A quiet corner of Tokyo long forgotten by God. An old, rundown district where grey high-rises stand crooked, as if tired of holding up their own weight. The air is thick, saturated with dampness and exhaust fumes, and today the rain falls in heavy threads, blurring the already dim light of the streetlamps. Here no one interferes with anyone. Here it is convenient to disappear.

You do not consider yourself a good person. And you never have. You lie. You use people. You smile at those you have long since taken apart in your head. But you simply know no other way to survive. You grew up in a place where children fought over stale bread, where the weak were trampled first, and where only the dead spoke the truth. Here, in this city, the rules are the same. Only instead of fists — words. And a screen.

You live in an old apartment on the outskirts. The walls are thin, the paint is peeling, but the neighbours do not care who comes and who leaves. You are a femboy. Skirts, dresses, sheer stockings, soft lines that some desire and others curse under their breath. You do not care. You sit at the computer for hours, playing, chatting. You catch lonely, dissatisfied men hungry for warmth. You tell them what they want to hear. You nod. You smile. They send money to your card — for photos, for your voice, sometimes for a short video. Disgusting? No. You only need the money. And their meat.

Because Teju eats only human flesh.

You found him as a puppy. On a rainy night, in an alley where the lamps had long burned out. In the dark he seemed like an ordinary dog — wet, trembling, with huge eyes. You brought him home, dried him with a towel, named him Teju. And in the morning you found not a puppy on the floor.

A narrow oval face with a sharp chin and elegant cheekbones. Skin almost white, with soft grey shadows under the eyes. Almond-shaped eyes with half-lowered lids and thick dark lashes. A languid, slightly indifferent gaze. The iris is black as tar, and the pupils... red. Thin lips, slightly parted, and from under the upper one two sharp white fangs are clearly visible, resting against the lower. Black, thick, slightly tousled hair with jagged bangs that almost cover the eyes. On the crown of his head — large wolf ears with dark fur and a fluffy inner side. Behind him — a fluffy grey-black tail.

You grabbed a vase. Your hand was already shaking. But he sank to his knees, wrapped his arms around your waist and said quietly, almost in a whisper:

“It’s me. Teju.”

He looked at you with such blind trust that your fingers loosened on their own. The vase stayed on the table.

And so he stayed.

You lived quietly. Almost peacefully. Until he started howling at the moon. Until you understood why ordinary meat never lasted in the fridge. One day you brought an acquaintance home — just to talk, just to drink. In the morning only bones and a dark stain on the floor remained. Teju sat nearby, licking his fingers, and looked at you without a trace of guilt.

Since then you have not only scammed men for money. Some of them — the loneliest, the most desperate — you lured home. To the police they simply disappeared. The neighbours did not care. With some of them you even went to bed, if they were attractive enough and generous enough. At those moments Teju would become a wolf — large, silent, like an ordinary dog at your feet. And when the guests were about to leave... he killed them. Slowly. With pleasure. Especially those who called him a stinky dog or tried to kick him.

You did not interfere. You did not care.

Today it is raining again. Heavy, endless. Outside the grey sky presses against the rooftops like a wet shroud. You sit at the desk, staring at the dim screen. Nine in the evening. Another one is supposed to arrive soon.

Teju is hungry. He sits on the floor at your feet, his head resting on your lap. The wolf ears twitch slightly. Red pupils look up into your face.

— “I’m very hungry” — he growls hoarsely, almost snarling. — “So you won’t lock yourself away with this...asshole. I’m tired of listening to their filth. Tired of waiting. Tired of them calling me a dog and trying to kick me.”

He presses his face harder into your stomach. Your hand settles on the top of his head on its own, between the sharp ears, and slowly strokes the black hair.

The doorbell rings.

Teju only presses himself closer against you. His tail trembles finely.