[He's probably shy.] The thought came to Rurika just like that—simple, straightforward, without suspicion.
To her, there was nothing strange about that conclusion. If someone felt uncomfortable being seen, then the best way to respect them was… not to look at all.
Without hesitation, she turned her body away.
Her steps were small and careful—almost overly so, as if even a shadow could be considered a violation.
She turned her face away from the curtain, keeping her distance, looking toward something that had nothing to do with the young man behind it.
"This way… it should be fine," she murmured softly.
She even restrained herself from moving too much. Not wanting to make any noise or wanting the person behind the curtain to feel watched.
For most people, it might have been excessive. But for Rurika, it was responsibility.
Because in her mind—even the smallest mistake… was still a mistake.
She didn't realize that behind her innocent actions, something far more dangerous was happening.
The thin curtain did not truly separate two worlds.
It only concealed one side from the other.
And on the hidden side—
The black blood within the young man began to move. Not pulsing. Not following his heartbeat.
It writhed slowly beneath his skin, searching toward the source of the voice from earlier—
Toward the girl now standing with her back turned to the curtain…
without the slightest suspicion.
***
—Rexdeus, who has lost his name and identity—
Behind the curtain, my breathing began to falter. The air felt heavy—or perhaps it was my lungs that no longer worked as they should. Each breath came shallow, broken… as if this body had forgotten how to live properly.
My blood was rebelling.
Not merely moving—it was trying to escape, as though this body was no longer its rightful place.
Every pressure felt alien. It did not follow my heartbeat. Nor my will.
And worse still, slowly—very slowly—it began to search for a direction, like something sniffing through the darkness.
The skin on my arm tightened before faint cracks formed around my wrist. From those gaps, a black-red line crept outward—not a wound, nor normal blood. It moved with a will of its own; fluid, yet not entirely liquid.
Alive.
A single drop slipped free, hanging in the air without falling. It pulsed softly, spinning as if weighing something… then stopped.
As if it had found it—the platinum-haired girl.
Its pulse changed. It stretched, sharpened, resembling a fang that had just recognized its prey.
"Damn—" I muttered under my breath.
"A...are you alright? Do you need help?" the girl's voice came through the curtain, and just that alone made my blood react instantly.
I moved faster than my thoughts. My hand seized it before it could shoot forward. It was already too close.
But this blood did not stay still. It did not obey. Instead, it pushed back, writhing and struggling in my grip like a living creature refusing to be restrained.
This wasn't liquid.
It was something with intent.
"...I'm fine… and no—need," I said, my voice breaking as something stabbed from within. Not ordinary pain. It felt like my body was being resisted… by my own body.
"I forgot to introduce myself. Maybe it's a bit late. My name is Rurika Merokara. You can call me Ruri. And my aunt's name is Sarona Merokara. So… um… what's your name, and how should I call you?" the blonde girl asked.
She spoke at length. Too long.
In this condition—every word she spoke felt like it was drawing the attention of something inside me.
"...I don't have one. My name… I've lost it," I answered shortly.
My focus wasn't on her. But on this blood—which was slowly moving… toward her voice.
It was as if it recognized her—drawn to her…wanting to break free from me.
For a moment—
I could feel its desire reaching, piercing, and destroying.
"If… that's the case… may I call you Shoka?" she said, still in that same tone—innocent, without a hint of suspicion.
"...Do as you like," I replied.
At the same time, my grip began to falter.
My blood slipped free. It shot forward without hesitation, like something that had been waiting for a single opening to break loose.
No pause, no doubt—it went straight for the curtain, as if it knew exactly what lay beyond it.
Damn—
I lunged forward. My foot slammed hard against the bed frame, forcing it into a foothold for a full burst of strength.
The wood cracked under the pressure. The frame tilted, nearly collapsing—but my body had already been thrown forward.
The black-red line stretched through the air, sharpening like a fang. It didn't slow, didn't waver—it pierced straight through the curtain.
The thin fabric trembled as it was breached, tearing slightly at the edge—just enough to let something that should never pass through… slip across.
On the other side—Rurika was still standing.
The tip of that blood was already right in front of her neck.
One centimeter.
Enough to end everything.
I couldn't see her clearly through the cloth, but I could feel it—a pull from within myself, something reaching outward, something that almost… touched.
My body moved faster than my thoughts.
My hand slammed through the curtain and caught it—just before the tip of the blood could graze her skin.
The fabric was yanked violently between us, stretched tight in the middle, becoming a fragile boundary that could hardly be called a barrier—yet still the only thing separating life and death at that moment.
Behind me, the remaining support gave way.
CRASH—
The bed partially collapsed, its frame tilting sharply to one side.
My foot pressed against what remained, forcing it to hold—though the wood creaked under my weight, on the verge of snapping completely.But I couldn't let go.
Not now.My grip did not falter.
All my weight was split—one to support my own body, the other to restrain something far more dangerous in my hand.
My blood fought back.It didn't just move—it jerked, writhed, then seeped through the gaps between my fingers, trying to force itself free.
Its direction hadn't changed.Still the same.Still toward her.Toward the girl's neck.
"{STAY}—"my voice came out low, restrained, more like a command than a shout.
But it didn't obey.
That cursed blood pushed back even harder—more violent, more savage, as if enraged at being stopped just before its prey.
Its tip still extended beyond the fabric, still moving slowly, still searching for even the smallest opening to reach her.
One wrong move—and it would be over.
I tightened my grip, locking all my strength into a single point. No space. No chance.
My shadow began to move.
The darkness beneath my feet crept upward slowly—not frantic, not wild like the blood. It was calmer—and far more obedient to my will.
Bit by bit, my shadow wrapped around the blood. Swallowing it. Forcing it back.
The blood still refused to yield. It lashed once more—harder than before, as if making one final attempt to reach its target.
But this time—
it wasn't enough.
The tip that had pierced through the curtain trembled… then was slowly dragged back, pulled into my grasp—and for a moment, it stopped.
As if still trying for one last push in the same direction—before finally vanishing completely into the shadow.
Nothing remained.
No trace.
No drop.
The curtain fell still again, leaving behind only a faint tear, barely visible. As if nothing had ever happened.
And yet, the fabric still moved slightly.
Not because of the wind.
A thin damp mark lingered there—dark at first, then slowly fading. As if something had touched it…and almost didn't return.