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Russell sat cross-legged on his hotel bed, trying to meditate but mostly just staring at the ceiling. Three days until the knockout rounds, and he was stuck in Northgate—a city about as exciting as watching paint dry. He'd rather be anywhere else, and he definitely wasn't going back to that sketchy Everspring Clinic.
Ding.
His phone lit up with a message. Russell groaned and cracked one eye open. "Who the hell is texting me at this hour?"
[Misty]: Mr. Russell, are you free? I have something good for you.
Russell's face twisted like he'd just bitten into a lemon. His fingers flew across the keyboard.
[Russell]: Hard pass.
[Misty]: Your loss. I was going to give you something really good.
[Misty]: [Image Attached]
Russell glanced at the photo and nearly choked on his own spit. His eyes went wide as dinner plates.
[Russell]: MISTY! My dearest, most beloved friend! My sister from another mother! I'm literally sprinting over there right now!
The reason for Russell's personality transplant? The photo showed a collection of premium card-making materials that probably cost more than most people's cars. He didn't know why Misty was suddenly playing Santa Claus, but he wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth.
"Well, so much for maintaining my dignity," he muttered, grabbing his jacket.
Twenty minutes later, Russell landed outside the Everspring Clinic on Pidgeot's back, trying to look casual and definitely not like someone who'd just broken several speed limits.
"Master! You've returned!" The receptionist practically threw herself at him, her smile so wide it looked painful. Her makeup was thick enough to stop bullets.
Russell side-stepped her like she was radioactive. "Yeah, yeah, I'm here. Try not to spontaneously combust from excitement."
He took the stairs two at a time, bursting into Misty's office like a man on a mission.
Misty didn't even look up from her paperwork. "Took you long enough."
"Traffic was murder," Russell lied, collapsing onto her couch and immediately helping himself to her expensive-looking bottled water. "So what's the deal with the receptionist? She's acting like I'm some kind of celebrity."
Misty finally looked up, a wicked grin spreading across her face. "I told her you're my sugar baby."
Russell nearly performed a spit-take that would've made comedians weep with envy. "You WHAT?!"
"Relax, drama queen. With your current status, I wouldn't dare say something that stupid." She leaned back in her chair, clearly enjoying his reaction. "I told her you're my distant nephew or something equally boring."
"Thank God. I thought I was going to have to explain to people why I'm apparently dating someone old enough to be my—"
"Careful," Misty interrupted, her voice dangerously sweet. "I'm not that old."
Russell wisely decided to change the subject before he found himself mysteriously disappearing. "About those materials you mentioned..."
"Ah yes, business." Misty's playful demeanor shifted instantly. She pulled out an envelope from her drawer and tossed it across the desk. "Courtesy of your favorite death cult."
Russell caught the envelope and tore it open. Inside were three glowing materials and what looked like an instruction manual. His excitement dimmed as he read through it.
"A vampire template? Seriously?" He held up the guide like it had personally insulted his mother. "This is the same basic setup that Gus and Brother Tiger used. It's like giving someone a coloring book and calling it art."
The guide was painfully generic—just bare-bones settings and a skeleton of a story. He'd have to flesh out everything himself. A note at the bottom warned that the mysterious space would reject any completely plagiarized stories.
"Well, that explains why nobody's been knocking down my door asking about Luffy's backstory," Russell mused. "Can't exactly steal what doesn't exist yet."
He examined the materials more closely: [Blood Demon] (Purple), [Inferior Regenerative Blood] (Blue), and [Night Walker] (Purple). High-quality stuff, but the timing was suspicious.
"Why now?" he asked, more to himself than to Misty. "They don't exactly have a reputation for random acts of kindness."
The answer hit him like a truck. "They're setting me up for a mission, aren't they?"
Misty's silence was answer enough.
"Let me guess—right after the exams end, they'll want me to go do something incredibly dangerous and probably illegal." Russell laughed, but there was no humor in it. "They don't actually care if I live or die. I'm just a disposable asset to them."
He leaned back, staring at the ceiling. "Too bad they don't know I'm not actually their loyal little puppet."
The irony wasn't lost on him. The Society wanted to use him as a pawn, but he was already using them for free materials and information. It was like a game of chess where both players thought they were winning.
"A vampire, huh?" Russell held up the template again, this time with a thoughtful expression. "Well, if they want me to make a vampire, I'll make one. Just not the pathetic excuse for a bloodsucker they're expecting."
His mind raced through possibilities. Alucard from Hellsing—a walking nightmare in a red coat. Kiss-Shot Heart-Under-Blade—elegant, deadly, and practically indestructible. Arcueid Brunestud—a True Ancestor who could erase people from existence.
"Actually," he said, a slow grin spreading across his face, "this might be the perfect opportunity to finally make my first female card."
Russell had been surrounded by male characters long enough. As a perfectly normal guy, he was getting tired of his entire roster being a bunch of dudes. Time to add some variety to the team.
"Besides," he muttered, pocketing the materials, "if I'm going to be stuck with a vampire, she might as well be interesting to look at."
Misty raised an eyebrow. "Planning something ambitious?"
"When am I not?" Russell stood up, feeling energized for the first time in days. "Thanks for the delivery service, Misty. I've got some serious card-making to do."
As he headed for the door, he couldn't help but smirk. The Society thought they were so clever, manipulating him with shiny materials and hidden agendas.
They had no idea what was coming.
End of Chapter