My beloved can transform

I am Jack Folger, an ordinary eight-year-old boy.

You'll notice the sheer relief in my voice when I call myself "ordinary." Don't blame me for that. If you lived in a house where your grandmother might suddenly turn into an owl during dinner because of some sage in the soup, you'd understand just how precious "ordinary" really is.

"Vivian!"

That was my dad. Vivian is my mother's name. While addressing my mom, my dutiful father was busy trying to relocate my grandmother—who was still wearing her glasses and hooting softly—a tawny owl now, into a birdcage.

"How could you forget again that we can't put sage in Mother's soup?"

"Oh! Sorry, darling! I think I must have used the wrong herbs."

"Don't apologize to me, Vivian."

Amid the chaos, my grandfather, Donald, sitting at the head of the table, let out a cackle and raised his glass in a toast.

"Nothing makes me happier than seeing Sapphina become what she ought to be," Grandpa declared, downing his drink. "You know, her nagging could make a vampire dance right out of its coffin!" That was one of Grandpa's old jokes. It wasn't very funny the first time, and it certainly wasn't funny now—especially given what happened next.

"Dad! Stop! That's not your—"

Mom cried out, but it was too late. After drinking the anise-flavored liquor intended for cooking, Grandpa turned into a large field mouse, slumped in his chair, hiccupping drunkenly.

"Quick! Jack! Help!"

Dad, while trying to stop the owl—whose eyes were now gleaming at the sight of the mouse—from taking flight, barked orders at me.

"Hide Grandpa, quick! Whatever you do, don't let Grandma see him!"

Dad's concern was justified. If we didn't hide him, it would be a disaster. Everyone knows what a plump field mouse means to an owl!

I really wonder how my grandparents ever got together in the first place.

Before marriage, did they not know about each other's... alternate forms?

Love is blind, and marriage is the first step into the grave—sayings that fit my grandfather perfectly.

After settling Grandma and Grandpa, returning to the dinner table was the start of another battle.

"This isn't the first time, Vivian." Dad pointed an angry finger at Mom. "Do you hate my father or my mother?"

"I don't, darling, I really didn't mean to."

My mother sat at the table, chewing on the tablecloth, her face full of remorse. I truly believed her. She isn't that malicious, and she certainly didn't plan to make the headlines of the Therianthropy Weekly. She's just a bit... scatterbrained.

"Didn't mean to? What do you mean, didn't mean to!"

Dad, having the upper hand, showed no signs of letting up.

"Wait until Dad gets eaten by Mom and comes out the other end as a pile of droppings! Then you can look at that pile, bite your lip with tears in your eyes, and say, 'I really didn't mean to!'!"

The atmosphere was tense, but Dad's words reminded me of that famous talking, singing cartoon character, Mr. Golden Poo. It made me think that if Grandpa really ended up like that, it might not be so bad.

"Blame me? Is that all you know how to do?"

Finally, Mom's embarrassment turned to anger.

"Edward Folger! I married you and work hard every day to keep this family together! I look after your parents, raise your son, cook, clean, and do the laundry! When you were desperately pursuing me, pestering me back then, why didn't you mention that you have a mother who turns into an owl with sage, a father who becomes a field mouse with ouzo, and that they are natural enemies!"

"What's the point of saying all that now? Would it have changed anything?"

Dad deflated slightly. He's a reasonable man; his anger doesn't last long. Plus, he loves Mom dearly. Love has a way of deflating a man in front of a woman. And also, he really doesn't like seeing Mom lose her temper.

"Of course it would have!" Now it was Mom's turn to erupt. "If I'd known your family was so... complicated, maybe I would have thought twice about marrying you, you koala!"

Mom's final shriek turned into a honk. My mother, having transformed into a beautiful, proud swan, wagged her tail and waddled out of the dining room.

That's why Dad hates making Mom angry. Rage turns his wife into a swan.

Chasing after the swan, Dad also left the dining room.

Looking around the messy room, with food and dishes everywhere, I was speechless.

Truth be told, this ending wasn't even the worst part. The real nightmare is how often it happens.

So tell me, isn't being an ordinary eight-year-old boy my greatest wish?

I want to be like other eight-year-old boys—to have a grandfather who reads the newspaper all day, a grandmother who knits and smiles in a rocking chair, a father who works hard and only has time to play ball with me on weekends, and a mother who bakes cakes, makes cookies, and nags incessantly.

But I can't blame anyone for this. It's just the family I was born into.

I'm an eight-year-old boy. While I look no different from any other human boy my age, I am different. In my veins flows the potential to transform into a beast.

Some attribute this to our ancestors committing some act that defied the gods.

But my great-grandparents didn't see it that way.

They called it a gift from the heavens, giving us another option, besides being human.

Aside from the transformations, we age, die, and get injured just like humans. In fact, most of the time, to avoid trouble, our kind tries to appear only in human form.

Every child of the Therianthrope race carries the potential for transformation within them. But no one knows when that latent gene will activate, or what the final form will be. In other words, everyone is a potential new case.

One meticulous great-grandfather spent a long time compiling a book titled Don't Be Afraid! Embrace Your Change!It documents all the transformation cases he encountered. This book is essential reading, a staple in every Therianthrope child's library.

I have a copy in my study, of course.

But I sincerely hope I never have to use it.

Little did I know, I would soon be seeking its help.

That night, the atmosphere in the dining room made me decide to leave the house. Although Therianthropes have long lived among humans, to avoid trouble, we usually try to minimize being close neighbors with them.

My house is at the end of a long street, separated from the nearest neighbor by a large yard.

But I know Mom isn't satisfied with this. She often complains to Dad, saying she wants to live in an ancient castle like the Blacks. And every time she voices this wish, Dad gets angry.

"Ultimately, you're still hung up on that vampire bat who didn't marry you."

At this, Mom would immediately retort, "Get your facts straight. It was Iwho didn't marry him, not that he didn't want to marry me."

Mom is proud. I heard she once had a thing with Jess's father, Hill Black.

I'm not interested in these adult entanglements. I don't care where we live. All I crave is peace.

Jess is my good friend, the same age as me. He's a boy from a vampire family. Vampires are different from us. After generations of interbreeding with humans, their descendants are strictly forbidden from directly consuming human blood and are accepted by human society. Unlike us, whose existence remains largely a legend to humans, to avoid unnecessary trouble.

This night, the moon was full.

I wandered towards the nearest house next door and was surprised to hear voices.

The place next door had been empty for a long time. When did new neighbors move in?

The voices I heard weren't in familiar English or Italian. The language was completely foreign to me, the syllables sounding like an Eastern language. Then I heard a young girl's voice—unhurried, soft, gentle, and sweet. It was pleasant, soothing, and very... enticing.

An eight-year-old boy, at an age where the opposite sex is supposed to be the enemy, yet I suddenly felt curious about a girl's voice. It was utterly bizarre.

Yes, at that time, I didn't know this girl would later become my natural enemy.

I then climbed the big tree next to their house. For me, that's easier than eating.

The view from the tree was good. I could see the people in the yard clearly.

It was a perfectly normal human family: a middle-aged couple and a pair of handsome siblings.

I was right; it was indeed a family of Asian immigrants. The parents looked about forty. The brother was two or three years older than me. As for the sister—the reason I climbed the tree—she looked very young, maybe only six years old. She had her back to me, so besides her slightly curly, baby-fine long hair, I couldn't see her face clearly.

This family was harmonious and happy, very different from my chaotic, feather-flying household.

Although I couldn't understand their conversation, seeing the small table in the yard laden with drinks and food, I guessed they were having a picnic.

A picnic at night?

These Asians are really strange.

The parents were looking at the moon, talking to the children, seemingly telling stories. On their table were piles of round cakes, greenish pomelos, water caltrops, melons, fruits, and burning incense sticks. It looked more like they were making an offering to ancestors.

But I didn't understand what they were worshipping, as there was no idol or picture on the table.

I turned my gaze to the moon. Could it be... they were worshipping the moon?

What a strange custom.

The next moment, several streams of liquid splashed in my direction, pulling my thoughts from the moon back to earth.

At first, I thought I'd been discovered, but then I realized the boy splashing the liquid was just fooling around, not targeting me.

Getting wet was one thing, but when I sniffed, I realized it wasn't water but red wine, fragrant with alcohol. They had finished worshipping the moon and were now tossing the offered wine to heaven and earth. I pursed my lips. What a strange custom! Such a waste.

Despite the wine shower, I was thankfully undiscovered. I breathed a sigh of relief and prepared to quickly slide down the tree and slip away.

I swear, I only meant to climb down faster. But suddenly, an unknown reaction, erupting from deep within me, sent tremors racing through my blood. And then, I fell from the tree.