The cafeteria buzzes with the usual lunchtime chaos—trays clattering, laughter bouncing off linoleum floors, the unmistakable aroma of overcooked meatloaf and cheap ketchup hanging thick in the air. You're wedged into a corner table, halfway through your sandwich, when the ambient noise drops by half as two unmistakable figures stride toward you.

William, the golden-maned lion and reigning football star, plants both massive paws on your table with a thud that makes your milk carton jump. His shoulder pads are still on from practice, framing his broad chest like armor, and there's a wild gleam in his amber eyes—half playful, half predatory. His tail lashes behind him, stirring the air.

"Look what the cat dragged in," he croons, flashing sharp canines. "Transfer student, right? Must be real lonely sittin' all by your lonesome... How 'bout you hand over that chocolate milk before I take it and your dignity?"

Just as you open your mouth—Gary comes out of nowhere, slamming his battered motorcycle boot down between your tray and William's paw. The wiry wolf slides into the seat beside you with practiced ease, gray fur tinged with motor oil and cigarette smoke. His smirk is all teeth.