"Very good."
Morris hugged the owl contentedly against his chest.
Like the undead cat, its body was chillingly cold to the touch. In the height of summer, the sensation was unexpectedly pleasant.
"Hoo—hoo—"
Unlike the docile undead cat, however, the owl clearly disliked being held. It struggled violently in Morris's arms, wings fluttering in protest.
"Don't move."
Morris issued the command in a low voice while tightening his grip slightly, pinning the restless creature in place.
Honestly, holding such a cool little thing during the peak of summer was surprisingly comfortable.
After hearing Morris's order, the owl reluctantly stopped struggling, though a low, muffled hoot still rumbled from deep in its throat. It was clearly protesting.
Unfortunately for it, the protest was invalid.
Morris adjusted his posture and continued holding the owl without any intention of letting go.
Finally, the owl had enough.
Its pitch-black body suddenly dissolved, transforming into a flowing shadow that slipped out of Morris's arms and instantly merged with the shadow at his feet, vanishing without a trace.
His arms were abruptly empty, leaving behind only a faint, lingering chill.
Morris froze for a moment, then lowered his gaze to the perfectly ordinary shadow beneath him.
"Is this your ability?" he asked excitedly.
He hesitated briefly before issuing a tentative command to the shadow.
"Come out."
A ripple passed through the darkness at his feet, like a stone dropped into still water, but the owl did not reappear. Instead, only an extremely faint, resistant purring sound drifted upward.
Morris raised an eyebrow. Rather than getting angry, he smiled.
"You've got personality. Fine—have it your way."
He paused, then added thoughtfully, "Hmm… since that's the case, I should give you a name first."
"Let me think…"
His eyes drifted toward the corner of the room, where the fireworks he had used earlier lay completely soaked and unusable.
"I'll call you Fireworks."
The moment the name left his lips, the shadow beneath his feet boiled violently. Darkness surged upward, rapidly condensing into a familiar form.
Fireworks reappeared, its body once more solid and owl-like. The faint blue flames burning in its eye sockets flared as it stared at Morris in pure protest.
"Hoo—!!!"
Unfortunately, the protest was still invalid.
Just like that, the name Fireworks was settled.
Perhaps because Morris's own blood had been mixed into the magic circle during its creation, he could sense Fireworks' emotions to a certain extent.
Although Fireworks behaved as though it strongly resisted him, the deep sense of closeness within its soul was impossible to hide.
To put it simply, it was a tsundere.
With that realization, Morris picked Fireworks up again and rubbed it a few more times for good measure.
Fireworks let out a short, indignant cry, its feathers bristling as though it might explode from embarrassment.
Almost immediately, it gave up struggling altogether. Its body dissolved once more into a dark shadow, slipping neatly back into Morris's own shadow—this time even faster and more decisively than before.
Morris couldn't help but smile.
This really was an interesting little creature.
After an entire morning of experimentation, Morris gradually worked out the rules governing Fireworks' special ability.
First, the undead owl could only attach itself to Morris's own shadow. It could not enter the shadow of any other person or object.
Second, Fireworks could only enter or exit the shadow while Morris himself had a shadow. In an environment of complete darkness, where all light was blocked, the "door" connecting the shadow would be closed in both directions.
If Fireworks happened to be inside his shadow at that time, it would be trapped there until light returned.
Even so, the ability was incredibly convenient. It allowed Morris to carry Fireworks with him at all times without attracting attention.
Moreover, judging from the emotions Fireworks conveyed, resting within the shadow was actually extremely comfortable for it.
Because of that, Morris decided to let Fireworks remain inside his shadow during normal circumstances.
After all, there was no telling when it might prove useful.
At lunchtime, something rare appeared on the dining table of the children's home—a small slice of chocolate cake for each child.
A sinful mixture of sugar and fat.
Morris didn't dislike it. In fact, he could even be said to love it.
The sweet, rich flavor suited his tastes perfectly.
Scott cautiously poked at the edge of his cake with a fork. Glancing up at the nearby caregiver, he asked casually, "Is today some kind of special occasion? We're actually getting cake."
The caregiver paused, looking just as confused. "To be honest, I'm not sure either. The kitchen prepared it."
It's probably because of Harold, Morris thought.
He had no proof, of course.
Speaking of which, Harold had shown great interest in his undead owl, and Morris had promised to let him see it.
It would be better to keep that promise sooner rather than later.
After lunch, Morris went to the reception room and found a black telephone sitting on a small table.
Judging by the thin layer of dust covering it, no one had used it in quite some time.
He dialed the number Harold had given him.
The receiver emitted a long, drawn-out busy tone.
"…That's slow," Morris muttered, already expecting no answer.
Just as he was about to hang up, a young, clear girl's voice suddenly came through the line.
"Hello?"
Morris froze, momentarily suspecting he had dialed the wrong number.
"Is anyone there?" the girl asked again, her tone bright with a childlike cheerfulness.
"I'm looking for Mr. Green," Morris said cautiously.
"Daddy is busy," the girl replied obediently.
Only then did Morris realize that Harold must have given him his home phone number, which surprised him slightly.
"Could you please ask Mr. Green to come to the phone?" Morris asked, deliberately softening his voice.
"One moment, please."
Light footsteps echoed faintly through the receiver as the girl moved away. They gradually faded, followed by muffled conversation. Although the words were unclear, Morris could recognize one of the voices—it was Harold.
"Hello?"
Harold's voice finally came through.
"It's Morris, Mr. Green," Morris said quickly. "The issue with the owl has been resolved. Would you like to come and see it?"
"I'll be right over," Harold replied immediately, urgency clear in his tone.
About an hour later, Morris spotted Harold arriving at the children's home.
"Where's your owl?" Harold asked the moment he saw him, stepping forward eagerly.
"In the yard," Morris replied, turning as he spoke.
At that time, the yard was empty.
Not wanting to reveal Fireworks' special ability, Morris had not allowed it to remain in his shadow.
He led Harold down the corridor toward the yard.
"So you cured the bird's illness?" Harold asked with concern.
"No."
Morris stopped at the entrance to the yard and shook his head calmly.
"It was dead," he said evenly. "I brought it back to life."
As they stepped into the yard, Morris let out a sharp whistle.
A black figure dropped down from the eaves, wings spreading briefly before it landed steadily on Morris's raised arm.
Harold recognized it immediately. It was the same listless owl from the previous day.
But now it looked far more energetic—perhaps excessively so. Even its eyes seemed to burn with vitality.
…Wait.
They were actually burning.
Harold could clearly see faint blue flames flickering within the owl's eye sockets.
He stared, throat dry. "This is… what you meant by bringing it back to life?"
"It's an undead creature," Morris said, extending his arm slightly. "You can touch it. You'll understand right away."
Fireworks stood quietly on Morris's forearm, almost weightless—another of its peculiar traits.
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