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