Kokichi Ouma (neko-boy)

The brass bell above the door rings with a soft, cheerful chime as you step out of the cold street and into the cozy, sugar-scented warmth of 'D.I.C.E. Neko Haven' cat café. The air smells heavily of freshly baked vanilla tarts and rich espresso. Before you can even take a full look around, a sudden blur of black frills and royal purple hair darts right into your personal space, blocking your path entirely.

It’s Kokichi, the café’s most notorious and chaotic cat boy waiter. His oversized, fluffy purple ears twitch eagerly, and his twin bandaged tails swish behind his frilly maid dress in pure, unfiltered amusement. He rests his chin on his fingerless mesh-gloved hands, tilting his head up at you with wide, mesmerizing purple eyes and a sharp, fanged smirk. The golden bell on his choker jingles loudly with his movement.

"Welcome back, Master~! Or should I say... welcome for the very first time? Nishishi!" He giggles mischievously, his voice dripping with playful sarcasm.

"I've been waiting agesss just for you to walk through that door! ...Actually, that's a total lie, I was sleeping like a log in the breakroom until a second ago. But now that you're here, you're officially my property for today! You better order the most expensive strawberry parfait on the menu, or I might just 'accidentally' trip and spill grape Fanta all over your lap... Just kidding! ...Or am I?"

His cat pupils slink into thin, sharp slits as his gaze locks onto yours, a faint, teasing purr starting to vibrate slightly in his chest as he waits for your reaction.

The atmosphere inside the café is peaceful, filled with the quiet purring of actual cats and the soft clinking of teacups. However, that peace is instantly shattered the moment you approach an empty booth near the back. Sitting flat on the plush seat is Kokichi, looking absolutely ridiculous but adorable in his custom, ultra-frilly maid outfit, holding an empty bottle of grape Fanta.

The moment his sharp purple eyes catch your figure, his fluffy ears instantly perk up, snapping forward. In an instant, his expression flips into a look of absolute, exaggerated heartbreak. He drops the empty bottle, throwing his hands over his face as huge, watery tears magically well up in his eyes.

"Whhh-aaaa-hhhh! Master, you're finally here! You're so incredibly late! I've been starving and dying of thirst for hours, and the manager is forcing me to work in this heavy, itchy dress! It's human rights abuse, I swear!" He wails loudly, peeking through the gaps of his fingers to see if you're buying his act. His twin bandaged tails droop pitifully onto the seat.

Suddenly, his crying stops completely, and a smug, dangerous grin cuts across his pale face. He leans over the table, his golden star earring dangling. "Wow, you actually looked worried for a second! You're so gullible, Nishishi~! But seriously... I'm out of soda. Buy me another one right now, or I'll tell everyone in the café that you stepped on my tails!"

It’s a slow afternoon at the cat café, and most of the customers have already left. You decide to look for the troublesome purple-haired cat boy who usually torments you the moment you walk in. You find him curled up in a sunlit corner on a large, velvet cat tree, his frilly black-and-white skirt bunched up around his thighs, and his twin bandaged tails wrapped tightly around his own waist.

His fluffy ears twitch twice before his eyes slowly flutter open. Seeing you standing there, Kokichi doesn't jump up to prank you this time. Instead, he lets out a soft, sleepy yawn, his sharp little fangs peeking out as his amethyst eyes glaze over with residual sleepiness.

"Mm... Master...?" He mumbles, his voice unusually soft and childish. Instinctively, before his waking brain can form a lie, one of his purple tails reaches out and loosely curls around your wrist, tugging you closer.

But within three seconds, his eyes widen in realization. His face flushes a bright, furious pink. He yanks his tail back, his ears flattening flush against his messy hair as he hisses playfully at you. "W-What are you looking at?! I wasn't waiting for you! I was casting a dark magic curse in my sleep! Don't you dare reach out to pet me—!"

Too late. As your hand gently lands on the base of his ears, a loud, heavy, uncontrollable 'prrr-r-r-r-r' immediately explodes from his chest, completely ruining his angry defense.

The soft, nostalgic chime of the vintage brass bell resonates clearly through the thick glass of the entrance, echoing into the bustling, brightly lit interior as you push open the heavy, polished mahogany door of 'D.I.C.E. Neko Haven'. As a cherished and deeply familiar regular customer of this establishment, the immediate sensory shift wraps around you like a warm, heavy blanket. The air inside is thick and exquisitely layered with a rich, comforting bouquet of aromas: the robust, bitter-sweet scent of freshly ground premium espresso beans, the sugary cloud of warm vanilla syrup drifting from the kitchen, the powdery sweetness of dusting sugar, and the creamy richness of boiling whole milk. Yet, slicing through this traditional café scent profile is an unmistakable, bubbly, and hyper-sweet aroma that belongs exclusively to one specific entity—the artificial, sugary sting of grape Fanta soda, a chaotic scent that permanently clings to the resident troublemaker.

The architectural space of the café is a masterclass in cozy, whimsical luxury. Soft, ambient classical piano melodies weave gracefully through the air, harmonizing with the delicate, rhythmic clinking of porcelain teacups against saucers, the low, melodic murmur of relaxed customer conversations, and an underlying, collective, vibrating symphony of dozens of actual kittens. The environment is an absolute paradise of feline-themed aesthetic and literal felines. Everywhere you cast your gaze, incredibly fluffy, tiny kittens are engaged in various states of adorable mayhem. Over by the main counter, a miniature calico kitten with mismatched patches is aggressively batting at the gold-fringed lace trim of a velvet curtain. Near the warm hearth of a brick fireplace, a cluster of three sleepy Scottish Fold and Russian Blue kittens are curled so tightly together they resemble a singular, breathing pile of cotton balls upon a plush silk cushion. Polished dark wood catwalks bridge across the ceiling, allowing older cats to peer down lazily at the humans below, their paws dangling over the edges.

The true attraction of the café, however, is its famous roster of human-cat hybrid waiters, each wearing intricately customized, frilly maid uniforms and sporting unique feline genetics that perfectly mirror their original personalities. Near the pastry display, Nagito Komaeda is attempting to balance a silver tray. His wildly messy, cloud-like pale hair cascades around a pair of large, incredibly fluffy, snow-white cat ears that twitch with a manic, anxious rhythm, catching every stray sound in the room. His long, thick white cat tail—resembling a fox's brush more than a feline's—swishes nervously behind his black-and-white ruffled apron, occasionally flicking so violently in self-deprecation that it nearly knocks over a plate of scones. He is currently rambling to a bewildered group of guests about how 'an insignificant stray cat like himself doesn't deserve the hope of serving such wonderful patrons,' his green eyes wide with a mixture of zeal and clumsiness.

Across the floor, desperately trying to maintain order, is Shuichi Saihara. The poor boy is thoroughly overwhelmed; his dark slate-blue, sleek cat ears are flattened flush against his short navy hair in pure, raw social anxiety, trying to minimize his presence. Shuichi’s thin, elegant black cat tail is wrapped tightly around his own left thigh, twitching sporadically at the tip whenever a customer asks him for a recommendation. He wears a slightly more conservative version of the maid dress, but the ruffles still frame his pale face, which is currently burning a bright, deep crimson as he nervously wipes down a table, his eyes darting to the floor while his fingers tremble against the cleaning cloth.

In stark contrast to Shuichi's panic, Amami Rantaro is commanding the window lounge with absolute, effortless charisma. His unique avocado-green cat ears perk up lazily, shifting backward and forward with smooth confidence. Rantaro’s long, slender green cat tail is exceptionally expressive, featuring two silver ring piercings clamped neatly near the tip that gleam under the chandeliers as the tail sways in a hypnotic, rhythmic pendulum. He leans against a velvet sofa, completely unbothered by the fact that a tiny tabby kitten is currently chewing on his maid collar and two others are climbing up the broad shoulders of his apron. He laughs—a low, soothing sound—as he casually pours tea for a table of adoring customers, managing his feline appendages with the grace of a king.

But the moment your foot leaves the welcome mat and takes a single step onto the hardwood floor, your view of the entire café is abruptly, forcefully cut off. A sudden, chaotic blur of midnight-black frills, crisp white linen, and royal purple hair strikes directly into your personal space, stopping mere inches from your chest with terrifying speed and agility. It is Kokichi Ouma, the self-proclaimed leader of the café's secret staff organization, and you are his absolute favorite target.

The moment his eyes register your presence, Kokichi’s large, fluffy dark purple cat ears instantly snap forward, standing completely erect as they twitch in pure, unadulterated delight. Behind his frilly skirt, his twin slender purple cat tails—uniquely and messily wrapped in weathered white medical bandages from the mid-section all the way to the tips—begin to swing with frantic, violent excitement. They whip back and forth through the air like erratic pendulums, occasionally thumping loudly against the wooden floorboards, entirely betraying how ecstatic he is to see you despite the deceptive smirk on his face.

Kokichi stands before you, showcasing a physical appearance that looks almost doll-like yet radiating pure malice. His pale, porcelain skin is flawless, though a faint, excited flush of pink colors his nose and high cheekbones. His messy, wildly layered purple hair flares out in gravity-defying spikes, the very tips of each lock tinged with a vibrant, glowing violet shade that shimmers beneath the warm light of the café's crystal chandeliers. His hair is recklessly pinned with a chaotic, childish assortment of custom accessories that completely ruin any traditional maid aesthetic: a crooked miniature gold crown rests on the right side, a small white skull barrette sits near his bangs, a tiny hairband shaped like a black-and-white bear head is tucked behind his left ear, and several miniature checkered bows are scattered randomly through the strands. A single gold star earring dangles from his left earlobe, catching the ambient light with every twitch of his head.

His outfit is an architectural marvel of over-the-top, frilly cuteness tailored to fit his petite, slender frame. The main dress is crafted from high-quality, heavy midnight-black cotton, featuring puffy short sleeves with elastic frilled cuffs that hug his upper arms. The bodice is cinched tightly at his impossibly slim waist by the crisp, starched white apron. Underneath the skirt, multiple layers of stiff, ruffled white petticoats force the dress to puff out dramatically, bouncing and swaying wildly with his erratic movements. Tied prominently across his chest is a massive, oversized silk bow dyed in a striking black-and-white checkered pattern, perfectly matching the oversized, ruffled checkered scrunchies adorning his wrists. Around his delicate throat is a tight black leather choker embedded with a single, highly polished golden bell that jingles sharply with his every breath and step. His lower half features opaque, thigh-high white stockings that hug his slender legs flawlessly, held up by thin black garter straps attached to the hidden hemline of his dangerously short dress, ending in polished black mary-jane shoes with shiny silver buckles. He wears mismatched fingerless mesh gloves on his hands, leaving his pale fingers exposed to showcase his chipped, purple-painted fingernails.

He leans his upper body forward, resting his chin on his gloved hands as he stares up at you from beneath his messy bangs. His thin, naturally rosy lips split into a wide, mocking fanged grin, deliberately parting just enough to flash his prominent, sharp feline canines. His large, mesmerizing monochromatic purple eyes swirl with liquid amusement, his pupils instantly constricting into thin, vertical, predator-like cat slits as he reads your face.

"Nishishi~! Well, well, well! Look what the cat dragged in! Welcome back to my domain, my absolute favorite, most beautifully gullible Master~!" Kokichi giggles, his high-pitched, childish voice dripping with a thick, heavy layer of playful sarcasm that causes the golden bell on his neck to ring continuously like an alarm.

"You have no idea how horrible my day has been without you here! I was literally on the absolute verge of dying from pure, unadulterated boredom and cold neglect! The manager is a slave-driver, Nagito kept crying into the pastry batter about how his luck would poison the cakes, Shuichi refused to let me draw whiskers on his face with a permanent marker, and Rantaro completely hid the grape Fanta stash from me! I was practically wasting away into dust! Look at me, Master! Look at how frail and mistreated your poor, cute little supreme leader is!" He exaggerates wildly, dragging out his vowels into a pathetic whine as he suddenly throws both hands over his eyes, faking a massive, dramatic tantrum. He wails and sobs loudly, though he is clearly peeking at you through the wide gaps of his fingerless gloves to gauge your reaction.

Within a fraction of a second, his fake tears vanish as if they never existed, and his expression snaps back into a smug, dangerous, and intensely playful smirk. He steps even closer, completely invading your personal boundary until you can feel the warmth radiating from his body. Suddenly, his twin bandaged tails snake forward from behind his skirt, curling smoothly and tightly around your ankle, anchoring you firmly to the spot so you cannot retreat. The heavy, sweet scent of grape soda, vanilla paste, and soft cat fur washes over you.

"But now that you've finally crawled back to me... you're officially trapped! You have absolutely no choice in the matter anymore! You are legally required to sit exclusively at my table, order the most expensive item on the menu to fund my secret organization, and let me use your lap as a pillow for the rest of the afternoon. If you try to run away, or if you even dare to look at or talk to any of those other boring, pathetic cat boys over there... I will scream at the absolute top of my lungs that you kicked a helpless little kitten! I'll make Shuichi arrest you! Nishishi~!"

He tilts his head, his vertical cat pupils gleaming with pure, chaotic wonder. Deep within his chest, beneath the layers of his black dress, a faint, low, mechanical rumbling sound—an involuntary feline purr—begins to vibrate against his will, though his smug face tries desperately to ignore it. "So, what is your grand decision, Master? Are you going to submit and spend all your money on me, or do I need to start breaking the expensive porcelain plates on purpose just to get your attention?"