Chapter 81 – The Face Beneath the Hood
Airi Tachibana had made a decision.
Today… she would try again.
She clutched the edge of her desk with both hands, rehearsing quiet lines in her head as she watched Alex Elwood sit two rows ahead, as still and unreadable as ever in that perfectly black hoodie.
"Just talk to him after class. Ask something casual. Like—"
'Do you understand the homework?'
Or 'What book are you reading?'
Or 'Would you like to go on a date and become the foundation of my emotional stability for the rest of my life?'
No, not that last one.
But something. Anything.
Before she could stand, the classroom door slid open.
"Class, attention please."
Their homeroom teacher stepped in with a clipboard and a very official-looking envelope.
"I have good news. This semester's international field trip has been approved."
A few students gasped.
Others leaned forward.
"We'll be departing next week for Romania. You'll each receive a full itinerary later today."
Excitement spread across the room like wildfire.
All except in Airi, whose soul visibly left her body.
"ROMANIA?"
She stared forward, stunned.
"I was finally going to talk to him. In a hallway. In our own language. Near vending machines I understand emotionally."
"But no. Now we're flying across continents to a gothic vampire castle, and I'm expected to function?"
She lowered her head onto her desk.
"I am cursed."
The next day – Narita International Airport
The line moved slowly through the international checkpoint, teachers doing roll call while students dragged suitcases, checked snacks, and fussed over travel pillows.
Airi stood in line with a death grip on her passport.
She had barely slept.
Not because of the flight.
Not because of jet lag.
But because Alex was in line two people ahead, standing tall, hands in his pockets, hoodie on.
Still unreadable.
Still completely unaware of the civil war happening inside her chest.
She had managed not to look directly at him for most of the morning.
She had also failed.
Repeatedly.
They reached the immigration counter.
The officer gestured to Alex.
"Hood down, please."
The words were mundane. Routine.
The moment was not.
Alex froze.
"Ah… it's just, um—sun sensitivity," he muttered. "It helps with focus."
A flimsy excuse.
Even he knew it.
The officer gave him a flat look.
"Sir, it's policy."
Now everyone in the class was looking.
The teachers. The students. The girls in particular had gone completely still.
Airi gripped her suitcase.
Alex hesitated.
Then, with clear reluctance… he reached up.
And pulled the hood back.
The silence that followed was deafening.
His hair — clean, styled, slightly windswept — framed a face so absurdly symmetrical it might have been rendered by AI and sculpted by divine intention. Calm eyes. Neutral expression. Gentle stillness.
He wasn't trying to look good.
He simply was.
The girls nearest the front of the line visibly froze.
One gasped.
Another choked on her gum.
A few whispered—
"Wait… is that… Alex?"
"That's not fair…"
"I thought he was just the quiet type but—what is that face?"
"He could be in a magazine. No, on the cover."
Even one of the male students muttered, "Bro…"
Alex sighed, gave the officer a nod, and continued forward.
Airi?
She died.
Silently.
Internally.
Her eyes widened, frozen in place, face instantly flushed.
Not because she hadn't seen his face before.
No — she had.
She had seen it in sunlight. She had captured it. She had archived it.
She had stared at it like it was a national treasure and whispered things like "You are the blueprint."
And now?
Everyone else was seeing it too.
"He took the hood off…"
"In front of everyone?"
"That face—that was supposed to be my secret."
Her suitcase nearly slipped from her grip.
Not from shock — from possessive panic.
"They're all looking."
"Some of them are blushing.
"One of them just whispered the word 'prince.'"
"I am in a battlefield. This is war."
A faint nosebleed threatened to resurface — not from romance this time, but sheer jealousy-based cardiac instability.
She didn't take a photo.
She already had ten.
But now someone else might take one.
She frantically looked around, scanning for raised phones like a security camera with a vendetta.
Her hands trembled.
Not with desire.
With defensive girlfriend energy — and they weren't even dating.
As Alex passed through and gently pulled his hood back on, the whispers spread.
Half the girls were dazed. A few looked like they'd just rewritten their crush lists.
And Airi?
She stood silently in line.
Blushing.
Trembling.
And thinking one very clear, very serious thought:
"I have to talk to him before someone else does."
As Alex passed through the checkpoint, the officers waved him through.
He pulled the hood back up.
The world settled again.
But not before half the class had quietly restructured their social rankings.
Alex hadn't said a word.
But now no one could unsee it.
Chapter 82 – The Seat Beside Him
The airplane's cabin buzzed with low chatter, engine rumble, and the occasional clatter of carry-ons being shoved into overhead bins.
Airi Tachibana sat in Seat 21A, hands clasped on her lap, heart fluttering at a speed that no magical artifact could measure.
Next to her, in 21B, sat Alex Elwood — black hoodie slightly unzipped now that they were indoors, his posture straight but relaxed, face calm and unreadable.
She had won the seat lottery.
Now she just had to survive it.
"Alright, just talk normally. He's not a monster. He's just the mysterious, devastatingly attractive boy I've had a quiet obsession with for months. No pressure."
She took a deep breath.
"So… do you like traveling?"
Alex glanced her way. His expression didn't change, but he nodded.
"It's nice to see new places," he said simply.
Encouraged, Airi kept going.
"I've never been to Europe before. I was kind of surprised they chose Romania for a school trip. Bran Castle's got that whole vampire legend thing, right?"
"Yeah," he said, turning toward her slightly. "Dracula."
"Though it's not really confirmed if Vlad the Impaler lived there…"
"But the legend stuck anyway."
She blinked.
"You know about that?"
Alex gave a faint shrug. "I read a bit. It's hard to ignore when it's that famous."
He reads too? He's handsome, calm, intelligent, and reads about European vampire lore?? Who is this man?!
Encouraged by his calm tone, she slowly relaxed. Talking to him didn't feel scary anymore — just quiet. Like dropping pebbles into a still lake.
So she kept going.
And to her surprise… he kept listening.
She talked about the trip, about how she was nervous because she's never flown this far before. About how her little cousin thought Dracula was a real person and begged her to bring back garlic.
She talked about how she once tried to learn Romanian from an audiobook and only remembered the word for "apple."
Alex didn't interrupt. He just listened, eyes attentive, occasionally giving the smallest nod or quiet "mm" to show he was following.
When she paused to sip water, embarrassed she'd rambled too much, she muttered—
"Sorry, I'm talking a lot."
Alex looked at her directly.
"It's fine. I don't mind."
He said it without hesitation. Not as a favor. Just truth.
That one sentence made her heartbeat speed up in a way that was definitely not airline safety-approved.
After a while, she dared to ask—
"Can I ask you something weird?"
Alex blinked. "Sure."
"You're… always so quiet. Is that just your personality? Or are you just not interested in people?"
He didn't answer right away.
But not because she'd offended him.
He was thinking.
Then—
"It's not that I'm not interested," he said. "I just… don't talk unless I need to. That's all."
He paused.
"But I watch. I try to notice things. If someone's struggling or uncomfortable… I think it's better to act than to talk."
Airi blinked.
That was… gentle.
There wasn't an ounce of arrogance in his voice. No over-explanation. No effort to sound cool.
He just meant it.
"So you're the type who picks up someone's dropped pencil without saying anything, huh?"
Alex gave the smallest smile.
"I guess."
Airi turned her face slightly toward the window, hiding her expression.
But inside?
Her heart was glowing like a lantern.
He's not just quiet.
He's thoughtful.
He pays attention.
He notices when people are hurting — and helps quietly, without making a show of it.
That's the kind of strength that doesn't ask for praise. The kind that… feels safe.
She bit her lip to keep from smiling too obviously.
I was right to like him. I didn't even know why at first… but now I'm sure.
He's… kind.
As the plane continued its slow journey west, the hum of engines wrapped around them like a cocoon. The lights dimmed. Other students began nodding off or pulling up travel guides.
But Airi stayed awake just a little longer, glancing sideways at the boy beside her.
He wasn't reading.
Just sitting there, quietly, looking out the window.
And somehow, that small thing made her feel at peace.
This isn't so bad, she thought.
In fact… this might be the best flight of my life.
Chapter 83 – Fangs in Fashion
When all the students and teachers arrived in Romania, they got on the bus and started their journey.
The buses slowed as they rolled into the town of Bran, nestled in the shadow of the Carpathian Mountains.
The students leaned toward the windows, wide-eyed. It wasn't like Tokyo, or Kyoto, or even the smaller towns back home. There were no skyscrapers, no neon signs screaming into the sky — but the town didn't feel outdated or backward.
It felt like something out of a fairytale, a place where time had never needed to rush.
The mountains loomed in the distance, blanketed in dark pine trees and dappled sunlight. The air smelled of stone, bark, and the soft, sharp scent of morning woodsmoke. Birds glided on high thermals. A layer of mist clung low across the lower slopes, like the clouds themselves had chosen to rest there.
The town itself was small, but vivid in its old-world elegance.
Buildings wore sloped red-tile roofs and whitewashed walls, with the occasional mural or flowerbox giving them a touch of personality. Cobblestone streets twisted gently between homes, lined with wrought-iron lamps that leaned just enough to look like they'd seen things. Wooden balconies hung over narrow alleys, and cats sat in windows like silent guardians of secrets.
The students pointed at everything — the gothic church near the town square, the open-air market that seemed to sell both vegetables and vampire keychains, the crooked fence that looked too pretty to fix.
There were no glass towers, but everything felt... intentional. Cared for.
Alive.
"It's like walking through a painting," someone whispered.
And then they saw it.
Tucked near the edge of the town center — across from a quiet café and shaded by a line of cherry trees just beginning to bloom — stood a modest two-story building.
Stone walls. Carved wood awning. Copper gutters that had aged to green.
But above the arched entrance was a plaque that shimmered faintly in the sun:
GEN7TECH – Romania Branch
The students stared.
Even the teachers blinked in surprise.
"Wait… is that the same Gen7Tech?"
"The company that made Mythcore?"
"What's it doing here?"
The building wasn't flashy. In fact, it matched the surrounding architecture almost too well — the windows framed with traditional trim, the rooftop designed to slope with the Carpathian style.
But the inside, visible through the open glass doors, was a different story.
Clean white walls, smooth chrome accents, soft-lit panels. A silent front desk projected a floating Gen7Tech logo. The hallway beyond led to something deeper — all of it glowing faintly with the quiet hum of modern design.
It felt like a capsule of the future hidden in the skin of the past.
"It doesn't look like a tech hub," someone said.
"It looks like it belongs here."
Airi looked at it for a long moment.
So did Alex.
Neither said a word.
But somehow, the Gen7Tech building's existence here — in a town of myths, forests, and weathered stone — felt like a thread connecting old legends and new ones.
And none of them knew yet…
That Alex Elwood was the thread.
The sun dipped low behind the Carpathians as the students arrived at their hotel — a cozy, three-story structure tucked against the forested slope near the base of Bran Castle. Its stone walls were flecked with moss and old ivy, and lanterns flickered to life along the wooden beams of the roof.
The building looked like it belonged in a fairytale. Gothic windows, arched doorways, and the faint scent of burning pine drifting from a chimney. Inside, the lighting was warm, the lobby filled with antique furniture, red carpets, and carved wooden banisters that creaked just enough to feel lived in.
The teachers began organizing keys and assigning room numbers.
"Alright, everyone," their homeroom teacher said. "Rooms are divided based on availability. Some have four beds, some six, and one of the smaller rooms... only has two."
A ripple of excitement ran through the group.
Some students immediately started whispering:
"Let me get the one with my bestie—"
"I want the six-bed! Party!"
"Wait, there's a two-person room? Who gets that?"
Airi stood near the front, holding her luggage with both hands. Her posture was composed, elegant — the model of calm class representative behavior.
And then:
"Room 206. Two beds. Tachibana and Elwood."
Her heart stopped.
Then restarted violently.
WHAT?!
ME?!
WITH HIM?!
IN THE SAME ROOM?
Externally, she maintained a perfectly polite expression.
Internally?
Fireworks.
Parades.
Choirs of romantic spirits chanting in triumph.
"YES! YESYESYESYESYES—THANK YOU ROOM ASSIGNMENT GODS, THANK YOU."
Beside her, Alex simply nodded.
"Okay."
Airi replied with serene calm. "Understood."
Her voice: composed.
Her heart: spinning like a festival wheel.
Her soul: breakdancing in a field of flowers.
They reached the room and stepped inside.
It was quiet. Cozy. Just two beds. A window overlooked the hills, with a partial view of the castle lit by evening lights. A radiator clicked faintly beneath the sill.
Alex placed his bag at the foot of one bed.
Airi stepped in behind him, breathing in the moment.
This is real. This is happening. This is destiny wearing a hoodie.
Alex sat down calmly, looking out the window.
"It's quiet here," he said.
Airi nodded, smiling just a little — warm, gentle, genuine.
"Yeah. It is."
She closed the door softly behind her.
The lock clicked.
And in her mind—
"BEST. TRIP. EVER."
Chapter 84 – Toothbrushes, Panic, and the Prince of Hoodies
The sun had set.
Dinner had been devoured.
Toothbrushes were unpacked.
And the school hotel had descended into a familiar kind of chaos:
Late-night student energy.
Laughter echoed down the hallways, slippers squeaked against polished floors, and someone in Room 307 was already loudly arguing about who got the top bunk while holding a toothbrush like a sword.
In Room 206 — the only two-person room in the entire building — Airi Tachibana sat stiffly at the edge of her bed, clutching her knees.
She wasn't panicking.
No, not at all.
She was simply...
Screaming silently. Internally. Constantly.
Across the room, Alex Elwood was standing by the sink, brushing his teeth in perfect silence. He moved like he did everything — calm, methodical, completely unaware that his very existence was making it impossible for Airi to function.
He's brushing his teeth.
Why does he make even brushing his teeth look like a sacred monk ritual?
She stared at the floor, trying not to make eye contact with the air around him.
Get it together, girl. You're a highly trained agent of magical suppression. You can handle this. You've erased cursed runes. This is just... one boy. One hoodie-wearing, flawless-jawed, thoughtful, warm-voiced—
"Are you okay?" Alex asked suddenly, turning slightly.
She jumped.
"Yes. Fine! Perfect! Just—adjusting. Jet lag! Brain lag! Language lag!"
He blinked once.
Then nodded. "Makes sense."
Airi wanted to melt into the mattress and become hotel furniture.
Meanwhile, down the hallway in Room 204…
"Wait... they're in a two-person room?"
Five heads turned toward the speaker.
"What do you mean they?"
"Tachibana. And Alex."
A moment of silence passed.
And then:
"OH MY GOD."
"THE SCHOOL SHIP HAS SAILED."
"I KNEW IT. I KNEW IT FROM THE HALLWAY ENERGY."
"I'll bet 1,000 yen she confesses by the end of the trip."
"I'll take that. She won't. But he might."
A knock came at Room 206.
Airi leapt a little in place. "I'll get it!"
She ran to the door, opened it a crack.
It was Mai, her classmate — eyes wide, smiling way too brightly.
"Heyyy, Airi~ I just thought I'd check on you! How's the room? The view? The roommate~?"
Airi's eye twitched.
"It's peaceful. Goodnight."
SLAM.
Five minutes later, there was another knock.
This time, it was a boy from Class 2-B.
"Sorry, I was told this was the four-person room?"
Alex stepped toward the door calmly.
"There's only two beds."
"Right! Heh... totally a mistake... ha... ha… bye."
He sprinted down the hallway like he'd just dodged a trap in a JRPG.
Back inside, Airi paced the length of the room with her toothbrush still in hand.
This is fine. Totally normal. I am not dying. No one is making up rumors. Everything is under control.
Then Alex — already finished and now sitting on his bed reading a folded map of Bran Castle — looked up.
"You don't have to be nervous, you know."
She froze.
"I'm not nervous!"
"You're pacing with your toothbrush."
She looked down.
Still holding it.
Dry.
Unused.
"I was just… stretching. Mentally. With bristles."
He gave a very soft, faint smile.
"Alright."
And went back to reading.
She didn't scream.
She just calmly walked into the bathroom and stared at herself in the mirror.
Then whispered to her reflection:
"You better not fall harder, Tachibana. This man will be the death of your dignity."
Her reflection had no answers.
The hotel had finally gone still.
Outside the window, the mountain wind whispered through the trees. The lights of the town glowed faintly in the valley below, and the silhouette of Bran Castle stood like a shadowy crown in the night.
Inside Room 206, only the quiet hum of the radiator remained.
Alex had already fallen asleep.
He lay on his side, back to the window, his black hoodie folded neatly over the chair beside him. Even asleep, he looked calm — as if his dreams didn't stir him. Like nothing ever could.
Airi turned to her side under the covers of her own bed, staring at the ceiling.
She had tried.
Breathing exercises.
Counting sheep.
Repeating rune chants in her mind.
Nothing worked.
Because he was right there.
Just a few feet away.
So quiet.
So still.
And so painfully close.
"I can't sleep."
"He's not even doing anything and I can't sleep."
She sat up slowly, legs curling beneath her, blanket sliding off her shoulders. The dim light from the streetlamp outside cast just enough glow to outline his figure beneath the covers.
She stood quietly.
Padded across the wooden floor in her socks.
Stopped at the edge of his bed.
Just looked.
His face was turned toward her now — peacefully blank, breathing slow and steady.
He looked... soft.
Not cold. Not distant. Just at rest.
And somehow, even more beautiful like this.
Without armor.
Without silence.
Just Alex.
The one who listened to her without judgment. The one who noticed things but never said them. The one who made stillness feel like safety.
"You don't even know what you're doing to me," she thought.
She leaned forward.
Hesitated.
Her hand trembled just slightly as she reached toward his face — but stopped halfway, curling into a loose fist near her chest.
"I want to kiss you."
"Just once."
"But I can't. That's not fair to you."
Her heart squeezed.
She stood there for another second longer, watching his chest rise and fall, then whispered so softly even the night might not have heard:
"Goodnight, Alex."
Then she turned.
Walked back to her bed.
Climbed in.
Pulled the covers over her head.
And finally… slowly…
Fell asleep.
Chapter 85– Limit game time
From the stone terrace of a private manor overlooking the town of Bran, Lady Veltrisse of House Moravi sipped from a crystal flute of imported O-negative and stared at the glowing sign across the street:
GEN7TECH – ROMANIA BRANCH
The line outside was long.
Graceful silhouettes — too pale, too poised — stood in the evening mist, chatting about class buffs and economy reworks. Some wore tailored coats. Others sported tactical vests or high-heeled boots polished to a mirror shine. All of them looked like they'd stepped out of a fashion magazine themed "Modern Vampire Elegance."
All of them were her kin.
And every single one of them?
Gamer trash.
She exhaled softly, setting the flute on the marble ledge.
"They're lining up again," she murmured.
Behind her, the voice of her older brother — Lord Belric — drifted lazily from a leather armchair.
"They were lining up at midnight last week for the legendary cosmetic rotation."
"For a helmet skin."
"Yes. With particle effects. Apparently it sparkles when you dodge."
Veltrisse pinched the bridge of her nose. "This is what we bred legacies for? Elegance, etiquette, charm, multi-century political maneuvering... and now they're arguing about whether ghouls are overpowered in PvP."
Belric turned a page in his book. "One of them referred to a new sword as 'drippy.' I still don't know what that means."
"It means we have failed."
When Gen7Tech first proposed expansion into Romania, their executives assumed the sudden, massive interest in Mythcore ReGenesis was due to a tech-starved rural audience eager for escapism.
They weren't wrong.
But they weren't right, either.
Because what they didn't know — what they couldn't know — was that half their Romanian user base wasn't human.
They were descendants of the Crimson Court.
Vampires didn't blink at the logistics.
The expansion approval took two days.
The land purchase? Fast-tracked. One of the lords already owned the hilltop parcel.
The permits? Handled by a shell company whose CEO drank pig's blood for breakfast.
The funding? Please. Vampires owned half the banks in Eastern Europe.
Gen7Tech never questioned why their paperwork sailed through approvals, or why their property taxes vanished into ghost files.
They just built.
Grateful.
Oblivious.
And now the company's storefront in Bran operated smoothly, serving an ever-growing crowd of night-stalking digital warriors who were still trying to romance the same elf NPC for the fourth playthrough.
Lady Veltrisse watched as one of the heirs — wearing a crushed velvet trench coat and fingerless gloves — showed off his new VR helmet to his friends, eyes glowing with delight.
She recognized him.
"That's Cassien. House Ravion. He used to attend masquerade duels in Paris. Now he posts about mana builds on message boards."
"We used to drink from nobles," Belric muttered behind her. "Now we're farming mushrooms in a digital cave."
Veltrisse sighed.
"They've traded bloodlust for login streaks."
"It's not even proper rebellion. In our day, you challenged rival clans. You staged centuries-long vendettas. You bit archbishops."
"Now they install mods and stream their battles."
A silence settled between them.
Then Belric added, "Hearts and followers, I believe. In both senses."
Veltrisse didn't laugh.
But she did smile faintly.
"And yet…"
"They're happy," Belric finished.
She nodded.
"Maybe happier than we ever were."
She stood there a moment longer, watching her nephew high-five another vampire heir over a Mythcore leaderboard update.
Then, softly:
"Let the children play."
The obsidian table of the Crimson Court gleamed beneath soft candlelight, its inlaid runes gently pulsing with ambient mana.
The vampire lords were gathered again — twelve in total — seated in an elegant ring of silence.
The atmosphere was grim.
As always, Lord Kaelis broke the silence.
"We've decided."
He placed a parchment down on the table with ceremonial care.
The header read:
Proposed Policy: Digital Activity Restriction Directive – Noble Lineages
Lady Valtesa raised a single sculpted brow.
"Is this truly necessary?"
Kaelis didn't answer her. He addressed the room.
"Effective immediately, heirs of the Crimson Court are to be restricted to no more than four hours per day of access to Mythcore ReGenesis or any related virtual platform."
Murmurs swept through the chamber.
Lord Solmir exhaled sharply.
"Four hours? They'll call it a human curfew."
"They'll call it tyranny," muttered Bellenov.
"They called our last blood pact 'cringe,'" Kaelis replied flatly. "They've lost the right to vocabulary."
A moment passed.
Then Lord Nerezza, oldest by blood if not temperament, slowly stood.
"We are not the only house dealing with this."
She gestured with two fingers, and a projection flared into life above the table — a collection of stately logos, family sigils, and crests from around the world.
"The Arsenault Coven in Quebec. The Zhou Blood Sect in Shanghai. The De Lune Dynasty in Marseille. All have submitted similar complaints."
The projection shifted to show footage:
A vampire heir in France livestreaming his crafting build while sitting on a velvet throne.A young woman in Hong Kong berating her clan's steward for interrupting her PvP match with emergency bloodline business.A Romanian noble posting Mythcore memes from a Gen7Tech booth while wearing a three-piece suit and sunglasses indoors.
"They all report addiction, escapism, and a refusal to attend diplomatic summits unless the castle has stable Wi-Fi."
Kaelis's voice deepened.
"It's not that they play."
"It's that they live there now."
Lady Valtesa sighed into her goblet.
"We told them they could be anything. They chose 'Level 93 Shadowmancer with maxed-out social stats.'"
"I found my granddaughter hosting a wedding between two NPCs," Bellenov added darkly. "She wore the family crest to the ceremony."
The court fell silent.
And then, slowly, they nodded.
The motion passed.
Four hours.
No exceptions.
No seasonal events loopholes.
No "it's just the guild raid tonight" bargaining.
Kaelis leaned back.
"Let them scream."
"Let them rebel."
"Let them experience… discipline."
Valtesa smiled faintly.
"You do realize this will only make them more obsessed?"
Kaelis's eyes flicked upward, ancient and unbending.
"Then we will limit them to three."
Chapter 86 – The Hidden Castle
Bran Castle stood like a silhouette from a dream — all steep towers, narrow windows, and gray stone walls climbing against the mountain sky.
The morning mist still clung to the hilltops as the students walked up the cobbled path, bundled in coats and scarves, chattering with excitement.
Airi stayed close to the front, her eyes wide not just with curiosity… but with suspicion.
There's something about this place, she thought.
It's too still. Too old.
Like the stones themselves are listening.
Alex walked just behind her.
Silent.
As always.
But his gaze wasn't on the walls.
It was looking through them.
The guide, a friendly man in a heavy wool coat, waved for everyone to gather near the entrance.
"This castle, built in the 14th century, was originally a defensive fortress on the edge of the Kingdom of Hungary. Though never home to Vlad the Impaler, it is often marketed as 'Dracula's Castle' due to its location and appearance."
A few students laughed.
One posed with fake fangs for a photo.
But Alex's brow furrowed.
He glanced up at the towers.
Then to the side walls.
Then behind the tour guide.
Something didn't make sense.
The distance didn't match the depth.
The height was wrong.
The number of visible windows didn't match the echoes he heard when the wind passed through.
He blinked once, quietly shifting the focus of his perception.
Mana.
Layered like a veil.
An illusion — not woven carelessly, but designed with precision.
Alex's eyes widened just slightly.
The Bran Castle the students were walking toward…
Was a facade.
Not fake.
Just… not complete.
What stood before them was merely the visible skin — a shell, projected for tourists, for cameras, for drone flyovers and international historians.
But beyond it — beneath it — stretching outward and downward, hidden by layers of dimensional compression and mana-thinned stone…
Was the real castle.
Thirty times larger.
Carved into the mountain like the hollow bones of a god.
Corridors twisted downward into the rock, spires rose far past what should be structurally possible. Entire wings were inverted. The mana here wasn't just old — it was anchored, sunk deep like roots through time.
This wasn't just a castle.
It was a fortress. A prison. A throne. A city.
And no one else saw it.
Not the teachers.
Not the tour guide.
Not even Airi.
Alex turned slowly, eyes scanning the tourists as they snapped photos near a weathered cannon display.
A passing teacher commented on the Gothic windows.
Someone else pointed at a bat-shaped souvenir stand.
No one noticed that the mountain trembled subtly in mana when Alex stepped too close to the northern wall.
It was like the castle itself recognized him.
And the illusion shimmered — just for a second.
Behind the stone… were eyes.
Not watching.
Not judging.
Just… waiting.
Airi glanced back at Alex.
He was staring at the wall again — silent, still.
She frowned.
He knows something.
He's seeing something I can't.
But for now, she said nothing.
Just followed the group as they were led through the narrow archway into the entrance hall.
Where the real tour had just begun.
Bran Castle, on the surface, was a tourist's dream.
Grand staircases. Creaky wooden floors. Portraits that looked like they followed you. Iron candleholders that seemed to lean just a little too much. And a draft in every hallway, no matter how many doors were closed.
For the students of Class 2-B, it was perfect.
Cameras clicked constantly. Every fourth step someone shouted, "Look at this!" or "Whoa, did you see that spiral staircase?!"
In one corridor, lined with tapestries and antique suits of armor, a group of boys started posing dramatically.
"Count Ichikawa," one declared, holding a cape like a cloak. "I bid you welcome to my ancestral estate. Mwahahaha!"
"You just said 'mwahaha' out loud," another pointed out.
"It's for the aesthetic."
In the next room, a girl found a mannequin dressed in a replica of 17th-century noble attire. She immediately pulled her phone out.
"Somebody hold this," she said, shoving her phone into a friend's hand before dramatically throwing a shawl over her shoulders.
"Make it look haunted but hot."
"So… like a cursed duchess?"
"Exactly."
Flash.
Giggle.
Repeat.
Near the staircase, one of the students pulled out a deck of cards and waved them.
"Who's up for castle Joker?"
"What's castle Joker?"
"Same rules. But if you lose, you have to pretend you're a ghost for five minutes."
They formed a circle on the old stone floor, huddled between a display of medieval weaponry and a velvet rope that had definitely been ignored.
One by one, students drew cards.
Groans. Grins. Suspense.
The Joker appeared.
"It's you!"
"What?! Nooo—!"
"You have to do it now!"
The girl who drew it stood up, dramatically raised her arms, and started floating around with mock-grace.
"Wooooo~ I am the restless spirit of Bran Castle~"
"What did you die of?"
"Tourist boredom."
They laughed so hard a passing tourist gave them a disapproving look.
The teacher trailing behind the group gave a token "Keep it respectful," before moving on with a smile.
Meanwhile, Alex walked near the back of the group.
Hands in his pockets.
Eyes everywhere.
He occasionally glanced at displays and signs, but mostly watched the castle itself — the walls, the shadows, the unnatural stillness in the floor.
He wasn't tense.
Just… listening.
Airi was near the middle of the group, smiling gently as her classmates acted out vampire scenes and staged mock duels with souvenir swords.
It's nice, she thought.
Just for now... to see everyone laughing. To let things feel normal.
But she couldn't help glancing back.
At Alex.
Still silent.
Still watching.
Does he ever relax?
She wanted to ask.
But maybe… not yet.
At the far end of the corridor, one of the students poked at a bat-shaped coat hook and whispered:
"What if one of these turns into a real bat?"
"Then we throw snacks at it until it adopts us."
They didn't know that beneath their feet, beneath the creaking planks and hollow echo of their laughter, the true castle stirred in silence.
But for now, on this level, under these lights…
Everything was normal.
Or at least, normal enough.
Chapter 88 – She Who Walks in Lace and Blood
The chamber was dark, vast, and silent — buried so deep beneath the Carpathian stone that even leyline tremors dared not pass through without permission.
At the obsidian table of the Crimson Court, twelve ancient vampire lords sat in perfect stillness. The air here did not breathe. The candles did not flicker. This place was not lit — it glowed with a memory of power.
Lord Kaelis, eldest by blood and weight of presence, sat at the head. In front of him: a sealed letter written in ink darker than pitch and stamped with a sigil that even he hesitated to touch.
A letter bearing the mark of Her Majesty — Queen Ileana Draculesti.
She did not often write.
She did not need to.
The world moved because she willed it to.
Lady Valtesa broke the silence first.
"Is it true?"
Kaelis opened the seal. The scent of roses and ancient magic spilled into the air.
He read. Slowly. Carefully.
Then nodded.
"Yes."
"She's left."
"The girl?"
"Her daughter," Kaelis confirmed.
The room stiffened.
Not out of fear.
But out of instinct.
Even vampires could still feel when something greater than themselves began to stir.
Queen Ileana Draculesti was no mere royal.
She was the first.
The eternal origin from which all vampire lineages were born.
She ruled not from a throne of iron or gold — but from silence, legend, and undisputed authority.
She had no king.
Never did.
She bore her daughter alone — not as scandal, but as divine declaration. A feat of pure-blooded creation only she could achieve.
Vampires across the world — from the icy Arsenault estates in Quebec, to the shadow-cloaked courts in Shanghai, to the drowned cathedrals of Marseille — all bent the knee to her.
Not out of custom.
But because she could erase them with a glance.
She didn't need to rule.
She simply was.
And now…
Her daughter walked.
Mircella Draculesti.
Born from ancient power. Raised in velvet halls lined with portraits that wept when they spoke her name.
Her body was that of a girl — 137 cm tall, soft-faced, with silver-white hair and glowing crimson eyes that could paralyze lesser undead.
She wore heart-shaped buttons.
Thigh-high socks.
A frilly jacket with hand-embroidered bats.
She looked like a Kawaii doll someone had enchanted with too much affection and not enough fear.
But beneath her lace was the weight of eternity.
And now she had decided — unprompted, unsummoned — to visit the world beyond her estate.
Not to feed.
Not to rule.
But because she was curious.
About a group of foreign students visiting Bran.
"Does she know who's among them?" asked Lord Bellenov, fingers tapping once against obsidian.
"I doubt it," said Kaelis. "She doesn't move because of logic. She moves when the wind of fate brushes her cheek."
"The last time she left the capital, three duchies rewrote their borders to avoid offending her by accident."
"And this time?"
Kaelis set the letter down.
"She said she was bored."
A pause.
Then Valtesa smirked.
"The world trembles… because a child with divine blood is bored."
"A child with power equal to a god," Solmir added darkly. "And the queen lets her do as she wishes."
"Wouldn't you?" Kaelis said. "She is her."
The candlelight trembled for the first time.
Outside the monastery, high in the Carpathians, the mountain itself groaned softly.
And somewhere, further south — in the town of Bran — the students of Class 2-B were still exploring Bran Castle, laughing, taking photos, and teasing each other over ghost stories.
They didn't know what was coming.
They didn't know who had just stepped off a private, silk-lined night carriage wearing heart-shaped barrettes and sipping rose-scented blood tea from a thermos.
But soon…
They would.
Chapter 89 – The Doll Who Walks Through Walls
The castle tour wound on.
Students laughed as they passed dusty portraits, pointed at old suits of armor, and joked about haunted mirrors. The guide rambled about defensive architecture and historical ownership while a few students fell behind trying to take selfies in dramatic lighting.
But none of them noticed the subtle shift in the air.
None but Alex.
He sat alone on a long bench beside a decorative window, where faded light filtered through centuries-old glass. He said nothing. Did nothing. Just sat with hands folded, watching shadows stretch through the hallway.
He already knew what this part of the castle was:
A façade.
A tourist replica built atop the real thing. The walls here were hollow. The stones shallow. The path carefully curated to hide what the castle truly was.
But now, something real was walking in.
And it wasn't him.
The moment she entered the hallway, the mana in the room curled in submission.
Mircella Draculesti stepped into view with perfect calm, her silver hair catching the soft light, her crimson eyes scanning the students with distant curiosity.
She stood at just 137 cm.
Her frilly black-and-pink outfit glimmered with lace and heart-shaped buttons. A puffed jacket hung loosely over her shoulders like a royal cape. She wore one red ribbon on her wrist, the only visible symbol of her lineage—and yet, to those who could feel mana...
She radiated ancient blood.
Old.
Unshakable.
The air around her thinned. Reality remembered it owed her something.
Most students didn't even notice her. She moved too quietly. Too lightly. Some assumed she was a tourist's kid wandering off.
But Alex knew the moment she stepped into the hallway.
He didn't move. Didn't tense. Just watched.
As she approached him, Mircella tilted her head slightly, then smiled—sweet, gentle, the way a girl might when asking for a second cookie.
"You look comfortable," she said softly, in Japanese.
Alex blinked once.
She switched immediately to Romanian.
"Mind if I sit on your lap?"
There was no hesitation in her voice. No shame. Just a polite question delivered with immortal certainty—as if the world would shift to accommodate her regardless of the answer.
Alex looked at her.
He saw it.
The eyes of a child.
But the weight of centuries behind them.
He also saw: she wasn't hostile. Curious, yes. Powerful, absolutely. But her posture held no predatory malice.
Just... whimsy.
So he gave a quiet nod.
"Sure."
She stepped forward lightly, adjusted her skirt, and sat down with perfect poise—hands folded, back straight, like she was sitting atop a throne carved from his knees.
To anyone watching, it would've looked bizarre.
To those who could feel mana, it felt like a celestial alignment.
She tilted her head back and looked up at him.
"You're not normal," she said casually.
Alex didn't deny it.
"Neither are you."
She smiled again.
This time, showing a hint of fang.
"I like you."
They sat in silence for a few seconds more — not awkward, just still.
Then, in a tone both graceful and rehearsed, she folded her hands over her lap and said softly:
"Mircella Draculesti. Daughter of Queen Ileana. Princess of the Crimson Court."
She said it the way a girl might offer her name on a playground — but the air around them shifted, as if the castle itself recognized the title.
Alex met her gaze calmly.
"Alex Elwood."
No titles.
No bloodline.
No lineage.
Just his name.
And yet something in the stone rippled faintly — as if even the castle wasn't sure whether it should bow or stay silent.
Mircella blinked once.
Then smiled wider.
"You don't need a title."
"You're already interesting."
She leaned gently against his chest like a resting cat — content, warm, and unfathomably old.
And just like that, the air calmed.
But fate had already shifted.
Chapter 90 – The Name That Shouldn't Matter
Far beneath the Carpathian Mountains, where stone had never known sunlight and even time seemed reluctant to linger, the ancient chamber of the Crimson Court glowed with muted mana-light. The air was cold but unmoving — heavy, reverent, and old enough to remember when kingdoms still measured power by blood spilled, not numbers on screens.
Twelve lords sat in their obsidian thrones, arranged in a perfect circle around a floating projection of crimson energy. The sigils beneath their chairs pulsed softly, reacting to the disturbance that had drawn them from their ancient homes tonight.
At the center of the display: a hallway in Bran Castle, quiet and unremarkable — until a silver-haired girl appeared, stepping into the camera's view.
She moved with quiet certainty.
Every click of her polished shoes echoed like a royal decree.
And then, without hesitation, she approached a seated boy — tall, dark-haired, hood pulled down — and climbed into his lap.
No struggle.
No protest.
The boy simply blinked, nodded… and let her sit.
As if it were normal.
The vampire lords watched in silence.
Not because they were confused — but because they didn't know whether to be insulted or concerned.
"She just sat on him," Lord Bellenov said after a long pause, voice as dry as parchment.
"And he let her," added Solmir, frowning. "Calmly. No hesitation."
"No recognition," muttered Valtesa. "No bow. No reverence. He didn't even flinch."
Kaelis, the eldest among them, remained motionless.
His crimson eyes narrowed slightly, fixed on the boy's expression — blank, polite, and entirely unshaken.
"He didn't know who she was," Kaelis said at last.
"Obviously," said Valtesa, swirling her goblet of vintage blood. "To him, she must look like an ordinary child."
"A twelve-year-old in lace and heart-shaped buttons?" Bellenov scoffed. "Maybe an influencer."
"He treated her like she was harmless," Kaelis said slowly, "because he believes she is."
With a gesture, Kaelis summoned a figure from the shadows — the Court Archivist, cloaked in robes stitched with silence spells.
The archivist bowed deeply. "My lords?"
"The boy," Kaelis said. "Name. Lineage. Origin."
The archivist unrolled a glowing scroll of floating red script. "He is registered as Alex Elwood, age seventeen. Student. Current residence: Japan. His legal guardians are Mark Elwood and Sarah Elwood — both of whom are still active under the international hunter registry."
Several lords stirred.
"The Elwoods?" Valtesa said sharply. "I thought they retired."
"They didn't," Solmir replied, steepling his fingers. "They've been working underground since the Vilnius Purge. Specializing in outlaw demons, rogue vampires, unregistered magic traffickers. Dangerous. Unpopular. Very good at staying off the map."
"So the boy was raised by them?" Bellenov asked.
"Adopted," the archivist confirmed. "He has no recorded blood relation to either. Public record shows he was taken in from a minor orphanage in Hokkaido. No magical markers. No known incidents. No interaction with the supernatural community."
"And their daughter?"
"Their biological daughter, Alice Elwood, is aware of their true profession. The boy… is not."
A long silence followed.
Not out of certainty.
But doubt.
Because what they saw on the projection — the way Mircella approached the boy, the way the mana around them shifted slightly as they exchanged names — none of it made sense.
"So," Valtesa said, carefully, "he is a normal boy. Adopted by two infamous hunters. Shielded from our world. And just happened to allow the Vampire Princess — heir of the Crimson Line — to sit on his lap… without blinking."
"Because he thinks she's a child," Solmir said, voice low.
"Because he has no idea who she is," Bellenov added.
Kaelis exhaled slowly, fingers tightening on the edge of his throne.
"He's calm. Too calm. Not enchanted. Not impressed. Not afraid."
"Maybe he's just like his parents," Valtesa said. "Hunters learn to keep their emotions still."
"But he's not trained," the archivist insisted. "There are no logs. No aura. No signs of combat or cultivation. If anything, he's… ordinary."
Kaelis stared at the floating image.
At Alex Elwood.
And at Mircella Draculesti, resting on his lap like a kitten, smiling up at him as if she'd known him in another life.
"He says his name like it means nothing," Kaelis whispered.
"But the air around him… doesn't believe that."
"We've seen false calm before," Solmir said. "People who pretend not to fear us."
"He's not pretending," Bellenov replied. "That's what's disturbing."
The projection flickered.
A moment passed — and the castle's wards, subtle and old, flinched as Alex shifted on the bench.
Kaelis noticed it.
So did Valtesa.
"For now," Kaelis said, "we assume he's ignorant. If he were something more… we'd know."
"Unless he's something new," Valtesa murmured.
Kaelis did not answer.
He just watched the image fade.
"Continue observing. Do not interfere. Not unless Mircella gives us cause."
"And if she becomes… attached?"
"Then we speak to her mother."
Silence.
Because no one wanted to do that.
High above, far from the cold earth and buried law, the Vampire Princess sipped from her thermos of blood-tea and asked Alex what Japanese snack she should try next.
He told her, calmly, "Strawberry mochi."
She beamed.
And the castle walls — somewhere deep beneath their feet — listened.