Tails of Reflection

Miyuu tugged at the neckline of her pink VR suit. It clung to her like a second skin. She was seated in the VR pod, bracing herself for the third—and thankfully final—Reflective Mission that the ever-thoughtful student council had so generously assigned her.

To Miyuu’s mild surprise (and mild irritation), life had returned to a semblance of normal pretty quickly after her Circuit Pit disaster. Well, normal if you ignored the fact that her schedule was now crammed with enough activities to make a professional athlete cry. Mandatory exercise had gone from “annoying but manageable” to “everyday torture session.” Jogging wasn’t just jogging anymore—it was interval training, uphill sprints, and "keep up or get left behind" speed drills. As if that wasn’t bad enough, martial arts with Jun and Riku had been added to the mix. That was basically two solid hours of Jun making everything look easy while Riku doubled over laughing every time she tripped over her own feet. Which was often.

And then there were gymnastics with Haruki and Kaito. If martial arts was humiliating, gymnastics was downright barbaric. They bent her into shapes she didn’t know were physically possible, and honestly? She wasn’t sure they were possible.

She didn’t hate it, exactly, but it was tough. Still, there was something satisfying about feeling her body get stronger, faster, and more agile. In a “why does this hurt so much but also kind of feel good” sort of way. Not that she’d ever admit it out loud. Not while her muscles were screaming at her in seventeen different languages and threatening to unionize.

And then there were classes, the endless grind for XP, and the delightful addition of reflective missions. Needless to say, she was tired. Like, could-sleep-for-a-week tired.

As she adjusted the neural-link headset over her head, the announcement system crackled to life. OR-5, the overly chipper android tasked with announcing every minor thing, delivered its usual line: “Your wrist node will now make connection!”

Her wrist chip blinked, and that familiar buzz hummed through her arm, syncing her to the system. Just as she was about to roll her eyes, K.A.T.O.’s voice popped into her mind.

“Good luck, princess.” he said, his teasing tone softening just enough to make it sound genuine.

She managed a faint smile despite herself. Thanks, K.A.T.O. I’ll need it.

She took a deep breath, steeling herself as her vision blurred, the VR pod fading away into the usual void of inky black nothingness.

When her vision cleared, she was face-to-face with her greatest nemesis. The green owl. The pestering, hovering, endlessly annoying virtual demon chicken himself: Frowl.

His oversized holographic eyes blinked down at her, uncomfortably close. Too close. Before he could launch into whatever insufferable monologue he had queued up, her fist moved on instinct.

The punch connected with his glowing face, sending him spiralling backward into the swirling void. For one blissful second, Miyuu thought she’d won.

But, of course, Frowl wasn’t so easily defeated. In less than a second, he re-materialized in front of her, completely unfazed. If anything, his eyes seemed to glow a little brighter, like he was thrilled by her reaction.

"Now that wasn’t very nice, Miyuu." His voice had the kind of sing-song patronizing tone that could make anyone’s blood pressure spike.

She crossed her arms, glaring. "You flapped into my personal space. That’s self-defence."

Frowl fluffed his feathers. “I was simply welcoming you to your Reflective Mission! There’s no need for violence. Really, Miyuu, your temper could still use some work.”

Her glare deepened. “And you could use a mute button.”

If there was a nerve to be hit, Frowl had a talent for finding it and stomping on it. He was constantly pestering her, mocking her, and generally making her life miserable.

Case in point: during her infirmary stay, he’d hacked her student device just to remind her of all the Reflective Missions she’d "earned" with her stunt at the Circuit Pit. He’d also made a point to gleefully inform her that he was looking forward to "spending so much time together" during those missions. It had made her want to punch through the infirmary wall.

And yet… for a split second back then, Frowl had faltered. His eyes had dimmed ever so slightly. He’d fluffed his feathers awkwardly, like he wasn’t sure what to say.

"Good to see you’re alive..." He’d muttered.

It had been so quick, so out of character, that she wasn’t even sure she’d heard it right. But she had.

“I can already tell this is going to be awful.” Miyuu muttered, snapping back to the present and glaring at the glowing menace in front of her.

Frowl’s eyes sparkled with an obscene amount of glee. “Oh, don’t worry, Miyuu. It’s going to be fun.” He stretched the word out in a way that made her stomach churn.

She let out a long, suffering sigh, her shoulders slumping in defeat. “Just get on with it.”

The space around her began to ripple, the colours bleeding into each other. Shapes twisted and warped until the environment finally locked into place with a dizzying snap.

Miyuu blinked, her vision clearing—and immediately wished it hadn’t. She was staring into a mirror, and what she saw staring back was nothing short of a nightmare.

Cat ears. Twitching, fluffy cat ears.

And a tail. She reached behind her, grabbing at the air, and yep—there it was. Her brain short-circuited for a moment, unable to process the next horrifying detail. She was also wearing a French maid uniform. A short French maid uniform.

The outfit consisted of a black dress with long sleeves and white lace trim along the skirt and cuffs. A white apron with intricate lace detailing was tied around her waist, a ridiculously large bow at the back completing the fit. It was frilly, it was embarrassing, and it was entirely too short.

Miyuu’s face turned beet red as mortification coursed through her. In her reflection her cat ears twitched mockingly. She had to fight the urge to punch the mirror.

Then she heard it. A loud squeal from behind her.

She spun around just in time to see a familiar figure plop onto the ground. “Natsuki?!”

The girl scrambled awkwardly to her feet, brushing off her matching outfit—a maid uniform that was nearly identical to Miyuu’s, except her cat ears and tail were mint green, perfectly matching her natural hair colour. Her cheeks burned as she tried, and failed, to avoid eye contact.

Miyuu’s brain buffered, the error messages piling up like a buggy code loop. “Wait. Are you an NPC or… real? What are you even doing here?”

Natsuki peeked out from behind her hands, her voice trembling. “I-It’s m-m-me,” she stammered, blushing so furiously that even her cat ears seemed embarrassed. “I’m here for my reflection mission. Don’t… don’t look at me!” With that, she threw her hands back over her face, as if sheer willpower could render her invisible.

Miyuu blinked. A group reflection mission? Seriously? That was a new one for her, but knowing the twisted logic of Harmonia, it didn’t seem completely out of the realm of possibility. She crossed her arms, levelling Natsuki with a raised eyebrow. “So, let me get this straight: you’re here, I’m here, and we’re both stuck in… this.” She gestured vaguely to their matching outfits. “Embarrassing cosplay. This is too much. I’m done.”

Before Natsuki could respond—or combust from sheer embarrassment—a familiar, grating voice chirped out, dripping with smugness.

“Don’t you two just look darling?” Frowl’s glowing green form materialized out of nowhere, his feathers flaring.

Miyuu hissed at him. Yes, hissed. Somehow, her virtual avatar had cat-like responses coded into it, which only made her more annoyed. It wasn’t just an instinctual hiss either—her ears flattened, and her tail swished behind her like she was some kind of feral animal.

“Oh, my!” Frowl said. “Did someone wake up on the wrong side of the litter box?”

Miyuu rolled her eyes, regretting every life choice that had led her to this moment. “Cut the crap, Frowl. What’s the mission?”

The demon owl puffed out his chest, the glow from his eyes intensifying like he’d been waiting his whole non-corporeal life for this. “For this Reflective Mission, you’ll be working in the Kitty Maid Café, a virtual establishment where students with enough XP often like to hang out. But today,” he added with a dramatic flap of his wings, “it will be the venue for your reflective mission!”

Natsuki let out a tiny squeak, her tail curling around her legs as she practically shrank into herself. “W-We’re working in a c-café?”

“Not just any café, my dear,” Frowl crooned. “The Kitty Maid Café. And your goal is simple: follow the orders of the café’s owner and keep the customers happy. If you perform well enough during the first round, your mission will end.”

“And if we don’t?” Miyuu asked, already dreading the answer.

Frowl’s grin widened, his eyes glowing with a sadistic kind of joy. “Oh, if you don’t? The café will open to regular students, and you’ll be working until the end of the business day. Just imagine: all your peers, coming in for some laughs and light refreshments, served by none other than you two adorable little kitty-cats. How quaint!”

Miyuu glared at him, her tail lashing behind her like it had a mind of its own. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”

“Oh, I absolutely am!” Frowl said. “Now, chop-chop! The café owner is waiting, and the customers are arriving soon. Time is money, and in your case, time is also dignity.”

Miyuu turned to Natsuki. Her tail wrapped itself tightly around her legs, like it was trying to shield her from the horror of existence.

Miyuu sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Alright,” she muttered, “let’s just get this over with before it somehow gets worse.”

It immediately got worse.

They left the dressing room and stepped into the café. The space was annoyingly adorable, all pastel walls and kawaii charm. If the goal was to make Miyuu feel like she’d walked into a sugary nightmare, mission accomplished.

At the centre of the room stood the café’s owner—a stern-looking lady with the kind of scowl that could make grown adults cry. Her sharp eyes locked onto them the second they entered. “There you are!” she barked, storming toward them. “You’re late for your shift!”

Before either of them could respond, she bonked them both on the head with a rolled-up menu. Not hard enough to hurt, but just enough to make Miyuu’s ears flatten in irritation. “Get this place cleaned before we open!” The woman snapped. “The tables are filthy, the floor’s a disgrace, and don’t even get me started on the windows!” She waved her arms dramatically, as if the café were seconds away from falling into ruin.

Miyuu bristled, resisting the urge to hiss. “What an unpleasant lady.” she muttered under her breath, earning herself a glare from the owner.

Natsuki looked like she was about to apologize for breathing too loudly.

Above them, a glowing scoreboard lit up on the wall, displaying a number: 0/100. Miyuu squinted at it. The rules were clear—complete tasks, earn points. Screw up, lose points.

And so began the cleaning marathon from hell.

Miyuu and Natsuki scrubbed tables, mopped floors, and wiped down every visible surface in the café, all while the owner hovered over them like an angry vulture, barking orders. “You call that clean? Scrub harder! I want to see my reflection in those windows!”

The scoreboard ticked up with every successfully completed task, but staying in the positives was a battle. Natsuki, trying to mop the floor too fast, slipped on a wet patch and sent a stack of plates crashing to the ground.

-8 points.

Meanwhile, Miyuu’s traitorous cat instincts decided to show off, and she knocked over a vase with an unintentional tail flick before she even realized it.

-10 points.

By the time the café was finally sparkling clean, Miyuu felt like her arms were made of jelly, her back was aching, and even her tail was sore. She threw a quick glance at the scoreboard. 32/100. Not great, but not catastrophic either. For now, at least.

Natsuki slumped into a nearby chair, her cat ears drooping pitifully. “I’m so tired.” she whispered, sounding like she’d just returned from a 10-hour battle with an army of Orcs instead of, you know, cleaning a café.

Miyuu flopped into the chair beside her. “This is officially the worst reflective mission ever.”

The owner stomped over, her gaze sweeping across the café, taking in every polished surface and neatly arranged chair. Her scowl eased—barely—into something that might’ve been approval if you squinted hard enough. “Not bad,” she grunted, which Miyuu assumed was as close to a compliment as they’d ever get from her.

But of course, it couldn’t end there.

“Don’t get too comfortable.” The owner barked, her sharp tone snapping them out of their brief moment of relief. “We’re opening.”

Miyuu and Natsuki exchanged a glance—half despair, half resigned horror—before dragging themselves to the door, where they were apparently expected to greet their incoming NPC customers.

“Welcome home, master!” they chorused as the doors swung open, their hands curled into the obligatory Neko pose. Miyuu’s ears twitched in annoyance, and her tail swished dangerously behind her as her cheeks flushed beet red. She was pretty sure Natsuki was on the verge of passing out, judging by the tremor in her voice and the way she was trying to hide behind her own hands while still keeping the stupid pose.

Miyuu gritted her teeth, clamping down on what little shreds of pride she still possessed. This was fine. Totally fine. Just a few NPCs, maybe a round of tea-serving humiliation, and then this whole nightmare would end. The simulation would wrap up, and she and Natsuki could toss this embarrassment into the deepest pit of their respective memories and never, ever speak of it again.

And then she looked up.

Her stomach dropped. Her ears flattened against her head. Standing in the doorway, looking entirely too entertained for her liking, was the student council.

They froze for a moment, processing what they were seeing. Haruki’s lips twitched upward, fighting to contain a smug smirk. Jun immediately broke into uncontrollable laughter. Shion, simply tilted his head and uttered a single, “Kawaii,” as if stating an unarguable fact. Kaito stood to the side, doing a spectacularly bad job of muffling his laughter behind his hand, while Riku was circling them, firing off screenshots to immortalise this moment forever.

“W-why are they looking at us like that?” Natsuki whispered, her body trembling as if they were facing a pack of predators instead of a group of overly entertained upperclassmen.

“Because they’re evil.” Miyuu muttered darkly, glaring daggers at her so-called guardians. “Evil, delusional, cat-obsessed maniacs.”

And then it happened. The council descended upon them like a mob of children at a petting zoo.

“Oh my god, they’re adorable!” Jun cooed, and before Miyuu could dart away, his hands found her cat ears. “Miyuu, you’re so cute!”

“Don’t touch—” she started, but her voice died in her throat as his fingers scratched behind her ears, sending an unwanted shiver of satisfaction down her spine. No. Absolutely not. This was unacceptable.

Haruki, seeing an opportunity, leaned in with a ruffle of her hair, his hand deliberately trailing close enough to the base of her ears to send her tail into an involuntary flick. “She’s even purring.” He observed.

“I am NOT—” Miyuu’s protest died a sudden death as she realized, to her utter horror, that she was. The faint, involuntary vibration was unmistakable. She was purring. Her brain immediately filed this under Kill Me Now.

And that was when she snapped.

Her tail puffed up, her cheeks flaming as she swatted Haruki’s hand away with enough force to make him step back. “Get OFF me!” She hissed, and to her increasing mortification, it sounded more feline than human. Her avatar added an irritated “mrrrow” for good measure.

The council only looked more delighted.

Jun’s laughter turned into something close to wheezing as he leaned on Kaito for support.

“I’m going to kill all of you.” Miyuu growled, her tail lashing behind her. She tried to sound intimidating, but the hiss that escaped her avatar again completely undercut the effect.

Natsuki was doing her best impression of a cornered mouse, half-hiding her face behind her hands as the council swarmed her with relentless cooing and petting. Her ears twitched nervously, betraying her discomfort, but she stayed frozen in place, as though playing dead might somehow make them lose interest. It didn’t.

Miyuu glared at her. “You’re just going to let them do that?”

Natsuki squeaked, “I-I don’t know how to make them stop!”

Stupid council. Stupid ears. Stupid simulation. Miyuu clenched her fists. She was going to make them pay for this. All of them. Starting with Riku, who was almost certainly the mastermind behind this entire humiliating nightmare.