"Why the hell do I have to pay rent for a place I wasn't even living in?"
"Wait, doesn't that mean I'm taking a massive financial hit here?"
Come to think of it, the money he'd scraped together from part-time jobs was mostly gone—blown on a spree of gluttony and gaming with Think. Was there even enough left for the landlord? And even if he could technically scrape it together, he'd be left with next to nothing. He might have to tuck his tail and borrow from Maou... no, forget that. That guy and his boyfriend were struggling enough as it was, having moved from the countryside for work. Seeing Maou constantly bringing home leftover burgers from MgRonald's just to survive was a pathetic enough sight as it was.
In the less than thirty minutes since waking up, Sū ěr had already been given a masterclass in the crushing weight of "life pressure" that sits upon the shoulders of the common man.
He was stuck. To be honest, Sū ěr had been looking forward to taking Jibril out to experience the vibrant pulse of modern human society—the dazzling, dizzying array of contemporary entertainment. But in this world, having no money was the ultimate deal-breaker.
Should I go full Robin Hood? Start robbing the rich to feed the poor?
Sū ěr fell into a deep, brooding silence.
Within half an hour of waking, he had fully realized how poverty drives men to crime. His vow to live a "normal life" was already teetering on the brink of collapse.
Or... should he take Jibril to a part-time job? The very thought was surreal.
Who could possibly imagine that arrogant, untamable pink-haired Flügel clocking in for a shift? Earning a pittance that most people would consider "pocket change" through menial human labor? Sū ěr had enough self-awareness to know the score: just because Jibril spoke to him with kindness—even tenderness—didn't mean her attitude toward the rest of humanity, or any other race for that matter, had shifted an inch. Therefore—
"Is everything... okay? I mean, just, out there...?" Finally catching on to the reality of his surroundings, Sū ěr tried to sit up with a spark of agitation. He looked toward Think expectantly, his hands twitching as if to gesture, but his weakened body refused to cooperate with any major movements.
Think, however, understood instantly.
"Everything is normal," the Elf said, flashing an 'OK' sign with a smile. "There are no anomalies in the world. Human society is still the same human society."
Is that so?
Sū ěr finally let out a long, lingering breath of relief. Jibril was back in front of him; the "nails" that threatened to derail and vanish the entire world had been pulled. What was left to stop him from enjoying this beautiful world?
"That's good then," Sū ěr sighed, feeling a sudden wave of drowsiness now that the dust had settled. Fortunately, he knew there were still loose ends to tie up. "So, fill me in. What's the situation here? The vampire over there, and... this young man?"
"Um, that, uh—how about I tell it?" The high school boy, who had been quietly observing Sū ěr from the sidelines, suddenly spoke up. He raised his right hand like a student volunteering in class. "After all, this whole mess happened to me."
"Alright. I'll trouble you, then."
"Don't mention it. My name is Araragi Koyomi..."
To put it simply, it was the story of a boy who strayed from the righteous path because of the irresistible allure of a blonde, large-chested, beautiful vampire—even if said vampire was currently a triple-amputee invalid. This was the conclusion Sū ěr reached after Araragi finished recounting the events that had transpired during Sū ěr coma.
Man dies for wealth; birds die for food. An ignorant teenager making an irrevocable mistake due to a momentary impulse of the lower half? That was a classic hallmark of that age group—often euphemistically called "youth."
The price Araragi Koyomi paid for chasing his "youth" was his blood—or perhaps, the fate of the rest of his life.
To prevent any accidents, Think and Jibril had chosen to forcibly relocate the vampire and Araragi to this desolate, suburban wilderness. Neither a Flügel nor an Elf was going to play the Good Samaritan and save a critically injured vampire out of the goodness of their hearts. Thus, the broken vampire could only turn to this ordinary human boy for help. The only thing about him that interested her was the blood in his veins.
And then, Araragi Koyomi offered up his neck.
A "good" delivery—normally, this impulsive young man would have been drained dry to fuel the vampire's regeneration, his shriveled corpse destined for a police evidence locker as a "bizarre unsolved case."
However, this vampire was special. Putting aside the specific details of her uniqueness for a moment, she was perhaps moved by the boy's "moth to a flame" bravado. Or perhaps she wanted to make a good impression on Think, Jibril, or the yet-to-wake Sū ěr. Whatever the reason, she didn't drain Araragi completely.
She took just enough to make him lose consciousness without endangering his life. Afterward, to conserve energy and move more easily, the blonde vampire transformed her remaining physical form into that of a young girl.
"In a way, I suppose she's landed right in Araragi-kun's 'strike zone,'" Jibril remarked with a look of pure disgust.
Overall, it seemed the boy's kindness had been rewarded. Araragi Koyomi had become a vampire.
Superhuman strength, incredible self-healing, and a future full of flashy, powerful skills waiting to be unlocked. If one viewed the pros and cons of vampirism as something to be desired—immortality and the like—then it was indeed a reward.
But following Araragi successful race-change came another problem. After all, a blonde vampire doesn't just cut off her own limbs and scatter them around for fun.
In other words: there were enemies.
Three of them, to be exact—though now there were only two.
Information on these pursuing vampire hunters had actually come from the hunters themselves—specifically from a handsome blonde man carrying a cross who kept saying "Sorry~" at every turn. The left leg the vampire girl had just finished munching on had been scavenged from him.
And he wasn't a corpse yet.
Er, as for this handsome guy... according to Think, he wasn't dead yet, but he was effectively a triple-amputee, currently stuffed unceremoniously into a gasoline drum in a dilapidated building downstairs.
Jibril had been the one to strike. The reason was simple: while using a spell to hide her halo and wings, she'd been mistaken by that sightless fool as a hostage to be used against Araragi. And then... well.