Akame's entire body trembled—flesh twitching, nerves on fire—as she dragged herself out of the cubicle, bloodied palms smearing crimson streaks across the once-pristine white tiles of the girls' restroom. The air reeked of iron and floral perfume, an unnatural mix that clung to the back of her throat like bile.
Every corner of the room told the story of her torment. The mirror above the sinks was shattered—jagged glass still dripping red. Handprints stained the stall doors, the kind only made when someone was clawing to escape. Her blood pooled beneath her, mixing with the water from a broken pipe kicked loose in the frenzy.
The girls had made sure no one would hear her scream.
Lihua was the first to strike, elegant and merciless. Her manicured nails dug into Akame's scalp, ripping clumps of hair free before slamming her face into the porcelain sink. The crack of bone echoed in the confined space.
Jessica and Amanda had held her down, laughing, as Anna poured scalding water down her back from a thermos, searing skin already bruised and raw.
"You think you're safe because he smiles at you?" Lihua had whispered, her breath hot against Akame's ear. "Kento doesn't save trash. He only takes time to make sure it's properly disposed of."
They left her curled on the cold, blood-slicked floor, twitching, ribs possibly broken, lip split to the gumline, one eye already swollen shut.
Time passed like molasses. She didn't know how long she lay there. Minutes? Hours? Her fingers clawed feebly at the tiles, leaving smudges of red wherever they passed. She couldn't cry anymore—her tears had already turned to blood from the ruptured vessels in her eyes.
The metallic tang on her tongue coated every breath she took. It was thick. Sharp. And oddly warm.
She was halfway through the door—barely crawling, like some creature dragging its broken limbs toward light—when the restroom door creaked open.
Akame froze.
No footsteps followed. No mocking voices. Only silence.
Then... the scent changed. The air turned cold. Stifling.
And she felt him before she saw him.
A presence—tall, oppressive, unnatural.
Through the narrow slit of her good eye, she saw polished shoes step into the puddle of blood. Slowly, her gaze climbed, broken and unfocused, until it met his face.
Gin.
Or rather... something wearing Gin's skin.
Even through the bruised haze, she saw them—those eyes.
Two perfect orbs glowing a hellish crimson, almost pulsing with hunger. His lips twitched, then slowly peeled back, revealing long, pale fangs that glistened with saliva and something darker.
He tilted his head as if studying her, not with concern... but curiosity.
Predatory. Quiet. Hungry.
"Akame," he said softly, voice like silk soaked in venom. "You look... delicious."
She tried to scream. But only blood bubbled out.