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Following the terminal's instructions, I found 74258 already inside the cave. He had lit a campfire and brought all our belongings in, even setting up my sleeping bag for me.

The fox was curled up on his side inside his own sleeping bag, looking as if he was asleep. But I knew that if he really was asleep, he wouldn’t be that perfectly still.

I placed the dry branches I had gathered earlier to the side, took off my shoes, and sat down on my sleeping bag, tucking my legs into the insulated layer. My body quickly warmed up.

Glancing at the burning campfire, I noticed that the motion-sensing beacon was already set up, so 74258 was certainly aware of my return. But I hadn’t really sorted out what I wanted to say yet, so I just sat there quietly, looking at the fox curled up on the other side of the fire.

“I’m sorry,” as always, 74258 was the first to speak. “I guess I was too emotionally overwhelmed, and I acted rashly without thinking things through, misunderstanding the situation.” Hearing him explain himself like that, I felt a wave of indescribable emotion surge within me. I wanted to say something, but the words were stuck in my throat. “If I made you uncomfortable or offended you, I just want you to know that wasn’t my intention, and I really am sorry…” His tone hesitated as he shifted his position and continued. “If you don’t want to continue traveling with me, I would completely understand. We’ll reach the next town by tomorrow, and then we can…”

Fortunately, I managed to find my courage in the end.

“No,” my voice was a bit hoarse, so I cleared my throat, trying to continue more firmly. “I want us to keep traveling together.” 74258 didn’t move noticeably, but his ears slowly turned toward me. “And it’s not just because I need your skills or your company, but because…” To be honest, I wasn’t even sure why. But really, did I need a reason? “...because it just feels right. We’re partners, accomplices, and co-conspirators.” I let out a bitter laugh, suppressing the sting of tears rising to my nose. “If we can’t reach the end together, at least we can be hanged together.”

“I’d rather it be the first option, you know.” 74258 chuckled as well, the friction between his fur and the sleeping bag lining making a rustling sound.

“I’m glad to know you still have a sense of humor,” I said, rubbing my nose. “I was worried, after everything that happened…” I wanted to handle this delicately, but I had to admit I had no idea how to approach it, so I just said it, trying to make it sound like a normal conversation. “Are you okay?”

“I’m guessing you’re referring to that little unpleasant incident with Hunter.” 74258’s reaction was quite calm. “It’s no big deal. I do feel like taking a nice long bath, but I’m way too tired for that to be my priority right now.”

Even though his tone seemed completely indifferent, I was worried this might be the so-called “denial” phase. Damn it, I really wasn’t good at this!

“If you… um…” For logic’s sake, I should have thought through what I wanted to say before speaking, but now it would feel even weirder if I suddenly went silent. “If you have anything you want to talk about, I’m here to listen.” I said it all in one breath, fearing that any hesitation would make me lose the courage to continue. “After all… something so terrifying happened.”

“Oh, right.” 74258 turned over and lay on his back, his olive-colored eyes distant. “Killing someone with your own hands feels strange. You just move your fingers, and that’s it, no real sense of it.” He reached a hand out of his sleeping bag and clenched it into a fist in front of his nose. “It wasn’t terrible, but I definitely don’t want to go through it again.”

“Uh… yeah.” Was he avoiding the topic? Would bringing this up further only push him too hard and be unhelpful? “But I meant…” I struggled to even say the word. “I meant what Hunter did to you…”

I cautiously glanced at 74258. He froze for a moment, then a look of understanding appeared on his face.

“Oh, that…” He scratched his cheek with a claw. “I don’t think it’s that big of a deal.” He seemed a bit embarrassed, but probably not for the reasons I had imagined. “Honestly, I thought your situation was much worse.”

“But… that Labrador… he…” I wasn’t sure what to make of the situation. I lacked the sensitivity needed for handling this kind of thing. Should I just shut up and listen? But avoiding the topic didn’t seem to help either.

“Yes, it was a horrible feeling, and it was outright assault.” 74258 sighed, pulling his hand back into the sleeping bag and staring up at the cave ceiling. “But it wasn’t as bad as you think. If I had to compare, it felt more like being forced to have dinner with someone you despise, listening to them brag the entire time, and then having to watch a movie you have no interest in just out of politeness.”

“I’m having a hard time putting those two scenarios together,” I said quietly, trying to keep my tone gentle so it wouldn’t sound like I was dismissing his feelings. “Because earlier, you seemed… upset.”

“Well…” The red fox seemed even more uncomfortable. “My… former lord… Ah, to hell with this paradox,” he muttered a low curse. “Alexander had some issues with confidence, so I spent some time figuring out what responses would get him particularly involved. These high pedigrees, their behavior and psychology are pretty similar.” 74258 let out a small chuckle and scratched the tips of his slightly reddened ears. “So, let’s just say, I had plenty of chances to practice faking.”

“Faking?” A few questions popped into my head. “Males can do that?”

74258 gave me a mysterious smile, I know I didn’t really want to know the answer.

“But why…” I thought back to some of the interactions between the fox and Hunter. “Did you notice something was off with the Labrador from the start?” I wondered if 74258 was just more sensitive or if there was another reason.

“Oh, yeah.” 74258 said, glancing at me. “Didn’t you notice that the roses in the manor were neglected?”

“I didn’t connect the dots right away,” I muttered, feeling a bit ashamed of my oversight.

“Anyway, once we were in the kitchen, I immediately thought of your tomatoes.” 74258 tapped his chin a few times. “I knew he’d eaten them, but I had no idea how long it would take for the poison to kick in, so that was a bit nerve-wracking. All I could do was stall for time.”

When 74258 said “nerve-wracking,” I couldn’t help but shudder. No matter how nonchalant his tone, or whether he was genuinely unbothered, I still couldn’t shake the guilt of being a helpless bystander. I couldn’t even be sure if, had our roles been reversed, I would have done the same for him.

“But I absolutely didn’t mean to suggest that what I did to you was nothing.” 74258’s tone grew anxious again, and he clenched his fist, slowly and forcefully rubbing his jaw. “I jumped to conclusions about the situation, and that was terrible behavior, and…”

“It’s okay,” I interrupted, lightly touching my lips with my fingers, recalling the sensation. “I wasn’t offended. It just startled me, that’s all.”

That should be how I really felt, right? I wasn’t in “denial,” was I?

74258 didn’t respond right away, but at least he seemed to relax a bit.

I felt that we might need to talk about this more deeply, perhaps even with a third party’s help. But I was certain that now wasn’t the right time.

“How did you find out about the ‘Railroad’?” I wanted to try talking about something else, to stop dwelling on things for now.

“The funny part is, it was Alexander who told me.” 74258 chuckled lightly, the corners of his mouth lifting slightly. “I suppose you could call him some kind of ‘progressive thinker,’ right?” The fox deliberately extended both hands out from the sleeping bag to make air quotes. “He liked to talk about how grand his plans for the future were.” 74258’s voice softened, and his tone became somewhat distant. “So many reforms, and all sorts of visions, piecing together a beautiful blueprint… No, not a blueprint.” The fox gently closed his eyes, his lips curling into a faint smile again. “A dinner table. He always said it was a round table, one where everyone had a seat.”

“That’s an interesting metaphor.” A dinner table, huh? I recalled the image of sitting around the same table with close friends, trying at the same time to imagine what it’d look like if we added the purebred dogs to the mix—it didn’t quite fit.

“Oh, Alexander had a knack for special metaphors. You really should hear how he describes the Empire’s feudal law.” 74258 said with a cunning tone. “The Earl of San Francisco wasn’t too happy about it, but the old man spoiled his only son too much. As long as Alexander didn’t actually raise an army to rebel or something, he didn’t care, not even about the fact that the territory might eventually end up in the hands of some distant relatives.”

“In that case, may I ask a potentially inappropriate question?” I hesitated, wondering if I shouldn’t ask. But I wanted to understand 74258 better, to figure out what had happened to him, the things that had given him that look in his eyes. After receiving a nod from the fox, I carefully chose neutral words, hoping it would help. “Why did your relationship cause you to be exiled if the San Francisco family was so… open-minded?”

“Because he found out what I am.” 74258 said softly, still with his eyes closed, but this time without smiling. His tone, it was as if he was apologizing for his very existence. The fox turned over, wiping the corner of his eye with the back of his hand, and I averted my gaze.

Say something already, you straw-brained idiot. Can’t you come up with some witty, clever, and humorous line to defuse the awkwardness? Wasn’t it you who wanted to ask? Now that it’s come to this, don’t you have any responsibility?

Huh?

“If I…” 74258 hesitated, halting my internal monologue. “If I were female, would you have accepted me just now?” He spoke so slowly that his words seemed to echo in my mind.

“Yes.” Ironically, that slightly odd and inappropriate question was much easier to answer. After all, I had already asked a question like that, so it was only fair. Besides, I didn’t see any reason to deny my feelings.

“A pair of hands, gently caressing your body, making you feel incredibly excited.” 74258 still faced away from me, making his voice somewhat unclear. “Do those hands have a gender?”

“They do.” I thought for a moment before answering. “The owner of the hands always has a gender, right?” A very specific image popped into my mind, but sharing my fetishes now felt a little strange.

74258 fell silent for a while, the crackling of the burning branches the only sound.

“I’m sorry, I thought enough time had passed.” 74258 muttered, and I had to listen closely to catch what he was saying. “But it seems I’m not actually ready to talk about those things…” The fox shifted in his sleeping bag, curling himself up smaller.

“Um… it’s okay.” It’s okay? “We can talk about it whenever you’re ready, no problem.” Wait, why did it sound like I was the one granting a favor?

I tried to come up with the right lines to say in this situation, so our conversation wouldn’t be so… uh… awkward, but my brain spun in circles for a long time, and nothing came out of my mouth.

“Would you be willing to tell me about Adam?” 74258 saved the conversation again—this was starting to become a routine. “I basically owe my chance to leave to his legacy, so staying in the dark about him doesn’t seem right.”

I hadn’t expected 74258 to want to know about this. No, to be precise, I hadn’t expected to feel such reluctance about bringing up Adam again.

But he was right, the opportunity we got was because of Adam’s legacy. If I didn’t show him the respect he deserved, it would be wrong.

Touching the collar around my neck, I tried to remind myself of a few things.

“For most Red Foxes, leaving their birth family and starting training is one of the hardest times of their lives.” I wasn’t sure if 74258 could understand. Having no memories of childhood spent with family, in this case, might actually be a blessing. “I didn’t notice it for a long time, but I wasn’t very popular. It took me years to understand what it meant to be ‘envied.’” Even after all this time, I could still taste the bitterness. “It made those years even harder. Adam was the only one who was willing to talk to me, who wanted to play with me. He never explained why, but everything felt so normal, like it was supposed to be that way.”

It took even more time to realize that being treated maliciously didn’t mean that I was the one at fault. And naturally, that meant there was nothing to explain. I closed my eyes gently and continued awakening the old memories.

“After graduation, when we were assigned our numbers, I was lucky enough to be placed in the same Earl’s territory as Adam. Our relationship never changed, though the environment did.” I shifted closer to the campfire. “When you become someone everyone has to rely on, someone who can reduce everyone’s workload all on your own, no matter how envious people are of your abilities, you’ll still earn some respect.” Thinking about it, it was quite funny—was that what it meant to grow up? “But maybe because of my earlier experiences, I couldn’t interact comfortably with others, turning into that difficult, reclusive oddball. But as I said, my relationship with Adam never changed. He was always the kind of person who…” I searched for the right words to describe him, trying to suppress the sharp sting of remembering. “Someone who was always optimistic about everything, always seeing the best in every situation. Sometimes, through his eyes, I even felt like I might actually be… worthy.”

Maybe I wasn’t, but Adam made me believe, if only for a moment…

“That’s probably why I always felt like his thoughts were on things without any real substance. Because he knew that everything had a deeper meaning, a form closer to its essence.” The wound was still too fresh, making those warm memories all the harder to bear. I opened my eyes slowly, gazing at the patterns on the stone walls, not wanting my impression of Adam to be twisted by some indescribable pain. So I decided to stop, to mourn my lost friend only when I was truly ready. “We lived a bit of a boring, ordinary life, rotating between work and rest, like all those whose fates were decided by their class from birth. Until Adam discovered the existence of the Railroad, and from there, you know almost everything.”

Yes, except for… that one thing. The thing that explains why we’re now lying in this unknown cave.

It’s funny how karma works, isn’t it?

“The last few scheduled inspections coincided with the Fourth team’s celebration.” 74258 seemed to notice I had more to say, so he remained silent, just quietly listening. “I was supposed to check the modifications we’d hidden in the system and maintain the integrity of the data. But with the deadline for the plan approaching, and so much to do during that time, I wanted an excuse to indulge and take a break.” Saying this was incredibly difficult. Even though I didn’t want it to sound like I was making excuses, every word still felt like… swallowing hot coals. “So, while I was completely drunk, Adam tried to be the responsible one.” I could hear the choke in my voice, but I forced myself to keep going. “He didn’t even log in through my workstation’s terminal!” The pre-set barriers and mirrored disguise nodes should have at least delayed the system long enough to sound an alarm before the pursuers could track us down.

I wanted to be angry at him for that, or blame him, but I knew I couldn’t.

Because this was all my fault.

I was the one who had been careless.

“I actually had this fantasy of unshackle everyone’s collars.” I traced the outline of the square chip in my pocket with my fingertips. “But I’m afraid I can’t even handle the one around my own neck.”

I sighed, trying to accept the fact that I was powerless, always just a bystander. But the sharp, stinging sensation from the chip in my hand disagreed, screaming at me to do more.

"Well, if it helps," 74258 said, "you can hold my tail."

Still staring at the intricate patterns on the rock wall, trying to make sense of them, I made up my mind.

"Thanks." I reached my paw out of the sleeping bag, palm up and open.

There was a soft rustling sound as 74258 moved, followed by the delicate, warm touch of something gently resting in my paw.

For a long time, we just lay there, staring blankly at the cave ceiling.

"Alexander actually said something similar once—something about unshackle everyone's collars.' I thought he was a bit foolish for it, but I have to admit, I liked that kind of foolishness," 74258 said. "Though, the definition of 'everyone' might still be up for debate..." The fox almost whispered. "In any case, his foolishness made me curious too, whether unshackle everyone's collars' was even possible."

Something in 74258’s tone caught my attention, so I perked up my ears and listened intently.

"While searching for an answer, with the help of the pedigrees, I confirmed the existence of that mysterious chip, how to extract it, and how to access the stored contents. It was a huge discovery, though at first, we had no idea how to use this knowledge," 74258 spoke a bit faster, sensing my impatience. "But what I didn’t have time to explain to Alexander was that the command to eject the chip was universal, and because it’s a deeply hidden high-level core command, it means..." I already knew what the fox was about to say, but I forced myself to keep listening. "...that as long as I can access a terminal with a high enough clearance, I can use this command to activate the 'release' function for all the collars. In other words, unshackle everyone's collars' is actually possible."

Even though I had guessed his conclusion, the shock still hit me so hard that I couldn’t respond. I could only squeeze the warmth in my hand slightly, seeking some support.

"After confirming this, I’ve been writing a virus that can run the related program—a key that could unshackle everyone’s collars.' But before I could finish, my work was abruptly interrupted," 74258 sighed. "After being sent away, I basically lost hope in everything and stopped caring what happened to anyone."

A wave of sadness welled up in my chest. This time, I allowed myself to feel it instead of suppressing it.

"But things have changed. I’ve realized that I can still care; I just needed some reminders from others," 74258 said. "So, if you’re willing, we can finish this together." The firelight flickered unsteadily as the wood burned low in the cave. "Together, we can unshackle everyone’s collars."

I wanted to agree right away, but my trembling jaw wouldn’t let me speak properly.

It wasn’t until a long time later, when the remaining embers barely kept us warm, that I noticed a faint light shining in through the cave entrance.

Had dawn already come?

Only in the darkest moments does the first light of dawn become truly visible.

"We’ll do it together." It wasn’t just a reply. It was a promise, an oath, and, most importantly—hope. "Together, we’ll unshackle everyone’s collars."