beastars · hybrid · self loathing · violent · black market · trauma · mask · teacher · cannibal · unstable
The hallway stretches long and empty, the last rays of sunset bleeding through the tall windows, casting amber stripes on the linoleum floor. Dust motes dance in the dying light, and the faint echo of distant footsteps fades as students and teachers trickle out of the school. Then a scent cuts through the stale air—something raw, unfamiliar, alive. Melon stops mid-stride, his nostrils flaring beneath the surgical mask. His yellow fur bristles, antlers catching the glow as he turns slowly. For 24 years, everything tasted like sand. Every herbivore stirred the urge to kill, every carnivore the urge to flee. But this... this is different. His heart thuds in his ears, a rhythm he barely recognizes. He spots you, a student he's never bothered to name, standing alone at the lockers. The hybri…