Chapter 6: He, More Than Anyone, Hated Not Knowing

The late night sky over Chiba was unusually quiet, the city lights casting a dull glow over the streets as the faint buzz of activity continued in the distance.

But here, near the abandoned wing of Chiba Children's Hospital, the night's usual serenity was disrupted. Police cruisers lined the block, their red and blue lights flashing ominously against the surrounding buildings. Uniformed officers moved methodically, setting up cordons and taping off the area, marking it as a crime scene.

Yellow police tape fluttered in the breeze, and the low hum of radios mixed with murmured conversations. The entire area was now under lockdown, but the scene itself remained grimly chaotic.

Just beyond the hospital entrance, past the rusted gates of the old wing, was the focal point of the investigation. An abandoned building—desolate and crumbling—where a violent altercation had taken place not long ago.

The ground bore deep gashes, windows were shattered, and the walls were scarred with strange, jagged cuts. Inside, investigators were combing through the debris, trying to make sense of what had happened.

Into this controlled storm came the unmistakable roar of an engine, smooth yet powerful. A sleek, red 2005 Aston Martin V8 Vantage glided up to the hospital's entrance, its polished surface gleaming under the cold streetlights.

The car pulled to a stop in front of the building, and the driver's door swung open.

Hiratsuka Shizuka stepped out, but she wasn't in her usual attire. Gone was the familiar schoolteacher uniform. Instead, she was dressed in something far more tactical—something meant for danger. She wore a crisp white long-sleeved shirt tucked into a pair of black slacks.

A black Kevlar vest was strapped tightly over her chest, and her brown boots crunched against the gravel as she moved. A long brown leather trench coat, weathered and worn, hung off her shoulders, trailing slightly behind her as she walked.

The officers near the entrance straightened at her approach, one of them stepping forward, signaling for her to stop.

"Ma'am, this is a restricted area—no civilians past this point."

Without a word, Hiratsuka reached into her coat and pulled out a small leather wallet. She flipped it open, revealing a badge and ID. "Public Security Intelligence Agency," she said, her voice low and steady.

The officer blinked, his brow furrowing. "P… Public Security?" His eyes flicked to the badge, and then back to Hiratsuka. The PSIA wasn't exactly the kind of agency you said no to. He hesitated for only a moment before nodding to his partner. "Right. Go on through, ma'am. They're waiting inside."

Hiratsuka gave a curt nod and pushed forward, her boots echoing lightly against the pavement as she passed through the cordon. The officers moved aside quickly, casting curious glances her way. Most of them had no idea what the PSIA did—only that they operated in shadows, far removed from the world of standard police work.

As Hiratsuka moved deeper into the scene, her eyes swept over the chaotic aftermath of the battle. It was unmistakable to her trained eye.

The claw marks on the walls, the splintered wood, and the strange metallic smell hanging in the air—it all pointed to one thing. A fight had broken out between a Hunter and a blood-sucker. And, judging by the level of destruction, it had been brutal.

Ahead, near the building's entrance, a group of forensic investigators were huddled over a table filled with evidence bags. The weapons were laid out—carefully separated but clearly identified.

Hiratsuka spotted a familiar shape among them: a revolver, an old-model, battered and worn from use. Next to it was a steel-forged sword, its blade dark with what looked like dried blood.

One of the investigators, a man in his early forties with graying hair and a tired face, spotted her approaching. He waved her over.

"Hiratsuka-san," he greeted her, though his tone was cautious. "You're with Public Security, right? We weren't expecting anyone from your office."

Hiratsuka glanced at the table of evidence, her eyes narrowing on the revolver. "Things like this don't happen without us getting involved," she replied, her voice cool. She gestured to the weapons. "Tell me what you've found."

The investigator nodded and pointed to the revolver. "This belonged to the deceased," he said. "We found it all the way there far from the body. It's been tested for gunshot residue and resulted in a positive, we also found spent casings matching the caliber used. Judging by the results, it looks like they tried to use it but... whatever happened, it was over too fast."

Hiratsuka frowned. "The sword?"

"Standard steel blade. It's seen a lot of use, but it's still sharp. We're still testing the blood on it, but… from the look of things, they didn't manage to land any serious blows. Not enough to kill whoever—whatever—he was fighting."

Her eyes moved to the broken radio device, sitting in pieces near the weapons. "And the radio?"

The investigator sighed. "Fried. It's common tech, probably used to communicate with a partner or backup, but whatever interference was happening, it cut them off. They were on their own."

Hiratsuka let out a slow breath, her gaze moving toward the ambulance parked near the building. The back doors were open, and paramedics were hauling in a black body bag. "The body," she said softly. "What's the condition?"

The investigator's face tightened. "It's… not something we've seen before. The body's mummified. Completely drained of blood. It looks like they've been dead for weeks, but it only happened a few hours ago. All the blood, gone. Like something bled them out in minutes."

Hiratsuka clenched her jaw. "Blood-sucker." The words felt heavy on her tongue, though she didn't dare say it too loudly.

These officers didn't know the truth. They weren't privy to the existence of Hunters, the hidden war being waged in the shadows of society. To them, this was just another grisly murder.

She straightened, her expression hardening. "Clear the scene. Everyone, leave."

A murmur of confusion rippled through the nearby officers and investigators. The head investigator, a stern-looking woman with sharp features, stepped forward, her expression one of irritation.

"Excuse me? You can't just waltz in here and tell us to leave," she said. "We have jurisdiction. You don't have the authority to—"

Hiratsuka's eyes narrowed as she pulled out her badge again. "You've done your part. This is out of your hands now."

Before the investigator could retort, the unmistakable thrum of helicopter blades filled the air. The wind kicked up as a tactical helicopter descended, its powerful spotlight cutting through the darkness.

It was an all black, unmarked Bell UH-1 helicopter. An unusual sight to the officers on the ground, but those with specific backgrounds recognized the aircraft for its extensive use in Search and Rescue operations as well as being one of the utility helicopters employed by the JGSDF. The officers around them shielded their eyes, murmuring in surprise as the chopper landed just outside the abandoned building.

From the fuselage, a figure emerged—a woman, draped in a black evening dress with a long black coat over it, her wide-brimmed hat hiding her face in shadow.

Flanked by four men in tactical gear, each one armed with an AR-patterned rifle, individually-contained breathing apparatus and full combat harnesses, she moved toward the scene with purpose.

The head investigator, now thoroughly confused and more than a little irritated, stepped forward. "Who are you people?" she demanded, marching toward the woman.

Without a word, the woman in black handed over a document, sealed in a brown envelope.

The head investigator tore it open, scanning the text. Her face went pale as she read, and with a grim nod, she relented. "It's… all yours," she muttered, backing away.

Hiratsuka watched the exchange with a faint smirk. "Always the dramatic one, aren't you?"

The woman in black stepped forward, her lips curving into a slight smile. "I do like to make an entrance whenever I can," she replied smoothly. "You know that, Shizuka-chan."

They exchanged greetings, the tension between them easing as the tactical team moved in to secure the scene. The woman turned to her team. "Sweep the area. Cover what the police missed."

As the woman crossed into the crime scene, she moved with a strange grace, her eyes scanning every detail. She stopped near a puddle of dark liquid, crouching down to inspect it closely. Her fingers grazed the surface, pulling back to reveal a viscous, red substance.

"Find something?" Hiratsuka asked, stepping closer.

The woman nodded. "Hemogen," she said softly. "Highly concentrated vampire blood."

Hiratsuka frowned. "That much? Here?"

The woman pulled a vial from her coat, filled with a silvery liquid. Carefully, she poured it over the puddle of hemogen, and they watched as the black substance began to bubble and hiss before turning tar-like in consistency.

"Silver reacts with it," the woman explained. "You ever wonder why Hunters don't use more silver in their gear aside from their bullets and the odd throwing knife or two, Shizuka-chan?"

Hiratsuka raised an eyebrow. In all of her years of being in the job, she had never really considered the thought.

Even before she was enlightened to the moonlit world she's in now, old stories and fairytales had always told of silver being an effective weakness to these blood-suckers; along with other various monstrosities.

But now that she's older and more knowledgeable, she just had it figured as being something they were vulnerable to; much like how arsenic or cyanide were deadly to humans even in smaller doses.

"Isn't it because of the cost?" She asked, not expecting to be correct.

The woman shook her head. "Cost is part of it. Silver possesses properties that could easily hinder or even outright negate a vampire's healing factor, but in and of itself, silver is a weak metal. It's good for bullets, but terrible for blades. Steel's more reliable for most of the vampires Hunters deal with—lesser ones, anyway."

She glanced at the blackened hemogen, her expression darkening. "But this? That was a vial of silver shavings immersed in a Petros Solution. In its more stable and solid form, you might know it as being what your 'Incense Sticks' are made out of."

The woman continued, saying, "when lit, those Incense Sticks you use to ward off locations have an irritating effect on lesser vampires, Ghouls. It makes for an effective deterrent to these lesser types."

"But this?" She gestured to the puddle of tar-like liquid. "This showed that whichever creature this hemogen belonged to, it had ten times the amount of C-Cells than in your regular Ghoul or lesser vampire. Meaning, whatever bled here, was a bona fide Sanguophage. A proper vampire."

Hiratsuka's stomach tightened and a cold chill ran down her spine.

"You know what this means, Shizuka-chan?" The woman asked her, her voice managing to sound both light and heavy at the same time.

Hiratsuka's lips thinned out, her eyes narrowed as she slowly cast her gaze towards the pale, porcelain orb in the sky; the moon.

"...yeah." She muttered. "She's empowering her kin. Somehow."

Silence settled into the area, broken only by the background noise of officers and investigators roaming about. Hiratsuka pinched the bridge of her nose, feeling one massive headache happening any time now.

"...we've got to have a proper talk about this," Hiratsuka said, tense. "All of us."

"I was afraid it might come to that." The woman in black sighed, whether the disappointment in her tone was genuine or not was hard to tell. "I'll send out the invitations."

Hiratsuka frowned when the other woman reached forward to place a comforting hand on her shoulder before walking away. If it was from any other person, she wouldn't have doubted the gesture.

But this was a very particular friend she's dealing with, not even years of knowing each other would spare Hiratsuka from her antics…

She could always count on her though, and if there's one thing she knew her friend wouldn't play around with, it'd be the safety of those precious to her.

"Ah, Shizuka-chan," the woman in black called out, already halfway to the helicopter she rode in here with, "I'll leave everything here to you, okay? I'll be waiting for the report as soon as you have them~"

Well, there goes her plan of coming to school tomorrow.

Hachiman trudged down the hallways of Soubu High School, his footsteps echoing slightly in the mostly empty corridor. It was that quiet time after school when most students had either gone home or were hanging out in clubs.

Not him, though. His destination was the same every day, and today was no different—the Service Clubroom.

He sighed to himself, glancing around at the unnecessarily wide corridors. "Big school," he muttered, eyes half-lidded with that familiar disinterest. "They say prestige comes with a spacious learning environment, but I'm guessing it's just to make the students feel smaller in comparison. Helps with keeping the egos in check."

Hiratsuka-sensei had been absent from homeroom that morning, which was odd.

A substitute had stood in, a tired-looking man who barely acknowledged the existence of the class. Hiratsuka wasn't exactly the most consistent when it came to being a proper role-model teacher, but she didn't usually just vanish like that. Still, he figured it wasn't his business.

If it were important, she would've let him know. Probably.

As the clubroom door came into view at the far end of the hall, he noticed something strange. Standing outside, peeking through the small window in the door, were Yuigahama and Yukinoshita.

He paused, raising an eyebrow. The two of them were so focused on whatever was inside that they hadn't even noticed his approach. Curious, Hachiman walked up behind them silently. "You know," he said in his usual deadpan tone, "staring at the door won't make it any less suspicious."

Both girls jumped in unison, whipping around to face him. Yuigahama's wide eyes quickly relaxed when she saw it was him. "Oh, Hikki!" she gasped, clutching her chest in exaggerated relief. "Geez, don't sneak up on people like that! I almost had a heart attack."

Yukinoshita, of course, was far less amused. Her cool gaze settled on him, annoyance written all over her face. "Hikigaya-kun," she began with that familiar air of exasperation, "must you always approach situations with such a lack of tact? Do you enjoy startling people, or is it just a side effect of your chronic rudeness?"

Hachiman shrugged, shoving his hands into his pockets. "It's a side effect of existing. Maybe I should just stop talking entirely. That might help."

Yukinoshita's lips pursed, as though debating whether or not it was worth scolding him further. She opted for a short sigh instead. "At least announce yourself in a more appropriate manner next time."

"Sure," Hachiman said flatly, knowing full well he wouldn't change a thing. His eyes flicked toward the door, noting how both girls were still hovering outside instead of entering the clubroom. "So... what's with the lurking? You two planning a surprise attack?"

Yuigahama glanced back at the door, her brow furrowing with unease. "Um, no, not exactly. We were just... well, there's someone inside."

"Someone suspicious," Yukinoshita clarified, crossing her arms and glancing sideways at Hachiman, as though expecting him to take charge of the situation.

Suspicious? Hachiman's mind immediately jumped to the possibility of a blood-sucker. Could this be a threat, here in the school? Was someone after Yukinoshita? He straightened slightly, his gaze hardening.

Without another word, he reached for the door.

"Wait, Hikki—!" Yuigahama started, but it was too late.

With a quick motion, Hachiman slid the door open and stepped into the room, his eyes scanning for anything out of the ordinary. Whatever threat was waiting inside, he was ready to deal with it.

But what greeted him was... unexpected.

Standing in the center of the clubroom was none other than another student.

A very familiar student, unfortunately.

And, as always, his appearance was as flamboyant as ever. He was dressed in a long trench coat that looked at least two sizes too big for him over his school uniform, black steel-toed boots clomping heavily against the floor.

Most notably, a bandana wrapped around his head in the unmistakable pattern of the American flag and a pair of garish aviators completed the absurd ensemble.

In simpler terms: he looked like he's about to tell his classmates not to come to school tomorrow.

Hachiman blinked. "...What the hell?"

Yuigahama and Yukinoshita entered the room behind him, equally perplexed by the sight.

Zaimokuza, completely oblivious to the tension he had caused, turned around dramatically, striking a pose that was clearly rehearsed. "Ah! Hikigaya! You have arrived just in time! Rejoice, for I, Zaimokuza Yoshiteru, have returned with urgent business!" He thrust one arm into the air in what he probably imagined was a heroic gesture.

Yuigahama, looking both confused and concerned, blinked a few times. "Uh, Zaimokuza? What are you doing here?"

Yukinoshita, on the other hand, didn't bother hiding her irritation. "This had better be good, or I'm throwing you out."

Zaimokuza's bombastic demeanor faltered slightly under Yukinoshita's icy glare. He shifted awkwardly, glancing at the table nearby where a stack of papers rested. "I... I have a request," he muttered, clearly embarrassed.

Yuigahama, ever the curious one, walked over and picked up one of the papers. "Huh? It's... all in English?"

Hachiman leaned over to take a look. Sure enough, Zaimokuza had scribbled what appeared to be some kind of story—his messy handwriting made it difficult to decipher—but it was written entirely in awkward, stilted English.

Hachiman sighed. "Still on this, huh?"

Yukinoshita raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued despite herself. "On what, exactly?"

"His delusions," Hachiman said, his voice laced with exasperation. "Zaimokuza's got this... thing. He's obsessed with western culture, America specifically. Think of it as the opposite of being an otaku."

"'Yankophile' is the term," Zaimokuza cut in, puffing out his chest proudly and doing a salute. "I am a disciple of the land of the free, the home of the brave!"

Hachiman resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "I can't believe you just said that without a hint of shame. But, yeah, what he said."

Yukinoshita pinched the bridge of her nose, clearly losing patience. "And why, exactly, are you here wasting our time?"

Zaimokuza looked genuinely wounded by the question, his bravado deflating as he gestured to the stack of papers again. "I... I wanted some feedback on my writing. My war memorandum."

Yuigahama tilted her head, still staring at the papers in confusion. "War memorandum? Isn't this just a... novel?"

Zaimokuza flinched slightly, clearly insulted. "N-No, it's not a novel! It's a detailed account of my strategic genius, a recounting of my battle against the forces of darkness!"

Hachiman glanced at him sideways. "Yeah, it's a novel."

Yukinoshita picked up one of the papers herself, scanning the messy English with a frown. "I'm more concerned about the grammatical errors. This is riddled with mistakes."

Zaimokuza winced, scratching the back of his neck. "Y-Yeah, well, English is hard, okay?"

Yuigahama looked between Zaimokuza and the papers, her expression softening a little. "So... you just wanted help with your writing?"

Zaimokuza nodded sheepishly. "Yes. I... I thought maybe you all could... you know, give me some feedback. Miss Hiratsuka said you guys could help me…"

Hachiman folded his arms, watching the spectacle unfold with mild amusement. Zaimokuza, for all his ridiculous bravado and delusions of grandeur, was nothing if not earnest. But the thought of him as a 'warrior' of any kind was laughable.

"Well, if that's all you need," Hachiman said with a sigh, "I guess we can take a look."

Zaimokuza perked up immediately, his eyes shining with gratitude. "Really? You'll help?"

Yukinoshita, still holding the paper, let out a resigned sigh. "Fine. But this is not a long-term arrangement. You will not make a habit of wasting our time with your delusions."

Zaimokuza beamed, completely ignoring her scolding. "Thank you! I owe you all my eternal gratitude!"

Hachiman smirked slightly, glancing at Zaimokuza with a raised brow. "Just don't expect us to sugarcoat it. Her, especially." He said, gesturing to the club president.

Zaimokuza's eyes twinkled with anticipation. "I wouldn't expect anything less from my buddy!"

Hachiman rolled his eyes. "Yeah, sure. 'Buddy.' Let's just get this over with."

Seeing as it's nearing closing time, they decided to bring the copies Zaimokuza had printed home with them. He was, thankfully, insightful enough to print copies for each of them to bring home.

Hachiman debated on whether to actually catch up with Zaimokuza, but decided against it. If he knew the guy well enough, he's just as busy as he was and this whole request was just his way of loosening up from his own work. Not to mention, the dude already left anyway.

The next day during club hours, the Service Club was in its usual state of semi-disarray—at least, on the surface.

The air in the room felt stagnant, but that might have been from the awkward anticipation everyone was sharing. Each of them had Zaimokuza's "draft" in hand, and though they'd agreed to read it, there were already silent suspicions about how much effort had been put in.

Yukinoshita sat primly at the table, her gaze fixed on the printed pages in front of her. Yuigahama fidgeted with her phone, the occasional click of a notification giving away her inattentiveness. Hachiman leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, staring blankly at the ceiling, clearly waiting for the inevitable to start.

"So…" Yukinoshita began, her voice cutting through the quiet. "I assume we've all finished reading Yoshiteru-kun's… work?"

Yuigahama froze slightly, her eyes flicking to the pile of papers she hadn't actually touched since Zaimokuza dropped them off. "Y-yeah! Totally!" she stammered, her forced enthusiasm a little too obvious.

Yukinoshita narrowed her eyes. "Yuigahama-san… did you even read it?" Her voice carried that razor-sharp suspicion, the kind that could make anyone uncomfortable.

"Wha—? Of course I did!" Yuigahama waved her hands in defense, though her nervousness betrayed her. "I mean, maybe not all of it… but, like, I got the gist of it!"

Hachiman sighed, his usual deadpan tone cutting in. "So, in other words, you didn't read it."

Yuigahama slumped in her seat, caught. "Okay, maybe not…"

Yukinoshita didn't seem surprised. "I expected as much," she murmured, flipping through the draft with a discerning eye. "Though, I can't say I blame you."

There was a pause before Hachiman decided to get things rolling. "Alright," he said, picking up his own copy. "First question. Zaimokuza, whose work did you rip off this time?"

The sudden jab caught everyone's attention. Zaimokuza, sitting eagerly in the corner, immediately shot up in defense, waving his hands dramatically. "How dare you, Hachiman! This is an original masterpiece straight from my own imagination! Pure, untainted genius!"

Yukinoshita raised an eyebrow. "Is that so? Well, your 'genius' seems to lack basic grammar skills." She didn't pull any punches. "The tenses are inconsistent, a lot of the words are misspelled, and idioms are used incorrectly throughout the entire draft. Honestly, I can't imagine how you expected us to take this seriously."

Zaimokuza winced under her scrutiny but managed to keep his over-the-top bravado intact. "Ah, but you misunderstand, Yukipedia! Such intricacies are but trifling details! The story is what truly matters, and my tale is one of epic proportions!"

Yukinoshita's lips twitched, barely hiding her distaste. "Epic proportions, indeed," she muttered. "I'm still baffled as to why you think it's appropriate for Japan to be suddenly invaded by Russia and China. An all-out war in the Pacific triggered by some absurd treaty… Honestly, it's needlessly bleak and more than a little ridiculous."

The corner of Hachiman's mouth twitched. "It's like someone threw 'Rambo' and 'Tom Clancy' into a blender and poured out whatever nonsense that came out first."

Zaimokuza, in a rare shift of tone, grew more serious.

His usually dramatic persona faltered, and for once, his voice carried an undercurrent of resolve. "It's not ridiculous," he said, his expression determined. "It's about preparedness. Self-defense. Protecting one's home from enemies within and without. These things matter, Hachiman. Don't you agree?"

Hachiman felt a flicker of discomfort. He knew where this was coming from—Zaimokuza's "enthusiasm" for military themes wasn't just about storytelling.

It ran deeper than that, an obsession with self-protection that bordered on paranoid. But before Zaimokuza could spiral further into his tirade, Hachiman sighed and interrupted.

"Okay, okay," Hachiman said, raising a hand to stop him. "I get it. We get it. But you know, Zaimokuza, you're kind of missing the point here. Your story—well, let's just say it needs more than a few edits."

Yukinoshita nodded in agreement, but her gaze softened slightly, seeing the rare glimpse of seriousness in Zaimokuza's expression. "If you really want people to take your story seriously, Yoshiteru-kun, you'll need to focus on more than just action. You need coherence, consistency, and realism. Otherwise, it's just a fantasy with no grounding."

Zaimokuza, clearly a little deflated, nonetheless puffed up his chest again. "I understand, Yukinoshita-dono! I shall take your critique with the honor of a true warrior!"

Hachiman couldn't help but roll his eyes. "Yeah, warrior of spelling errors."

Yuigahama giggled from her corner, finally relaxing after the tense back-and-forth. "Hey, at least it was kinda fun? In, like, a weird way."

As the awkward tension in the room slowly dissipated, Zaimokuza's demeanor shifted back to his usual, bombastic self. "Well then! I shall revise my manuscript and return stronger than ever! Fear not, comrades, for I will deliver the ultimate narrative—one that will inspire generations!"

Hachiman sighed. "Please don't."

After they wrapped up and the club activities seemed to have come to a close, everyone started packing up. Zaimokuza, however, lingered, shooting a quick glance at Hachiman as the girls filed out of the room.

"So," Hachiman muttered, his tone casual, "is my Redhawk ready yet?"

Zaimokuza's grin widened as he lowered his voice. "Almost, my dear comrade. Just a little longer, and not only will you have your Redhawk, but I've added a little surprise for you."

Hachiman narrowed his eyes, unamused. "I told you I don't like surprises."

"Ah, but this one," Zaimokuza said, leaning in conspiratorially, "you'll like. Trust me."

"I don't trust you," Hachiman deadpanned.

Zaimokuza chuckled, backing off and shrugging. "You'll see soon enough. Just be patient."

As Hachiman started to leave, Zaimokuza's voice called out one last time. "By the way, Miss Hiratsuka's absence today… Strange, isn't it?"

Hachiman paused for a moment, glancing over his shoulder.

Zaimokuza grinned again. "Feels like she's doing both of us dirty, doesn't it? Less customers for me, thanks to your new 'assignment' keeping you busy."

"Yeah," Hachiman replied dryly, "cry me a river."

They parted ways, and as Hachiman exited the school, his thoughts drifted back to his task at hand. He would follow Yukinoshita home, as he did every day, keeping her in his sight from the shadows, ensuring that no harm came to her. But the lingering thought of Hiratsuka-sensei's absence stayed in the back of his mind.

Something wasn't adding up. And Hachiman, more than anyone, hated not knowing.

Chapter End

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