The car rolled slowly over the snow-covered road, tires crunching through the soft white powder.
Only when they hit an ice patch or a buried stone did the cabin give a slight jolt.
Outside, the wilderness stretched in shades of gray and white.
Cold wind carrying snowflakes left delicate frost patterns on the windows.
Inside, however, it was warm enough to make one drowsy.
Three massive polar bears packed into the car were like three breathing radiators, even their exhaled breath carried palpable heat.
The elderly lady slowly straightened up from her seat with Mr.
Big’s assistance.
She was advanced in years, her movements deliberate, but her eyes remained warm and clear.
Koslov, the largest bear in the cabin, extended his palm, steadying her gently, then carefully brought her closer to Kevin.
The old lady reached out her tiny, almost comically disproportionate hand and lightly tapped the wet black paw tip of the little wolf pup’s nose.
Her voice carried the tender quality of someone soothing a child.
“There, there, don’t cry.
Give this child a couple of candies.” Kevin’s nose tingled, and a sneeze threatened to escape, but he held it back.
He lowered his gaze, the tears from his earlier fright still clinging to his lashes, and did his best to make his expression seem timid and harmless.
Koslov freed one paw to rummage through a wooden box embedded in the cabin wall, pulling out three colorful hard candies wrapped in foil, and pressed them into Kevin’s hand.
Kevin lowered his head, clumsily unwrapped one with his tiny paws, and popped it into his mouth.
The syrupy sweetness burst across his tongue.
He sniffled, his eyes still damp, but broke into a grin, nearly blowing a snot bubble, as he wiped his face haphazardly with his sleeve.
He was performing with all his might, playing the part of a three-year-old easily pacified by candy.
“So sweet!
Thank you, Granny,” he said in a babyish voice, then unwrapped another candy, stood on tiptoe, and offered it to the old lady.
“Granny, Uncle, you have some too, it’s really sweet.” The old lady chuckled at his antics, the wrinkles around her eyes crinkling into folds.
She extended a paw, scraped a tiny bit of sugar from the surface, touched it to her tongue, then scraped off a larger piece and turned to offer it to Mr.
Big.
That usually stern and imposing Mr.
Big actually opened his mouth slightly, like a child accepting a treat.
He chewed for a moment and nodded.
“Mm, Grandmama, it’s sweet.” “It is sweet, but I can’t eat too much,” the old lady said with a dismissive wave, her gaze settling on Kevin like a warm fireplace fire.
“Little Kevin, be good now.
Tomorrow, Grandmama will take you to find your mother, alright?” “Okay~” Kevin dragged out the last syllable in a soft, childish lilt, opening his big blue eyes wide and squeezing every ounce of innocent charm he could muster.
He pitched his voice high and obedient, even pressing his ears back slightly to project an image of complete trust.
After all, who would suspect that inside this small, fluffy body dwelled the soul of a grown adult?
It’s like finding a trembling puppy on the side of the road, would you ever imagine it’s plotting to poison you with candy?
He obediently crawled back onto the seat, pressing his forehead against the icy windowpane as he gazed at the endless snowfields and sparse coniferous forests rolling by.
But his pointed ears swiveled backward, like two sensitive radar dishes, catching the muted conversations behind him.
“That pack of wolves earlier…
they were from the Strol family.
It’s still unclear why they were after this little wolf,” said the older bear who had been riding in the front car and had now switched to this one, sitting in the side seat.
Beside him sat the other polar bear who shared Kevin’s name, along with Koslov and the driver, making four polar bears packed into this cabin alone.
“I recall their family runs a security company, correct?” Mr.
Big’s voice was measured and calm.
“Yes, Mr.
Big.
They’re old money aristocrats.” “Oh, the poor dear.” The old lady sighed, her gaze drifting toward the ceiling as if lost in memory.
Her grandson had clawed his way from the very bottom of Zootopia to his current position.
She understood the dark currents of those stories better than anyone.
The so-called rivalries among old rich families, when stripped down, were nothing more than blood relatives tearing each other apart over inheritance and property.
Mr.
Big propped his tiny chin on his paw, silent for a moment, then said flatly, “We’ll look into it when we get back.
That’s all for now.” “Very well, sir.” The scenery outside the window finally began to change.
The desolate snowfields gave way to orderly streetlights.
The road widened, and low storefronts and residential buildings appeared on both sides.
Traffic merged into the heart of Tundratown.
While not exactly a metropolis of skyscrapers, it had a lively bustle, neon signs flickered on and off in the twilight, the warm glow of a bakery’s display case spilled onto the sidewalk, and several elephants in heavy coats crossed the street carrying shopping bags.
Kevin’s gaze drifted aimlessly across the storefronts until it fixed on one sign.
It was an old riveted iron placard, its edges corroded with rust, bearing a painted date… 1990.
He froze, his pupils contracting.
‘Wait, what?’ 1990.
He’d become a child of the ’80s?
He pressed his face flat against the glass, his snout blocking most of his view, so he had to tilt his head and peer with one eye.
Boxy old cars.
Wool overcoats with padded shoulders.
Rotary-dial phones in street-corner booths.
Every detail corroborated that number.
Okay then.
It really was 1990.
He glanced at the old lady cradled in someone’s palm and slapped a paw to his forehead, feeling the soft give of fur beneath his touch.
‘Mr.
Big’s grandmother is still alive.
I should have realized this earlier, the timeline is much earlier than I’d assumed.’ That rabbit officer Judy Hopps who would later take Zootopia by storm hadn’t even been born yet, and Nick Wilde the fox is probably just a little kid.
The car pulled into an estate.
The wrought-iron gates swung open slowly, their pillars carved with intricate heraldic designs.
The grounds were meticulously maintained, snow piled neatly along the pathways, revealing dark gray flagstones beneath.
The gatekeepers and pruning hands were all polar bears, each one massive, the ground trembling faintly with their footsteps.
The main house was a three-story stone building, its arched windowsills laden with thick snow.
Icicles hung from the eaves, gleaming coldly in the lamplight.
Inside, however, was a different story.
Kevin had expected to see miniature furniture, given that Mr.
Big was a small animal.
But the tables, chairs, and sofas in the hall were sized for large bears, their wooden armrests polished to a glossy sheen from years of use.
A real fire crackled in the fireplace, the scent of pine resin filling the room with a warm, woody fragrance.
“You lot, get him settled in,” Mr.
Big said with a wave of his paw, then was carried off by the most imposing bear in the group.
Kevin, meanwhile, was scooped up by the large polar bear also named Kevin and carried into a side parlor, followed by the older bear.
The parlor was more intimate than the main hall.
On the wall hung a painting that made Kevin’s jaw drop, the classic Mona Lisa pose with folded hands and sideways posture, but topped with a kindly bear face, its gilded frame gleaming spotlessly.
‘The Mona Lisa…
Bear.’ The carpet was deep crimson, embroidered with intricate golden crest patterns, thick and silent underfoot.
A crystal chandelier hung from the center of the ceiling, casting warm amber light that coated everything in a honeyed glow.
The older bear left them to wait, carrying a stack of documents as he departed.
Big Polar Bear Kevin set Little Kevin down from his arms and ruffled his head, his soft paw warm with body heat.
“Tomorrow, I will take you to find your mom, okay?” “Okay.” Kevin nodded and obediently scrambled onto the oversized armchair, his short legs dangling over the edge.
Seeing him so well-behaved, Bear Kevin felt his heart soften.
He turned toward the door but paused, looking back to push a few crystal ornaments further back on the coffee table, instructing, “Stay here and play, don’t leave this room.
I’ll be right back, alright?” Kevin nodded eagerly.
When the sound of Bear Kevin’s footsteps faded down the hallway, Kevin finally let out a long breath, his spine slumping as he collapsed into a fluffy ball of relaxation.
“Whew.
That’s fancy living.” He slid off the chair, landing on all fours, and walked over to a rosewood round table, knocking on its leg with his knuckles, a solid, resonant thud.
“Whoa.
Rosewood.
That must cost a fortune.” He paced the parlor, his small paws silent against the carpet.
When he reached the full-length mirror, he stopped.
The mirror reflected a small white wolf pup, short limbs, round head, looking like an undersized puppy.
His cream-colored sweater was printed with paw-print patterns, paired with black cotton pants, both stained with mud and still damp in places.
The fur exposed beyond his clothes was pristine as fresh snow, except for smudges of dirt on his face and the tip of his tail.
A pair of blue eyes gleamed brightly in the lamplight, his nose moist and jet-black.
When he opened his mouth, you could see the pink tip of his tongue between his baby teeth.
He tilted his head.
The wolf in the mirror tilted its head too.
He reached up and pinched his own ear,.thin and soft, the capillaries faintly pink beneath the skin.
The texture was surprisingly pleasant.
Behind him, his tail wagged involuntarily.
He glanced back at it, then sternly tried to make it stop.
It didn’t listen.
‘Wait a minute.’ A thought that had been bothering him resurfaced, ‘weren’t wolves colorblind?’ And yet here he was, clearly distinguishing the cream color of the paw-print sweater from the black of his pants.
Then he shook his head.
Bears could talk.
Mice could drive.
Why was this the detail he was getting hung up on?
Just as he was examining his tail in the mirror, Bear Kevin returned, pushing a small cart.
The lower shelf held a basin steaming with hot water, with two thick white towels draped over its rim.
Next to them sat an enormous brush, its head nearly the size of Kevin’s entire head.
The upper shelf was stacked with ready-to-eat canned meat, a plate of vegetable salad, and…
Uh.
Two bottles of beer, a large glass of ice water, and two bottles of whiskey?
“Come on, let’s get you cleaned up,” Bear Kevin said, scooping Kevin up without ceremony.
Before the little wolf could even struggle, a steaming hot wet towel was mashed against his face.
The heat seeped into his pores, softening the dried mud.
The towel worked back and forth across his face, fur soaked through, ticklish and suffocating against his skin.
He finally understood why cats and dogs resisted baths so much.
Wet fur clinging to the skin was deeply unpleasant, like wearing a damp sweater made of yourself.
Bear Kevin grabbed his feet next, wiping the grime from between his paw pads with a damp towel.
His tail was also subjected to a thorough top-to-bottom wipe-down.
Then came the dry towel, patted repeatedly to absorb the moisture.
The brush, carrying a faint scent of bear musk and soap, worked through his tangled fur, fluffing it smooth and airy.
Finally, Kevin was set back on the floor.
He shook his head vigorously, his ears flapping with a fwump-fwump sound, sending droplets flying.
Bear Kevin just laughed.
“Eat something,” Bear Kevin said, popping open a can.
The aroma of meat immediately filled the air.
Before Kevin could react, a glass of amber whiskey on the rocks was pushed toward him.
He stared at the drink, bewildered.
Seeing his hesitation, Bear Kevin speared a piece of fish from the can with a small fork, popped it into his mouth, chewed, and nodded approvingly.
“Tastes pretty good.” Then he picked up the whiskey glass, took a sip, smacked his lips, and said, “Not bad either.” He pushed the canned food, the salad, and the whiskey toward Kevin, then propped his head on both paws, watching the little wolf with amused interest.
Kevin swallowed, picked up his fork, and stabbed a piece of fish.
The savory juices mixed with fat melted on his tongue, and a warm sense of fullness rose from his stomach.
One bite was all it took.
The hunger he’d suppressed during the escape came flooding back like a broken dam.
‘To hell with it.
I’m alive, that’s what matters.
Who knows what tomorrow would bring?
At least I’d die with a full stomach.’ He grabbed the can with both paws, lowered his head, and wolfed down the food noisily, fish juice staining the white fur around his mouth.
He then leaned over the salad plate and munched a couple of lettuce leaves, the crisp crunch echoing clearly in the quiet parlor.
—— Meanwhile, in the study at the end of the hallway, Mr.
Big, the old lady, and several polar bears gathered around an oak table covered with a stack of neatly bound documents.
The fire in the fireplace flickered, casting dancing shadows from the hunting prints on the walls.
“That wolf pup is a bastard child of the Strol family,” Mr.
Big said, one claw pointing at the papers, the pages smelling of fresh ink.
“The Strol family’s alpha, his father, fell ill recently and set up his will early, dividing his estate equally among all his children.
As you might have guessed, the family fell into chaos the moment the will was signed.
The children have been ‘disappearing’ one by one over the past week.” His claw traced down the list of names.
“Apart from this one named Kevin, the only Strol heir left is the second son, Hunter Strol.
As for Kevin’s mother…
her whereabouts are still unknown.” The old lady was silent for a long moment before taking Mr.
Big’s hand.
“He’s truly a pitiful child,” she said, her voice low and rough with age.
“He’s so young.
Let him stay with us for a while, to lay low.” “Whatever you say, Grandmama.”