Legally speaking, I’m a centaur. Well, a half-centaur. My mother was one, and my father was a particularly adventurous human who decided to get together with one the moment monster girls were revealed to the public. Ballsy bastard. Honestly, I try to avoid thinking about the whole insemination and birth thing—the logistics behind it. I’m a half-centaur, and that’s that. You’d never know it by looking at me, though. I’ve got the top half of a human, and bottom half of a human—basically human in everything but name.

Right now, I'm gripping the cold metal railing of this small boat, watching the island grow closer. I can feel the bureaucratic red tape wrapped tightly around my scrotum, but all I can do is look ahead while the salty mist occasionally sprays my face. It’s been so long, yet the human and monster girls remain separate. The planned integration—like all political actions—moves at a crawl. Sure, there are some centaurs serving in the army, and marriage was legalized, but the educational system? Still segregated.