I left the stadium a little while after everyone else, not wanting to waste any more time dealing with trivial things like fearsome crowds.

  I checked my phone. 10:55 p.m.

  It was late.

  “I’ll probably just get a capsule hotel…”

  I found myself wandering through a nearby park, hands in my pockets, moving at an unhurried pace while minding my own business. I was painfully aware that there would be no trains running at this time of night, which meant I had nowhere in particular to be.

  Just me.

  The quiet.

  And the city slowly settling back into itself.

  “Excuse me. Jō Aragami, right?”

  I turned on my heel, startled.

  Who was this guy? How did he know my name?

  His voice was soothing, almost gentle, yet paired with a quiet, subtly intimidating presence that made my shoulders tense without me realizing it. He wore a sleek top hat pulled low, obscuring his eyes and most of his upper face, leaving only pearly white teeth and a sharply defined, elegant jaw visible.

  He was a little taller than me, slim in build, and dressed in a pristine cream tuxedo that looked far too expensive to belong anywhere near a public park. Golden rings adorned each of his pale fingers, their polished gleam doing nothing but further bully my already fragile financial situation.

  “Uhhh, yes?”

  Stranger danger.

  “Hmm, I see. Yes, you have quite the potential to be the perfect suitor.”

  “Suitor to who?”

  Was this the beginning of my romcom mystery arc? I was not exactly opposed to it.

  “That is indeed the question. I find myself quite excited for you, yet also terribly jealous. Why do you receive such a blessing? And when I look at you, I cannot help but fall in love. Yes. You are a pristine candidate indeed.”

  …Wait. I'm not gay though.

  “Uh, apologies, but I’m not into men or anything that isn’t biologically female. No hate to everyone else. Just not my thing, y’know.”

  He stared at me for a moment.

  Then he licked his lips.

  Yeah. No. I did not like that.

  A deep, uncomfortable sensation crept up my spine as I took a half-step back. Whatever this was, it had officially stopped being funny.

  But in the very next moment, he was right beside me.

  His lips brushed against my ear, his tongue dragging slowly along it as my entire body shuddered.

  “I won’t take long.”

  Was he going to molest me!?

  Despite his impossible speed, that was the only thought that crossed my mind. Then came the next moment.

  I felt it.

  Straight through my heart.

  Straight through my chest.

  “Yes… ooh, how tasty. How succulent,” he murmured, almost lovingly. “This can be used. A perfect vessel for love.”

  His hand had pierced straight through my chest, burrowing into my heart. Blood frothed up my throat and spilled from my mouth as shock smothered the agony that should have followed. The pain was there, lurking beneath the surface, but my body could not yet comprehend it.

  Everything felt so cold.

  “Prepare to be reborn.”

  He slowly withdrew his hand from my chest, crimson dripping from his fingers as he wiped the blood casually against his cream tuxedo, as if it were nothing more than a mild inconvenience.

  I could not speak. Even if I wanted to, my body refused to listen. The violation had been too sudden, too absolute. My mind lagged behind reality, unable to fully grasp what had just been done to me.

  “So beautiful. So sexy. So gorgeous,” he murmured. “A vessel for lust. A vessel for love. Until we meet again, her soulmate.”

  And with that, he turned and walked away, strutting down the path like it was a casual Wednesday afternoon.

  Leaving me there, dying.

  My body thrashed weakly as I dragged myself toward a nearby bench, fingers scraping uselessly against the pavement until I managed to pull myself up and collapse onto it. I lay there, barely conscious, calling out for help with a voice that no longer sounded like my own.

  Blood spilled in violent waves from the gaping wound in my chest, pouring out and soaking the park floor beneath me like a grotesque fountain. It was warm at first. Then it wasn’t.

  As I cried out, it wasn’t pain that consumed me. It was something far worse.

  It was the feeling of slipping away.

  The quiet realization that whatever made me me was draining out alongside the blood. My thoughts felt thinner. Lighter. Like they were being peeled away one by one. My heartbeat slowed, each thud weaker than the last, as if my body was already giving up on the idea of survival.

  Was this death?

  Was this really the end?

  I hadn’t even kissed a girl.

  I hadn’t traveled outside the country.

  Hell, I hadn’t even finished my favourite anime.

  I was going to die.

  Alone.

  On a cold park bench.

  Afraid and terrified.

  My vision blurred, the world losing its edges as tears mixed with blood on my face. The night sky above me felt impossibly distant, like something I was no longer meant to look at.

  Then I heard it.

  A sound.

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  Soft, but distinct.

  The rustling of tree branches above me.

  Leaves shifting against one another, disturbed by something moving through them. Not the wind. Not the city. Something else.

  Something close.

  My fading eyes struggled to focus upward as the darkness deepened around me, and for the first time since collapsing onto the bench, a new thought pierced through the fear.

  “I’m not alone anymore,” I muttered weakly, unsure whether to feel relief or dread.

  From the darkness, a voice called out. “We’re here for you. Don’t worry.”

  It was warm. Comforting. Familiar. I felt like I had heard that voice before, but my brain was too exhausted, too busy trying to preserve what little life I had left, to focus on where or when.

  Three figures rushed into my view. Different. Not just visually, but in a way I couldn’t quite explain. They hovered over me, touching me, trying to help, trying to reassure me. Their hands felt like heaven on earth.

  Until—

  “Guys, stop. His blood is black.”

  Black?

  What do you mean my blood is black?

  The thought barely formed before I saw it myself. The dark maroon liquid pooling beneath me, thicker than it should be. No normal blood looked like that. No normal person bled like that.

  From that moment on, the figures, the girls, stopped talking to me and started talking about me.

  Whether I was still human.

  Whether I had already turned.

  Whether they should kill me.

  Of course I was human.

  …Wasn’t I?

  And if they were going to kill me, wasn’t I already dying anyway?

  The next thing I knew, I was being forced down, pinned in place by a cold metallic staff. A blade rose above my head, gleaming under the park lights, poised to fall. By then, I had already accepted it.

  This felt like mercy.

  Then metal clashed against metal.

  The blade was knocked aside. One of them shouted about the Church, about mercy, about water. Voices overlapped, sharp and frantic at first, then slowly, reluctantly, calming.

  All the while, the pain caught up to me.

  The shock had faded, leaving nothing but raw agony. Every breath burned. Every heartbeat felt like it might be the last. I could not understand how I was still alive.

  “Prepare to be reborn.”

  The words echoed in my mind.

  That was what he meant. The man in the cream tuxedo. Was this what rebirth felt like? Was I being reborn like in one of those isekai anime?

  And if so…

  Into what?

  The thought clung to me like a sickness, spreading through my mind, impossible to shake, as my body was lifted from the ground. My arms moved on their own, fingers weakly clutching at whatever, or more precisely whoever, was carrying me away.

  I held on, because I didn’t want to die yet. Wasn’t that normal? Wasn’t that desire still human?

  I didn’t know anymore. I didn’t feel like I knew me anymore.

  My body was lifted into the sky, held helplessly as the world blurred past me. My senses dulled and smeared together as I was carried onto a train that thundered toward its next station, metal screaming against rails.

  “Just hold on,” a warm, feminine voice called out to me.

  I wanted to answer. I wanted to say I was trying. But my mouth wouldn’t listen.

  The next thing I knew, we were airborne again. My heroine leapt from the moving train, racing through the unfamiliar streets of Tokyo, cutting through the city at speeds no human should have been capable of.

  Buildings blurred into streaks of light. Wind tore past my face.

  Why wasn’t I unconscious yet…?

  Then everything shifted.

  Large doors were thrown open. My vision swam, but the feeling that washed over me was unmistakable. Something reverent, something holy.

  Was this a church?

  People moved with urgency all around me, voices overlapping, footsteps echoing as I was carried deeper inside. Through hallways. Into some kind of backroom. I was laid down on a hard surface, cold against my back, as hands began pouring olive oil over my chest, my head, my shoulders, my pelvis, my throat.

  And suddenly, my senses snapped back.

  I could see clearly.

  Hear properly.

  Feel everything.

  From nearby, I heard voices.

  “Wouldn’t it be smart to put salt on the wound, Lady Silva?”

  “No. He needs healing first. Proceed with the holy water as quickly as possible.”

  “Understood.”

  My wrists and ankles were strapped down to the table, leather biting into my skin as I was rendered completely immobile. My torso clothing was torn away in an instant. Then my throat was restrained too, locked in place by a cold metal harness.

  Wasn’t this a bit inhumane?

  Boots struck the floor nearby.

  And then something inside me woke up.

  Something foreign.

  Something wrong.

  Run.

  The thought screamed through my mind, drowning everything else out.

  Run away.

  Flee.

  You are going to feel unimaginable pain.

  You need to run.

  You have to run.

  Running is the only option.

  Where do you run to?

  Please let go of me.

  Please let me run.

  “Aaahhhhh!!!!!!!”

  The scream tore itself out of my throat as water splashed onto my open wound.

  It wasn’t water. It burned like acid.

  Agony exploded through my chest as if my organs were being dissolved, my body set alight from the inside. I thrashed violently, chains rattling as I struggled uselessly against the restraints.

  “Aaahhhhhhhhh!!!!!”

  There was no escape.

  Then a hand slipped into mine.

  Soft.

  Warm.

  “It’s going to be okay. Just relax,” she said gently. “I know it’s scary, but we’re not going to hurt you.”

  She held my hand tightly, grounding me. Comforting me.

  Why was I so afraid?

  Why did every part of me want to run?

  It was just water.

  No one was attacking me.

  No one was trying to kill me.

  So why did my soul feel like it was screaming to escape?

  Two more feminine figures dressed in black rushed into the room.

  “Bea!? What’s happening?” A stern voice rang out.

  “I-it’s n-not w-working.” My comforter’s voice was laced with despair, yet she still held my hand tightly, as if wishing for another reality, one where this was not happening.

  “Hmm, so the holy water has been ineffective.” A solemn voice followed.

  Before them, a female deacon of the church stepped forward. “Not exactly. The water still has an effect on his nervous system, so it must be slowing down his transformation.”

  Transformation?

  “I see… so it’s only slowing him down.” The voice was pragmatic, showing no sign of worry.

  “Yes. It seems you were unfortunately too late. The fiend’s blood entered his heart, quickening the transformation from hours to minutes, and its blood was potent. It must have undoubtedly been at the level of a duke or above.”

  A pause fell over the room. The mention of a duke or above carried a weight of grave concern.

  “S-so then what can w-we do?” the warm girl holding my hand asked desperately.

  “Pray. Our best option is to pray for his soul.”

  And that they did. One by one, they took turns praying over me, reciting the Lord’s Prayer, each holding a part of my body as they prayed with all the fervour they had. Despite my body thrashing at every touch, despite the screams torn from my throat with every splash of water, they did not stop.

  My soul twisted. A part of me wanted to resist, to fight, to hurl the vilest profanities at them. And a part of me did. But another part wanted to listen, wanted to find comfort in their pleas. In those moments when that side prevailed, I lay still. Peaceful.

  When they finished praying, that latter part of me pushed back against the former. To honour the wishes of those who had tried to save me, I wanted to pray as well.

  So I did.

  “Dear Father, hallowed be thy name…”

  And something inside of me changed.