Beastmen Are Crazy, So I Sell Them Therapy Chapter 10 - 09

I was so lost in my thoughts that I didn’t notice Soren coming out.

The sound of boots made look up. He had changed into a clean black uniform, crisp and fitted, his presence imdiately filling the room. He glanced at the table, then at sitting stiffly on the chair.

"Are you hungry?" he asked calmly.

As if on cue, my stomach betrayed again with another growl.

His lips twitched slightly. "You can eat that first."

The mont the words left his mouth, all restraint vanished.

I sprang onto the table in one smooth motion, eyes locked onto the food. I was just about to take a huge bite when—

Knock. Knock.

The sudden sound made my ears flatten. I paused mid-motion, one paw hovering over the plate.

"Co in," Soren said while fastening a new armband around his left arm. The tal clicked softly as it locked into place, the black surface faintly reflecting the cabin lights.

The door slid open and the doctor entered, holding a plate in both hands. "Here’s the al for the little leopard," he said as he placed it on the table.

The mont the lid was lifted, the sll hit .

My entire body stiffened.

I stared at the plate in front of as if it were so kind of mortal enemy.

’This sll... this cursed sll...’

My ears flattened tightly against my head and I instinctively covered my mouth with a paw, fighting down the urge to gag. mories of that awful nutrient pack flooded back—bland, earthy, sticky, like chewing compressed soil mixed with bitterness. I had forced myself to swallow it earlier purely for survival, but now that real food had touched my tongue once... there was no going back.

Soren noticed my reaction imdiately. His brows furrowed as he glanced between and the plate, then at the food prepared for him. "Why is our food different?"

The doctor adjusted his glasses and replied carefully, "Sir, the little leopard’s physical fitness is quite poor. These nutrients are formulated according to her current physical needs. Please let her eat this for now. There is no food suitable for cubs on the aircraft."

He paused briefly before adding, "In addition, the food on your table is made according to your physique. The little leopard may not be able to withstand the impact. It would be dangerous for her to eat your dishes."

Soren listened quietly, then gave a short nod. "Understood."

"Then I’ll take my leave," the doctor said, bowing slightly before turning and exiting the room.

The door closed with a soft hiss.

Soren slid the plate toward . "This is yours."

I stared at it.

Then I stared at his plate.

Soren’s plate slled divine.

Warm at, faint spices, a rich aroma that made my stomach clench in betrayal. I could practically taste it just by breathing. My eyes flicked between his plate and mine, disbelief written all over my face.

Do I really have to eat mud again?

Soren didn’t notice my internal crisis at first. He sat down calmly, posture straight, then paused when he realized I hadn’t touched my food. His gaze dropped to the plate, then back to .

"...You don’t like it?" he asked.

I looked up at him, eyes glossy with grievance, then slowly pushed the plate away with one paw.

Just a little.

As a statent.

Soren raised an eyebrow.

I leaned forward and sniffed the plate again, just to be sure. Yes. Definitely mud. My face twisted in disgust, and before I could stop myself, I stuck out my tongue dramatically.

Soren stared.

"...Is it that bad?" he asked, genuinely puzzled.

I nodded vigorously.

Then, as if that wasn’t enough, I pointed my paw at his plate.

He followed my gesture and understood imdiately.

"No," he said flatly.

I froze.

’...Excuse ?’

I stared at him. Surely he was joking. I puffed up slightly, tail flicking in agitation. I had been bathed. I had been patient. I had waited politely earlier. I had even refrained from clawing important docunts.

’Was this how I was repaid?’

I let out a low, dissatisfied growl.

Soren sighed, rubbing his temple. "Doctor’s orders. Your body can’t handle my als yet. The energy density is too high."

I shook my head hard, trying to chase away the injustice burning in my chest—then a thought struck like lightning.

My egg.

...Wait.

’My egg?!’

Co to think of it, where was it?

I was the one who cooked that thing with extre care and patience, burying it just right, controlling the fire like a professional chef with a primitive stove. I had eaten one and very generously saved the other for him. And I distinctly rembered Soren holding it when we boarded the aircraft.

So where did he put it?

If I couldn’t eat his food, then fine. I would eat my egg. That egg was safe and it didn’t taste like mud.

Decision made, I hopped down from the chair and padded over to Soren. He was still seated, watching with mild curiosity. I raised one paw, extended a claw, and carefully scratched a simple oval shape onto the smooth tabletop.

An egg.

Then, to be extra clear, I added a tiny crack line on top.

I looked up at him expectantly.

"What?" Soren raised an eyebrow, clearly not enlightened by my masterpiece.

I pointed at the drawing. Then at him. Then back at the drawing.

’Egg! Where’s the egg?!’

I opened my mouth to repeat it with more emphasis—

"Urr–urr!"

The sound echoed slightly in the quiet cabin.

I froze.

...What.

What was that?

My eyes widened. I slowly lifted a paw and slapped it over my mouth, as if I could shove the sound back inside. Did that... did that really just co out of ? Why did I sound like a pigeon that had swallowed a whistle?

No. No no no. Try again. Calm down. Speak properly.

"Ee—ee—ee?"

Silence.

My soul left my body.

I wanted the ground to swallow whole.

I froze in place, both paws pressed tightly over my mouth as if that could sohow undo the sounds that had just escaped. My ears burned, tail stiff as a rod behind .

’Urr-urr? Ee-ee-ee? What was that supposed to be?’

I sounded like so confused, dying bird instead of a dignified feline—no, instead of a dignified sculptor who once terrified critics and investors alike.

That wasn’t speech. That was squeaking. I sounded like a malfunctioning toy. My ears burned hot as I clapped both paws over my face, curling in on myself in sheer humiliation.

Damn it!

What kind of vocal cords did this body have?! I was a sculptor, a dignified adult, a forr human with refined taste and sharp intellect—not a squeaky plush animal!

"Pfft!"

The sound ca out of him despite his obvious effort to suppress it.

I whipped my head around so fast my neck almost cracked, glaring straight at him. His shoulders were shaking ever so slightly, lips pressed into a thin line, eyes suspiciously bright.

...Oh, he was absolutely enjoying this.

I narrowed my eyes. ’I am in the middle of an identity-and-vocal-crisis and you think this is funny?’

Soren cleared his throat and straightened, finally regaining so composure. "You’re just not used to making sounds in your beast form," he said calmly. "Don’t worry. Take it slowly."

I paused.

The teasing tone was gone. When I looked into his eyes again, there was no mockery there—no impatience either. Only encouragent.

For so reason, that settled sothing deep in my chest. ’So... this wasn’t hopeless?’

If I thought about it carefully, how many years ago was that examination the duke ordered? That diagnosis was made when this body was still young—before the nucleus shifted, before my consciousness awakened fully, before I arrived.

Maybe the conclusions they drew back then were no longer valid. Maybe the so-called "defect" had already corrected itself when the nucleus moved after that fall.

My tail slowed its swaying.

If that was the case... then maybe I really could speak one day.

The thought made my chest feel strangely warm.

Without realizing it, I lifted my head and smiled at him—really smiled—baring my small, sharp teeth in what I intended to be gratitude.

Soren stared at for a second.

Then his lips twitched again.

"Are you smiling," he asked carefully, "or are you planning to eat ?"

My good mood shattered instantly.

I scowled, ears flattening, and without a word snapped my tail sideways and smacked it against his arm.

Thwap.

...It did absolutely nothing.

Not even a reaction.

I froze, then glared harder, deeply offended by the sheer uselessness of my tail strike.

Soren chuckled openly this ti. "Alright, alright," he said, raising one hand in surrender. "I’ll stop."

He slid the plate back in front of , pushing it just close enough that the sll wafted up again. "But only if you eat this."

I stared down at the plate.

The nutrient paste sat there innocently, smooth and pale, radiating the sa soul-crushing scent of dicinal mud.

"...Urr," I muttered weakly.

Soren leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, watching with an infuriatingly patient expression. "Good girl."

My eyes snapped up.

I growled.

He raised an eyebrow. "Eat first. Protest later."

I hesitated for a long mont, then finally lowered my head and took the smallest possible bite.

...Still tasted awful.