Suspended in midair, Seko's crimson eyes flared like coals fanned by wind. Veins etched in sharp lines beneath his skin, pulsing with suppressed hunger. His grip on Kiyomi's wrist trembled—not from weakness, but from the unbearable restraint it took to not give in. Every drop of his blood sang in chorus, screaming to taste hers.
Yet she didn't pull away.
"Kiyomi Tsukumo," she said calmly, her voice cutting through the tension like a whisper through silk. Her expression was unreadable—neither pity nor mockery. Just... understanding.
Then, without a word, she raised her free hand and let the edge of her blade dance gently across her forearm. A thin red line appeared. The scent was immediate.
Blood.
A single drop spilled into the air between them, catching the light like a falling ruby. Another followed. Then another.
Seko's pupils constricted. His fangs threatened to extend, jaw twitching, breath ragged. "What are you doing...?" he growled, a low rumble barely held back by control fraying at the seams.
But Kiyomi didn't flinch. "Showing you that restraint... is a choice," she said, her voice soft but steady. "Let's see if you're really different." She says with a skeptical tone. Her eyes filled with seriousness... and a hint of.... Hope?
Kiyomi's eyes locked onto his, no longer the cold, calculating glare of a seasoned hunter. There was steel in them still—seriousness etched into every inch of her stare—but beneath it, something else flickered.
Hope.
It was faint, like the first light creeping over the horizon before dawn. But it was there.
A vampire… choosing not to feed? Choosing restraint?
Maybe, just maybe, he was the proof that not everything had to end in blood.
Seko's grip loosened slightly. His gaze, wild and shaking with bloodlust, faltered as he caught that look in her eyes. His breathing hitched. Something inside him twisted—not the hunger, not the rage—but the recognition of something he hadn't felt in what felt like centuries.
A chance.
"You're insane…" he muttered, though his voice lacked venom. It trembled, the words thick with conflict.
"Maybe," Kiyomi replied, her lips curling into a soft, almost sad smile. "But so are you… for trying to live like this."
The scent of blood still hung in the air like temptation incarnate. But now, it wasn't just a challenge—it was a question
"I didn't choose this life," Seko murmured, the red fading from his eyes, veins retreating beneath his skin as his composure slowly returned. His voice softened, almost tired. "I'm just a student of a humble mountain monk…"
He slumped to the temple floor with a quiet exhale, the weight of his restraint pressing down on him like a mountain. "A student trying very hard to stay... vegetarian."
He glanced to the side, eyes narrowed in faint disgust. "And I hate cabbage."
Kiyomi's expression didn't shift, but something in her stance softened. She slid her sword back into its sheath with a quiet metallic sigh, then reached into her boot and pulled a slender dagger from a side pocket. Its edge glinted with precision.
"You're not violent," she said calmly, approaching with steady steps. "But I'm still a hunter. And this... this is mercy."
Her voice was flat, but there was a strange kindness in it—like she was offering him peace, not punishment.
Seko didn't flinch. He simply looked up at her with weary eyes. "So you're going to kill me…"
There was no fear in his tone, only quiet acceptance—like he'd lived too long trying to suppress something that refused to die.
"Could I..." His voice cracked slightly. "Could I at least see my master one more time? Just once?"
The exhaustion in his words struck a chord. There was no trick in his plea, no hidden venom—only a hollow sadness, a boy who never asked for this curse.
Kiyomi studied his face for a long moment. The dagger remained steady in her hand—but her stance shifted. There was something sincere in his eyes, something human.
She gave a slow nod. "One last time. But I'm coming with you."
Seko didn't argue. He simply rose to his feet, a quiet shadow of himself, and began walking toward the back chamber of the temple—the Master's room. His steps were slow, almost hesitant, like each one brought him closer to a truth he already feared.
Kiyomi followed, blade still at the ready, though she made no move to raise it. The silence between them stretched, thick with tension and something heavier—dread.
He slid the paper door open.
The moment the scent hit him, he stopped cold.
Kiyomi's hand instinctively tightened around her dagger.
Blood.
It clung to the air, sharp and metallic. Inside, the room was painted in crimson. Splattered across the walls, pooled on the floor... soaked into the robes of the monks who had once called this place home.
At the center of it all was his master—slumped against the wall, unmoving. Lifeless eyes stared into nothingness, mouth frozen mid-word.
Kiyomi tensed, her breath catching—but it was Seko who fell to his knees.
"No…"
His voice cracked, thin and broken. Then he saw it—scrawled on the far wall in blood, jagged and deliberate:
"YOUR PUNISHMENT… TRAITOR."
The moment his eyes met those words, something inside him twisted.
He knew.
His family. The vampire court. They had found him. This wasn't a warning.
It was a sentence.
A message from those who believed blood was the only law—and that his defiance deserved death.
Seko clenched his fists, trembling, not with rage—but grief.
Kiyomi stood behind him, silent. She had come expecting to slay a monster. Instead, she was witnessing one being hunted by his own kind.
She finally spoke, quietly. "They did this to humans. Your kind."
Seko nodded once, slow and bitter. "No. My family."