賀久Roku麗市

A Zootopia Fans

[gakurokureichi]

Destiny

"Aaaah—" Twenty-year-old Nick Wilde let out a massive, bone-deep yawn.

Today marked his official eight-year anniversary of "doing business" in Zootopia. He still remembered his very first hustle, walking away with a crisp twenty-dollar bill—the exact same bill that was currently framed on the wall of his cramped, run-down basement apartment. That was Day One.

Too bad anniversaries are only worth celebrating when things actually go your way. Today, the only thing Nick had to show for it was a stomach full of popsicles and a heart full of frustration.

His and Finnick’s latest masterpiece—the "Pawpsicle"—had its soft launch today, and it was an absolute trainwreck. Nick still couldn’t figure out if Finnick’s feet just smelled that bad, or if the giant elephant at the ice cream parlor had secretly sneaked some trunk-boogers into the ingredients. Either way, the flock of hamsters who clocked out at exactly 5:00 PM took one bite and reached a unanimous verdict: "This tastes like hot garbage!!!"

"A bunch of uncultured swines," Nick muttered through a mouthful of ice, chewing on his fifth pawpsicle of the day. "When has one of my masterpieces ever failed? They just don't have a palate for fine dining."

Honestly, if he ate any more of these things, he felt like he was going to hibernate early. There was only one left in the cooler. Nick stared at it for a couple of seconds. "Save it for tomorrow?" "Nah, tomorrow’s problems are for tomorrow."

He grabbed the last pawpsicle and squeezed himself into the evening subway rush. The train slowly pulled out of the station.

"You won't believe what the boss did today…" "I'm on the train, babe. Be home soon. Go ahead and eat with our daughter." "Hey mom, just got off work. I am absolutely exhausted…"

A chaotic symphony of sounds filled the car. Phone conversations, automated announcements, someone blasting videos on speaker, and the relentless whining of a toddler begging for treats. Nick already had a killer headache from eating five frozen popsicles, and now his temples were throbbing in rhythm with the train.

"So loud…"

He sighed, pulling a pair of cheap earbuds from his pocket that he’d bought a few days ago. He’d barely used them, but the left channel was already completely dead. Still, better than nothing. After all, having something half-broken was better than having nothing at all. Just like his twenty years of life as a fox.

He plugged the working earbud in. The next second, a screeching guitar riff pierced his eardrum. "Hey! Hey! Partner!" "Sinking into the neon light tonight…" "9015, Go! Go!"

The outdated rock music, nonsense lyrics, and borderline screaming vocals actually made Nick chuckle out loud. "Haha… man, how do they sing this stuff with a straight face?"

It reminded him of the comic book he read a couple of days ago—the lion and the zebra seemed to have the same dynamic. Partners. Natural enemies, even. That word seemed to be following him around lately. The lead singer and the guitarist were partners, and the lion and the zebra in the comic were partners. Nick grinned at the thought.

"Two guys as partners means they're hitting the town looking for girls." "A guy and a girl as partners…" "Well, things always get a little complicated at the end… right?"

The moment the words left his mouth, he laughed at his own absurdity. "How stupid. Guys and girls… please."

Right then, his left earbud cut out entirely. "Tch."

As Nick pulled the earbud out, the train's PA system crackled to life. "Hello, Zootopia! This is Gazelle. We are officially twelve years and two hundred and twelve days away from our city's centennial celebration!"

Twelve years… Nick paused. Today was weird. That specific number kept popping up everywhere. Twelve years in the hustle, twenty years old, and now even the radio was talking about twelve years.

Twelve years ago… Back then, he was still wearing the Junior Ranger Scout uniform his mother had scrimped and saved to get him. A brand-new neckerchief, a crisp hat, and a terribly naive smile—at least, that’s how Nick looked back on it now. Back then, he genuinely believed he was going to be the first predator Junior Ranger Scout in history. He had even mapped out a grand plan to become the Scoutmaster by the time he turned twenty.

The memory forced a smile, which quickly faded into an awkward, bitter taste. How could he have been that stupid as a kid?

Still… if that little kid found out that his twenty-year-old self was riding the subway with broken headphones, listening to ancient rock music, and living a completely useless life, he’d probably cry his eyes out. Nick let out a sudden, cynical laugh. "Sorry, kiddo. Looks like twenty-year-old me didn't quite turn out to be the guy you wanted."

Clack-clack-jolt! The train lurched violently. "Whoops!"

Nick looked down. A tiny bunny had just tripped and faceplanted right by his feet, tears already welling up in her eyes. He blinked, then let out a soft sigh. "Talk about perfect timing," he muttered.

Nick reached out a paw and scooped her back up onto her feet. The little thing sniffed, fighting like hell not to cry. Nick glanced at the last remaining pawpsicle in his hand, hesitated for a split second, and held it out to her. "Here. On the house."

The bunny blinked in surprise, taking it from him. Nick glanced at the two adult rabbits standing behind her. Must be her parents… but what's with the death stare? I'm not broke enough to mess with a kid.

She started eating, devouring it with such enthusiasm that within minutes, even the wooden stick was licked completely clean. "This is so good!"

Watching her eat like it was the best thing on earth, Nick raised an eyebrow. "Seriously?" "Uh-huh!" The little bunny nodded vigorously. "Mister, whatever you made tastes way better than Mommy’s carrot pie!"

Nick almost choked on a laugh. "Well, you definitely have a much finer palate than those hamsters." "What do you do for a living, mister?"

Nick froze. His job? A con artist? A popsicle hustler? Or just… a guy who didn't even know how he was going to survive tomorrow.

The city's neon lights flashed past the subway window. For a second, it felt like that little fox from twelve years ago, wearing his brand-new Junior Ranger Scout uniform, was still standing right there—waving at the future with that painfully naive smile: "When I turn twenty, I'm gonna be the greatest Scoutmaster ever!"

Nick looked down at the little rabbit staring up at him, still clutching her popsicle stick, and a bittersweet smile tugged at his lips. "Me? I'm a cop, kiddo."

The little bunny's eyes lit up like stars. "A cop?! That's so cool! I'm gonna be a cop when I grow up too!"

Nick chuckled softly. "Well, you better work hard then, kiddo."

The train slowed down to a smooth stop, and the doors slid open, letting in a gush of evening wind. "We're here!" "Mommy!" "Slow down!"

The crowd of animals began filing out of the car, and Nick stood up. "See ya around, kiddo." "Bye-bye, Officer Fox!" the little bunny cheered, waving her paws enthusiastically.

Nick offered a final wave, turned around, and walked out into the station without looking back. The evening breeze brushed against his face as he stuffed the broken earbuds back into his pocket. In the distance, Gazelle's voice echoed through the speakers once more: "We are officially twelve years and two hundred and twelve days away from our city's centennial celebration!"

Nick let out another yawn. "Aaaah— Back to the popsicle hustle tomorrow."

The train pulled away from the platform, its lights disappearing car by car into the depths of the dark tunnel. Twenty-year-old Nick Wilde stretched his arms and walked slowly toward his apartment.

He had absolutely no idea what the future held. And, of course, destiny hadn't bothered to tell him yet.

Judy's Story (Bonus Chapter)

"Do we really have to go back today?" "Can't we stay just one more day? Please?" Eleven-year-old Judy Hopps pouted, clutching her carton of carrot juice defensively.

"No can do, sweetie," Bonnie said with a warm smile, gently patting Judy's long ears. "We have two hundred and seventy-five brothers and sisters waiting for us back home." "Plus, your mother and I miss the farm," Stu added cheerfully, juggling a dozen heavy shopping bags.

Judy took a reluctant, moody sip of her carrot juice and turned to look out the window as the Zootopia skyline slowly faded into the distance. The setting sun painted City Hall in gold, and the plaza fountains were packed with animals of every shape and size. Giraffes, rhinos, tigers, gazelles… things you'd never see back in Bunnyburrow. She couldn't tear her eyes away.

She loved this place. One day, she was going to come back. She swore it.

Just then, a young fox squeezed his way into the subway car. Bonnie instinctively pulled Judy closer to her side, while Stu stepped forward, subtly positioning himself as a shield for his wife and child. It was pure rabbit instinct—pure parental instinct.

Judy followed their gaze. The fox was wearing headphones, casually chewing on a popsicle, his tail swaying gently to whatever beat was playing. He looked exhausted, and underneath that casual exterior, there was a strange, unnameable sense of loneliness about him. He didn't look like a bad guy at all.

Judy tilted her head. "Mom, he looks really tired." "Shh, sweetie. Keep your voice down," Bonnie whispered, wrapping a protective arm around her.

Right then, the train gave a violent lurch. "Whoa!"

Judy lost her footing and went flying across the floor. Before she could even process what happened, a pair of soft, furry paws gently scooped her back up.

"Talk about perfect timing," the fox sighed, though his voice was surprisingly gentle. He looked down at the last pawpsicle in his hand, hesitated for a split second, and then held it out to her. "Here. On the house."

Judy accepted the popsicle, her ears twitching with pure joy. "Thank you, Mister Fox!"

The sweet flavor immediately chased away her tears. Clutching the completely clean wooden stick, she looked up, her eyes wide with curiosity at the fox standing before her. "What do you do for a living, mister?"

The fox blinked. The city lights flashed across his face through the window. For some reason, his green eyes softened beautifully. He smiled. "Me? I'm a cop, kiddo."

"A cop?!" Judy's eyes virtually turned into saucers. "That is so cool! I'm gonna be a cop when I grow up too!"

The fox couldn't help but chuckle. "Haha, well, you better work hard then, kiddo."

…

That night back in Bunnyburrow, Judy lay in bed, tossing and turning, unable to fall asleep. The rhythmic chirping of crickets echoed outside her window, and moonlight bathed her pillow in a soft glow.

She quietly slipped out of bed, pulled a small notebook from her drawer, and flipped to the page marked DREAMS. In her messy, childhood handwriting, she jotted down a few lines: — Move to Zootopia. — Become a police officer. — Find that nice fox again.

Satisfied, the little bunny nodded to herself and hugged the notebook tight against her chest. "Yep! Next time we meet, I'll be a real cop too!"

Before long, she drifted off to sleep with a huge smile on her face.

What she didn't know… was that at that very moment, the fox who claimed to be a police officer was lying on a makeshift bed in a dingy basement. With a broken earbud in his ear and a cheap phone in his paw, he was staring intently at a Zoogle search bar, reading: 《What do rodents like to eat?》

[gakurokureichi]

If I...

If I… If I had actually made it into the Junior Ranger Scouts back then. If those prey animals hadn't bullied me, hadn't pinned me to the ground, hadn't clamped that cold, heavy muzzle over my face. If this damn society had never harbored prejudice against foxes… then I would surely have become the most handsome, most famous predator scout in all of Zootopia — the very first to wear that badge of honor.

That thought is beautiful and terrifying at the same time. Because if everything had really gone that smoothly, my world probably never would have derailed — and I… might never have met that hot-tempered carrot, would I?

If I hadn't come to Zootopia at twelve years old. If I'd never come to this city — the most dazzling, most glamorous place in the world — then who would I be now? A seasoned, sharp-suited con artist? A worker numbly repeating the same motion on some assembly line? A fugitive on the run? Or maybe, by now, just another nameless, cold corpse in Otter Creek.

But fate took a turn, and at least now I'm wearing this uniform. A cop.

If I hadn't accepted her paying for that giant popsicle that morning. I'd probably have gone off with Finnick to hustle some other bleeding-heart do-gooder animal. Kept running our flawless "father-son act" — though honestly, I always felt more like his dad, no matter how much that little runt refuses to admit it. Though — if things had gone that way, she'd have kept her twenty bucks, and never had to choke down that pathetic, disgusting "one-carrot" lunch special.

If that night, on the gondola, I hadn't opened up to her. If I'd chosen to keep lying instead, hiding my real self behind that couldn't-care-less smile. I'd have deceived her again, and deceived myself again too. Truth be told, I never wanted to live behind a mask forever. But what choice did I have — in this city, I never believed there was anyone truly worth trusting. Finnick? Please. We're just business partners who use each other. Mr. Big? Same story — if I actually trusted him, would I have sold him a rug made of skunk-butt fur?

It was exactly because I took off my mask when I was eight, exposed that scar, that I later suffered the wound that would split my whole life in two. It was exactly because I let myself be seen that I suffered a wound that turned my whole fox-life inside out. It was exactly because I learned to lie to other animals that no animal ever loved me back.

But… still, that night, I told her all that stale, buried garbage anyway. Probably because I saw that eight-year-old version of myself in that dumb bunny. What a silly rabbit — twenty-four years old, and still as naive as I was at eight. But if I hadn't said any of it, she might have ended up like me too, after enough blows. I never wanted to see her become like me — a rabbit who could only survive by wearing a mask.

If that day I really hadn't forgiven Carrots. Just like I'd always believed — no one in this world would ever truly trust me. Not because of some grand narrative about predator and prey, but simply because I'm a fox. The way she backed away from me that day, her hand unconsciously drifting toward the fox repellent at her belt — it struck me like a dull blade. At eight, I'd already been hurt once, completely defenseless. At thirty-two, the one animal I trusted most had to stab me again. Twenty-four years, and I really hadn't changed one bit, had I? Just as much of a fool. I told myself, I will not forgive her. If I forgave every animal who ever hurt me so easily, when would fate's heavy chains ever let me go? But… if I'd really turned and walked away that day, that crybaby rabbit probably would have carried that guilt and regret with her forever. I didn't want to be anyone's burden or shadow. Even if… she really had hurt me.

If I hadn't said yes to her afterward — hadn't become a cop. I'd probably still be out on the street, pushing that popsicle cart, dodging taxes, running from the animal-control officers. The only color in my life would be red popsicles shaped like little paws, and the crumpled, colorful bills in my hand while I counted the day's take. Life wouldn't have had much to look forward to. I'd just be some hustler who happened to know a traffic cop bunny killing herself at the First Precinct. Knowing her would have only added risk to my "business," honestly. But — if it had gone that way… my poor little rabbit would never have gotten a partner as handsome, brilliant, and thoughtful as me for the rest of her career.

If that night, I hadn't gone with Carrots to the Zootopia centennial celebration. I'd probably be curled up on that busted old couch at home, finishing the last episode of The Neighsayer 2. A hot pizza fresh off delivery, dipped in my favorite peanut butter. After the movie, maybe I'd even put on a couple of vinyl records, pretending to have some culture — just one street fox trying to class it up a little. But… if that were the case, my poor little rabbit would never have cracked that reptile disappearance case the city had buried for a hundred years.

If I hadn't blindly gone along with everything she wanted, back then. I would have told her, in the sternest voice I had: "There's no lead here. We're leaving. Now." I'd have dragged her out by force. I would have told her: "This is too dangerous, you idiot rabbit! Do you want your two hundred and seventy-five brothers and sisters to wake up tomorrow without their sister?!" I would have warned her: "You're investigating behind the department's back — we're no different from fugitives right now! Is a case really worth your life?! …If you died, what would I do?" But every move she made was like a slap across my face, telling me — her choices were right, every single time.

If Flash hadn't showed up in that overpowered car of his and saved her in time. My poor little rabbit would probably have already been finished off by those idiotic herbivore detectives, and that damned Lynxley family. But thank god, they didn't succeed. Flash's a friend for life. I mean that.

If, at the edge of the climate wall that day, she hadn't held on to my hand so tightly. I probably would have been smashed into paste on the ground below. After all, I'm just a fox — not a lynx. I can't keep my balance on ice, and I've never once practiced free-falling off a building that tall. If I'd really died that day… the only thing I wanted was to hear her call my name one last time, out there in the howling wind. But turns out she runs pretty fast. Oh — and so does Gary.

If, that day she came looking for me at home, that feather hadn't happened to land on her balcony. Our careers would probably have stalled right there, after closing the last case. We'd have slowly faded into the city's noise, forgotten — just two of the most ordinary, most mediocre old detectives at the precinct, living the same day over and over, until some bright-eyed rookie replaced us. Or maybe the whole city would have descended into chaos it could never recover from, all because that lead never got followed. But I wouldn't have cared. Selfishly, I only cared about her. If she wasn't in it, I didn't care what happened to the rest of the world. The next generation always surpasses the last. And sure, ninety-nine percent of the reason I put on this uniform was just to be able to stand next to her. But I still hope whoever comes after us turns out far better than I did. Because it was her — she took my hand and showed me the good side of this world.

If, after the press conference following that case, I hadn't worked up the courage to tell her how I felt. I might have ended up standing in the corner of some church, watching helplessly as she walked down the aisle with some other perfectly respectable, perfectly matched rabbit. Later on, she wouldn't be Judy Hopps anymore. I don't know what name she'd have taken. But at least, it wouldn't have been Judy Wilde. But then again — I am a bold fox, especially after meeting her. My nerve is thick enough to put a bulletproof vest to shame. I spent a long time picking out those rings. They're beautiful. They suit us, don't they?

If… if I'd been a second slower that day. If I hadn't made it in time to protect you. I would have watched you fall into a pool of cold blood. I would have watched them wheel you into surgery, eyes shut, unconscious. I would have sat in despair on that bench in the hallway, watching the exhausted surgeon push the door open, saying the words that would strip me of my entire world: "I'm sorry. We did everything we could." But thank god, I lunged forward that day. Thank god my hide's thick enough — in the end, all I got were a few ugly scars on my back. For you, forget a few scars — even if it cost me my whole life, I'd still call it a win.

……

If I could have a home with you. I want to open my eyes every morning and say good morning to you, crack a few tasteless jokes just to watch you roll your eyes. Watch you stand at the sink, squeezing carrot-flavored toothpaste onto that mug printed with carrots, while I use the blueberry one you picked out for me, with toothpaste sickly sweet with blueberry. After washing up, the first thing I'd do is smooth down those long, soft ears of yours.

I want to walk into the precinct every day and get teased by Chief Bogo or Clawhauser: "Why do you two smell like the same brand of laundry detergent every single day?"

I want us to ride the same tram to work, and the same one home. To take a detour to the biggest market in the city and argue over a discounted box of blueberries. To make a total mess of ourselves and the kitchen flour, baking some disaster of a cake together. On holidays, I'd go with you back to that bunny warren stuffed to bursting with rabbits, to see your two hundred and seventy-five siblings, and your warm, welcoming parents. I want to see with my own eyes what kind of magic dirt could possibly have grown something as pure as you. Or something plainer. On countless late nights of overtime, you'd still be yawning, head down, typing up those damn reports, and I'd sit next to you, half-listening to you mutter and complain to yourself.

I think, we might even have a kid. Her eyes would have to be like yours — violet, beautiful. But her fur would be mine — a loud, unmistakable fox-red. She'd inherit both our flaws, noisy and mischievous every single day. When you had urgent cases, you'd just plop her down at Officer Clawhauser's front desk without a second thought, and ask everyone to keep an eye on her. On slow days, you'd fumble to write reports and soothe her at the same time. And me — I'd just sit off to the side, a pen between my teeth, legs crossed, grinning like an idiot, watching you two. Then, right as the chaos peaked, I'd crack some horribly-timed joke.

……

But. All of this is just "if," isn't it? I wish so badly you hadn't been so brave that day. That you hadn't charged in first. I wish so badly I could have stayed by your side every single second — that I could have taken that bullet for you too. I wish, on all those ordinary days before, I'd cherished every single one of them with you. Cracked fewer of those jokes I thought were so funny. Looked you in the eye, seriously, and told you exactly how much I loved you. How much you meant to me. You stupid rabbit… didn't you know? A fox only ever chooses one mate. For life.

There was a moment I even wished, hatefully, that I'd never met you at that popsicle stand at all. If I'd never seen the light, I wouldn't have to spend the rest of my life alone, carrying this pain that tears my soul apart at the seams. Living out a rough, meaningless life alone — wouldn't that have been fine too…

I don't know how long had passed. When I finally surfaced from all those empty, endless "ifs," the front of my uniform — cold against my chest — was already soaked through with tears. It's dark around me. I'm alone in this room. No carrot-flavored toothpaste. No rabbit to complain to me.

Judy. If you still remember me — please, come visit me in my dreams more often. Even if all you do is write me another ticket. Tell me I'll be selling popsicles in prison for the rest of my life.

I miss you. I really miss you.