Octo still remembered that day. Giovanni was happily running in the backyard, a ball of yarn in his hands. He was chasing his little brother, trying to get to him as hard as he could to take that ball of yarn. They spent the afternoon running all around the backyard under Ferdinand's, his butler before Nicholas, watchful gaze. As dusk approached, their mother called them, telling them to go back inside before dark fell.

“Hey, fratello," he remembered being asked. “what is school like?"

“It's just a place where you learn. You'll get to know many friends there!"

“B-but Ferdinand said there are many bad people there."

“Don't worry." He remembered pulling his little brother into an embrace. “I will be there for you."

He let out a sigh.

Octo still remembered that day. It was not the most important day, but that was one of the rare moments he remembered seeing his father cry other than Giovanni's death announcement and funeral. It was one grim winter day, a few days after Christmas.

His innocent fourteen-year-old self was visiting Giovanni's grave with his parents. He remembered feeling sad, but he just started talking to Giovanni like usual. Giovanni was a cheerful leopard; even with his fur balding and cables connected to machines, he always smiled brightly whenever someone visited him. He remembered the flowers they were carrying to the graveyard. “Hey, Giovanni, I bring you something.", he remembered himself saying that before putting the flowers on the snowy gravestone and talking to the grave, all cheerful and happy, knowing that Giovanni liked roses. Giovanni said roses were curious. They were beautiful but thorny, as if they wanted to stand out but did not want to be touched by anyone.

When he turned back to his parents, he saw his mother crying on his father's shoulder, whose cheeks looked damp. “Mama, papa, why are you crying?"

A soft knock could be heard from the door, waking him up from his lamentations. “Sir, we are waiting for you." Nicholas said behind the door.

He sighed and closed his eyes. “In a bit."

Nicholas answered. “Very well, sir. Your father is calling me. Please come downstairs when you are ready."

Staring back fondly at the photograph in his hands, he cracked a smile. He lifted a finger and caressed the small leopard in the photo next to a younger version of himself. He closed his eyes and sighed softly, fighting back the memories of those days when Giovanni was still here. “Buon compleanno, Giovanni."

He did not consider himself to be a devout Catholic, yet he made a sign of the cross and nodded at the photograph. He then put it back in the topmost drawer of his desk, next to a small paper rose. 'Let's meet again for the first time.' said the book he had been reading. In melancholy, he closed the book and put it next to the photograph in the drawer.

Letting out another sigh as he remembered the time, Octaviano then put all his emotions aside. Holding his head high as befitting a Zoccarato, he stood up and took the expensive watch his aunt gave him and put it on. He straightened the cuff of his shirt and tie before putting the tuxedo on. Through the window, he could see the car already prepared for him.

There was no place for imperfection.

It was the first day after the summer holiday and he demanded to know why those rich folks wanted to host a party right now till he had to take a three-day leave. It was no longer the 1800s and 1900s, why were they even still holding such parties and holding to the old way of life? He had just gone back to Barrowisle after having a summer holiday in Westeravne when his father told him this. At first, he wanted to skip the party, but he knew he had to appear to make an impression on the family. His parents did not force him, but fate.

He only had the chance to rest for a day before boarding a plane and being on his way to Ausalt-on-Haye. Eh, might as well go to Giovanni's grave whilst he was still here. Usually, he just celebrated his late brother's birthday in Barrowisle.

He took his phone and glanced back at his room, then turned the lamps off and went outside.

The journey wasn't really that far. They were invited to a party in one of the tallest buildings in the city. Not that it interested him, though. He was already muted to glamour and extravagance. A wine glass made of silver still functioned the same as one made from glass or even plastic. Besides, his family wasn't really interested in real estate development. They had several but were not really interested in the investment. Instead, his family was known to be the owner of Lo Squisito, one of the most expensive and luxurious restaurant chains in the country.

Although, if it were up to him, he wanted to put it on a bit lower level. Sure, eating in a private booth with silverware made of… well, silver, was great and all, but what did that mean if not all people could enjoy it? He was well aware of the price tags on his restaurant's menu and based on his observations, Barrowisle definitely deserved a branch. The high class there was small yet a good market, though he wanted to open his own restaurant that was aimed more at the middle class or even lower class instead.

He wanted to actually start making his own mark, just like his father who expanded the family restaurant, just like his grandfather who started the mafia operation… well okay maybe not that last one.

Arriving at their destination, the panther stepped out of the car and had to cover his eyes in reflex as lights hit them. Ah, yes, the media. He closed his own door—he knew how to close a car door—and straightened his tie, then walked on the red carpet behind his parents. He did not look at the journalists, far too used to being the centre of attention. If anything, it was bothersome. He couldn't let his expression be shown, though, so he had to keep a straight face.

There was no place for imperfection.

Entering the building, especially the inner hall in which the party was going on, he huffed and wiped his face, preparing himself for hours of boredom.

“Ah, Giuseppe Zoccarato! It's a pleasure to meet you tonight!"

“Why, Ms Zoccarato, you are so dashing tonight."

“How about a glass of wine made from our high-quality vineyard?"

“How is the market? Would you be willing to tease us with some hints?"

Yes. Boredom. Not that he was forbidden to speak, but he simply found it nigh useless. He saw through all that façade and he was sure his parents did too. They did not gloat about him often, but when they did, it was out of genuine proudness of him. It felt really wonderful to have his achievements recognised by his parents, like the fact that he graduated with an almost perfect GPA from one of the best universities in the country.

For now, he pushed the distaste down his throat and put up a sweet smile and simply went with the flow. Sometimes, he found people really worth talking with. Rare, but sometimes it happened. Friendship was something unusual around these people, so finding one was a treasure. It was certainly a lot better than the pragmatic, often materialistic relationships they offered. Connections were important, he knew, but still, one did not need to like their connections.

He just stood there beside his parents, listening to them talking to some guests. One of them then put their hand on his shoulder and he held back a growl. He did not like being touched without his consent.

Fortunately, the hand left his shoulder fairly quickly. The panther rolled his eyes, while his father looked at him with concern.

Eventually, the conversation fell on deaf ears. While informative—once one can get through all the boasting—it did not interest him. While the conversation was heating up on a topic, he cut in and said smoothly, switching from Italian to English, “Ah, excuse me, I would like to see the assortment of food and beverages here."

His parents nodded understandingly; they always knew when he wanted to go by himself. The guests, too deep in the conversation, just offered him a smile and kept on talking. With that, he nodded at them, took a step back, then walked towards the table on the other side of the ballroom.

Letting out a sigh, he allowed himself to slump slightly. A night in his room seemed so much better than this. He took a glass of wine from the table and took a sip, savouring the taste. The panther smiled a bit and looked at the glass; at least the beverage was nice.

In the corner of his eye, he noticed a figure. That figure was a young white wolf standing across the table, slumping and looking at the guests with what seemed like discomfort. Octo looked at him and furrowed his brows, then walked towards him. He did not know the wolf, but based on his tail which was curled between his legs, he looked afraid.

“Good evening." He warmly greeted, his smooth baritone voice making the wolf's fur bristle a bit in surprise. “Are you okay?"

The wolf's fur was clean white, as white as snow. His fluff was combed so tidily, blending with the hems of his shirt and a stark contrast to his suit. Octo found it beautiful. “Uh, um, y-yes, sir. I am okay." The wolf tried to smile but failed miserably.

“Are you alone here?"

“N-no, my parents are here, but they are talking with the others."

Octo sighed. This poor wolf must have been ignored by the majority of the guests. He hated them for only wanting to talk to people when they felt it would be beneficial to them. The panther looked over the wolf again; the wolf looked tidy, his clothes clean, and his face friendly. He did not recognise him, though, which was saying something since he actually knew more than half of the attendants here. Being the son of one of the richest families in the city, of course he had to attend many useless waste-of-money parties like this till he had a list of people to be avoided at all costs.

“Anyway, what's your name? How old are you?"

“I, uh… Joseph Madison. I'm 19 years old." The wolf answered, having to look up to be able to see him in the eye.

The panther smiled softly. “Octaviano Pastorone Zoccarato. Pleasure to meet you." He extended his hand.

Upon hearing his name, Joseph's eyes went wide, then he went so red with his ears barely visible and looked down. “Ah, uh, um… i-it's r-really a pleasure t-to meet you, Mr Zoccarato." When he realised that the panther was still extending his hand, he took it and shook it.

“No need to be overly formal, Joseph. Just call me Octo." Octo chuckled softly. How delightful. It seemed the wolf already knew about him and his family name. Perhaps this evening wouldn't be such a waste of time, after all.

“Y-yes, uh, Octo, sir."

“Also, drop the sir. I'm still 24, you know." He chuckled again. “Wine?"

“T-thank you, uh… Octo, but I will have to pass." Joseph said, slowly regaining his confidence. Good.

The panther nodded, then looked back at the guests, putting his free hand in his pocket. “It would appear that we share a dislike of such parties."

Joseph followed his line of vision, then let out a tired sigh. “Yeah… I am never a fan of this. I tend to get ignored a lot, especially with being a… you know."

Octo gave a low growl. Ah yes, that. “I understand the sentiment. Please be aware that I will not tolerate such a blatantly speciesist thing in parties my family hosts." He huffed, then sipped the wine again. “Unfortunately, this is not one of them."

The white wolf let out another tired sigh. “I-it's okay, I am pretty much used to it by now, even though it still irks me sometimes. Thank you for that, though." He smiled.

Octo smiled back at him. “Anyway, are you attending university this year?"

“Yeah, the classes started in August."

Joseph looked like a good person, so Octo wouldn't mind spending the party with him instead. It was certainly better than doing nothing or wishing that he were home instead. He took another sip from the glass and sighed fondly, missing Barrowisle already.

Missing his wolf already.

He gently shook his head and drank the wine again. “What university are you attending?"

“Uh, University of Oxford." Joseph gave a shy smile.

“Ah, University of Oxford. You must be so smart to be able to get in."

The shy smile turned into an embarrassed one. “Uh… I'm not really that smart but thank you for the compliment."

Octo glanced at him and chuckled, drinking down the rest of the wine before putting the empty glass back on the table.

“You, Octo? If I am not mistaken, I heard you graduated with an almost perfect GPA."

“Well, yes." He smiled fondly. “Though, I don't really recommend doing that."

“Why is that so?"

“It kind of took quite a lot of my time. GPA is not the only thing you should focus on in university. The organisational and social experience there is also highly valuable. Don't keep your heads in books all the time, okay?"

“Thank you for that." Joseph looked away. “I-it… it can be hard at times, you know, to really find a friend."

Octo nodded and said, “I understand the feeling. Just take it easy and go with the flow."

They went quiet and they gazed over the party. It seemed livelier now… well, as lively as it could get. He would still enjoy his time more in a bar with his friends. This, though, he often just stepped aside and enjoyed the soft music instead of conversing with the guests.

“Octo?"

“Hm?"

“Do you often attend parties like this?"

He chuffed in annoyance, crossing his arms. “Unfortunately, it has become an obligation. You?"

“Idem, I think."

They chuckled.

“Ah, Mr. Octaviano Zoccarato." Someone said, making them look up. A weasel was walking towards them with a sickeningly sweet smile. Mentally, Octo rolled his eyes and prepared himself. “It is such an honour to meet a member of the Zoccarato family here."

His fur bristled and his ear twitched, but he did not answer.

The weasel looked at Joseph. “Also, Joseph Madison, isn't it? If I'm not mistaken your mother is looking for you."

The white wolf looked at him, then at Octo, then smiled. “Excuse me, I will be going then. Nice to meet you, Octo." He turned to the weasel. “And you too."

Octo smiled back. “Nice to meet you too, Joseph."

The weasel just watched the wolf go with a sneer. When he was away, he turned to the panther. “Ah, where were we? Oh right. How is the restaurant doing, Mr. Zoccarato?"

“It is doing just fine, Mr. Johansson." He replied curtly.

There was no place for imperfection.

Mr Johansson took a glass of wine from the table. “I heard that the branch in Eovorwick is having financial troubles."

“It is."

“What kind of leader puts their very important family business to a such low extent, hm?" He smiled at the panther.

Octo huffed. So, the weasel wanted to play that game, huh? “Entertain me, if you so please."

The weasel clicked his tongue in dissatisfaction. Octo did not allow his displeasure to be known; he only showed a bored look on his face. The weasel was not one to back down so easily, as he knew. “Oh, are you really taking me that low as to entertain you?"

“Your sight over our Lo Squisito seems to be informative and as you can see, I am rather bored. So please, do share your insight."

Taking a sip from his glass, Mr Johansson gave him a smirk. “I am under the impression that some branches of your restaurant are not performing well. Market saturation, perhaps? Or is it ineffective leadership?"

He snorted. “And what has led you into thinking that the latter might be the case?"

“I do not know, maybe your lack of action ever since you graduated from university? Your father is pushed far enough here, yet you take your sweet time in Barrowisle, leaving your business here." The weasel's smirk widened. Before Octo could reply, he continued. “And it seems that your underground business is not operating rather properly."

He narrowed his eyes. “Would you elaborate?"

“I caught words that they were doing a covert operation in Barrowisle last summer holiday. I do wonder what that is, hm?"

Octo's tail waved in agitation, but he kept his tone steady. “What would it benefit you, knowing the answer?"

“I am not sure, your ability to disappoint your parents and inability to uphold your family name, perhaps? The underground is harsh, Mr. Zoccarato."

Those words really hit him like bricks. True, he had been staying in Barrowisle, though that was to forge his own life. Yet he also forgot that his parents still needed him here, that he was the heir to the family business. His tail waved wildly behind him, hidden by his large figure.

“I wonder if you are fit to continue." The weasel added.

The panther glanced at him dirtily, masking his disgust. But his words had truth. He could not deny them. He still had the responsibility.

But that did not mean this weasel had the right to throw them right at his face. “I do wonder whether I am fit to continue, too." He said carefreely, taking a snack on the table and taking a bite. It tasted very good. If only he could throw it at the weasel.

“See? Even you are wondering." Mr Johansson laughed, thinking that he had won their little spat.

“But aren't self-doubt and self-criticism some of the signs of a great leader?" The panther continued, inspecting the snack. It was a simple pastry topped with sweet strawberry cream. “If you see yourself as perfect, then how can you see your weaknesses?"

Mr Johansson took another sip. “A true leader decides what is best and moves forward with it."

“A true leader consults on what is best, then decides what is best, and moves forward with it. Even a president has their advisors." He took another bite. “By your previous words, are you suggesting that dictatorship is ideal for a leader?"

The weasel finished his wine but did not answer.

“I know my time will come, yet I still seek knowledge. As you previously stated, the underground is harsh. I do not wish to delve deeper without all the help I could get, something that you seem to suggest is wrong." He finally looked at the weasel. “What am I but a twenty-four-year-old who admits he has weaknesses talking to a fifty-two-year-old successful businessman who could only see himself as the creditor of his fate?"

There was no place for imperfection.

Mr Johansson's face was dark now, a scowl on it. Octo smiled, knowing that the weasel had no more with which to provide him. He did not get a perfect score on rhetoric for nothing.

“I do know that it is my responsibility, but I realised its scope. That is why I want to prepare myself before I finally take that responsibility, something you inferred is a cowardly thing to do." He took another bite of the pastry whilst looking at the weasel with a sweet smile.

Octo continued. “Ah, I think my responsibility is calling me over there. How nice was the talk we had. Good evening, Mr. Johansson. I hope you enjoy the party." He gave the weasel what was left of the pastry, then walked away with his tail following him.

Right now, he was feeling so disgusted at that weasel till he wanted to throw up. Truth hurt, that was why he wanted to take it in small portions. Now, where was Joseph? The wolf was a lot better company than that weasel could ever hope to be.

Tbh I feel rather proud of this chapter and the one before it. I at first wanted to write a more psychological chapter like RftS chapter 33, but I figured it wouldn't work as well with Kevin and Octo. Also, I wish I didn't scare you too much with these two chapters DX