the look of it, you’re not planning to leave either."

She didn’t respond, just gave a slow blink and glanced again toward the shelf where the vegetables were stored.

Rowen followed her gaze, then nodded to himself.

"You really like those, huh? Mana-grown food’s not common for beasts." He paused, thinking. "I wonder how it affects you."

The idea stuck in his mind. He’d never tested them on a mana beast—especially not one with clear intelligence.

Cat licked her paw once, then tucked it under her chin and curled up in the basket again, like she had no intention of going anywhere.

Rowen scratched his neck and muttered, "Can’t just call you ’cat’ forever."

He looked at her again.

"Shade," he said aloud.

She lifted her head slightly, ears twitching.

"Fits you. Quiet. Dark. Sharp."

She let out a soft meow, not liking the name she was given. and looked at Rowen with a grieved face.

Fern floated down from the stairs, eyeing the cat, then Rowen.

"You’re already naming her?"

Rowen gave a short shrug. "She’s not leaving. And honestly... I don’t want her to."

Fern hovered over the basket, letting out a small hum. "I feel bad for her, sure. She’s been through a lot. But Shade? Really?" He gave Rowen a look. "That’s the name you landed on?"

Rowen raised an eyebrow. "What’s wrong with Shade?"

Fern spun once in the air, clearly unimpressed. "It’s painfully obvious. She’s Black, she’s quiet, and you went with the most dramatic word you could think of."

"She likes it," Rowen said, pointing.

The cat blinked once, then slowly tucked her head into the blanket and relaxed.

Fern hovered in silence for a beat, then muttered, "You’ve got no naming sense."

Rowen leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, watching Shade settle in.

"Maybe not. But it fits."

He glanced at her one more time.

"Welcome home, Shade."