Ban Xia took off her headphones, turned her head, and under the pitch-black night, her eyes shone like a cat's.
"Mr. Weasel— why are you running here in the middle of the night instead of sleeping?"
The girl got off her chair.
"Shouldn't you be sleeping..."
She suddenly remembered that weasels are nocturnal.
They just don't sleep at night.
Mr. Weasel squeezed in through the door gap and trotted all the way to stand by the girl's feet. This old weasel had been around since the teacher moved with Ban Xia into building 11, and the teacher said a weasel's lifespan was at most a dozen or so years; Ban Xia had known it for seven years already and didn't know how much longer it could live. Over the years, Mr. Weasel's fur was no longer glossy and its teeth no longer sharp; the girl actually doubted whether it could still catch mice on its own.
At least recently it always came to her for food.
