The alarm clock erupted at five o’clock on the dot.
Not a gentle, gradual chime, but a jarring, headlong assault of shrill ringing.
Before the noise could fully register, a dull thump cut through the racket.
Kevin’s eyes hadn’t even pried themselves open before his paw shot out and swatted the offending device.
The alarm clock tumbled twice through the air, arced perfectly into the dustbin by the corner, spun once, and fell silent.
The bedroom sank back into that thick, suffocating stillness.
Only Kevin’s sigh remained.
Outside, Tundratown lay submerged in the grayish-blue gloom of early dawn.
The streetlights’ glow seemed frozen in midair, doing little to illuminate the snow piled high upon the pointed eaves.
He rolled over, pressing his paw into the pillow before tracing his way along the bed’s edge to the wall.
His claws grazed the cream-painted wood until they found the small bump of the light switch.
Click.
Light flooded the room.
He squinted, his pupils contracting into thin vertical slits before slowly dilating again.
He stared at the ceiling for a moment, then lazily turned his head toward the calendar on the wall.
1999.
September 4th.
A red circle was drawn around the date.
He stared at that crimson ring, his lashes trembling slightly.
Grandmama’s birthday.
Koslov had mentioned it to him once, that ever since Mr.
Big made his fortune, Grandmama only held a banquet every ten years.
He sat up, the blanket sliding from his shoulders to reveal his pristine white fur, a few strands mussed from sleep, curling like wind-blown wheat.
His toes felt around beneath the bed, found the edge of his slippers, and slowly eased his whole paw into the plush softness.
He remembered in show Grandmama making cannoli for Nick.
Back then, Nick must have been at least sixteen, well into the twenty-first century.
And Grandmama had arrived in Zootopia with Mr.
Big sometime between the 1920s and 1940s, already in her fifties or even sixties.
As for her exact age now, Mr.
Big had never told him, and Grandmama had never said either.
Kevin lowered his gaze, resting his paws on his knees, thinking about how Grandmama had always been nothing but good to him over the years.
He shook his head, brushing the thoughts aside.
When Mr.
Big finally let him leave Tundratown, he’d have to go find Nick, before that fox had the chance to present that skunk-butt rug as a gift again.
He had a feeling that if that happened, even if Mr.
Big held back, Kevin would be the one to crack Nick’s head open himself.
The heating in the room was more than ample for his thick fur.
He was only wearing a pair of loose, dark gray cotton shorts.
When he stood up, the tip of his tail brushed against the bedsheet.
He walked to the wardrobe and slid the door open, revealing rows of shirts and jackets inside.
His paw brushed past a few everyday thin sweaters before settling on a black suit, one Mr.
Big had custom-tailored for him.
He pulled out the trousers.
First, a thin pair of long underwear, then the suit pants.
The fabric slid smoothly past the fur on his legs and stopped at the base of his tail.
Turning sideways, he reached a hand behind him, pinched the tip of his tail, and guided it through the special opening in the back.
His tail tensed, then slipped through and gave a little wag outside the cloth before finding a comfortable position to curve upward.
Next came the shirt.
The rest of his clothes hung over his arm as he stepped in front of the mirror.
The white wolf in the reflection stood under the warm yellow light, having shed all the roundness of his cubhood.
He had a lazy yet sharp demeanor now, with shoulders broader than those of other wolves his age, and a frame noticeably larger all around.
His fur was snow-white and fluffy, but under the light, it gleamed with a soft, moist luster, like a thin layer of frost.
His ears were still drooping, flopping limply to either side of his head.
His black nose was moist and shiny, reflecting a small dot of light from the ceiling lamp.
He yawned.
For a split second, his mouth opened wide, revealing four neat rows of teeth, white and perfectly aligned, their canine tips glinting coldly under the light.
His pink tongue sat in the middle, as if locked behind ivory bars, curling slightly.
The yawn closed, his mouth shut, and he was once again the distinguished young wolf in the mirror.
Kevin walked to the bathroom.
The toothbrush twirled in his paw, and a rush of mint blew away the last of his drowsiness.
Then, he took a brush and smoothed down his fur, thoroughly taming every rebellious tuft.
Standing before the mirror for the last time, Kevin straightened his collar.
The white wolf in the reflection raised his chin slightly, his gaze sharp and bright.
‘Hmm.
Looking good.’ Kevin nearly teared up at his own reflection.
—— The estate had been bustling since early morning, servants cleaning, decorating, darting to and fro with armloads of flowers and linens.
Kevin walked through the corridor, turned into a side room, and pushed the door open.
The sound of the television washed over him, the morning news chattering away about yesterday’s trivial events.
The room was warm and cozy.
Flames licked at logs in the fireplace, occasionally spitting out a spark or two.
The floor was covered in thick carpet, and the sofas were draped with soft cushions.
The curtains were only parted a sliver, revealing the still-dark, inky blue of the outside world.
Mr.
Big sat on his custom-made small sofa, elevated atop a table, which made him look quite lofty, holding a miniature newspaper and reading intently.
Beside him, Koslov was sunk into a large sofa, similarly holding a newspaper, his posture relaxed.
“Father, you’re up early,” Kevin said softly as he entered, walking over to sit down beside Koslov.
Mr.
Big looked up, his eyes sliding over the rim of his newspaper.
He gave a slight nod.
“It’s best to be early for this kind of thing,” he said, his tone calm but carrying his usual air of composure.
Kevin knew his mother and Fru Fru were probably still asleep, so he didn’t make small talk.
He sat quietly for a moment.
The news anchor on TV was going on about some local news of no consequence.
The warmth of the fireplace was making him feel lazy, but the thought he’d been mulling over for a long time finally felt ready to be voiced.
“Father,” he began, carefully choosing his words, his voice calm, “I’d like to finish high school early next year and apply directly for university admission.” He turned his head to gauge Mr.
Big’s reaction.
The winds of the late twentieth century were already blowing, internet, electronics, mobile communication, waves upon waves of new industries surging forward.
The family business was built on the leather trade, and while the profits were good, Kevin couldn’t shake the feeling that it was a narrowing path.
Cell phones would eventually replace newspapers and television; cars, the internet, food delivery, new industries were sprouting like new leaves after spring rain.
The only drawback was that at only twelve years old, he was years away from being able to start a company or trade stocks.
By the time he finished high school and university through the traditional timeline, he’d be too late to get in on the ground floor of anything.
So he wanted to finish high school early, get his university degree before turning eighteen, and by the time he graduated, he’d be of legal age, perfectly timed to combine his knowledge with the chance to make his move.
He laid out his plan: to major in Economics/Finance and Network Information Technology, and to gain admission through assessment rather than standard exams.
He was well aware of the hurdles his age would create, eligibility restrictions, credit recognition, special exam formats, a mountain of red tape at every turn.
Only a handful of universities accepted applicants as young as eleven, and for a twelve-year-old, admission would require a high-level individual review.
The admission bar would be set astronomically high, well above the standard minimum score.
He’d need multiple letters of recommendation from professors, a psychological maturity evaluation, a formal commitment from parents to provide supervision, and a comprehensive portfolio proving his self-study.
But he was confident that with Mr.
Big’s connections and influence, these wouldn’t be real obstacles, as long as he himself could pass the assessment.
Mr.
Big put down his newspaper, tapping his fingertips lightly on the armrest.
He was silent for a moment.
The firelight flickered across his profile, illuminating the lines of thought on his face.
“Of course,” he finally said, his voice holding neither surprise nor hesitation.
“But you know, at your age, the assessment will be harder than you imagine, and there are quite a few restrictions.” He paused, sitting up a little straighter, folding the newspaper and placing it on his lap.
His gaze settled on Kevin’s face, carrying a father’s appraising look, but also a hint of approval.
“I’ll handle all those things.
You just focus on passing the assessment.” Kevin felt a wave of relief and was about to nod, but Mr.
Big continued, his tone shifting slightly: “By the way, I’ve invited quite a few families to your grandmama’s birthday banquet today.” He leaned back in his chair, his gaze drifting lazily toward the fire.
“Some big names from the Lynxley family will be there, and a few lesser-known smaller families as well.
I want you to mingle and network a bit.
Don’t just hide in a corner all day.” Kevin understood the implication behind his words.
This wasn’t just a birthday party, it was a chance for Mr.
Big to pave the way for him, to let him put faces to names and make connections early.
He nodded in agreement, feeling a quiet warmth spread through his chest.
But the mention of the Lynxley family piqued his interest.
After all, they were the biggest power players in Zootopia, the main antagonists of the second movie, if you will.
In reality, he knew it was nearly impossible for Nick and Judy to bring down such a massive family.
It would be like two beat cops taking down a state governor.