Doctor Lira led Pan toward a large metal console lined with flickering screens and knobs. The president and his aides stood behind them, watching closely.
She pressed a button, and a faint crackle came from the speakers. A second later, the sound of rapid, angry squeaks filled the room.
The doctor frowned. "It's been like this all morning. No one can figure out what's wrong with it."
To everyone else, it was just high-pitched noise. But to Pan, every squeak carried meaning. And that meaning… was very colorful.
He blinked, trying not to react. "Uh… Doctor, you sure you want me to translate this exactly?"
"Of course," she said without hesitation. "We need to understand its behavior."
Pan rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. "Alright… well, it's mostly profanity. Like—a lot. It's swearing at the walls, the cameras, the food bowl… and it's got a surprisingly creative vocabulary for a squirrel."
The doctor turned to the president, puzzled. "Swearing?"
The president's brow twitched. "At us?"
Pan nodded weakly. "Mostly you, actually."
Lira hesitated, then turned on the mic and motioned for him to speak. "Try talking to it. Maybe it'll calm down if it realizes we can communicate."
Pan leaned toward the mic. "Hey, uh… little guy? Why are you yelling so much?"
The squeaking stopped for a second. Then, to Pan's ears, the squirrel shouted, "Because I'm dying here! I can't hold it anymore!"
Pan blinked, stunned. "You… can't hold what anymore?"
"You know what I mean! I've been eating nonstop, and every time I try to… you know… there's a camera watching! Do you have any idea how humiliating that is!?"
Pan turned slowly toward the doctor and president, both of whom looked completely lost.
"What did it say?" Lira asked.
Pan sighed. "It said… it doesn't want to use the bathroom while being watched on camera."
There was a long silence.
The president's expression flattened. "…That's it?"
"Apparently," Pan said. "It's shy."
The speakers erupted again as the squirrel yelled, "Not shy! Dignified!"
A few minutes later, the lab staff hurried to assemble what could only be described as a luxury squirrel restroom — a small, enclosed capsule with a door the size of a lunchbox. They rolled it into the chamber using a mechanical arm while everyone in the control room looked on awkwardly.
The squirrel stopped screaming long enough to inspect it. Then, without a word, it dashed inside and slammed the tiny door shut.
For the next minute, the only sound in the room was the faint hum of machinery and the muffled, "Finally, some damn privacy!" coming through the speakers.
Pan rubbed his face and muttered, "I can't believe I'm actually listening to this."
When the squirrel finally emerged, it strutted out like it owned the place — tail flicking side to side, fur puffed, chin high.
Lira looked at Pan expectantly. "Go ahead, Mr. Pan. Let's continue."
Pan leaned toward the mic. "Hey there, uh, little guy. Feeling better?"
The squirrel crossed its tiny arms. "Better? Damn right I'm better! Ain't nobody doin' their royal business under twenty cameras, you feel me?!"
Pan blinked. "...Right."
"Listen up, two-legs! Name's Tuberous the freakin' Third — boss squirrel of the Great Nut Grove, King of Emexia-B, Emperor of Every Damn Acorn in the forest!"
Pan looked at the doctor, then at the president. "Uh… he says he's a king. Of squirrels. From somewhere called Emexia-B."
Lira's eyes gleamed. "A talking intelligent creature from a portal world! This is amazing!"
The president frowned. "And we've been feeding it rodent pellets…"
Tuberous smacked his lips. "Yeah, about that— y'all call that food? That dry crap had less flavor than tree bark! I want roasted chestnuts, honeydew, maybe a lil' peanut butter drizzle. Treat royalty right, ya heard?"
Pan snorted, barely holding in a laugh as he translated. "He, uh… doesn't like the lab food."
Lira nearly fell over laughing. The president just sighed. "We'll… look into it."
Tuberous paced around, tail swinging. "Damn straight you will! Y'all lucky I ain't got my squad here, we'd flip this whole place upside down. You ever seen a mob of angry squirrels? That's war, son!"
Pan raised an eyebrow. "You're a bit aggressive for a king."
"Man, that's how we roll in Emexia-B! Every nut earned, not given. You wanna stay king? You fight for it, scratch for it, and occasionally bite a fool's tail clean off!"
Pan turned to the others and sighed. "He says… leadership is competitive where he's from."
The doctor nodded, jotting notes furiously. "Fascinating. Truly fascinating."
Meanwhile, Tuberous sat back, grinning smugly. "Now tell your big boss man over there that this cage life ain't for me. I need open air, fine snacks, and maybe a squirrel lady or two. You dig?"
Pan buried his face in his hands. "I really need a raise for this…"
The next hour was pure madness.
Pan found himself acting as the world's first interspecies diplomat — standing between a cursing, overconfident squirrel and a doctor who looked like she'd just discovered the key to evolution itself.
"Alright, alright," Pan said tiredly, rubbing his temples. "So you're saying you'll cooperate… if they give you a proper bed, fresh nuts, and, uh—" he hesitated, glancing at the doctor, "—companionship?"
Tuberous leaned toward the mic, puffing out his chest. "That's right, bro! I ain't workin' for free. I want snacks, space, and a couple fine ladies to share the stash with, ya feel me?"
Lira adjusted her glasses, face bright red but oddly serious. "Fine. We can… arrange that. Except the 'free roaming' part. You stay in the observation zone, understood?"
The squirrel clicked his tongue. "Tch. You humans got no chill. But fine, I'll play ball — for now. Don't think I won't chew through that glass if you start acting funny."
Pan sighed, translating the gist of it for her. The doctor nodded like she was negotiating a peace treaty.
"Excellent," Lira said, clapping her hands. "Then we have an agreement with His Majesty… Tuberous the Third."
The squirrel grinned. "Damn right you do. Long live me."
President Garwen, who had been silent for most of the exchange, finally cleared his throat. "Doctor Lira."
She turned quickly. "Yes, sir?"
He gestured toward Pan, who looked half-dead and slumped over the control console. "Let the young man go for now. He's had quite the… experience."
Pan weakly waved a hand. "Yeah, I think I've hit my daily quota of royal rodent negotiations."
Lira blinked, her enthusiasm dimming just slightly. Her eyes were still shining with scientific hunger, but she nodded reluctantly. "Understood. Mr. Pan, thank you for your help. You've done something truly historic today."
"Yeah," Pan muttered as he stood up, stretching his stiff shoulders. "Historic. Talking to a squirrel that wants a harem."
Behind the glass, Tuberous was lounging against a pile of straw, munching loudly on a peanut and humming some nonsense tune. "Don't hate the king, baby. Hate the system."
Pan rubbed his face again, pretending not to hear. "Yeah, I'm definitely going home."
Garwen escorted him out of the lab personally. As the steel doors closed behind them, Pan could still hear the squirrel yelling faintly through the intercom:
"Yo, and don't forget them roasted chestnuts! The fancy kind!"
Pan felt his eyes twitch as he decided to silently leave the place in president's car.
Pan leaned back in the cushioned seat of the president's armored car, staring blankly out the tinted window as the city skyline passed by. The driver didn't say a word the entire trip, and Pan was too exhausted to start a conversation even if he wanted to.
By the time he returned to the mall, the world felt wonderfully quiet again. No talking animals. No crazed scientists. No swearing squirrels demanding girlfriends and chestnuts.
Just silence. Blissful, beautiful silence.
He dragged himself up the stairs to his small dorm on the second floor, threw himself onto the bed, and passed out face-first without even turning off the lights.
---
The next morning came too soon. Pan's phone buzzed on his chest, and he groaned before answering.
"Mr. Pan?" came the smooth, calm voice of President Garwen.
Pan rubbed his eyes. "Morning, President. What's up?"
"I was wondering if you'd be coming to the lab today. The researchers were hoping to continue the communication tests."
Pan stifled a yawn. "Ah… I'd love to, but I've got a business to run, sir. The mall doesn't clean itself, and the hunters need their morning snacks. Maybe Saturdays? I can give you Saturdays."
There was a short pause. "Only Saturdays?"
"And Sundays are for rest," Pan added quickly. "You know… mental recovery. Important for maintaining peak translator performance."
There was another pause — then Garwen gave a small chuckle. "Understood. I'll inform the doctor. Thank you for your time, Mr. Pan."
The call ended, and Pan tossed his phone aside with a sigh of relief. "Whew. That was close. I'm not spending every day talking to a nutty squirrel."
He stretched, ready to start his morning chores, when his phone buzzed again. This time it was a message — from the Hunter Association's financial division.
[You have received a transfer of 300,000 credits from President Garwen.]
Pan froze.
He blinked. Then blinked again.
"…Three. Hundred. Thousand."
He slowly sat up, eyes glimmering like freshly polished crystals.
"That… that's for one conversation?" He clutched the phone like it was made of gold. "I just talked to a squirrel. I didn't even use big words!"
He leapt to his feet, pacing around the room with a grin spreading across his face.
"Alright, Pan. Let's think this through. If one squirrel equals 300,000 credits… how many talking animals are out there?"
For a full minute, the room was silent — then his grin turned devilish.
"...Yeah, I can spare a few Saturdays."
He opened his phone again and texted back to the president.
[Sure, President! On second thought, I think I can make myself available for some extra research sessions if you ever need me.]
Within seconds, Garwen replied.
[Excellent. Doctor Lira will be thrilled to hear that.]
Pan smiled proudly, tucking his phone away.
"Thrilled or not," he muttered, walking toward the window, "as long as the credits keep coming, the King of the Mall's got no complaints."
Outside, the first batch of hunters was arriving for their morning runs. Pan sighed, put on his apron, and unlocked the mall doors.