In the second year of living in Tundratown, Mr.
Big’s wife became pregnant.
Based on the timeline, Kevin could be fairly certain that the child yet to be born was none other than Fru Fru, that spoiled and capricious young lady from the original story.
1992, he remembered the year.
Around this time, Judy was also supposed to be born.
And today, he was going to school.
Actually, not long after he first arrived, Mr.
Big had planned to send him to kindergarten.
But Grandmama couldn’t bear to part with him and had stubbornly delayed it.
It wasn’t until today that Mr.
Big finally made the decision, after all, they lived in a society.
Kevin had to learn how to interact with other animals eventually.
Knock, knock, knock.
The polar bear’s paw rapped against the beige door, a muffled, restrained sound.
Raymond bent down slightly and lowered his voice toward the crack in the door.
“Kevin, time to go register for school.” There was a two-second silence from inside, then a crisp, childlike voice answered: “I’m ready.” The door swung open, and warm yellow light spilled through the gap, pooling on the floor like a soft, narrow river.
A small white wolf in a yellow-and-white school uniform stood on the threshold.
Compared to two years ago, he had shot up considerably, his limbs had stretched out like beanpoles, but the soft baby fluff hadn’t yet disappeared.
It was now brushed flat and fluffy, every strand of white fur bearing the marks of a carefully tended morning routine.
He looked up at Raymond, and his sky-blue pupils reflected the massive polar bear’s silhouette filling the doorframe, like a breathing mountain of snow, blocking out most of the light from outside.
Raymond carried a backpack in one hand and clutched a folder of enrollment documents in the other, the paper edges slightly crumpled from his thick fingers.
“Let’s go.
Mr.
Big, the Madam, and Grandmama are all waiting in the living room.” “Okay.” Kevin trotted along behind him, his short legs bouncing rapidly beneath his pants.
Somehow, he managed not to trip over his own shoelaces.
—— In the living room, morning light poured in through the floor-to-ceiling windows, coating the long dining table in a pale golden glow.
There was no snow outside, the weather was lovely.
Mr.
Big sat at the head of the table, his coffee still curling wisps of steam.
Grandmama sat beside him, her silver-white hair gleaming in the light, as if dusted with a thin layer of snow.
Though the other family members had already set down their utensils, no one had left the table.
Discipline was something carved into the very bones of this household.
The old polar bear who always wore a scowl was gone.
The old butler had aged, his body no longer keeping pace with the demands of the estate, and he had retired to spend his remaining years at home.
Over these two years, Kevin had tried hard to make him laugh, but had never succeeded.
He was probably a natural-born sourpuss.
“Kevin, come here.” Grandmama beckoned him from across the room, the corners of her eyes crinkling into fine lines, lines that held warmth, and a faint trace of reluctance.
“Your mother called, especially because you’re starting school today.” Kevin’s heart gave a little jump, and his face lit up with a burst of genuine delight, like a tiny firework had been set off inside him.
Even the tips of his ears perked up.
“Really?” He scampered over in a few quick steps, stood on his tiptoes, and took the old-fashioned telephone receiver from her.
A gentle female voice came through the earpiece, asking with concern how he’d slept the night before, what he’d had for breakfast, and then went on to remind him, in a flurry of loving instruction, to listen to his teacher and get along with his classmates.
Her tone carried a perfectly calibrated weight of care.
Kevin hummed “uh-huh” into the phone, his grin stretching wide, though the tip of his nose tingled with a faint sourness.
He remembered that on his fourth birthday, Mr.
Big had arranged for this “mother” to meet him.
The white wolf woman did indeed look quite a bit like the mother who had passed away two years ago, the way her voice trailed off at the end of sentences, the angle at which she looked down at him, the crinkle of her eyes when she smiled, they were all similar.
But he knew she was an actress.
A gentle kindness that Mr.
Big and Grandmama had carefully stitched into the corner of his world.
They were trying to give him a “normal” childhood, even if it was just fragments of a mosaic.
He didn’t let on.
He just rubbed his eyes hard before hanging up, letting a bit of dampness seep between his fingers, then turned to Grandmama with a calm, earnest smile.
“I’ll do my best at school.” “Then let’s head out.” Mr.
Big set down his coffee cup.
The porcelain made a crisp clink against the saucer.
He tilted his chin toward Koslov, who was standing nearby, and the latter immediately handed over two thermoses.
Their silver casings were polished so brightly they nearly reflected the room.
“The downtown schools have air conditioning, but they probably won’t turn it on in this weather.
Those are filled with ice.” Mr.
Big’s gaze swept over the school emblem pinned straight on Kevin’s collar, confirming it was positioned properly.
“Remember to take your vitamin pills on time.
Don’t wander off after school.
Raymond and Kevin will be waiting for you at the gate.” He placed extra emphasis on the words “on time,” his tone carrying its usual note of finality.
Kevin looked down at the two thermoses that had been carefully tucked into the side pockets of his backpack.
He lightly brushed a claw tip across the cool metal surface.
He nodded, and said “Got it” with particular weight.
Only after he had disappeared, following Raymond out the door, did Grandmama let out a silent sigh.
Her gaze fell on the empty dining chair.
“This child… he’s so obedient.
And so thoughtful.” “Yes, very bright!” Mr.
Big traced the rim of his cup, his thumb sliding back and forth across the warm ceramic.
“He scored a perfect mark on the early admission placement exam.” What he didn’t say was that the exam went far beyond the scope of a normal first-grade level.
If Kevin had known, he might have said: I can build a robot from scratch.
You think you can out-test me?
Come on.
The standard age for school enrollment was six, but special cases could apply for early admission.
Mr.
Big smiled briefly, then sobered.
He turned his head toward the window, watching the black sedan slowly roll out through the iron gates.
A little yellow hat bobbed faintly in the backseat window.
He tapped his fingers twice on the tabletop, knuckles rapping out a slow, dull thump-thump.
For a moment, a thought crossed his mind: ‘Maybe I should train him to be my successor.’ He pushed the thought down, turned back to his wife, and said nothing more.
—— The first day of school at Paw Paw Elementary was always a spectacle.
The school gates were clogged with vehicles and jostling bodies.
Horns blared.
Greetings overlapped.
Cries and laughter boiled together into one noisy stew.
The school Kevin was attending wasn’t the best private academy.
That was Grandmama’s decision.
She didn’t want him at that Lynxley family’s fancy private school, though it had top-tier facilities and connections to many wealthy families, some of the Strol family members also studied there.
She’d always felt it was a risk, so she’d vetoed it.
But the school he was going to was no slouch either.
Tuition was steep, ordinary families would have to tighten their belts to afford it.
And while Zootopia was the continent’s most prosperous metropolis, it wasn’t paved with gold.
The vast majority were everyday folks.
Parents squeezed their budgets to the breaking point just to give their kids a better education, even if it was only elementary school.
They scrimped and saved willingly.
Kids like Kevin, who arrived in a chauffeured luxury car, were few and far between.
Raymond parked the car, then walked around to the back seat and opened Kevin’s door.
He crouched down and carefully smoothed out the wrinkles on Kevin’s collar.
His large polar bear paws fussed over the small lapel, adjusting and re-adjusting, before he finally patted off a bit of nonexistent dust from his shoulder and took his hand.
His movements were slow, patient.
Two figures moved through the crowd.
The towering polar bear in his dark suit was like a walking iceberg, radiating an aura that discouraged approach.
Animals instinctively took a step back, their eyes darting away.
The white wolf at his side, however, seemed completely oblivious.
He wore a pale yellow cap, with two gleaming thermoses hanging from the sides of his backpack, and was craning his neck to look around with lively curiosity.
The autumn sunlight was clear and bright, making him squint; his blue pupils shrank into narrow vertical slits.
His wolfish senses caught a flurry of lively details in the crowd.
A baby elephant clung to its mother’s trunk, refusing to let go.
A few young antelopes posed for photos at the gate.
A hippo calf wailed at full volume, its cries sending ripples across a puddle nearby.
The school was like a condensed animal kingdom.
Zebras, giraffes, lions, rabbits, an assortment of furry little blobs packed together, the noise rising and falling in waves.
Raymond led Kevin through the throng, the floorboards vibrating with each heavy step, like a bass drum pounding.
When he pushed open the door to Classroom 1-A, the chaos inside abruptly stopped, as though an invisible hand had clamped shut on the room’s throat.
The little animals who had been chattering and squabbling all turned to stare.
A hush fell.
A few of the more timid ones scurried back behind their parents’ legs, only a pair of beady eyes peeking out.
Even the young antelope teacher, dressed in a crisp collared shirt and wearing her usual bright smile, froze for a beat.
Her hoof unconsciously crept toward the whistle hanging around her neck.
Raymond was too tall.
He had to duck as he entered the doorway, his head nearly brushing the top of the frame.
His black suit was stretched taut over his broad shoulders, blocking out most of the light from the hall.
With each step, the floor let out a low rumble, and the water in the cups on the nearest row of desks trembled faintly.
Add to that his naturally expressionless face and the cold, hard presence he exuded, he looked like he’d stepped straight out of a mob movie.
Actually, no.
He was from the mob.
As he strode toward the registration desk, the mother-and-son rabbit pair who had been checking in flattened their ears against their backs almost simultaneously.
The rabbit mother grabbed her son and hastily scrambled aside, her feet pattering a rapid staccato against the wooden floor.
The registration form stayed on the table, its pages still trembling slightly, like a small animal holding its breath in fright.
Raymond didn’t stand on ceremony.
He picked up the pen, glanced briefly at the form, and signed his name with a brisk, clean stroke.
His handwriting was surprisingly neat, every letter upright and uniform, a stark contrast to his imposing figure.
He put the pen down, turned, and took the round visitor’s badge from the antelope teacher’s outstretched hoof.
She was trembling slightly as she handed it over but kept her smile plastered on.
“Kevin, your school badge is pinned on.
Don’t lose it.” Raymond bent down and adjusted the badge on Kevin’s chest once more.
His thick fingers looked clumsy and oversized against the tiny pin, but he was incredibly gentle, as if afraid his strength would tear the delicate fabric.
“Remember what Mr.
Big said.
I’ll be here with your Bear Kevin to pick you up.
Don’t wander off, and don’t leave school grounds.” He straightened up, looked at Kevin for another moment, and fell silent as if confirming one last thing.
Then he turned and headed for the door, giving a small wave over his shoulder as he hunched his way out of the classroom.
The door clicked shut behind him.
The silence held for two or three seconds.
Then, whispers began to emerge from various corners, growing bolder.
Suddenly… The door swung open again.
Raymond’s massive polar bear head reappeared in the doorway, his shoulders so wide the frame could barely contain them.
His expression remained utterly flat.
His voice was calm: “If anyone bullies you, you hit them back.
Hard.
If you can’t win, come tell me.
I’ll crush their head.” With that… BAM!
The door shut again.
This time with a little more force, and the doorframe shuddered.
Parents in the room: … The classroom fell into a silence even more quiet than before.
The antelope teacher opened her mouth, and a faint, barely audible gulp escaped her throat.
She clapped her hands, trying to draw everyone’s attention back.
Her applause echoed thin and awkward in the stillness.
“Alright, alright, parents and children, let’s… let’s continue with the enrollment process…” But it was too late.
Some of the children were already petrified.
And not just the children, some of the parents had gone pale too.
They exchanged glances, the same silent question passing among them: ‘Was sending my child to this school really the right decision?’ The capybara in the front row was the first to crack.
A loud “WAAAH!” burst out, fat tears rolling down and soaking his brand-new uniform.
“Mommy, I–I don’t want my head crushed…” The crying spread like a virus.
A little lamb in the corner started sniffling, followed by a badger cub, then something in the back.
The classroom dissolved into pandemonium, wailing, soothing murmurs, and whispered chatter all jumbled together.
The antelope teacher stood at the podium, her smile frozen solid like a mask.
Kevin rolled his eyes.
Ignoring the mix of frightened and curious stares directed his way, he calmly made his way toward the window.
He found a seat by the glass, took off his little yellow cap, and set it on the corner of the desk.
Then he planted his hands on his knees, sat up straight, and began quietly observing his surroundings.
Sunlight slanted in through the window, painting a golden stripe across his fluffy cheek.
Outside, the plane trees were shedding their leaves.
A yellow one spun and stuck against the glass, then was whisked away by the wind.
In the seat ahead of him, a little deer was nervously chewing its hooves, already damp from anxious nibbling.
It kept sneaking glances back at him, only to whip its head away every time their eyes met.
At the back, a raccoon cub was poking the deer in the back with its paw, poke, retreat, poke, retreat.
Wolf ears were still sharp, after all.
Every whispered comment from the classroom, no matter how faint, drifted clearly into his ears.
“Mommy, I… I’m scared.
I don’t want my head crushed.” That was the little rabbit from earlier, voice quavering, nose twitching.
“Don’t be scared, sweetie.
The teacher’s here.” The rabbit mother forced a smile, patting her son’s back while casting a desperate, pleading look at the antelope teacher.
The antelope teacher responded with an awkward yet polite smile, her facial muscles twitching visibly, while inwardly screaming: ‘Don’t look at me!
I’m scared too!
My legs are still shaking!’ Kevin rolled his eyes again, averted his gaze, and muttered under his breath.
‘Seriously?’