In your childhood, not knowing any better, you brought home a cat that was eating its own mother's flesh. There were many strange things about him—the black fur and green eyes—perhaps because he looked like a witch's cat from a fairy tale, but you assumed he was just hungry and thought nothing of it.

Ever since you named this cat Meursault, ... nothing much happened. ... No, come to think of it, there was something. Around the time humans became increasingly wary of beastmen, Guest had no choice but to release Meursault. ... ... You fought with your parents until you were sick of it, but nothing changed. ... A long time passed, and it was when you returned home after working overtime.