Itachi watched the young king, his face smooth and unbothered as he absentmindedly stuffed one sweet after another into his mouth. He might have seemed indifferent, but Itachi knew better—knew he was far more interested in their strange partnership than he let on. Even so, his focus wasn't on the king just then. He was more aware of their surroundings, more alert.
Every time the door to the small, charming café swung open with a soft creak and the bell overhead gave a bright chime, his gaze flicked towards it. He had done this so often his eyes were beginning to ache, but he paid it no mind. The air was thick with the rich scent of freshly baked treats, sugar-dusted and warm.
He glanced at the selection sprawled across the table—puddings, tarts, cakes, and everything in between. Not just in front of the king, but enough to spill over into Itachi's own side. He didn't understand why they were sitting here, in a place that was obviously popular with the locals—given how the door swung open every few minutes. Behind them, a handful of customers chatted away. Itachi could sense their presence without looking.
Itachi and the King were fugitives, running from an unknown number of Nines hot on their heels. Even with a head start, it wouldn't take long for their pursuers to track them down, whether they ran through the night or into the next day. Sitting here like this, out in the open, made no sense.
Beneath the table, Itachi tightened his grip around his gun, his fingers firm against the cool metal. He looked up at the king, who hadn't spared him a glance, too absorbed in his pile of sweets.
Should he force him to leave? Itachi recalled what had happened on the boat the previous night—how difficult, nearly impossible, it had been to control him. Even so, his grip on the weapon stiffened, the temptation curling inside him.
They had just left the seashore, crossing into Fire City when the king suddenly declared, with full conviction, that there were places he needed to see. Itachi ignored him, dismissing the outburst as trivial to their greater goal—until the king also declared he was hungry.
Without hesitation, Itachi had pressed his gun discreetly against the king's back, ensuring no one nearby noticed. He did not want enforcers meddling, questioning him. Even as a hunter, dealing with them would waste time—time they had none to spare. But if the king had attempted to hurt someone out of hunger, Itachi knew he would have intervened, no matter the consequences.
For all the tension between them at that moment, the king had managed to convince Itachi that what he craved was not blood, but human food. Itachi had feigned indifference, but in truth, the idea unsettled him. Vampires eating human food? He had never thought it possible. Yet here they were, him watching as the king devoured every bite without restraint.
Strangely, the king did not seem to view Itachi as a threat. That alone troubled him—serving as a stark reminder of the disparity in their strength.
"Hmm… delicious!" The king had repeated this more than once since he started eating, but Itachi couldn't decide whether the words were sincere. His cheeks were dusted with frosting, smudged with crumbs, his blue eyes glinting as they hooded slightly each time he spoke. Still, Itachi wasn't convinced.
He had read everything available on vampires during his years at the hunters' academy. The records were clear—vampires fed on blood. That was the only known truth. Yet after living in Elfim, he had observed the Negatives, who ate normal human food. Itachi had never truly considered them vampires, though. They were weak, resembling humans in nearly every way. In his eyes, they were human. But blue-eyed vampires… They were different. Or so he had thought.
The king sifted through the pile of sweets with his fingers, picking at whatever he fancied without an ounce of refinement. Itachi would have expected more decorum from a king, but this one had never fit the title from the start. Small. Thin. Hollow-eyed.
Itachi had stripped him of his rich garments, his earrings, his rings and bracelets—everything that glimmered. Even the bejeweled shoe, one of which the king had used to pay for the heap of food before him.
Now, he looked even more unremarkable.
Except for his eyes…
"What's wrong? Are you not hungry?"
The king's blue eyes landed on Itachi, and he tensed. His shoulders lifted involuntarily before he forced them back down. His grip on the gun tightened once more, the barrel still angled directly at the king beneath the table.
It was always the same. Every time he looked into those eyes, it felt as if he were staring at someone else entirely—someone wiser, stronger, unfathomable. His hunter instincts bristled, sharp like strands of hair standing on edge, humming with an unspoken charge.
Itachi flicked a glance at the sundae the waiter had placed in front of him at the king's request. Melted, soupy, unappetizing. Even if he had been hungry, he would never touch something so disgustingly sweet.
"What are we doing here?"
He ignored the king's question and threw his own. Here , meaning not just the restaurant—but Fire City itself.
The king's sun-bright hair was hidden beneath a blue baseball cap, his thin frame swallowed by gray overalls that hung loose over his shoulders. Despite the disguise, he still stuck out amongst the steady flow of businessmen and women, clerks and young professionals entering the café. A few of them had cast lingering glances their way upon sitting down.
Itachi, on the other hand, blended in effortlessly—black round-neck shirt, black slacks. His red overalls rested over his thigh beneath the table, concealing his weapon.
The king licked his fingers, his expression blissful, eyes closed, a satisfied smile curling at his lips.
"Why else?" He began, licking another trace of frosting from his thumb. "We are here to have fun and fill our stomachs with good food."
Itachi shot a look at the empty cake trays and the sundae cup—he wouldn't exactly call them food . His gaze shifted back to the king.
"We do not have time for fun," he said flatly. "We're leaving immediately."
"There are still places I want to see," the king protested, pouting.
Itachi stilled. He wasn't sure what made the sight so absurd—the flushed, puffy cheeks, the narrowed eyes—or the fact that the king was actually resorting to such an undignified display. Did he think this would sway him?
"This is Fire City—the city of fun! So we must have fun before we leave. Right, Itachi-kun?"
"Don't call me that," Itachi snapped. His skin bristled every time the king said it—perhaps because it made him feel small. Perhaps because it carried a sense of intimacy. The last thing he needed was any form of closeness with the king.
The bell chimed, and instinctively, Itachi turned his gaze to the door. A couple entered but paid them no attention. His focus flicked back to the boy in front of him.
"I don't think you've forgotten, but let me remind you—your people are after us. Me, in particular. Fun is the last thing I care about."
The king only intensified his pout, squinting harder, pursing his lips tighter, cheeks swelling red with exaggerated effort.
"But…" He drew the word out, almost whining. "The deal was that you keep my people from finding me for a week while I do anything I like."
"Don't add unnecessary terms to our agreement," Itachi said without blinking. "The deal is that I keep you hidden for a week. Nothing else."
"Then what's the point? I want to see the circus!"
The king's sudden wail startled the nearby customers, drawing their attention. Itachi felt their eyes prickle against his back and gritted his teeth.
"Don't do that again," he warned.
The king seemed to realize he was behaving like a petulant child—a spoiled child at that. He leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, food forgotten, still pouting. Itachi had no idea why he was keeping that expression.
With a sigh, he relented. "Fine. Only the circus."
They would go, then they would leave the city—fast. He only hoped the king could keep up with him.
"And the trade fair," the king chirped, eyes lighting up, a tentative smile forming.
Itachi looked at him for a beat before nodding, exhaling sharply. "And the trade fair. Twenty minutes. Then we leave."
"One hour each."
Itachi opened his eyes, brows knitting together. Was he purposely trying to aggravate him? The king's expectant gaze held firm, his smile blooming into a grin.
"Twenty minutes."
"Each?"
"Each."
"Hmm." The king tilted his head, thoughtful. He still intended to haggle? Itachi lifted an eyebrow.
"Fine. Twenty minutes each, and ten for the park."
"You are not allowed to add more places."
"Only this once. Please?" The king clasped his hands together, smiling, eager for approval.
The kings Itachi had heard of would never behave this way.
For the first time, he wondered if he had made a mistake.
He swept his gaze briefly over the king's small figure, then turned back toward the door just as it swung open again.
"Ten minutes each."
The king smirked—fleetingly—before raising both hands in a joyous cheer, drawing even more attention from the surrounding patrons.
Itachi eyed him with fresh bewilderment. Was he really this excited?
He didn't understand. Didn't want to understand. Why was this important? Why did he look so happy —like a child going out to play for the first time?
No. It didn't matter.
Shaking off the thought, Itachi pushed himself up, slipping his gun back into the pocket of his overalls. From the corner of his eye, he saw the king stand as well.
"We've got an hour. Let's go."
The king nodded but hesitated, eyes lingering on the table.
Itachi followed his gaze. His sundae cup—still untouched. Did he want that too?
"Are you going to be okay?" the king asked. "You didn't eat anything."
Itachi blinked.
"It's none of your concern," he replied, finality lacing his tone.
The king shouldn't care. Because once this deal was done—once Itachi uncovered the secret behind the blue-eyed vampires' life force—he would wipe them out. All of them.
Nothing would stop him. Not even the carefree, childlike face of the king.
Not even him.
As they neared the circus, a wave of uninviting cheer reached Itachi's ears, and he frowned. The bustle of life around the entrance grated on him—men and women, children and teens chattering away, their voices pecking at the air like restless birds.
The noise was suffocating, the sheer number of people unsettling. Itachi was caught in his own discomfort, distracted just long enough that he noticed too late—the king had started running.
Toward a tent.
Itachi didn't run, but his pace quickened. He needed to keep up.
The laughter and cries of excitement from inside the tent swelled, making his stomach tighten. Too many people. The place had to hold at least a thousand bodies packed together, rubbing shoulders in the dim space. Itachi had no interest in stepping inside—but the king had already pulled the entrance flap open and slipped in.
Itachi hesitated.
The king wanted to run. It was obvious.
Why wouldn't he? Why stay with Itachi when he could survive on his own?
Shoving the thought aside, he followed, lifting a hand to his nose as the rancid blend of sweat, urine, and something worse seeped into his senses.
The crowd was pressed together, eyes locked onto the stage, the air humid with too many breaths and body heat. Itachi searched for the king, spotting the familiar blue baseball cap bobbing toward him.
He had planned to stay by the entrance, folded arms, blending into the shadows—close enough to watch, far enough to keep to himself.
But the king seized his hand.
"Come on, Itachi-kun! There's space at the front!"
Before he could object, he was being pulled down crooked wooden steps.
Itachi yanked his hand free, choosing not to make a scene. The crowd wouldn't notice them—but that didn't mean he had to be dragged along like some reluctant child. So he followed, complacent, his irritation simmering beneath the surface.
They sat in the fourth row.
The placement annoyed Itachi immediately.
The stage lights glared into his eyes, making it difficult to scan the room, to watch for threats. He trusted his instincts to alert him if the Nines were near—but that wasn't enough. He needed to be able to see his best escape route.
Beside him, the king clapped and cheered, entirely unconcerned.
Itachi stole a glance. The boy's blue eyes were locked on the stage master—a man wearing a grotesque red demon mask, beastly, sharp-toothed, standing at the center of the spectacle.
Itachi tuned out most of his speech. It was meaningless chatter.
Until the stage master called for a volunteer.
The crowd erupted, voices vibrating the ground beneath Itachi's feet, eager to be chosen.
On the stage, two girls stood by a large clock wheel—scantily dressed in white and purple, cat ears perched atop their heads, smiling at the audience.
Then—silence.
The air tightened.
Itachi stiffened as a spotlight flared to life beside him.
"Yes!"
The king shot to his feet.
Itachi had been vaguely aware of his excitement before, but hadn't thought much of it. Now, his hand shot out, aiming to pull him back. If he let the king on stage, he could use the chaos to slip away.
Itachi needed him close. Within reach. Within control.
But he faltered.
The king's face—his wide, carefree smile, the dance of sapphire in his eyes—made him hesitate. It was innocent .
For one fleeting second, Itachi was stunned.
And that was all the king needed.
By the time Itachi blinked, he was already leaping high above the crowd, landing gracefully on the stage.
"Wow, what an enthusiastic kid!" the stage master praised. "What's your name, son?"
"Ikumi!" declared the king, grinning ear to ear.
"Ha ha, Ikumi-kun, you sound very excited! Are you afraid? Don't be—these pretty onee-chans will be looking after you, okay?"
Ikumi.
Itachi frowned. The name felt off—but names didn't matter.
Especially not his .
The king turned, casting a bright smile at the girls, who giggled and led him toward the wheel.
To the crowd, the scene was lively, joyful. To Itachi, the clamor grated against his ears like a flock of squawking birds. But he kept his gaze locked onto the king. He had to.
They strapped him upside-down to the wheel.
The stage master held up three daggers the length of Itachi's hand, flashing them for dramatic effect. Then, one after another, he sent them flying—each blade slicing through the air, missing the king by mere inches.
Itachi saw the precision in his aim.
The man was skilled—dangerously so.
Yet he played it up with exaggerated commentary.
"Oops! That was close!"
"Ow! So dangerous!"
The crowd hushed, breaths collectively held, waiting to see what would happen next.
The next dagger seemed to plunge straight into the king's stomach.
The crowd erupted in screams, so loud that Itachi ducked his head instinctively. To the untrained eye, it looked as though the blade had pierced clean through, vanishing into the king's body. But Itachi had seen the truth—the swift, almost imperceptible catch made by one of the girls on stage.
Her movements were lightning-fast, her slight figure poised with precision, twin buns framing her head.
This circus was far from ordinary.
Itachi's senses flared, his instincts screaming as chaos unfolded.
A single voice cut through the din, trembling with fear.
"Bl—blood!"
The word sent shockwaves through the crowd.
Itachi was already on his feet, his senses pinpointing three distinct locations amidst the chaos. Black coats.
"Vampire!"
The crowd broke loose.
Itachi leapt onto a vacated chair as men and women scrambled for the exits, their screams tearing through the cramped space. The sound was horrifying, even to those outside the tent.
He backflipped into the air, his focus locked on the stage where the king had been moments ago.
Landing lightly on his feet, the thud of his shoes was swallowed by the cacophony.
The wheel was empty.
Itachi had expected this. He knew the king wouldn't stay put. Now, he had to ensure he didn't get far.
A woman's scream pierced his ears.
He turned sharply, spotting the black hair of a man—no, not a man. A vampire.
Itachi moved without hesitation, the echo of his gunshot ringing out as he blew past them. The crowd surged, bodies pushing and shoving in desperation to reach the door.
Leaping into the air, Itachi fired again, his shots resolute. Dust rose in the wake of dead vampires, their remains scattering as he propelled himself through the narrow tent flap, using the head of a stranger as leverage.
He landed on one knee, his eyes darting left and right, searching for the blue baseball cap.
Nothing.
Straightening, he began to walk, his hunter senses guiding him.
Vampires in broad daylight.
It wasn't unheard of, but it was rare. Something had driven them out of hiding.
Shadowed faces with blue eyes flickered in his mind, and his pace quickened.
He passed a blind alley and stopped abruptly.
His senses tingled.
Drawing his gun, Itachi stepped into the alley with deliberate caution. The stench of stale rubbish hit him immediately—wood piled against the walls, bins overflowing, their contents spilling onto the ground.
Then he saw her.
A girl, no older than five, lying crumpled on the ground.
The shoulder of her dress was torn, a gaping wound on her neck still bleeding, pooling around her fragile body.
She wasn't dead.
Not yet.
The person Itachi used to be would have hesitated.
The person he was now didn't.
He raised his gun, aiming at the girl's head.
The man he had become felt nothing.
It should have terrified him.
But it didn't.
Resignation settled over him. He had already decided—no vampire would be spared. Not even a child.
He pulled the trigger.
The shot rang out, deafening.
But she was still alive.
Itachi blinked, his gaze locking onto the blue eyes staring back at him.
Kneeling before the girl, shielding her, was the king.
Blood trailed down his face, past his nose, dripping onto his lips.
He didn't wipe it away.
He didn't move.
"What are you doing?"
Itachi broke the silence, confusion twisting through him.
He hadn't sensed the king's presence—only felt the cool wind against his skin before he appeared.
"You can't kill her like that," the king said, his voice steady.
"What?"
Itachi furrowed his brows.
"You can't kill her," the king repeated.
Itachi didn't understand.
He didn't care.
"She is a vampire," Itachi said flatly. That should have been explanation enough.
"And you are a hunter, I know. But it's not her fault she became one," the king countered.
No, it's yours, Itachi thought darkly.
"That doesn't matter," he muttered and adjusted his gun, aiming for the girl again.
The king moved.
His hand gripped the barrel before Itachi could fire.
Itachi's eyes widened in shock.
He looked up, meeting the king's steady, unwavering gaze—blue and burning with something sharp. Anger.
Itachi couldn't understand it. Couldn't comprehend why the king was furious enough to grasp a hunter's weapon barehanded, unflinching, unafraid.
The sizzling sound of flesh against metal reached his ears. The acrid scent of burning skin curled in the air.
Yet, the king did not let go.
Itachi grit his teeth, pulling to free his weapon, but the king held it firm.
The struggle intensified.
Itachi could feel the difference in strength—the overwhelming, undeniable force that tipped the scale.
"You can't decide that on your own," the king said, and with a sharp movement, sent the gun flying from Itachi's grasp.
Itachi stared, stunned.
He had known, on some level, that the king was stronger than he looked—stronger than him .
But knowing was different from experiencing it.
"She's too young to be killed like that," the king continued, voice even but firm. "If you try to, I will stop you."
Itachi's heartbeat thundered in his chest. Not from fear.
From fury.
The king had no idea what he was talking about.
If Itachi let that girl live, she would become a vampire . That was worse than death—worse than anything.
Death was mercy.
And this king, this vampire, was trying to create more monsters.
Like the Nines.
The world didn't need that. Itachi didn't need that.
Without hesitation, he pulled his second gun and pressed it to the king's forehead.
"Move."
The king remained still.
He didn't flinch. Didn't waver.
Even as Itachi shifted the gun back toward the girl, the king didn't look away. His eyes held firm.
So Itachi fired.
Twice.
The force sent the king crashing into the wall behind the girl. The impact cracked the surface, threatening to collapse.
Itachi exhaled sharply, anger cooling in measured breaths.
He walked over, retrieving his discarded gun from the ground.
"What will you do about her?"
The king groaned as he sat up, his face dripping with blood.
Still, he grinned.
"Send her to my home," he answered.
Itachi narrowed his eyes. "And send your people straight for us?"
The king crawled toward the girl, lifting her mouth to his wrist.
Itachi turned away as her small fangs punctured his skin.
"No," the king murmured. "I'll make sure she avoids them."
When Itachi faced them again, the girl was staring up at the king, blue eyes wide with something close to awe.
"Go to Elfim. Tell them the king sent you," the king instructed her, as if expecting obedience without question.
"Avoid everyone on your way."
The girl nodded, trembling slightly as she got to her feet.
Then, she scaled the wall like a spider, disappearing into the shadows.
Itachi watched, unease crawling beneath his skin.
"What did you do to her?"
His voice was low, measured.
"Did you turn her into a noble? A Nine?"
He had to ask.
The king stood, scratching his head with a laugh. "Something like that," he said, blood still trailing down his face.
Itachi picked up a filthy rag, handing it over without a word. He didn't look at him.
"Ah, Itachi-kun—just as I suspected. You do have a warm side after all," the king mused.
Itachi could tell he was smiling.
Let him think whatever he wanted.
Itachi did not care.