The grand corridors of the Royal Academy had begun to feel like a labyrinth designed to disorient. After Mio's brutal lesson in the basement, Kenta had needed air—needed motion to burn off the lingering ache in his skull and the simmering humiliation in his gut. But the vertigo from the griffin flight had never truly departed; the stress of the day had only amplified it. The sweeping marble hallways tilted and swam. He leaned against a cold pillar, eyes closed, breathing slow and deliberate, trying to anchor himself with the familiar weight of the twin katana hilts pressing against his hips.
This is a weakness I cannot afford, he thought bitterly. He could face down a Controlled Beast, yet a little unsteadiness in his inner ear could fell him. It was a vulnerability that felt profoundly… mundane.
Pushing off the pillar, he took a wrong turn. The opulent main wing gave way to a quieter, more dimly lit passage. The air grew warmer, carrying a faint metallic scent—coppery, intimate, almost alive. He stopped before a heavy oak door unlike any other he had seen. No classroom number. Only a single, elegantly scripted brass plate:
Lady Alice
He meant to turn back, to retrace his steps, but a fresh wave of dizziness made him stagger. His shoulder bumped the door. To his surprise, it swung inward—silent, unlocked.
The room beyond was a stark contrast to the sterile academia outside. A private lounge, opulent and intimate. Thick crimson rugs muffled every step. Low velvet couches circled a dark hearth where no fire burned, yet warmth radiated anyway. Lighting came from softly glowing crimson crystals embedded in the walls, bathing everything in a warm, bloody twilight. The air was thick with old books, exotic incense, and that same coppery tang—deeper now, almost sweet.
And in the center of it all, reclining on a divan like a queen on her throne, was a woman.
She was breathtakingly beautiful by any measure. Hair the color of spilled wine cascaded over her shoulders in loose, silken waves. She wore layers of sheer dark silk that clung and revealed in equal measure, accentuating generous curves with deliberate elegance. But it was her eyes that held him—ancient, piercing amber that glowed with faint, predatory light.
She did not startle. Did not demand he leave. Instead, a slow, deeply amused smile curved her full lips.
"Well, now," her voice purred, a husky vibration that seemed to stroke the very marrow of his bones. "What a deliciously lost little lamb has wandered into my parlor."
Her gaze swept over him—not with overt lust, but with sharp, analytical curiosity. "And one tangled in such an… interesting web. The spell clinging to you is quite potent. A disorienting charm, woven directly into the Ki pathways. Nasty, efficient work. Most wouldn't even sense it."
Kenta stiffened. She could see it. Mio's spell had been invisible—a ghost of force. This woman had perceived its residue with a casual glance.
Before he could respond, she made a languid, dismissive gesture with one perfectly manicured hand. No flash of light. No dramatic surge. As if she had simply plucked an unwanted thread from the fabric of the air around him.
The persistent, swaying vertigo vanished instantly. His head cleared. His stomach settled. The world snapped back into sharp, stable focus.
The relief was so profound it was almost shocking. He stood straighter, senses returning to preternatural sharpness. He looked at her—guarded, assessing.
"My thanks," he said, voice even.
Her amusement deepened. She uncrossed and recrossed her legs—movement slow, deliberate, provocative. Yet Kenta's gaze remained fixed on her face, on those unnerving eyes. No blush. No stammer. No flicker of arousal or discomfort. He assessed her as he would any potential threat: posture, speed in relaxed limbs, source of the power she had just wielded so casually.
"Aren't you a fascinating one," she murmured, head tilting. "Most men—and quite a few women—are at least a little flustered by my… presentation. But you look at me as if I were a puzzle. Or a sword. Which is it, I wonder?"
"A potential adversary until proven otherwise," Kenta replied without hesitation. "The most dangerous predators often wear the most alluring skins."
A genuine, rich laugh escaped her, filling the warm room. "Oh, I like you. Pragmatic to the core." She gestured to the couch opposite her. "Sit. You've clearly had a trying day. I am Alice. An instructor here, of a sort."
Warily, Kenta sat on the edge of the couch—posture still coiled for movement. "An instructor in what?"
"Blood Magic," she said, smile showing the very tips of her canines—sharper than human. "And a few… less conventional disciplines."
The term sent a specific alert through Kenta's mind. "Blood Magic," he repeated, pieces clicking. The opulent room. The metallic scent. Her ageless beauty. The predatory aura. "You are from the Vampire Kingdom. The one ruled by Himeko Naein."
Alice's glowing amber eyes widened a fraction—playful demeanor shifting to something more appreciative, more serious. "You are well-informed for a human from a backwater kingdom. Yes. Himeko-sama is one of the Pillars of the Naein Clan. And I am one of her… distant scions. I serve as her eyes and ears here, and I teach those with the talent—and the stomach—for the sanguine arts."
Her gaze drifted down—past his face—to rest on the twin scabbards at his hip. "And I must say, it is a genuine privilege to finally see them in person. Hikari no Ha and Yami no Hikari. The Blades of Light and Darkness. I have heard the songs, read the crumbling texts, but to be in the same room with them… it sends a thrill down my spine that little else has in the last century."
Kenta went utterly still. The air grew heavier. She had not only identified them—she knew their true names.
"The last century?" he asked, voice low.
"Give or take a decade," Alice said with a casual wave. "I am one hundred and twenty-seven years old. A mere child by the standards of my kind, but it does grant a certain… perspective."
Kenta's eyes narrowed. His assessment of her as "potential adversary" intensified. His hand did not move toward his sword, but the intention coiled in his muscles.
"You have knowledge you should not have," he said. "And an age that begs the question… why does someone over a century old take such an interest in a pair of swords—and the young man carrying them?"
Alice leaned forward, amber eyes capturing his. Her voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. "Because, my dear boy, those blades are not just weapons. They are history. They are a story I have been waiting a very long time to see play out."
She leaned back, smirk returning. "And do not worry. I have no interest in you in that way. While you are undoubtedly pleasing to look upon, I have long since outgrown the fleeting passions that consume mortal youths. It would feel… pedantic."
Kenta processed this. The sheer, casual arrogance was staggering—yet he believed her. Her interest was academic, historical, and deeply, dangerously personal. She was a collector of stories, and he had walked into her collection carrying two of the rarest volumes in existence.
"So," he said, voice low. "What is it you want, Lady Alice?"
"Want?" She chuckled. "For now? Simply to observe. And to offer a word of advice, from one who has seen empires rise and fall."
Her gaze hardened—the amusement vanishing, replaced by ancient, chilling seriousness.
"The attention you have drawn today is the least of your concerns. Wielding those blades makes you a beacon to things far older and hungrier than jealous nobles or even the Shadow Emperor's agents. Tread carefully, Kenta Yazuru. The dark is not just behind you; it is all around you. And it has been waiting for you for a very, very long time."