A lock of crimson hair lay across the blank white page of his notebook.
It smelled like crushed roses. And beneath that, something heavier. Like the air right before a thunderstorm. Heavy. Metallic.
"You're bleeding."
The voice was soft. It carried a vibration that settled deep in the chest.
Jin did not move his head. He kept his eyes locked on the faint blue lines of the notebook paper.
The classroom was entirely silent. Twenty-five students. None of them were talking. None of them were moving. The ambient noise of the morning had been suffocated.
She was leaning over his desk from the right side. Her physical proximity was a pressure. The air around her was thick. It coated the inside of his throat with every shallow breath he took.
A sharp, violent spike drove into the back of his left eye.
The parasite woke up. It did not just whisper this time. It screamed.
Arch-Devil Class.Proximity: Fatal.Host destruction imminent.Transaction Required. Sharingan: Stage Two.Cost: Permanent optical damage. Severe memory purge.
A wave of nausea hit him. The phantom heat behind his eye flared into a localized, burning agony. The parasite wanted to tear the classroom apart. It wanted to flood the room with static and blood to protect its host.
Jin dug his right shoe into the floor. He locked every muscle in his left leg to keep it from shaking.
He swallowed the copper taste in his mouth. He forced the parasite back. He visualized a heavy iron door and slammed it shut in his mind. The headache remained, a dull, throbbing weight at the base of his skull.
He slowly pulled his left hand out of his pocket.
He placed it on the desk. Next to the notebook.
The four crescent-shaped cuts were raw. The blood had pooled and thickened, staining the pale skin of his palm.
"I broke a glass." Jin said.
His voice was a dry rasp. He did not clear his throat.
Rias Gremory did not stand up. She tilted her head. The crimson hair slid further across the paper. Her eyes were a deep, unnatural blue-green. They did not look at his face. They looked at the blood on his hand.
Devils were predators. Blood was a language they understood perfectly.
She reached out.
Jin did not pull his hand away. He forced his breathing to remain perfectly flat.
In.
Out.
Her fingers were pale. Flawless. They hovered a fraction of an inch above his torn palm. She did not touch him. The heat radiating from her skin was unnatural.
"A glass." Rias repeated. The word was a slow, deliberate whisper.
"Yes." Jin said.
She lowered her face closer to his hand. She took a slow, quiet breath through her nose.
The silence in the room stretched. The teacher was late. The students were statues.
Jin kept his eyes on the chalkboard at the front of the room. It was blank.
Rias straightened up. The heavy, sweet pressure in the air shifted.
"You should clean it." Rias said. "Infections are troublesome."
She smiled. It was a perfect, polite smile. It did not reach her eyes.
She turned and walked down the aisle. Her steps made no sound. She took a seat near the center of the room.
The heavy blanket over the classroom lifted. A boy in the front row coughed. Someone shuffled their textbook. The ambient noise slowly returned, hesitant at first, then normal.
The lock of crimson hair was gone.
Jin stared at the empty page.
His left hand was trembling on the desk. He closed it into a loose fist. He pulled it off the wood and put it back into his pocket.
The door slid open. The teacher walked in, carrying a stack of papers.
The lesson began. Math. Numbers on a board.
Jin did not pick up his pen. He kept his right hand flat on the desk. He focused on staying upright in his chair. The encounter had drained him. The hypoxia was settling in. His peripheral vision was blurry. The edges of the classroom seemed dark, coated in a faint, fuzzy static.
He needed oxygen. He needed sleep.
He looked at the back of Rias Gremory's head. The vibrant red hair stood out against the dull uniforms of the other students.
She knew.
Not everything. She didn't know about the System. She didn't know about the alleyway. But she knew the cuts on his hand were not from a glass. They were the exact shape of fingernails dug into flesh in an act of violent, suppressed panic.
She had smelled the lie. And she had smiled.
The school was not a safe zone. It was a hunting ground. Sona Sitri watched the borders. Rias Gremory sat in the center.
The bell rang. First period ended.
Jin stood up. His left leg buckled slightly. He caught himself on the edge of the desk. The metal dug into his hip. He waited three seconds. He pushed himself up.
He walked out of the classroom.
The hallway was crowded. He kept his head down. He navigated the sea of uniforms, moving toward the boys' restroom at the end of the corridor.
He pushed the door open. It was empty. The smell of cheap industrial cleaner stung his nose.
He walked to the furthest sink. He turned on the cold water.
He pulled his left hand from his pocket. The blood had smeared against the fabric of his trousers.
He shoved his hand under the running water. The cold was a sharp shock. The dried blood flaked away, swirling down the drain in thin red lines. The four crescent cuts stung violently.
He grabbed a rough paper towel from the dispenser. He wrapped it tightly around his palm. He pressed down.
He leaned forward and rested his forehead against the cold mirror.
He closed his eyes.
What did the Fallen Angel look like.
He tried to pull the face from the dark. He found the trench coat. He found the black wings. He found the violet spear. But the face was gone. A blur of white noise.
The toll.
He had paid it last night to survive. He had almost paid it again ten minutes ago just to sit at a desk.
He opened his eyes and looked at his reflection.
Pale skin. Dark circles. Ordinary brown eyes. A fragile, breakable vessel.
He unwrapped the paper towel. The bleeding had slowed. He took a fresh piece of paper, folded it neatly, and pressed it into his palm. He closed his fist around it to keep it in place.
He walked out of the restroom.
The day dragged. History. English. Science.
Jin sat in the back. He did not speak. He did not eat lunch. He stayed at his desk while the others went to the cafeteria. He conserved every ounce of energy his body had left.
When the final bell rang, the sky outside was dark gray. Rain was starting to hit the windows. Small, hard drops.
Students packed their bags quickly. Weekend plans. Video games.
Jin put his blank notebook and his pen into his bag. He slung the strap over his right shoulder.
He walked out of the school gates. The rain was cold. It felt exactly like last night.
He walked toward the commercial district. He had a shift at the convenience store. Rent had to be paid. Food had to be bought. The world did not stop because a parasite was eating his brain.
The walk was long. His legs felt like lead.
He turned the corner onto the main street. The neon signs flickered to life against the dark sky.
He stopped.
Across the street, standing under the awning of a closed bookstore, was a man.
He wore a dark trench coat.
Jin's heart stopped. A cold spike of adrenaline hit his bloodstream.
The man turned his head.
It was an older man. Gray hair. A cigarette hanging from his lips. He pulled up the collar of his coat against the rain and walked away down the street.
Just a man.
Jin stood on the pavement. The rain soaked into his hair.
He realized his left hand was clutching his chest. His fingers were dug into his uniform shirt, right over his heart.
He forced his fingers to uncurl. He let his arm drop to his side.
He was hunting ghosts. His mind was fracturing, filling the empty spaces with paranoia.
He started walking again. He reached the convenience store. The bright, sterile fluorescent lights spilled out onto the wet pavement.
He pushed the glass door open. The electronic chime rang. A cheerful, high-pitched sound.
The manager, a balding man named Tanaka, looked up from the register.
"You're late, Jin." Tanaka said. He sounded tired.
"I walk slow in the rain." Jin said.
He walked to the small breakroom in the back. He put his bag in a locker. He took out the blue store vest.
He put it on. He zipped it up.
He looked at his left hand. The paper towel was soaked through with a fresh, dark red stain.
He took it off. Threw it in the trash. He pulled a small bandage from the first-aid kit on the wall. He covered the four cuts.
He walked out to the front counter.
"Register two." Tanaka said, stepping away to stock shelves.
Jin stood behind the counter. He looked out the glass windows at the dark street. The rain was falling harder now.
A customer walked in. The chime rang.
Jin looked at the door.
A girl stood there. She shook the rain from her umbrella.
She wore a Kuoh Academy uniform. Black hair tied back. A small, bright yellow ribbon around her collar.
Asia Argento.
She looked up. She smiled a gentle, nervous smile.
Jin stared at her.
He looked at the empty space above her shoulders.
It was not empty.
A faint, golden light radiated from her. Warm. Pure.
And right behind it, trailing her like a shadow on the wet glass, was a massive, sickening spike of dark, violent energy. Following her.
The chime rang again in his head.
The parasite woke up.
It did not scream. It whispered.
Prey located.
Jin kept his hands flat on the counter.
He waited.