There have been many times throughout my journey where I have secretly wondered a very important question.

WHY CAN'T I BE OP?!

You read Transmigration or Reincarnation novels and see that every protagonist is capable in their own way. They're either smart, have help, or have the brawn to combat the brain. And then you get the instances where they have all three characteristics.

And then there's me.

I had the help.

I have a semi-functioning brain which I can't really trust because I have the memory of an average person (meaning I'll probably forget some important details down the road).

And I don't have any muscles.

Because, well... did I mention that I'm a cat?

In case you didn't realize throughout all of my ramblings that I'm a cat, then here you go.

Meow.

I meow for you and steadily lose my mind while doing so.

Another important detail to note is that I don't have Calamitis's memory. Now, I know that that isn't always a constant, but OP protagonists usually receive it. Which would be helpful right now, to be honest, considering that I have to open a pair of tavern doors as a cat.

Find authorized novels in Webnovel，faster updates, better experience，Please click www.webnovel.com for visiting.

On a time limit.

Did I mention that the System is after me?

The System is after me.

And it wants blood.

Lots of it.

So I better hurry, huh?

As I examine the tavern doors, I realize that they are worn and old. The color is a harsh shade of chocolate with faint scratches marring the surface. The silver knobs attached to the doors are dusted with spots of rust.

A fairly weak opponent...

For a fairly competent individual, that is.

And I think you've realized by now that I am far from what is considered competent.

I lifted up a paw, extending and retracting my claws.

It's a weird sensation, I have to admit. The moment I try to move my fingers like I used to when I was human, tiny claws as sharp as knives spring out of my paws.

I then faced the doors, considering my options.

I can either try to jump up and turn the knobs with my mouth or climb up the door.

One option leads to a possibly broken tooth--which I'm sure would hurt--and the other option leads to a possibly broken claw.

Both options hurt, but I guess having a broken nail is better compared to having a broken tooth.

At least my nail would grow back--I'm not so sure about the tooth.

I reached out a paw, extended my claws and started to scratch at the door, trying to create a hole to which I could cling to as I climbed.

Once I created an appropriately sized hole, I reached out my other paw and repeated the process three more times.

I gazed at my master piece triumphantly. Now, all I have to do is put my claws in the crudely made holes and repeat the process again.

I dug my front claws in the holes higher up the door and my back paws at the bottom, I then carefully removed my right front paw and slowly, but steadily, placed my right back paw claws in the hole.

Heart pumping with nervousness, I started to scratch at the door once more to create another hole so I could hold onto something as I brought my left paws up.

It's a slow and tedious operation, I know, but it's the best I can come up with.

I continued my hike up the door until I reached the rusted silver knobs.

I leaned to the left, reaching out my left paw precariously as I attempted to turn the knob.

But my paw slipped.

Yes, you heard right, my paw slipped.

I tried again, this time, with my claws out.

Although I managed to make the knob budge, it wasn't even remotely close to being opened.

...

I was in a predicament...

I didn't have fingers to wrap around the knob and open it so I was stuck with my mouth.

Eww...

If I use my mouth I'm going to taste a very dirty door knob with who knows how many decades of germs.

QAQ

The things I do for survival...

I took a deep breath and slowly released it before I bravely faced the silver door knob, opened my mouth, and bit down on it. I then turned the knob until I heard a click and the wooden door started to slide inward.

The tavern quietened down a bit once the patrons realized who--or should I say what--opened the door.

"Is that a cat?"

"I think I had a bit too much to drink."

"I think I did too."

The patrons stared at me in disbelief as I let go of the door, surprisingly landing on my feet.

Cat reflexes, I guess.

"First a mouse, then a cat." A loud, arrogant voice complained. "That man needs to keep track of his animals. This is a tavern, not a zoo."

I furrowed my brows as I glared at the red head across from me. His silver eyes met mine as he looked down at me with contempt.

Two questions popped up as we fought with our eyes.

A. Are people in the world of Forgoe so dumb that they can't tell whether a beast is wild or civil, or are they just being racist?

And B. How does this man know what a zoo is?! I never mentioned that in my book! Not once!

Under the din of the tavern, I managed to hear an soft, old voice respond.

"Aaron, no matter how you look, that cat is a Beast Man."

Thank God, someone here has a brain.

I couldn't hear how Aaron responded, considering I was across the room from their table, but I was at least comforted by the fact that someone was willing to correct his misconception.

Like, come on, you see a cat doing something weird like opening a door and your first thought is not that they are a Beast Man but a normal cat?!

They're even dumber than me!!!

*Cough*

I just realized I wrote them to be that stupid so the protagonist could shine...

...I'm just gonna shut up now...

Not really, but at least I'll stop questioning their intelligence.

I ran my eyes across the room, ignoring the red head as I did so.

There were five blondes with freckles in this tavern...

This...

This is mission impossible...