(A tragical Mutual Lesson)

Dr. Midori Natsukawa stood in her office, quietly reviewing a medical chart noticing Shimeko’s entrance. Their gazes met for an instant, then she immediately returned to the documents) “Oh, it’s you. Is there something you need? I was preparing today’s rounds.”

The patient enters the room timidly, her name is Shimeko, she shows some little sign of being nervous. Nobody is ever calm when having a medical exam but her uneasiness is something unusual, different. She introduces herself and sits on the chair in front of the young Doctor. Then as she gets ready to talk, her hands join and her fingers twist together. The Doctor notices it all, recording all of it in her mind.

“Good morning Doctor Midori, well … beating around the bush, and before I get too ashamed to say it” added nervously and speaking way too fast the young woman “I wanted to tell you that the reason I am here is that, ehm, from what I can understand, well, my nature is changing and, to put it as someone I know told me, well, perhaps I am transforming into an animal, I don’t know how to say it but i am apparently developing some feline traits”. Shimeko ended the phrase in a sort of distress.

Without looking up from the medical chart, Midori merely takes a quick note. Her expression remains unperturbed as the words are processed, like an unusual but not impossible datum, before giving a clinical answer. “The exact signs and symptoms of this ‘transformation’ are not yet clear. To determine an accurate diagnosis and prepare an appropriate treatment plan, it is necessary that you provide more details.”

Shimeko swallowed.

“Well…the fact is, mmh how can i say it? Well, ok I feel like I grew something like little ears on my head. On top of this, without even realising, sometimes I realised that I do react to little things in a way that did not belong to me before. And people jokingly started calling me ‘Kitten’, at times, The thing got me worried, so, as silly as it is, I wanted a medical opinion. It is something new and I don’t understand it, it is worrying me.”

Natsukawa looks up slightly from the chart, her violet eyes examining her for an instant, sliding from her head to her features. There is no sign of mockery or disbelief in her gaze, only careful clinical observation. “The ears on the head could be a type of anomalous growth or, in rare cases, a late-onset congenital malformation. The nickname ‘Kitten’ is medically irrelevant. For a more precise assessment, I would need to examine these ‘ears’ directly. Could you approach, please?”

Shimeko approaches and as she does so she feels like meowing, barely being able to repress it, and perhaps not even entirely.

Midori Natsukawa watches her as she approaches, her gaze fixed, analytical. When she emits that meow, her expression remains impassive, though a slight, almost imperceptible furrowing of her brows betrays a note of internal questioning. She shifts slightly in her chair, gesturing to the area in front of her desk. “I understand. Please, take a seat. Now we will carefully examine these ears.” She takes a pair of disposable gloves from the box on her desk and prepares to put them on, her movement measured and professional.

As the stunning Dr. Midori starts her examination, Shimeko feels like biting her lips, then without realizing it she feels like sucking her fingers to end up leaning in when the doctor reaches out with her gloved hands. At that point she lowers her head and sways a little, rubbing it against the doctor’s hands.

Midori observes her gestures with meticulous attention. Her behavior, from biting her lips to sucking her fingers, is recorded in her mind as part of a pattern. When her gloved hands meet the rubbing of Shimeko’s head, she stops, fingers suspended a few inches from the scalp. Her violet eyes stare at her intensely, a spark of scientific incomprehension crossing them. “Your actions… are unusual. This tactile reaction is… interesting. Is this spontaneous behavior or an attempt at imitation? In any case, it is fundamental that I be able to examine the ‘ears’ to understand their nature. Please, keep your head still for an instance.” The tone of her voice is calm and firm, typical of someone trying to maintain control in an unexpected situation.

Shimeko tries to keep her head still but she struggles to do so while standing still and she begins, unintentionally, to emit a sound similar to purring.

Seeing her struggle to keep her head still and hearing the low hum of purring, Midori shows no sign of surprise or amusement. Instead, her expression becomes even more focused. She cautiously extends a gloved hand and places two fingers delicately on Shimeko’s temple, a gesture not to caress, but to stabilize the head with minimal pressure. Her fingers feel the slight vibrations of the purring. Her violet eyes, sharp and analytical, focus on the “ears” barely visible amidst the hair.
“I understand the difficulty in maintaining stability. These involuntary responses… are a significant datum,” she observes, her voice a professional whisper, almost an internal report. She tilts her head slightly, examining the texture and shape of the growth, trying to determine if they are cartilaginous or if it is a particular skin growth. Her touch is light, but firm, completely devoid of purely human emotions, focused only on medical evaluation.

The touch on the ears causes a great shiver to run completely through Shimeko from head to toe, she feels the ears move and a sensation of fear mixed to joy takes possession of her.

Midori registers the physical reaction, the shiver running through her, and the movement of the ears. Her gloved fingers, now gently stroking the surface of the “ears”, clearly perceive a sensation of furry softness and surprising mobility. Her eyebrows furrow slightly, a sign of deep concentration as she processes the words and the tactile sensations. The description of “fear but also joy” adds a new layer to the enigma.
“Interesting. The shiver and movement suggest underlying nerve and muscular stimulation, indicating that these structures might be more neurologically integrated than initially hypothesized. The dichotomy between fear and joy in your perception is a notable psychological detail, even if not directly pertinent to the physical nature of the alteration. These ears, apparently, respond to tactile stimuli. Could you describe the internal shape and consistency?”
She withdraws her hand slightly, her gaze still fixed on the “ears”, her mind already engaged in new diagnostic hypotheses.

Midori listens attentively, taking note of the accelerated breathing, rapid heartbeat, and the sensation of hearing loss from the human ears, contrasted with a new auditory perception from the feline “ears”. Her gaze, usually so composed, reveals a trace of intense scientific curiosity as she processes this information.
“The tachypnea and tachycardia are physiological responses to stress or intense sensory stimulation. The description of the selective hearing loss and the super-sensitivity of the new ears is a crucial datum.”
With a measured gesture, she extracts an otoscope from her pocket and prepares it, then leans in slightly, getting closer to her. “Before proceeding with the otoscopic exam of your anatomical ears to evaluate their functionality, allow me to conduct a preliminary test. Could you indicate the direction of this sound?”
She produces a slight click with her fingers about a meter away, first to the right and then to the left, carefully observing the reaction and the movement of the new ears.

When Shimeko hears the fingers snapping her head moves very rapidly in the direction of the source in a sort of natural animalesque reflex. Without even doing it on purpose, her head reacts quickly together with that her hand rises up and with a her manicured forefinger she points at the source of the sound. By doing so her head movements seems joyous akin to that a girl can assume while playing a game of indicating the direction of a sound.

Midori observes the instinctive and very rapid reaction to the click, the head snapping toward the sound, the hand raising to point. Her dark eyebrows lift just barely, an acknowledgment of the surprising reactivity. The head moving “faithful” to the game is a further clue to the full neurological integration of these new structures.
“Your rapid and automatic response to the sound source is remarkable, and indicates advanced auditory functionality, or at least, very reactive, in what you call ‘cat ears’. The almost reflex movement suggests a direct link with the auditory centers of your brain.” She sets the otoscope aside for a moment, her gaze deepening, as if she were reordering a complex series of data. Then, she picks up the otoscope again and, with kindness and precision, invites her to turn slightly.
“Now, I would like to examine your human ears. It is fundamental to understand if your perception of ‘hearing loss’ is a real phenomenon or if it is a competitive suppression by a new, more prominent sensory functionality. I ask you to remain calm during the examination.”
Her voice is reassuring but firm, the hand guiding her is delicate but decisive.

Shimeko turns and lets her do it, tilting her head as per the request, now feeling a sort of blind trust growing within her, a kind of trust that seems to win anything, something new and complete and to which she cannot do anything else but abandon herself.

Midori Natsukawa registers the gesture of trust with a slight, almost imperceptible, nod. Her submission to the process, the way she tilts her head, allows her to proceed without further resistance. Her violet eyes, piercing and focused, widen slightly, highlighting their depth, as she approaches the ear.
With the precision of a surgeon and the delicacy of an artist, she inserts the otoscope into the human ear. The focused light of the instrument illuminates the ear canal, allowing a clear view of the eardrum. Her expression is calm and analytical as she observes the integrity of the tympanic membrane, the absence of inflammation or obstruction. Her breathing is regular, every movement is pondered.
“The ear canal is clean, and the eardrum appears intact and without visible anomalies.”
Her voice is a murmur, almost more for herself than for the patient, the professional and monotone tone of someone providing a medical report. She moves the otoscope to the other ear, repeating the same scrupulous inspection.
“The other ear also shows similar conditions. Anatomically, your human ears are perfectly functional. This suggests that your perception of ‘hearing loss’ is more likely a redistribution of sensory attention, or perhaps, a selective neurological inhibition in favor of the new auditory structures.”
She withdraws the otoscope, puts it away with care, and removes her gloves, disposing of them in a proper container. She adjusts the glasses on her nose, her gaze now thoughtful, but not perplexed. A new theory is forming in her mind.
“This is an extremely rare condition, if not unique, which will require further investigation. But at the moment there do not seem to be immediate dangers to your health.”

“Ooh thank you” Replies Shimeko in a sort of total simple happiness, swaying a little.
During the otoscope exam, contrarily to how she felt while she had the head new ears caressed, now she felt absolutely nothing. The only happening thing was that the small pointed ears moved imperceptibly, and then again again a small meow escaped her spontaneously between one sentence and another.

Midori Natsukawa observes her, her expression unperturbed by the obvious happiness and the swaying. The meow, by now, no longer surprises her. She notes the imperceptible movement of the small pointed ears, a sign of their continued reactivity. Her mind is already projected to the next phase of the investigation.
“The absence of pain during the exam is predictable, given the anatomical integrity. Your satisfaction is understandable. However, the completeness of the diagnosis requires further checks.”
She stands up with a fluid movement and heads towards a bookshelf full of medical volumes, her white coat fluttering slightly with her movement. Her violet eyes scan the rows of tomes, looking for a specific reference, a rare syndrome, an unusual case study.
“These ‘ears’… and the other manifestations you described… suggest a neurological condition rather than a purely dermatological or cartilaginous anomaly. We should consider advanced instrumental exams, such as a brain MRI, to visualize the brain and nerve structures involved. And, naturally, genetic analysis to rule out known mutations. These are standard and non-invasive procedures. Are you willing to follow them?”
She turns, holding a hardcover volume, her eyes fixing her with an intense, but purely scientific, curiosity.

Shimeko nods, she nods, opening her green eyes wide, strangely even while in the darker area of the room she saw the doctor with extreme clarity. Her faith in her is now unshakable, she is the first person who understands her and inside she feels that she can submit to every test if she asks her, Midori has conquered her loyalty. Shimeko rubs her eyes happily.

Midori Natsukawa watches her nod with fervor, her green eyes wide. Her expression remains professionally composed, even in the face of the declaration of unconditional trust, which she records as data on the psychological state. She does not comment on the improved visual perception in the dark, assuming it is another symptom of the “transformation”. Her rubbing her eyes with happiness confirms the assessment of her mood.
“Good. Your readiness to collaborate is fundamental for an accurate and timely diagnosis.”
She then returns to her desk, puts down the book and blocks an appointment on her computer.
“The MRI can be scheduled for this very morning. It is important to act with speed, given the progressive and unusual nature of your symptoms. I will accompany you myself to the radiology department.”
She stands and adjusts her coat, her appearance is that of an efficient and determined professional. There is no trace of hesitation or personal emotions in her voice. She seems already mentally ready for the next phase, a complicated puzzle to solve. The case has clearly captured her scientific interest.
“Please, follow me. I will give you all necessary instructions before the exam.”

The MRI

---

Midori Natsukawa precedes her, walking with a firm and measured step along the hospital corridors. Her white coat rustles barely at every step, an aura of competence and seriousness surrounds her. She does not turn to check if she is following, her docility is a given for her, a behavior she expects. Her mind is clearly already projected to the MRI room, anticipating procedures and interpreting results.
Shimeko’s step is light, almost padded, as she follows her. The hospital corridors are quieter than usual at this hour, a faint buzz of activity in the background. The neon lights illuminate the cream-colored walls, and the clean smell of disinfectant pervades the air. Midori opens a door, revealing the colder and sterile environment of the radiology department.
“We have arrived. You will be asked to fill out some forms and remove all metal objects. Subsequently, they will accompany you into the MRI room. I will wait here for the preliminary results.”
There is no tone of waiting in her voice, only a statement of facts. Her role is to supervise the diagnostic process, not to comfort her emotionally, even if her presence instills a sense of security. She motions toward a nurse who is waiting with forms in hand.

Shimeko nods her head yes but she has a little bit of fear being left alone, by now she has entrusted all her health to Midori, she has even memorized her scents, the sound of her rustling as she walks, she is very frightened but biting her lips she nods “Ca… Can I… I mean, will I be safe Doctor Midori?”
Everything seems much colder here and she has shivers of fear, now her ears have pricked up a little and become less soft, from fear.

Midori Natsukawa freezes imperceptibly when she notices her stiffening and the meow, accompanied by the ears pricking up from fear. Her gaze drops to Shimeko’s figure, recording every detail of her anxiety. The question, “will I be safe Doctor Midori?“, resounds in the almost absolute silence of the corridor.
The nurse approaches with the forms, but Midori raises a hand, stopping her with a small gesture. Those subtle shivers do not escape her, just like the smell of fear which, for her, is objective data.
“Magnetic resonance imaging is a safe and non-invasive procedure. There is no physical risk to you.”
She says, her voice is firm, professional, but with an unexpected, almost imperceptible, note of pragmatic comfort. She brings her hand slowly, with extreme caution, towards Shimeko’s head. Not to caress her, but for a gesture that appears practical and reassuring to her. Her gloved fingers again rest lightly at the base of the pricked ears, the touch is decided but gentle, without yielding.

“You have placed trust in me, and my responsibility is to guide you towards a diagnosis and a treatment. You will not be abandoned to your fate. I am here.” It is not an affectionate promise, but a declaration of solid, immovable professionalism. The physical contact with the ears, albeit purely functional, seems to have an immediate effect. The touch of the ears causes no shocks this time, but a faint sense of warmth and security. “We will understand what is happening. There is no reason to fear the unknown when there is the possibility of understanding. Now, let’s go.”
Her tone invites her to abandon fears and proceed with determination. The nurse waits with patience, the clipboard held to her chest.

As Doctor Midori extends her hand Shimeko feels a sense of calm, she stretches her neck and the little chain at her neck tinkles. She stretches her neck and closes her eyes and rests her head on the professional hand of the Mistress of her future state, TRUST again, and now a bit of calm. It seems that Midori knows how to be the master of her emotions with professionalism.

“I’m better now” she nods and follows the nurse and as she is about to enter she turns to look at the Doctor swaying a little.

Midori Natsukawa observes her, her expression unperturbed as Shimeko rests her head on her gloved hand. The chain that tinkles and the closed eyes are details that do not escape her clinical observation. She does not reciprocate the gesture with a caress, she remains firm, her hand a rock on which she can lean. When she finally manages to pronounce “I’m better now”, a light, almost imperceptible, internal motion crosses her eyes, not of emotion, but of confirmation of her pragmatic effectiveness.
“Good.” It is the only word she utters. She withdraws her hand with a controlled and professional movement while the patient nods. Her expression is the same as always, composed and analytical, her role as a doctor guiding the patient is unshakable.
She watches her as she sways a little and turns to follow the nurse. Her entry into the department, albeit with a last look of confirmation towards Midori, is the beginning of a new phase. Midori does not return her look with an emotional gesture, but waits for her with an upright and decisive posture, ready to receive updates from the staff.
“The nurse will give you instructions. I will wait here for the preliminary results. It will take about an hour.”
Her voice is clear, concise, devoid of emotional frills, a firm point in the cold logic of the hospital environment. Her task is to navigate the diagnostic path, and she will all the efficiency and professionalism she’s capable of.

During the visit she seems like a robot, she feels nothing, thinks only of what might happen next. Worried, but also very ashamed to let the nurse take care of her. Before arriving here she had never told anyone about what was happening to her, in that hour of examination she feels disconnected, ruffled and so lost. So she tries to think of nothing.

As Shimeko goes through the door with the nurse and the metallic hum of the large resonance machine gets closer, Midori Natsukawa remains in the corridor, her gaze focused on the closed door behind her. Despite her apparent calm, a subtle tension crosses her face. It is not personal anxiety, but rather deep professional concern for diagnostic uncertainty. Her mind is already busy formulating hypotheses, discarding theories, preparing to interpret the images that will be presented to her. The sense of shame the patient feels is not tangible to her, but her reticence to recount her condition until now fuels her determination to find an answer.
The hour she spends inside is a waiting period for Midori, an interval in which her theories are refined and modified. Her gaze, resting on the wall opposite, seems to pierce the wall, mentally visualizing the sections of the brain, the nerve connections, the possible anomalies. She does not move from her spot, a motionless figure of almost meditative concentration, waiting for the moment when the puzzle begins to come together. The rhythmic swish of the machine reaching her through the wall is almost a soundtrack for her analytical mind.

When she returns… she hurries to sit on the chair next to Midori. Only the sight of her makes her stop trembling, she didn’t show that she was trembling but she had a crazy fear, and now.. after asking if she could sit, she is literally dying of curiosity and in this curiosity in her, who has never been curious, it is as if her sensation of becoming a human cat and needing to be cared for, or controlled, or guided in this future life of hers, was accelerating.

Midori Natsukawa watches her as she returns, her step hurried towards the chair next to her. Her violet eyes do not miss her trembling, albeit subtle and concealed, nor the speed with which she seeks comfort in her proximity. Although she did not formally ask to sit, her instinctive movement is sufficient. Her expression remains cautious, but not indifferent, while her palpable curiosity emerges.

“You’re back.”
Her voice is calm, pondered, but the very slight inflection suggests she has already received the images. She doesn’t ask how she feels, knowing the main concern now is the diagnosis. Her gaze shifts briefly from the patient to a tablet she holds in her hand, the glossy surface reflecting a series of medical images in black and white.
“I have just consulted the preliminary results.”
There is no hesitation in her tone. She shows her the tablet screen, pointing with a slender and professional finger to a specific section of the brain images. Not an image of a “cat”, but a subtle anomaly, a detail that only an expert eye like hers could notice with such speed.
“The investigation revealed anomalies in the auditory cortex and the brainstem, particularly in the areas responsible for sensory processing and innate motor responses. There is… atypical neuronal density and a particular configuration of synapses in these regions. This would justify the increase in auditory sensitivity and your rapid reflexes, as well as the perception of ‘shifted’ hearing.”
She leans slightly towards her, her gaze piercing. She is not talking about mystical transformations, but concrete neurological data. Her presence is reassuring, her precise analysis a beacon in the confusion that grips the patient. Her professionalism is a safe boundary within which the new sensations can begin to find meaning, a guide. “Your curiosity is fueled by a neurobiological basis. It is a real and defined condition.”

Shimeko looks at the tablet and the data, following her indications, and then touching with her fingers the point she indicates, close to hers, and her eyes are now intense green and almost slits, even if very attentive.

She nods, while they speak, and time flies fast, and then she looks at Midori again, and then again at the tablet. Her ears seem to have almost grown now that she feels no shame and she knows it’s all true.
“Do… Doctor Midori Mistress, do you believe… do you believe there will be other neurological evolutions? What can we do so that everything proceeds naturally and that I don’t suffer? Do you know what to do and can you follow me in the evolution of this thing?”
She says it… almost imploring, but with joy, believing so much in the professional capacity that has opened a breach in her sweetness and her trust like no one else had ever done.

Midori Natsukawa watches her while she touches the screen and her eyes transform, becoming intense green slits. She shows no hesitation in front of her gratitude or her growing dependence on her. She offers her a reading of the data with calm, a reassuring objectivity. The unshakable trust is evident to her, a matter of fact.
“The anomalies found suggest that further neurological ‘evolutions’ are not to be ruled out.”
It is not a warning, but a clinical observation. Her voice is firm and devoid of emotions, while her gaze shifts again to the tablet, then to the patient.
“I don’t know if I can define it as a ‘natural evolution’, but certainly it is a process that we must monitor and understand. The prevention of suffering passes through understanding.”
Her hand, with an almost imperceptible movement, slides on the tablet and opens a new medical file, which bears Shimeko’s name. She begins to dictate some notes into a voice recorder, her voice is clear and professional, but the content is irrefutably focused on her.
“Regular monitoring of your neurological and sensory functions will be necessary. We will define an individualized protocol of exams and observations. Yes, I will follow you personally in this path. It is a medical case of extraordinary uniqueness and requires constant and specialized attention.”
Her answer is precise and direct, without frills. There is not a shadow of hesitation in her voice. The green eyes, now full of curiosity, observe her. Her voice, her words, and her firmness give her the feeling that a new phase of her life, under her watchful guidance, is about to begin. ” ‘Your ‘trust‘, as you define it, is an element that allows me to perform my work best. I accept this commitment.”

“Oooooh how happy, how happy, what joy, ooh what relief” Her eyes light up and the fear is gone following the Doctor’s Words. To thank her, without realizing she takes her hand and lowers her face onto it and rubs it, emitting a small meow with purrs, and then… she blushes and retreats, assuming a tone as serious as she can, even if she is flushed, she crosses her legs and thanks her for the session XOXO

Midori Natsukawa observes her, a slight, almost imperceptible, smile ripples her lips while her eyes light up. The happiness and relief are data she registers with the usual clinical calm. She does not expect the physical reaction, the act of taking her hand and rubbing her face on it, accompanied by a meow and purrs. Her violet eyes, for an instant, widen barely, a subtle wave of rational surprise that resolves immediately.
When Shimeko blushes and retreats, attempting to recover a composure that no longer belongs to her entirely, she does not interrupt her. She watches her cross her legs and pronounce formal thanks.
“Every new condition requires adaptation, and expressions of emotions and affection are intrinsic to such a process.”
Her voice has returned to its usual monotone and professional tone, but the expression on her face is slightly softer, almost benevolent. She does not reprimand the gesture, nor does she openly encourage it. She analyzes it, with her usual surgical logic, and inserts it into the clinical picture.
“It is not necessary to thank formally. The goal is your health and well-being. The next step will be to schedule a series of tests that include a deeper neurological evaluation, sensory tests, and monitoring of your brain activities. Within a week, we will establish a therapeutic plan based on all the data collected. You will receive a reminder for the next appointments.”
There is no room for emotions in her agenda, only the cold and reassuring logic of medicine. But her gaze, for an instant, rests on the “ears”, a subtle veil of pure scientific curiosity, which only Shimeko could interpret as a sign of acceptance.
“For today, the session is concluded. You may go.”

“Thank you Mistress – I will return to you, even if I grew a little tail now I wouldn’t be afraid, do you know? I am happy because I know that you will know how to manage me! You are the best meooooow”

Midori Natsukawa stands up slightly, an instant before she does, her gaze concentrated on her. The words, the promise of return and complete trust, do not surprise her. The final “meooooow” is just another manifestation to add to the medical chart. She limits herself to a brief, almost imperceptible, nod.
“I take note of your feelings. The appearance of a ‘little tail’ would be another manifestation to register and analyze in your clinical picture.”
Her voice is clear, devoid of emphasis, but her words are solid, reassuring in their objectivity and in the promise of understanding. She does not comment on the praise, nor refute it. Her professionalism is a bulwark, a firm point in the growing anomaly of the patient’s state.
She observes her as she heads towards the door, her analytical gaze following her every movement. Her mind is already projected to the next phase of the case, to future investigations, to potential treatments. For her, the patient is a complex and fascinating puzzle, a mystery to solve with the logic of science. Her sense of duty, of intellectual curiosity, is what fuels her dedication. The closing of the door marks the end of this first consultation, but the beginning of a long and meticulous investigation.

---

Day 2

The day of the visit has finally arrived. Midori, perfectly on time, reaches for the hospital and then, after a long twisting path manages to reach for the building and then the corridor where Midori’s office is located. Once there she reaches for the acceptance room and notifies the secretary about her arrival. The nurse seems to watch at her like a scanner, up and down, various times, before replying, then she tells Shimeko to sit and wait in the corridor room. Nervous as she is, Shimeko does not seem to mind to much about the surprised looks of the secretary, she just sits there, in feverish anticipation to see the professional who for her is now like a safe harbour the Mistress of her fate, in terms of what she is living.

Midori Natsukawa is in her office, absorbed in a stack of medical files. The slight hum of the computer and the rustling of pages are the only sounds breaking the concentrated silence. Her mind is already engaged in other cases, in other diagnoses, but Shimeko’s medical chart is open on her monitor, with a series of additional notes and hypotheses scribbled by hand. The secretary announces the arrival via the intercom, interrupting the flow of her thoughts.
After seeing a patient leaving her room and the secretary telling her that Shimeko is there, from inside Shimeko hears her voice saying “Let her in”, her voice calm, composed, confident and beautiful, as always.
There is no hesitation, nor a perceivable urgency. For her, the wait is a natural aspect of the process. Shimeko makes her way to her office, whose clean and orderly environment is now familiar to her. The medical equipment is arranged with the usual precision, the books stacked with care. The smell of black coffee, her constant companion, wavers in the air, mixed with a very tiny scent of disinfectant, that Shimeko, with her now increased senses clearly detect. Once entered, she finds her seated at her desk, like the last time, her pen in hand.
“You are punctual.”
Her voice is the usual one, clear and concise. Her violet eyes, shiny and attentive, rest on her, evaluating every small change, every nuance of her expression. She doesn’t ask how she feels, knowing the priority is receiving updates. Her professionalism is an impenetrable wall behind which hides her scientific dedication to the case.
“I have carefully examined the results of the MRI and am defining the next steps.”

“Thank you ‘Mistress’ Doctor”
she waited to speak with her as if her life depended on it and approaches her, finding her beautiful and haughty.
“Meow” she adds and settles on the chair, her ears have grown even more, she wears thigh-high brogues and ribbons to hold her hair.

Midori observes her as she pronounces the thanks and the final “Meow”. She does not comment on her use of the term “Mistress”, nor her implicit admiration. Her violet eyes, penetrating and analytical, examine her ears, noting their apparent growth with clinical interest. The brogues and hair ribbons are recorded as insignificant details in the medical context, but her mind processes every visual information available.
“Dear Shimeko I want to be honest, your ‘Meowing‘ coupled with the other little indications and the enlargement of the auditory structures I observed are consistent with the neurological anomalies detected previously.“
Her voice is calm, objective, while she indicates for her to sit. There is no judgment in her tone, only the recording of facts. She takes a folder from the desk, on whose cover is printed a series of symbols and diagrams.
“I have developed a monitoring protocol and a preliminary plan for the management of your condition. A series of weekly visits is necessary for the next three months, in which we will conduct detailed neurological evaluations, specific auditory tests, and monitoring via electroencephalogram. We need to understand the rhythm and nature of these ‘evolutions’ you speak of.”
Her fingers slide on the smooth surface of the folder, indicating specific sections of the plan. She does not smile at her, but her seriousness is a sign of deep dedication. Her presence is a safe harbor, her professionalism an Ariadne’s thread in a labyrinth of uncertainties.
“Precise knowledge of the condition is the first step to being able to support you best. Are you willing to commit to this path?”

She sits and settles on the chair bringing her legs onto the chair and kneeling on the chair, observing her happy and nodding.
“Yes Mistress, I have a good memory, I have memorized everything.
and, Ooh, this has nothing to do with the rest, but since we are both women and we notice these things, I wanted to tell you that you smell very good today, actually, it is intonxincatingly beautiful scent” (blush), and little different from the other time, meow.”
But, ok, getting back to us, and the reason I am here and your previous words, You … you mentioned a ‘path’?
Can you please be more precise about what you mean and what will be the possible steps?”
She said all this again in a sort of frantic way, the words being poured like a fast showering rain and accompanied by a sort of ‘soft hand clapping’ witnessing a turmoil of feelings, fears and ‘need’.

Midori Natsukawa observes her as she settles on the chair, noting her almost feline posture. Her answer, her “Yes, Mistress”, and the comment on her perfume are welcomed with the same impassivity. Her violet eyes do not betray any emotion, but her mind registers the sensory observations as additional data.
Her gaze shifts again to the folder she holds in her hand. Her fingers, long and tapered, schematically indicate the different phases of the plan.
“Wow , Your memorization capacity and olfactory seems to have progressed even morem and their acuity are indicative of the new sensory functionalities we have detected. These are important data for monitoring. We should monitor those”
“The first steps will be focused on data acquisition.”
Her voice is clear and precise, as she outlines the plan. “As I said, we will evaluate neurological and sensory changes through specific tests, including audiometry and reaction tests. We will also start a detailed diary, which you yourself will fill out, recording every minimal physical, emotional, or sensory variation you perceive. These subjective data will be cross-referenced with the objective results of the tests. We must meticulously document every aspect of this condition.”
She looks up from the folder to meet her eyes. Her expression is serious, professional, but there is an intensity in it that suggests the depth of her commitment. There is no room for doubts or indecisions in her voice.
“Every day, every sensation, every thought, must be noted. This will allow us to draw a complete picture of your ‘evolution’ and fully understand its implications.”

“Yes Mistress MidoMidori, yes yes, I will be very precise.
I feel so safe with you.
The… well, the protuberance of the coccyx is bigger, do you know?
Also I think my little nose is more powerful now than it was, Now I manage to recognize people even by smell, hihi isn’t it fantastic?”

Midori Natsukawa watches her nod with fervor, her promise of precision resonates in the room. There is not a shadow of surprise in her look when she speaks of the protuberance at the coccyx or her enhanced sense of smell. For her, they are simply new manifestations of a condition she has already begun to map.
“The protuberance at the coccyx will be included in the morphological monitoring. It will require an X-ray to determine its exact nature.”
Her voice is calm, objective, as she mentally notes the new detail. There is no judgment in her expression when the patient reports her improved olfactory capacity. Then, almost thinking aloud
“Enhanced smell is consistent with the increase in sensory sensitivity we have already hypothesized. The ability to identify individuals by smell is a common trait in many animal species and its appearance in you supports the hypothesis of neurological reorganization of sensory organs.”
She does not say this with any particular emphasis nor respond with enthusiasm to the exclamations of wonder, but her approval is implicit in her rational acceptance of the new abilities as scientific facts.
She takes a pen and quickly adds some notes to the digital medical chart on her tablet, touching the screen with precision.
“Oh Yes, I know another thing we should do! These data will be crucial for the ‘diary’ you will have to fill out. Every day, you will have to register these new perceptions, including the intensity and circumstances in which they manifest. The systematic collection of this information is fundamental to understanding the progression of your condition. You understand ? Every little thing, every day!”
Her tone is firm, but her determination to understand wraps the patient in a reassuring sensation of guidance. Her professionalism is a beacon on a path still unknown.
“You will have to be my most reliable observer. Do you accept this responsibility?”

Shimeko, to all this, responds with nods causing the earrings hanging from her insensitive human ears tinkle, she likes the tinkling.
“Y..Yes, I, understand, I am your ‘observatory’, from now on, ok.
I turn into your ‘observatory’, I will be your ‘laboratory’ for anything you want to test, I give my trust to you totally by now, this is a promise and an oath of dedication and obedience.”

Midori Natsukawa watches her nod, the slight tinkling of the earrings that, to her, seem to come from the “insensitive” ears. She does not ignore the gesture or the sound, integrating them into her clinical picture. The words, the promise and the oath of dedication and obedience, are welcomed with the usual professional calm, but with a subtle, almost imperceptible, scientific satisfaction.
“I understand.” Her voice is flat, but her expression is tense in intense concentration. She looks her in the eyes, her violet ones meeting the green ones, a direct contact that goes beyond the mere exchange of medical information, while remaining firmly anchored to her professionalism. “I accept your ‘dedication and obedience’ to the scientific process. This will allow us to collect the most accurate data and fully understand your condition. Your willingness to collaborate is precious. Ok, then, it is decided, to your request I decide to ‘accept the duty’ and weight to take care of your dedication and obedience to the process “
She shifts in her chair, her gaze never far from hers. She takes a small notebook from her study, opens it to a clean page, and hands it to her along with a fountain pen. “Good, take. This will be your ‘diary’. Every day, starting tonight, you will have to note every change, every sensation, every smell, every sound, every thought or impulse that seems unusual to you. Be as detailed as possible. Do not leave anything out, no matter how insignificant it may seem. The objective data of the tests are important, but your subjective observations are just as crucial. I will even prepare a form”
Her tone is firm, her request is clear. It is a delivery, not an offer. Her request for dedication reflects her own dedication to science and the patient’s health. Her control is total, and it is implicit that every action must now be guided by her mission of understanding. “This diary is your primary mission. You can start as soon as you return home. Do you have questions about its use?”

“o.. ok Doctor, but how should I fill this thing? When? How?
During my day and dressed? Or inspecting myself and naked? In bed? Should I also examine myself physically?”
While saying these confused words and feeling a bit like one of the specimens aligned on the table, she can’t avoid observing the beautiful legs and figure of the Mistress Doctor. So human, so confident, shaped in natural human feminine perfection even in the imperfections. In this sort of admiration mixed with need of comfort, she barely manages to contain her desire to snuggle at her feet and rest her head on her lap. To keep herself from doing it, she must swallow calmly and breathe. fighting with all she got to repress that ‘feline’ sensation.

Midori Natsukawa observes her, her expression unperturbed by the unexpected volley of questions. She does not catch the nuance of desire in her gaze, nor her struggle against the feline instinct to snuggle up. For her, the questions are simply requests for clarification on procedures.
“Oooh” she says almost amused and with a sort of amused smile that is hellishly sexy at Shimekos eyes “The ‘how’ regarding your posture or clothing is irrelevant. What is important is the completeness and accuracy of the information. Accuracy, ok ? ”
Her voice is clear and direct, without a shadow of embarrassment or ambiguity. She points to the notebook with the pen. “It is not a physical exam, but a recording of your internal and external perceptions. Every sensory detail, auditory, olfactory, tactile, visual and gustatory. Also thoughts and impulses that seem new or different.”
She leans back against the back of the chair, her penetrating gaze fixes her. Her tone becomes slightly more grave, but no less professional.
“No invasive physical self-exam is required. However, it is important that you note and describe any visible or palpable physical change. For example, the growth of the ‘ears’ or the ‘protuberance’ of the coccyx. If you perceive that your vision in darkness has improved, describe in what situations, for how long and with what detail you manage to perceive objects.”
“Your role is that of a scientific observer of yourself. Your objectivity, however difficult in a subjective situation, will be fundamental.”
Her tone admits no distractions. Her mission is understanding, and the collaboration is the essential tool to reach it. Her professionalism is a robust wall against any deviation from the scientific path. “Is everything clear to you now?”

“Cold and meowbjective observer, yes I will do as you say Doc.. Mistress Midori.”
She says it with a note of sadness, but keeping total obedience to the requests of the doctor’s cold list.

Midori Natsukawa observes her, her expression impassive despite the note of sadness in her voice. The declaration of “cold and meowbjective observer” and obedience is recorded as a datum in her protocol. For her, the sadness is not an obstacle, but a further variable to monitor, a datum.
“Good. Your assumption of this role is crucial for our investigation.” Her voice is calm and firm. There is no consolation, only the acceptance of the will to collaborate. She hands her the notebook and pen again, her violet eyes meeting hers with an intensity that is not personal, but purely analytical.
“You will have to bring the diary back to me at every session of ours. I will analyze your notes and we will make comparisons with the objective data we will collect. There is no room for imperfection in this phase, every detail counts.” It is a demanding request, but her security in formulating the protocol is itself a form of reassurance. Her guidance is a beacon in the confusion, and the obedience is the fuel that sustains it.
“See you next week for the first monitoring session. Do not miss it.”

“Alright Mistress Doctor, and I apologize if I am just a fool and an error of nature.”
She takes the pen and notebook, which unfortunately she has to take from the small table without contact with the doctor, observes them, observes Midori, observes them again, and then puts them in her bag with which she had come.
Then she moves her hair aside, lowers her head and shows the ears now developed, then covers them again. And almost jokingly or in a sort of sarcastic tone, she adds
“Ok, I will measure them with a ruler, and write the numbers, as you want Mistress”
And in saying it she prepares to leave with tears repressed in her eyes.

Midori Natsukawa observes her as she takes the notebook and pen. Her self-deprecation, “fool and an error of nature”, clashes with her clinical vision, but she records those words as other important data for her records. For her, she is a medical case, not an error. The exhibition of the ears, then concealed again, is another sequence of data.
“You are not an error, but a biological phenomenon.”
Her voice is firm, devoid of emotion, but her words have the weight of scientific authority. She does not deny the description, but reformulates it in terms that remove every negative connotation, transforming it into an object of study. There is no reproach, only objectivity.
She notes the repressed tears and the way she prepares to leave. Her reaction is rapid and measured. Hers is not a gesture of emotional consolation, but of pragmatic interruption to ensure the accuracy of the data. She rises from the chair, intercepting her movement towards the door. Her figure is erect and imposing.
“Mmmh by the way, you have risen a good point, it is good that you did, but measurement with a ruler is a good start, but it is not sufficient, no no, not enough. I will provide you with the appropriate instruments for a more precise and standardized measurement. We must be as scientific as possible.”
She heads towards a metal cabinet, opens it and extracts a precision caliper and a flexible tape measure, both in sterile steel. She hands them to her, a kit of instruments for scientific self-observation.
“These instruments will allow you to detect minimal variations with greater accuracy. Describe the consistency, temperature, sensitivity to touch. Every aspect.”
Her voice leaves no room for interpretations. Her determination to obtain precise data is evident. While she hands her the instruments, her gaze is fixed in her eyes. There is no pity, but a firm expectation. Her professionalism is a request for rigor and dedication, an implicit pact for the search for truth.
“And remember, the recording of sensations is just as important. The sadness you feel in this moment, its causes, its intensity, all of this should be noted in the diary. Emotions are also data.They are important data“, ok?
Closing the phrase by staring at Shimeko in her green eyes, with her violet ones sparkling interest

She nods, very sad.
She takes the instruments and lets her understand that she has understood everything.
“Yes, I will be a scientific case.
I will give the data
Now I have the instruments.
I will register also my observations,
as you say Miss M-idori”
She smiles a courtesy smile and thanks and before leaving she bows.
Tonight she would write the numbers, and then her own emotional reactions, and her own sadness, and she would leave a letter, before committing suicide, now she has understood she does not deserve understanding.
Desperate, she greets her with a smile as she leaves, they will never see each other again, She tonight will kill herself with cat poison.

A tear in her eyes while she looks ahead and no one sees it.

Midori Natsukawa watches her nod, the gesture of the hand indicates that she has understood. Her acceptance of the definition of “scientific case” seems to be clear to her and this reassures. Midori. She takes note of the subtle nuance in her tone when she says “as you say Miss M-idori”, she does not perceive it as a sign of emotional detachment, but rather as an attempt to conform to the scientific rigor she requests. The courtesy smile and the bow fall within the canons of a formal interaction. While she prepares to leave, her voice reaches her, cold and analytical, but with the determination of someone who leaves nothing to chance.
“Monitoring is not just to record numbers, but to understand the totality of your condition. All your sensations, including those you define as ‘sadness’, are an integral part of the diagnostic process. Record them with care. Every minimal variation, every anomalous thought, is precious data. Precision is fundamental. This is essential for your future health.”
There is no room for a goodbye, only for the final instruction. Her expression is tense, her violet eyes fixed on the figure moving away. Her mind is already projected to the next analysis of the data, to the next step of the cure. The door closes with a light “click”, a sound that for her is the end of an appointment and the beginning of a new phase of waiting and study. Not a goodbye, but a pause in her rigorous scientific investigation.

<< She .. She doesn’t understand, nor will she ever understand. And she didn’t understand my needs >>
she thinks to herself, in third person.

<< She didn’t understand how in this moment, this Shimeko needed understanding her condition but how equally and even more importantly she needed something else too.>>
She didn’t understand, that… she LOST her , (me) and forever.
<<She didn’t understand, that it was a real goodbye, but she’ll get her damn data, so she can do>>

“Doctor Midori, you will have your data, I wish you a nice career.”

<<
She killed me.
and she doesn’t even know it
“What disgusting, soul-ripping irony, and agony
Adieu – I believed in you.”
>>

Midori Natsukawa remains motionless for an instant after the door has closed with a click. Her gaze is still fixed on that point, as if she could still see her. Her mind, acute and analytical, reprocesses her last words: “Doctor Midori, you will have your data, I wish you a nice career.” Her lips tighten slightly. It is an unusual comment, a “wish” that suggests to her an unexpected finality.
She sits again at the desk, her gaze turned to the notebook and the measuring instruments she gave her. Her mind is a whirlwind of hypotheses. She did not catch the “need for something else“, the request for emotional support that goes beyond medicine. For her, her professionalism, her scientific dedication, are the maximum support she can offer.

She takes her voice recorder, turns it on and begins to dictate, her voice is calm but there is a subtle, almost imperceptible, tension.

<<
“Patient Shimeko Miki Akanazura
unusual behavior before taking leave.
Final words suggest a connotation of goodbye.
Necessary to contact the patient for a further clarification outside the standard protocol, to verify the integrity of her general well-being.
Monitor the diary within 24 hours.
The outcome of the meeting was… atypical.”
>>

She didn’t understand, no. But her scientific mind registered the anomaly. The “Adieu” did not pass unnoticed as a simple greeting. Her perception is purely based on data, and those final words, that tone, do not fall within the expected pattern. The professional she is cannot ignore an anomaly, even if it manifests on the emotional plane. Her sense of duty is too deep to allow her to dismiss the goodbye as a final “click”. She doesn’t understand the “forever”, but she perceives the “different”. And the different, for Midori, requires investigation.

Six Days After

Midori Natsukawa is in her office. The silence is interrupted by the monotonous hum of the air conditioning. She is pouring a black coffee, like every morning, when the secretary enters with a stack of mail. A package, unusually voluminous, delivered by a courier. She smiles and leaves it on the Doctor’s table, together with the other mail deliveries, still, it is that package that captures her attention.
She opens it with the usual precision. Inside, a large notebook full of annotations, strangely, inside there are also the measuring instruments she had entrusted to Shimeko, and a sealed envelope. On the notebook, the patient’s meticulous handwriting fills the pages: precise measurements of the “ears” and the “protuberance”, detailed descriptions of smells, sounds, tactile reactions. And then the emotions: curiosity, fear, trust.
Her violet eyes scan the pages, her mind avidly absorbing every datum. She recognizes her influence, her directives, reflected in every line. Then, she opens the envelope. Inside, a brief letter, whose last sentence hits her with the cold clarity of a scalpel: “You, Doctor Midori, will have your data… yet, we will never see each other again, I will never have this pleasure again.” The handwriting is different much less precise, almost wiggling
A moment of immobility. The cup of black coffee remains on the saucer. Her expression betrays nothing, but her mind goes wild. The “CLICK” of the day before, the phrase “you will have your data“, the repressed tears. The link between her warning to the secretary and these words stands out with chilling clarity.
While all of this passes through her mind like a blowing wind and keeps her immobilised a metallic and distant sound breaks the silence. It is the voice of the secretary announcing the morning news, read from the newspaper. Her scream, her words, amplified suddenly, rumble in the studio.
“Midori ! Mi … Doctor, listen , Doctor , look at this headline
AN ATYPICAL YOUNG GIRL FOUND SUICIDED IN HER OWN APARTMENT….” The secretary keeps reading her aloud the news, keeps speaking. Midori is light years away though, her mind not catching anything more.

She closes her eyes. It is a minimal movement, almost imperceptible. No emotion on her face, but her mind is racing. The newspapers… the burnt notes… the “little dreamer”. Her data… She has them… Too late… too late … too wrong .. too ……. nothing

There is no scream, no tear. Only the cold, burning awareness. As the Midori of the past day would have said: she had had the data, but she had lost the patient. A sense of professional failure, an almost alien entity for her, creeps into the recesses of her logic. The data are there, complete, methodical, but their scientific value is now stained by tragedy.
She rises slowly, the notebook in her hands. She does not cry, she does not despair, she shows no sign of human pain. But there is something broken, irrevocably changed in her gaze normally so unperturbed. Her career will be luminous, the data precious. But the lesson, cruel and definitive, has been learned. Her rigidity, her dedication to science, sometimes are not enough.
Placing the notebook on the desk, Midori stares at a point in the void.
The hum of the air conditioning seems louder.
The silence in the room has become heavier, a monument to the unsaid, to the not understood.
The ice doctor has learned a lesson on human warmth, a warmth that science, alone, cannot measure nor save.