"Aki-kun!"
Fumika froze in the doorway, a wooden tray balanced in her hands. The bowls rattled as she stared at him, eyes wide with panic.
Akiha reacted on instinct.
He yanked his injured hand behind his back, clutching it with his other hand as his knees nearly gave out. His breath came in sharp, broken gasps.
"What—what happened?!" Fumika rushed toward him, nearly dropping the tray before hurriedly placed it at the the edge of the bed. "Why did you scream?! Are you hurt?!"
"I-It's nothing!" he forced out. "I just—burned myself!"
"Burned yourself?" she echoed, disbelief and fear colliding. "With what exactly?"
She reached for his wrist.
He stepped back.
"Akiha," she called his real name sharply, voice shaking now. "Show me. Right now."
Think—!
I can't let her see—
His breath hitched.
Fumika's fingers closed around his arm at last, warm and trembling.
"Show me," she said again, quieter now. "Please."
The word 'please' cut deeper than panic ever could.
Akiha's thoughts spiraled, colliding and scattering. There was no excuse left. No distraction. No way to pull free without confirming that something was very, very wrong.
Then—memory surfaced.
Not a thought. A line of text from his Racial Traits,
—————————————————
Passive Regeneration (Can be enhanced by accelerating Blood Craving progress).
—————————————————
So this is the only way.
He swallowed and turned inward, focusing—not on the pain, not on Fumika's grip—but on his body. On the place where something was missing.
Regrow it! He commands inwardly.
A translucent window flared into existence before his eyes, invisible to anyone else.
—————————————————
Blood Craving: 29% → 30% → 31% → 32%
—————————————————
The moment it crossed thirty percent mark, something shifted.
The pain stopped—not faded, not dulled. Gone.
He felt it happen.
Bone knitting together with a faint pressure. Flesh flowing back into place. Skin sealing smoothly, leaving no trace behind.
As if it had never been damaged at all.
Relief surged through him—
—and immediately twisted into something else.
Restlessness.
A sharp, crawling sensation spread beneath his skin, like static just below the surface. His heartbeat quickened. His breath felt shallow, too fast.
And suddenly—
Fumika's presence feels way too close.
Too warm.
Too present.
Too… tempting.
Her scent stood out with unnatural clarity. The sound of her breathing felt loud in his ears. His gaze flicked, against his will, to the exposed line of her neck.
The gentle pulse beneath her skin was unmistakable.
Clear.
Inviting.
His stomach dropped.
…No.
This isn't relief.
This is the Craving.
No. Don't—!
Akiha tore his gaze away by force, fixing it anywhere but her.
"What are you hiding?" Fumika demanded, her voice cutting cleanly through the haze in his head.
He swallowed hard and—with visible hesitation—brought his hand forward.
His finger was perfect.
Unblemished. Whole. As if nothing had ever happened.
Fumika stared at it.
"…Then why," she asked quietly, "did you scream like that?"
Panic flared.
"I—I thought something bit me," he said too fast. "Or stung me. Maybe there was a bug. A really bad one. You know—some insects hurt a lot."
He let out a dry, awkward laugh, hoping it would sell the lie.
Even to his own ears, it sounded thin. Desperate.
Fumika didn't raise her voice.
She didn't accuse him outright.
She just looked at him.
"…Aki-kun," she said softly, "do you really think I'd fall for that?"
Her voice trembled—not with anger, but with something far more… fragile.
"During dinner last night," she continued, "you kept avoiding my questions about the coins. You kept changing the subject. Making excuses that didn't even make sense."
Her hands curled into fists at her sides.
"And it's been getting worse since this morning… weren't we'd promised to always help each other?"
She hesitated, then spoke again—more quietly.
"…Am I really someone you can't talk to?"
The question landed like a blow.
"Was the bond we'd built together… always this shallow?"
Akiha's chest constricted until breathing hurt.
I want to tell you.
I swear I do.
Carmen's warning echoed mercilessly in his mind.
"...The seal reacts to awareness. If the wrong ears learn of me, the backlash will fall upon you, too."
His mouth opened.
Nothing came out.
"I'm… sorry," he whispered instead.
Fumika looked at him for a long moment—long enough that he almost wished she'd yell.
Then she turned away.
The silence that followed was heavier than any scream.
And Akiha realized, with a sinking certainty, that every second he stayed quiet was carving a deeper wound between them.
Fumika's footsteps were quiet.
That—more than anything—terrified him.
She didn't storm out. Didn't slam the door. Didn't mutter under her breath or let out a bitter sigh. She simply walked—slow, deliberate steps carrying her away from him, toward the far wall of the room.
Each one felt like a blade sliding deeper into his chest.
Say something.
Do something.
Don't let it end like this.
Akiha stood frozen, fingers curled uselessly at his sides.
Why can't I just tell her?
Why am I still hesitating?
He knew the answer. And he hated that he did.
Carmen…
The seal. The warning.
That invisible noose tightening every time he even think about saying her name.
If I involve Fumika… if something happens to her because of me—
His teeth clenched.
But if I don't—
Fumika reached the wall and stopped there. She sighed softly, her back still turned to him.
"I won't ask again," she said quietly. "You don't have to explain. Not if you don't want to."
That hurt more than anger ever could have.
She's giving me an out.
A polite distance.
A clean break in trust, wrapped neatly in kindness.
She's always been like this.
Putting herself second. Making things easier for everyone else.
A memory surfaced, unbidden.
Middle school. Rain hammering down. Him sitting on the steps behind the gym, bruised and humiliated after another run-in with Renji and his goons.
Fumika had stood there, soaked to the bone, holding out an umbrella with shaking hands.
"You don't have to talk," she'd said then. "But you don't have to be alone either."
His chest tightened painfully.
You were always there.
Even when you didn't have to be.
She stepped toward the edge of the bed and reached for her lunch portion from its tray, her movements careful and distant. The loneliness on her face was no longer something she tried to hide.
That was it.
Akiha moved.
He crossed the distance in two strides, his hand closing around her wrist before he consciously realized what he was doing.
"—!"
Fumika gasped as he pushed her back, the momentum carrying her into the wall. His other hand came up instinctively, pinning both her wrists beside her head—trapping her between his arms before his mind could catch up with his body.