Sakura sat on a bench by the street, pinching Fou under his chin.
She watched the little white puffball lift his head, eyes half-closed in pleasure, looking thoroughly content — and she smiled along with him.
Altrouge sat quietly beside her, gazing at the side of her face.
The girl carried the elegant, high-born air of some old medieval noblewoman, the thin lace-trimmed dress hugging her slim figure to reveal slightly girlish curves.
In the sunlight her unusually pale skin had a shimmering quality, set against ink-black hair that fell to her ankles in striking contrast.
But Sakura couldn’t help feeling that Big Sis Rouge was just a little off today.
When she’d first looked at Sakura there’d been a flicker of something evasive in her eyes — like a child who’d done something she shouldn’t.
She definitely forgot to bring me a present, Sakura concluded, wrinkling her nose, and went on kneading Fou in her lap.
It’s fine — I’m not a little kid anymore.
Big Sis Rouge always thinks too much.
A few years ago, she had bumped into Altrouge while chasing after Fou.
In her memory, the girl back then had looked no different from how she did now.
Standing in the dim amber glow of dusk, her eyes a deep, bright red, her mouth so vivid it might have been painted with blood.
Only… back then Big Sis Rouge’s eyes had always been cold, frighteningly so, looking at her as if she were beneath notice.
And Sakura, raised cradled in everyone’s care, had simply latched onto her without knowing better.
In her best I’m-cute-please-give-me-your-vote mode.
She still remembered — back then, Big Sis Rouge had put on her most ferocious face and snarled that she was going to eat her up.
The white fluffball tipped onto his back on Sakura’s lap, wriggling, his limbs stretched in lazy abandon to show off his soft belly.
Then, suddenly, Fou wrinkled his nose.
He flipped himself upright in one motion and looked toward Altrouge.
Altrouge met his gaze.
Her crimson eyes blinked once, and her fingertip brushed lightly across the back of Sakura’s hand.
“Was there something Sakura wanted to buy here at the shopping street today?”
“Eh!?” Sakura held Fou close, ears flushing at the question.
“Y-yes… there was.”
She was finding it suddenly hard to say.
Taking Big Sis Rouge along to the lingerie shop, of all places, was inevitably a bit embarrassing.
“Then go on.” Altrouge let a small, apologetic look cross her face.
“I’m sorry — I have things to handle today.”
“It’s fine, it’s fine.” Sakura waved her hands hastily.
“I’m the one who’s eating into Big Sis Rouge’s time.”
“You’re not.” Altrouge smiled, and squeezed Sakura’s palm gently.
“I just don’t want some flies spoiling Sakura’s mood.”
“Next time… next time I’ll take Sakura to an amusement park, all right?”
“Mm!” Sakura nodded her small head.
After all, Big Sis Rouge was so cute, and a legal-loli sort to boot.
There were bound to be unsavory types eyeing her.
Sakura made a small fist.
Don’t even think about it.
Big Sis Rouge is mine.
She set Fou down on the bench and opened her arms to Altrouge.
Altrouge’s eyes wavered.
She reminded Sakura not to go out at night for the time being, gave her a light, brief embrace, and then took her leave.
Fou licked Sakura’s palm twice, then wagged his tail and trotted along after her.
Sakura watched Altrouge’s figure disappear down the far end of the street.
Big Sis Rouge’s skin was always cool, smooth, fine-textured, soft and silky.
Her black hair held no warmth even when the sun had been on it — probably some quirk of her constitution.
In summer she was the most wonderful thing in the world to hug.
For no clear reason, Sakura thought of Yumizuka Satsuki.
Right… That sensation, when Yumizuka Satsuki had pinned her against the wall — it was exactly the same.
Most of all those eyes: the same crimson, the same vivid brightness.
Sakura sat on the bench, swinging her short legs lightly.
So what Yumizuka Satsuki said must have just been a joke.
A vampire, honestly… does that mean Big Sis Rouge could be a vampire too?
Only… she was still a little worried about Yumizuka Satsuki.
The way she’d been lately was very, very wrong.
…
Crack—
The fukuro-shinai came down hard against her spine, and the girl’s deceptively delicate body went flying — slamming into one of the training dummies a few meters away.
“Cough — cough, cough…” Yumizuka Satsuki sprawled on the floor, clutching her chest as she coughed.
“Too weak.
With reaction speed and strength like yours, your technique is worse than a seven- or eight-year-old’s.” Ryōgi Shiki, in white gi and black hakama, walked slowly up to where Satsuki lay.
A pair of pale-white bare feet appeared in her blurred field of vision.
Satsuki braced against the floor, her gaze creeping slowly upward.
What kind of seven- or eight-year-old is that monstrous, Satsuki couldn’t help muttering inwardly.
Ryōgi Shiki was already cold-natured and short on patience with her — and the moment she gripped a blade, the whole of her shifted, as if her soul had been replaced.
Sharp, still, and quiet — a drawn sword.
Staring into those ink-black eyes, Satsuki couldn’t help a small shiver.
Her earlier instinct had been right.
Ryōgi Shiki was someone she absolutely couldn’t afford to provoke.
Bracing on the shinai, Satsuki slowly pushed herself off the floor.
Ryōgi Shiki watched her with a faint frown.
This girl… her recovery rate is excessive.
She had cut down many Dead Apostles, and she had not seen many whose regeneration rivaled this one’s.
Her sire must be an Ancestor — and a very powerful one at that.
“Again…” Both hands on her shinai, Satsuki braced her legs apart, breathing hard, settling into the opening stance.
“You are a Dead Apostle.
I am not.” Holding back the urge to dice her into pieces, Shiki prepared to lower the shinai and take a break.
The drain on her stamina was nothing next to the strain of restraining the instinct.
After all… for her, it scarcely mattered whether what she held was a fukuro-shinai or Kuji Kanesada.
“Again…” The voice trembled.
The hand on the sword dropped.
Satsuki bowed her head, and through the chestnut strands of her hair her eyes shone red.
I want to protect Sakura.
Become someone strong, and then protect Sakura.
But she wasn’t willing to accept it — that she was a Dead Apostle, a Bloodsucker, yet Ryōgi Shiki, carrying nothing more than a shinai, could send her flying again and again, while looking at her with that dispassionate, dismissive…
Yes — disdain.
Ryōgi Shiki simply didn’t take her seriously at all.
“Hm—?” That murderous air Shiki had been giving off shifted — abruptly — as if she had switched personalities outright.
She looked, now, as if she had stepped clean out of the mortal world; her bloodlust withdrawn.
But to Yumizuka Satsuki, that only made her more dangerous.
“You’re saying you’ve still got a card you haven’t played, are you?” The corner of Shiki’s mouth curled in a slow, drowsy, gentle smile.
Satsuki said nothing — but her expression was, unmistakably, confirmation.
“Then bring it out.” Shiki swung the fukuro-shinai in her hand.
“Only — if you happen to die, don’t blame me.”
She watched as Satsuki’s hands, inch by inch, took on a flush of red, and went on twisting the blade in.
“By the way — you’re trying to protect Sakura, aren’t you?”
“Too weak.”
“Who do you think I had in mind when I said the seven- or eight-year-old child?”
“As you are now — too weak.”
Ryōgi Shiki lifted the shinai toward Yumizuka Satsuki.
(Ryōgi Shiki)
Elsewhere — Sakura, both arms loaded with shopping bags, came to an abrupt stop.
She was looking at a roadside display window.
In the glass, she saw it.
Among the people moving past behind her, someone had lifted their head and was looking directly at her.
Eyes the crimson of fresh blood — full of omen and death.