Pins, Vampires, and Fangs, Oh My!

by xehaga48

When Joshua yeets Neku Sakuraba into Yōkai Private Academy, he’s expecting monsters, not a pink-haired vampire chick with a bike and a biting fetish that crashes into his life (literally), sniffs his Game-scarred blood like it’s a fine wine, and decides he’s her new BFF. Neku can’t help but wonder if surviving Shibuya was just practice for this fangtastic mess. Good luck, Phones!

Chapter 1: NEW GAME

Welcome to the first ever story I'm posting on Fanfiction. Net. Figured I might as well as show my love for TWEWY on here and what better way to do that than to cross it over with a monster girl harem manga?!

...Yes, I struggle to understand my thought procees too at times.

Disclaimer: The World Ends With You x Rosario Vampire - I own neither

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Sometimes, Neku Sakuraba wondered how his life even got to this point.

Oh yeah, because Joshua was a total asshole.

That would probably explain it.

He sighed as he leaned his head against the grimy window, the cool glass pressing against his temple as he stared out at the warped, shadowy landscape. The bus jostled along a narrow, winding road, flanked by gnarled trees that twisted upward like they were trying to claw their way out of the earth. His headphones—still clamped over his ears—hummed with a low, steady beat, muffling the oppressive silence outside. It didn't help much, though; the back of his neck prickled like someone, or something, was watching him. He shifted in the creaky leather seat, the faint squeak of it grating on his nerves, and muttered under his breath, "What the hell did Joshua get me into this time?"

"So, you're a new student at Yōkai Academy, eh?" The voice sliced through the drone of his music, low and monotone, carrying an unsettling edge that made Neku's jaw tighten. He flicked his eyes toward the front of the bus, where the driver sat hunched over the wheel, a towering figure cloaked in shadow and smoke. The man was tall—freakishly so—his lanky frame draped in a faded blue jacket that hung loose over a crisp white collared shirt. A bluish-green necktie dangled crookedly from his neck, like he'd tied it halfasleep and couldn't be bothered to straighten it. His blue pants were sharp and pressed, ending in polished black leather shoes that caught the faint moonlight streaming through the windows. White gloves encased his hands, fingers curled around the steering wheel with a lazy confidence that clashed with the vibe he radiated. A thick haze of cigar smoke swirled around him, the acrid scent stinging Neku's nose even from the back of the bus.

The driver didn't turn his head, just kept those glowing white eyes fixed on the road ahead, unblinking and bright as twin lanterns in the dark. A blue bus cap sat low on his brow, casting most of his face in shadow, save for the sharp, wiry mustache framing his upper lip and the wicked, everpresent grin that stretched across his mouth. His short black hair peeked out from under the cap, barely visible in the dim light. The cigar clamped between his teeth bobbed as he spoke, a faint trail of ash dusting the dashboard. "Gotta say though, it's surprising. Never expected to see a former Player sign up for this place."

Neku's eyes widened, his breath catching in his throat. "How did you—?"

The man laughed—a low, raspy sound that rumbled through the bus like distant thunder. He took a long drag on his cigar, the ember flaring red before he exhaled a plume of smoke that curled lazily toward the ceiling. "Kid, I've been drivin' this route longer than you've been breathin'. You think I can't spot someone who's danced with the Reapers?" His grin didn't falter, but those glowing eyes flicked to the rearview mirror, pinning Neku in place for a heartbeat before returning to the road. "That little Game of yours left a mark. Not the kind most folks can see, but I ain't most folks."

Neku's fingers tightened around the edge of his seat, the leather creaking under his grip. Of course this creep knew about the Reapers' Game. Joshua had apparently signed him up for a "school for and by monsters," and if that wasn't a red flag the size of Shibuya, he didn't know what was. Three weeks of Underground insanity—fighting Noise, taking down Reapers, and clawng his way back to life —had left him with a pretty high tolerance for weird, but this? This was a whole new level of absurd. A school for monsters? It sounded like something out of a cheesy manga set-up, the kind Beat might've laughed his ass off reading while Neku rolled his eyes in the background.

The driver's glowing eyes flicked to the rearview mirror again, catching Neku's scowl for just a moment before returning to the road. "What's the matter, kid? You look like someone pissed in your ramen." His voice stayed that same creepy monotone, but there was a flicker of something—amusement, maybe?—beneath it. He tapped the cigar against the edge of the dashboard, sending a fresh sprinkle of ash tumbling down, and the sharp, smoky scent bit at Neku's nose even through the muffled barrier of his headphones.

Neku didn't bother uncrossing his arms, just tilted his head to shoot the guy a sidelong glare. "Oh, I don't know," he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Maybe it's the part where I got roped into some monster academy without even signing up for it. Or maybe it's the glowing-eyed weirdo driving me there like it's no big deal. Take your pick." He leaned forward slightly, resting an elbow on his knee as he stared at the back of the driver's capped head. "You gonna tell me what this place even is, or do I have to guess? 'Cause I'm betting it's not just some fancy private school with a spooky aesthetic."

The driver let out another raspy chuckle, the sound bouncing off the bus's metal walls. He shifted in his seat, the leather of his gloves creaking as he adjusted his grip on the wheel. "Yōkai Academy's exactly what it sounds like," he said, exhaling a thick plume of smoke that coiled upward like a snake. "A place for monsters to learn how to blend in with humans—or at least not eat 'em on sight. Rules are strict, though. No showing your true form unless you wanna get expelled… or worse." His grin stretched wider, flashing a glint of teeth that looked a little too sharp to be human. "You, though? You're a wild card. Former Player, human stink all over ya, and yet here you are, rolling up like you own the place. Gonna be interesting to see how long you last."

Neku's stomach twisted, but he kept his face blank, leaning back again with a huff. "Great. So it's a school full of freaks who might try to kill me. Sounds like a real upgrade from Shibuya." His fingers drummed against his arm, the rhythm syncing with the faint bassline pulsing through his headphones. He didn't like this—not the driver's cryptic vibe, not the idea of being stuck in some monster pit, and definitely not the fact that Joshua had dumped him here without so much as a heads up. What was that bastard playing at this time? Knowing him, probably nothing good.

Neku's mind drifted as the bus rumbled on, the driver's cryptic words still gnawing at him. He thought back to what his friends had said before he'd packed up his bags for Yōkai Academy, their voices cutting through the haze of his irritation like a lifeline he didn't know he'd needed.

Shiki had been the first to speak up, her tone soft but firm, the way it always got when she was trying to nudge him out of his shell. "You've changed, Neku," she'd said, perched on the edge of his couch with that earnest look in her eyes. "You're not the same guy who shut everyone out. This… whatever it is Joshua's throwing you into, it's just another chance to figure out who you are. Don't let it scare you off." She'd smiled then, a little lopsided, and it'd hit him square in the chest—how much she still believed in him, even after all the crap he'd put her through in the UG.

Beat had chimed in next, sprawled out on the floor with his arms behind his head, grinning like he didn't have a care in the world. "Man, you're tough as hell now. Whatever this monster school's got, you'll kick its ass and come back with some wild stories. Just don't forget us, yo." There'd been a flicker of something serious in his voice, a rare crack in his usual bravado, and Neku had felt the weight of it—Beat's unshakable loyalty, loud and rough around the edges but real.

Rhyme's words had been quieter, thoughtful, as she sat crosslegged beside her brother. "You've always found a way to keep going, even when it hurt," she'd said, her voice steady and calm. "This is just another step. You're not alone anymore, Neku—you've got us, no matter where you end up." She'd looked at him with that gentle, knowing gaze, and it'd stirred something deep, a reminder of how far he'd come from the guy who'd once thought solitude was his only option.

Despite the absurdity of his situation—stuck on a creepy bus headed for a school full of monsters—he couldn't shake the warmth blooming in his chest. It wasn't the old, bitter Neku who'd scoff at that kind of sentiment and shove it away. No, this was the Neku who'd survived three weeks of the Reapers' Game, who'd learned to trust and let people in, even if it still felt awkward as hell sometimes. Shiki's compassion, Beat's loud faith, Rhyme's quiet strength—they'd stuck with him, carved out a space in his world he hadn't known he'd wanted until it was there. He wasn't all the way there yet, still prickly and sarcastic, still prone to retreating into his headphones when it all got too loud, but he could feel it: the pull to expand, to see what else was out there. Even if "out there" was apparently a monster-infested academy, courtesy of Joshua's latest dick move.

As the bus rattled on, Neku's thoughts shifted from his friends to the last conversation he'd had with Mr. H, the barista who always seemed to know more than he let on. He'd cornered the guy at WildKat just before leaving, leaning over the counter with a scowl, his voice sharp with frustration. "What the hell's Joshua planning this time, huh? You know something, don't you? Spill it."

Mr. H had just smirked, that easy, knowing grin of his spreading across his face as he wiped down a mug with a rag. The café had been quiet that day, the faint hum of jazz drifting through the air, the smell of fresh coffee grounding the moment. He'd leaned back against the counter, arms crossed, his shades glinting under the dim lights. "Easy, Phones," he'd said, his tone smooth and unruffled. "Joshua's always got his games, you know that. But this? This ain't just him messin' with ya for kicks. He's throwin' you into somethin' bigger—somethin' that's gonna test how much you've really grown."

Neku had narrowed his eyes, fingers tapping impatiently against the counter. "Bigger how? What, he thinks I'm some lab rat for his twisted experiments? What's Yōkai Academy got to do with anything?"

Mr. H had chuckled, low and warm, setting the mug down with a soft clink. "Let's just say it's a place where the lines blur—human, monster, whatever. You've danced with Noise and Reapers, but this is a different beat. Joshua's bettin' on you to figure it out, maybe even change it. He's got faith in that imagination of yours, even if he's too much of a punk to say it straight." He'd paused then, tilting his head like he was sizing Neku up. "You're not the same kid who thought the world was just noise. This is your chance to remix it, Phones. Don't waste it."

Neku had scoffed, shoving his hands into his pockets. "Yeah, real inspiring. So I'm supposed to just roll with it? What if I don't wanna play his game?"

Mr. H's grin had widened, and he'd leaned forward, resting his elbows on the counter. "You've never been one to sit out, Phones. You'll play it, alright—your way. Just keep your eyes open. That place… it's got its own rules, its own players. You've got the pins to handle it, though. Trust yourself."

The memory faded as the bus jolted over a bump, snapping Neku back to the present. He stared out the window, the twisted trees giving way to a looming tunnel ahead, its mouth dark and gaping like it was ready to swallow them whole. Mr. H's words stuck with him, though—remixing it, his way. Maybe this didn't have to be Joshua's game after all.

The tunnel swallowed the bus, plunging it into shadow, and Neku's reflection stared back at him in the glass—sharp jawline, spiky, orange hair, headphones snug, eyes narrowed with a flicker of defiance. He shifted, tugging at the collar of his shirt, the Player Pin tucked in his pocket brushing against his fingers like a quiet promise.

"Almost there, kid," the driver called from the front, his voice cutting through the darkness like a blade. His cigar flared briefly, casting a faint red glow against the steering wheel. "Better brace yourself. Yōkai's got a way of hittin' you hard right outta the gate." The bus lurched forward, the tunnel walls streaking past in a blur, and Neku felt a strange pulse in his chest—part dread, part anticipation. Whatever this place was, he'd face it head-on, pins and all. Joshua might've shoved him into this mess, but he'd be damned if he let it play out by anyone's rules but his own.

As the bus screeched to a halt, Neku peeled himself off the seat and stepped out, the gravel crunching under his sneakers. He squinted against the faint sunlight spilling over the barren stretch of road where he stood, the air carrying a faint tang of damp earth and something faintly metallic. But what lay ahead stole his breath—not in awe, but in a kind of annoyed disbelief that made him wonder if Joshua had secretly moonlighted as a B-movie director.

The scene before him was straight out of a cheap horror flick, the kind with a budget so low they couldn't afford decent lighting. Beyond the patchy sunlight bathing his immediate surroundings, the sky darkened abruptly, as if someone had flipped a switch. Thick, roiling clouds churned over the silhouette of Yōkai Private Academy, their edges bruised purple and gray. Jagged arcs of lightning split the gloom, crackling with a restless energy that illuminated the school in fleeting, stark flashes. The building itself loomed like a gothic nightmare carved from shadow and stone—a sprawling, asymmetrical mess of pointed spires and arched windows that gaped like hollow eyes. Its walls, weathered and streaked with moss, rose from the ground in uneven slabs, the dark brickwork pockmarked with age and neglect. A central tower jutted upward, crooked and menacing, topped with a rusted weather vane that spun lazily despite the still air.

A few steps down the cracked, weed-choked path, Neku's gaze snagged on a scarecrow planted crookedly in the dirt. Its body was a sagging sack of straw, draped in tattered rags that fluttered faintly, but the head—carved from a pumpkin—grinned at him with a lopsided, hollow leer. The flickering lightning cast eerie shadows across its crudely etched face, making it look alive for a split second before the darkness swallowed it again. He edged closer, his headphones still buzzing faintly against his ears, and spotted a weathered wooden sign nailed beneath the pumpkin. The faded lettering, chipped and peeling, spelled out "Yōkai Private Academy" in a script that looked like it'd been scratched in by someone half-asleep.

Neku snorted, shoving his hands into his pockets as he took it all in. The school's jagged outline seemed to pulse with a strange, restless energy, the lightning stitching it into the sky like a scar. Beyond the main structure, he could make out sprawling grounds—overgrown with thorny brambles and skeletal trees that twisted into unnatural shapes, their branches clawing at the air. A wrought-iron gate, rusted and bent, hung halfopen at the entrance, creaking faintly as though inviting him in against his better judgment. The whole place reeked of melodrama, like it was trying too hard to scream "danger" at him. And yet, beneath the irritation bubbling in his chest, there was a flicker of curiosity—because if Joshua had dumped him here, there had to be more to it than just some haunted house aesthetic.

"Guess they're really going all in on the horror movie vibes, huh?" he said aloud, his voice carrying a dry edge as he shifted his weight to one hip. The place screamed "school for and by monsters" in a way that almost felt too on the nose—dark spires stabbing at the stormy sky, the pumpkin-headed scarecrow leering at him from the roadside, the whole vibe dripping with a kind of theatrical menace that made him roll his eyes. Still, he couldn't deny it fit the bill Joshua had saddled him with.

Behind him, the bus driver let out a raspy laugh, the sound rough and grating as it cut through the still air. Neku glanced over his shoulder to see the tall, lanky figure leaning against the bus's open door, cigar still clamped between his teeth. The man's glowing white eyes glimmered under the shadow of his blue cap, and that wicked grin stretched wider as he puffed out a cloud of smoke. "Oh, you ain't seen nothin' yet, kid," he said, his monotone voice laced with a dark amusement. He flicked the ash from his cigar onto the gravel, the ember flaring briefly before dying out. "This place? It's got teeth. Better hope you've got some bite to match."

Neku snorted, turning back to face the academy as the driver's boots crunched against the ground, signaling he was already climbing back into the bus. The engine roared to life with a guttural growl, and the vehicle lurched slightly as it prepared to peel out. "Yeah, well, I've dealt with worse," Neku muttered, more to himself than anyone else, his fingers brushing the Player Pin in his pocket.

The bus's engine roared one last time as the driver leaned out the window, his glowing eyes glinting beneath the brim of his cap. "Good luck, kid. I'll be rootin' for ya! Try to make the year interesting!" he called out, his raspy voice cutting through the damp air. The wicked grin never left his face as he puffed out a final cloud of cigar smoke, the haze curling lazily before the bus lurched forward. Gravel sprayed beneath the tires, and with a guttural rumble, the vehicle peeled off down the twisted road, disappearing into the shadowy tunnel like a phantom retreating into the night.

Neku stood alone now, the faint echo of the bus fading into the distance. The air around him felt heavier, thick with the scent of wet moss and something faintly metallic, like blood lingering just out of sight. Above, the lightning cracked again, bathing Yōkai Private Academy in a jagged flash of white. The school loomed ahead, its dark stone walls rising like a fortress from the tangled mess of thorny brambles and skeletal trees.

He adjusted the headphones around his neck, the faint hum of music grounding him as he took a step forward. "Interesting, huh?" he muttered under his breath, his tone dry but laced with a flicker of defiance. "Guess I'll have to give him that much." His fingers brushed the Player Pin in his pocket, its cool metal a quiet reassurance against the unease creeping up his spine.

Neku lingered by the sign for a moment longer, his eyes tracing the faded lettering etched into the wood. Beneath the chipped declaration of "Yōkai Private Academy," a smaller line caught his attention: Bus Schedule Returns 1st of Each Month. He let out a low huff, the corner of his mouth twitching. "So I've got a month before the bus comes back," he said to himself, voice flat but edged with a faint resolve. "Plenty of time to decide if I'm sticking around this freakshow for a whole year." He rolled his shoulders, the tension from the bumpy ride easing slightly as he turned toward the path snaking through the dead forest ahead.

The air hung still and heavy as he started walking, the crunch of his sneakers against the brittle twigs and dry leaves the only sound breaking the silence—well, that and the occasional harsh caw of a raven echoing from somewhere deep within the skeletal trees. The forest stretched out around him, a desolate sprawl of gnarled trunks and barren branches that twisted upward like they'd been frozen mid-scream. The faint sunlight that had greeted him at the bus stop was long gone, swallowed by a thick canopy of gray clouds that seemed to press down on the world below. Every now and then, a gust of wind rattled the branches, sending a shiver of dead leaves spiraling to the ground like ash.

Ahead, the path wound toward the school, its jagged spires just visible through the haze. The wrought-iron gate creaked faintly as he approached, its rusted bars bent and sagging like they'd given up holding anything back years ago. Neku paused, tilting his head to listen. Nothing but the distant raven's call and the low hum of his headphones resting around his neck. "Quiet's not exactly reassuring here," he muttered, shoving his hands into his pockets as he stepped past the gate.

Neku trudged along the path, the dead forest pressing in around him like a silent, suffocating shroud. As he passed a graveyard off to his left, the faint glow of weathered tombstones peeked through the gloom, their crooked shapes half-swallowed by creeping vines and mist. Suddenly, a flurry of motion erupted overhead—a swarm of bats burst from the skeletal branches, their leathery wings slicing through the air with a soft, eerie rustle. They spiraled upward, black silhouettes against the bruised sky, their high-pitched screeches threading into the already strange ambiance.

"Yeah, that's not ominous at all," Neku muttered under his breath, his voice dripping with sarcasm as he tilted his head to track their flight. He kept moving, the crunch of dry leaves under his sneakers a steady rhythm against the quiet—until another sound cut through it, sharp and unexpected.

A rapid squeaking and clanking filled the air, paired with the gritty whine of tires tearing across dirt. Neku froze, his eyes narrowing as he strained to pinpoint it. The noise grew louder, closer, a chaotic crescendo that set his nerves on edge. Then, a voice—shrill and panicked—ripped through the stillness. "LOOK OUT!"

Before he could fully register the warning, a blur of motion barreled toward him from the bend in the path. A girl on a bicycle hurtled into view, her pink hair streaming behind her like a banner in the wind. She gripped the handlebars with whiteknuckled desperation, the tires skidding wildly as she fought to steer. The bike wobbled dangerously, its chain rattling like it might snap any second. Her green eyes widened as they locked onto him, a mix of alarm and determination flashing across her face.

"Whoa—!" she yelped, yanking the handlebars hard. The bike veered, kicking up a spray of dirt and pebbles, but it was too late to stop completely. She was heading straight for him, the squeal of brakes piercing the air like a warning siren.

The impact hit Neku like a freight train, his honed reflexes from three weeks in the Reapers' Game failing him in the split second it took for the girl to crash into him. The bicycle slammed into his chest, the front wheel jamming against his ribs as he stumbled backward, arms flailing uselessly. His headphones slipped from his neck, clattering to the dirt, and the air whooshed out of his lungs in a sharp grunt. The world tilted, and then he was down, sprawled on the hard ground with the girl half-tangled on top of him, her bike tipping over with a final, pitiful clank.

"Well, this day just keeps getting better and better," he muttered through gritted teeth, the ache in his back flaring as he shifted. Slowly, he pushed himself up into a sitting position, one hand pressing into the dirt for support—only to land on something soft and warm beneath his palm. He frowned, his brows knitting together. Soft and warm? His fingers flexed instinctively, registering the faint give of whatever it was, and a faint heat radiated against his skin.

The girl let out a small, flustered squeak, scrambling to untangle herself from him. "Oh my gosh, I'm so sorry!" she blurted, her voice highpitched and laced with panic as she yanked her leg free from the bike's frame. She sat up on her knees, brushing dirt off her Yōkai Academy uniform: a green blazer stretched slightly over her chest, a white blouse with a red bow at the collar, and a pleated skirt that had ridden up just enough to expose a sliver of thigh. The black choker around her neck gleamed faintly, the silver Rosario pendant dangling from it catching the dim light filtering through the stormy sky.

Her cheeks flushed a bright pink as she glanced down, then back at him, her hands flapping uselessly in the air. "I—I didn't mean to hit you! The brakes—they just—ugh, they're so old!" She gestured wildly at the bike, its rusted chain dangling loose and its tires still spinning faintly. A few strands of her kneelength pink hair clung to her sweat-dampened forehead, and she puffed out a breath, clearly mortified.

Neku's frown deepened as he pulled his hand back, realizing with a jolt that he'd been resting it on her thigh—soft, warm, and now tingling slightly under his touch. He shook his head, brushing the dirt off his palm against his pants. "Yeah, well, maybe don't ride that death trap like you're in a race," he said, his tone sharp but not quite biting, the irritation tempered by the absurdity of it all. He shifted to sit fully upright, wincing as a dull ache throbbed in his side where the wheel had hit him. Overhead, the bats circled lazily, their screeches mingling with the distant rumble of thunder, as if the whole damn place was laughing at him.

Are you okay?" The girl's green eyes shimmered with worry as she hovered on her knees, hands together like she was praying he wouldn't keel over right there. Dirt smudged her cheek, and her pink hair fanned out around her in a wild, tangled mess, catching the faint light filtering through the stormy clouds.

Neku exhaled sharply through his nose, brushing off the ache in his ribs as he pushed himself to his feet. "I'll live. I've dealt with worse," he said, his tone clipped but steady. Really, after three weeks of defeating Noise and Reapers, taking two bullets, and surviving Joshua's mind games, a bike crash was barely a blip on his radar. He rolled his shoulder, testing it, then extended a hand down to her, his expression softening just enough to not look like a total asshole.

The girl blinked up at him, her flustered panic easing into a sheepish smile as she took his hand. Her grip was warm, surprisingly firm for how delicate she looked, and she let him pull her up with a little stumble. "T-thank you," she stammered, brushing at her skirt with quick, nervous swipes. The green blazer of her Yōkai Academy uniform was streaked with dust, the red bow at her collar slightly askew, and the Rosario pendant on her choker glinted as she moved. She glanced at the wrecked bike, its front wheel bent at a sad angle, and let out a small, defeated groan. "Ugh, I knew I should've gotten this thing fixed…"

Neku bent down to scoop up his headphones, slinging them back around his neck as he shot her a sidelong glance. "Yeah, maybe next time don't treat it like a battering ram," he said, dry amusement creeping into his voice.

As he quipped about her bike, a sudden warmth trickled down from the crown of his head, cutting through the cool dampness of the forest air. He paused, his brow furrowing as he reached up to touch the spot. His fingers brushed against something slick, and when he pulled his hand back, a smear of crimson glistened on his fingertips. Blood. Not a lot, but enough to make him grimace—probably a scrape from the crash he hadn't noticed until now.

The girl gasped, her green eyes widening in alarm. "You're bleeding!" she exclaimed, her voice pitching up with a mix of guilt and concern. Before Neku could wave it off, she was already fumbling in the pocket of her green blazer, her slender fingers digging past a crumpled candy wrapper to pull out a small, folded piece of cloth. It was a soft white handkerchief, faintly embroidered with a tiny flower in one corner—cute, almost too delicate for a place like this. She stepped closer, her pink hair swaying as she tilted her head to get a better look at his forehead.

"Here, hold still," she said, her tone softening as she reached up. Her touch was gentle, almost hesitant, as she pressed the cloth against the cut. The fabric felt cool against his skin at first, then warmed as it soaked up the blood, her fingers brushing lightly against his hairline. She bit her lip and a faint flush crept up her cheeks as she focused on dabbing the wound. "I'm so sorry about this… I didn't think I hit you that hard."

Neku stood there, hands still in his pockets, letting her fuss over him despite the faint twinge of annoyance bubbling under his skin. "It's fine," he said, his voice gruff but lacking real bite. "Takes more than a bike to the face to put me down." He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, noting the way her brows knit together in concentration, the Rosario pendant swaying slightly with her movements. The air around them carried the earthy scent of the graveyard dirt and the distant tang of ozone from the storm brewing overhead, but up close, he caught a faint whiff of something sweeter—maybe her shampoo, floral and light, cutting through the gloom.

The girl's gentle dabbing faltered as she lifted the bloodstained cloth to her nose, her eyes fluttering shut. Neku caught the motion out of the corner of his eye—a deep, deliberate inhale, her chest rising as she took in the scent like it was some rare perfume. "Oh my… you smell so good," she moaned, her voice dropping into a husky whisper that sent a shiver racing down his spine. Her lashes parted, revealing green eyes clouded with a strange, hazy hunger, and she leaned closer, her pink hair brushing against his cheek.

"Okay, what the fuck," Neku thought, his internal alarm blaring as his muscles tensed. He'd seen weird shit in the UG, but this was veering into territory he hadn't signed up for. Before he could pull back, her face dipped toward his neck, her warm breath ghosting over his skin. "I'm sorry… I can't help myself," she murmured, her lips grazing his collar as she nuzzled him, her tone soft but edged with something primal. "It's because… I'm a vampire." Her canines flashed—longer, sharper now—and then they sank into his flesh with a slow, deliberate press, piercing just deep enough to draw a thin trickle of blood.

"WHOA WHOA, WHAT THE HELL?!" Neku yelped, his voice cracking as he jolted back, hands flying up to shove at her shoulders. The sting was sharp but fleeting, a hot pinch that radiated from the bite, and he could feel the wet warmth of his own blood welling up where her teeth had been. The girl stumbled slightly but didn't pull away entirely, her hands clutching at his sleeves as she licked her lips, a faint smear of crimson staining them. Her eyes flickered with a mix of guilt and satisfaction, like a kid caught sneaking candy.

"S-sorry!" she squeaked, her voice snapping back to its usual flustered pitch as she straightened up, wiping at her mouth with the back of her hand. "I didn't mean to—well, I did, but—oh gosh, it's just… your blood, it's so good!" She clasped her hands together, twisting them nervously, the Rosario pendant swaying against her choker. The air around them thickened with the coppery tang of blood and the faint floral hint of her hair, mingling oddly with the graveyard's earthy musk.

Neku swiped at his neck, his fingers coming away slick with blood, and shot her a glare that could've melted steel. "Yeah, great, glad you liked the taste test. How about a warning next time, huh?" His tone was sharp, dripping with sarcasm, but he didn't bolt—partly because his legs still felt like jelly from the crash, and partly because something about her wideeyed panic kept him rooted there, irritation warring with a grudging flicker of curiosity.

She bit her lip, her gaze dropping to the crumpled bike lying in the dirt, its bent wheel spinning faintly like a dying pulse. "I'm usually better at this, I swear," she mumbled, kicking at a pebble with the toe of her black loafer. "It's just… new people, you know? They smell different. And you—you're really different."

Neku arched a brow, wiping his bloody fingers on his pants as he straightened up fully. "Different how? What, I've got some special seasoning or something?" His tone was dry, edged with a sarcasm that felt more like a shield than a weapon now. He adjusted the headphones around his neck, the familiar weight grounding him as he studied her—the (apparently) vampire girl with a bike from hell and a guilt complex to match. She looked harmless enough now, all flustered and doe-eyed, but those fangs and that hazy look she'd had a second ago told a different story. Joshua's cryptic setup was starting to make a twisted kind of sense—this place was a whole new game, and he'd just stumbled into one of its players.

She tilted her head, her pink hair swaying as she shook it gently, a faint frown creasing her brow. "No, it's not like that," she said, her voice softening as she searched for the right words. She clutched the bloodstained handkerchief tighter, her fingers kneading the fabric as if it held the answer. "Your scent… it's this wild, unique mix—like the sharp bite of frost after a storm, tangled with something warm and alive, pulsing underneath. And the taste—" She paused, her tongue flicking out to wet her lips, a faint shudder running through her as she recalled it. "It's rich, almost electric, like copper and honey melting together, with this strange kick that lingers on my tongue. It's not bad, not at all—it's just… you. I've never tasted anything like it."

Neku's eyes widened for a split second, a jolt of surprise flickering through him before he schooled his expression back to something neutral, shoving his hands deeper into his pockets. "Life and death, huh?" he muttered aloud, his tone dry as he rolled the words around in his head. The bus driver's gravelly voice echoed back to him—"Former Player, human stink all over ya"—and that cryptic jab about the Game leaving its mark. Guess this was part of it too, some weird residue of the UG clinging to him, turning his blood into a vampire's catnip. He shifted his weight, the faint ache in his neck pulsing where her fangs had sunk in, and shot her a sidelong glance. "Sounds like I'm a walking contradiction. Figures."

The girl blinked at him, her green eyes clearing from that hazy edge as she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, the Rosario pendant glinting faintly against her choker. "It's not a bad thing!" she insisted, her voice brightening as she waved her hands, the handkerchief flapping like a tiny flag. "It's… special. Kind of exciting, actually!" She flashed a shy smile, her fangs peeking out just enough to catch the dim light, and took a tentative step closer, her loafers scuffing the dirt. The air around them hung heavy with the damp musk of the graveyard and the distant rumble of thunder, but her presence cut through it—a mix of nervous energy and that faint floral sweetness clinging to her hair.

Neku huffed, brushing his fingers against the bite mark again, the skin still warm and tacky with drying blood. Whatever this place was throwing at him, it was already a hell of a lot weirder than Shibuya—and that was saying something.

The girl's voice broke the silence, trembling with a sudden edge of distress that snapped Neku out of his thoughts. "Do you hate me now? Because I'm a vampire?" she asked, her green eyes wide and glistening with a flicker of panic. She clutched the bloodstained handkerchief to her chest, her knuckles whitening as her fingers twisted the fabric into knots. Her pink hair framed her face in soft waves, catching the faint, eerie glow of the stormlit sky, and the Rosario pendant at her throat swayed slightly as she shifted her weight, her loafers scuffing the dirt. The vulnerability in her tone clashed with the sharp memory of her fangs sinking into his neck, and for a moment, she looked less like a predator and more like a kid bracing for rejection.

Neku blinked, caught off guard by the question. He rubbed the back of his neck, his fingers brushing the tender bite mark as he let out a low, exasperated breath. "Hate you? Nah, I don't even know you," he said, his voice gruff but lacking any real venom. He glanced at her, taking in the way she fidgeted—shoulders hunched, lips pressed into a thin line, her whole demeanor radiating a nervous energy that made it hard to stay pissed. "You're a vampire, fine. Not like I haven't dealt with weirder crap before. Just… don't make a habit of biting me without asking, alright?"

The graveyard around them stretched out in a quiet sprawl, the crooked tombstones leaning like silent witnesses under the weight of the heavy air. The bats overhead had settled into a slower rhythm, their wings cutting through the mist with faint, leathery flaps, while the distant thunder rolled like a drumbeat underscoring the moment. Her expression softened at his words, a tentative relief washing over her features. "Rreally? You mean it?" she asked, her voice lifting with a hopeful lilt. She took a small step closer, her hands loosening their death grip on the handkerchief as a shy smile tugged at her lips, her fangs glinting faintly in the dim light.

"Yeah, whatever," Neku muttered, shoving his hands into his pockets as he glanced away, the Player Pin brushing against his fingers like a quiet tether to his old life. He wasn't about to admit it, but the way she'd described his scent—life and death tangled together—stirred something in him, a reminder of the Game's lingering echo. The bus driver's words about this place having teeth flickered through his mind, and now this girl, with her clumsy bike and bloodlust, was starting to feel like the first jagged edge of it.

The girl suddenly lunged forward, wrapping her arms around him in a hug that hit like a freight train. The force knocked him back a step, his sneakers skidding against the dirt as her vampire strength squeezed the air from his lungs. Her cheek pressed against his chest, warm and soft, her pink hair spilling over his shoulder like a cascade of silk. The faint floral scent of her shampoo mingled with the coppery tang of his blood still lingering on her breath, and her grip was unrelenting—bones creaking under the pressure, a reminder of just how much power hid behind her flustered exterior.

"Guh—!" Neku grunted, staggering slightly as he tried to steady himself, his hands hovering awkwardly in the air before settling on her shoulders. He could feel the taut curve of her muscles beneath her uniform, the green blazer stretching tight across her back as she clung to him. For a moment, he was caught between shoving her off and just letting it happen—three weeks in the Game had taught him to roll with worse punches than this.

Then, just as suddenly, she released him, stepping back with a bounce that sent her skirt flaring briefly around her thighs. Her green eyes sparkled with a mix of excitement and hope, her fangs peeking out as she clasped her hands together. "So does that mean you'll be my friend?" she asked, her voice lilting with an almost unbearable cuteness, head tilting slightly to one side. The Rosario pendant glinted against her choker, catching a stray flash of lightning from the stormy sky above, and her smile was wide enough to light up the gloomy graveyard sprawling around them.

Neku coughed, rubbing his chest where her hug had left a faint ache, and shot her a look that hovered between irritation and bemusement. "Friend, huh? You've got a hell of a way of saying hello," he said, his tone dry but not entirely dismissive. He adjusted his headphones, the familiar weight settling back around his neck as he glanced at her. He exhaled sharply, shoving his hands into his pockets. "Fine, whatever. Just don't bite me again unless I say it's cool, got it?"

The girl's face lit up like a firecracker, her green eyes sparkling with unrestrained glee as she clapped her hands together. "Okay!" she cheered, her voice ringing through the gloomy graveyard with a brightness that felt almost out of place. Her pink hair bounced with the motion, strands catching the faint, flickering light of the storm overhead, and the Rosario pendant at her throat gleamed as she rocked on her heels. "My name is Moka Akashiya! And you are…?"

"Neku. Neku Sakuraba," he replied, his tone flat but steady, the edge of irritation softening as he met her gaze. He stood there, hands still shoved in his pockets, the Player Pin a quiet weight against his thigh. The bite mark on his neck throbbed faintly, a dull reminder of her fangs, but he brushed it off, focusing instead on the girl in front of him—vampire or not, she was a whirlwind of energy he hadn't expected.

Moka beamed, her fangs peeking out just enough to glint as she stepped closer, her loafers crunching against the gravelstrewn path. "Neku! That's such a cool name!" she said, her voice bubbling with enthusiasm. She tilted her head, studying him with a curiosity that made her look almost childlike, despite the strength she'd just demonstrated. Her Yōkai Academy uniform was still dusted with dirt from their crash, the green blazer clinging to her frame, the red bow at her collar slightly crooked.

She clasped her hands behind her back, rocking slightly as she spoke. "I'm so glad we're friends now, Neku! I was kind of worried about starting the year alone, you know? But you're here, and you don't hate me, and—oh!" She paused, glancing at the crumpled bike lying in the dirt, its bent wheel still spinning faintly. "We should probably head to the school, huh? I can show you around! I mean, if you want me to." Her smile faltered for a split second, a flicker of uncertainty crossing her face, but it bounced back just as quickly, bright and unrelenting.

Neku exhaled through his nose, adjusting the headphones around his neck as he glanced toward the jagged silhouette of Yōkai Private Academy looming beyond the dead forest. "Yeah, sure," he said, his voice dry but not dismissive. "Might as well see what I'm stuck with for the next month."

Moka's grip tightened around Neku's hand as she tugged him forward with a strength that belied her slender frame, her vampire power surging through her like a hidden current. "Great! Come on, we better get going. The opening ceremony should be starting soon, and we're already running pretty late!" she chirped, her voice a bright contrast to the gloomy sprawl of the graveyard they'd left behind. With her free hand, she hoisted the mangled bike effortlessly, its bent wheel dangling like a broken limb as she dragged it along, the chain clinking against the frame with every step. Her pink hair streamed behind her, catching the faint, flickering light of the storm overhead, and the Rosario pendant bounced against her choker with each determined stride.

Neku stumbled slightly, his sneakers skidding on the uneven dirt as he fought to keep his balance. Her pull was relentless, and he trailed behind her, halfjogging to match her pace. The ache in his ribs from the crash pulsed faintly, but he gritted his teeth and focused on staying upright. "What the hell did Joshua sign me up for?" he thought yet again, his mind spinning as the jagged silhouette of Yōkai Private Academy loomed closer. The school's gothic spires stabbed at the churning sky, lightning arcing across the clouds like a jagged crown. The path twisted through the dead forest, skeletal branches clawing at the air, and the distant caw of a raven punctuated the rhythmic crunch of their footsteps.

Moka glanced back at him, her green eyes sparkling with excitement despite the urgency. "You're gonna love it here, Neku! Well, maybe not love it, but it's definitely not boring!" she said, flashing a grin that showed off her fangs. Her Yōkai Academy uniform clung to her, the green blazer streaked with dirt, the pleated skirt swishing around her thighs as she moved. The air carried the damp, earthy scent of the forest, laced with the faint ozone tang of the approaching storm, but her presence cut through it—warm, vibrant, and oddly grounding despite the chaos she'd already dragged him into.

Neku huffed, adjusting his grip on her hand as they neared the rusted wroughtiron gate. "Yeah, well, boring's the last thing I'm worried about," he muttered, his tone dry but tinged with a grudging amusement. The Player Pin in his pocket brushed against his thigh, a quiet anchor as his mind churned. Joshua's cryptic setup, the bus driver's warnings, Moka's bloodlust—this place was a puzzle, and he was already neckdeep in it. But as the school's shadow swallowed them, the faint hum of his headphones around his neck steadied him.

Whatever this was, he'd figure it out. At least, like she'd said, it wouldn't be dull.

XXXXXXXX

Neku and Moka had been hurrying along the winding path toward Yōkai Private Academy, the jagged spires of the school piercing the stormy sky like a predator's teeth. Moka's hand still gripped his with that unrelenting vampire strength, her pink hair bouncing with each eager step as she chattered about the opening ceremony. The air was thick with the scent of damp earth and ozone, the distant rumble of thunder rolling through the skeletal trees that flanked their route. Her crumpled bike dangled from her other hand, its bent wheel scraping the dirt with a faint, rhythmic screech that grated on Neku's nerves. He trailed behind her, his sneakers kicking up small clouds of dust, the Player Pin in his pocket a steady weight against his thigh as he tried to keep pace without tripping over the uneven ground.

They'd just crested a small rise, the school's rusted wroughtiron gate now a looming shadow ahead, when a figure stepped out from the gloom. Tall and lean, the man was draped in a long black coat that billowed faintly despite the still air, its hem brushing the tops of polished boots. His face was sharp and angular, shadowed beneath a widebrimmed hat, but his eyes—narrow and glinting like polished steel—locked onto Neku with an intensity that made his skin prickle. The man moved with a predator's grace, cutting off their path as he raised a gloved hand, his voice low and clipped. "Neku Sakuraba," he said, the words carrying a weight that stopped Moka mid-sentence. "The school board chairman requests your presence. Now."

Moka blinked, her green eyes darting between Neku and the stranger, her grip on his hand loosening slightly. "Wwait, what? But the ceremony—" she started, her voice pitching up with confusion. The man didn't even glance at her, his gaze fixed on Neku as he gestured toward a narrow side path veering off from the main route. "This way," he said, turning on his heel without waiting for a response, his coat snapping behind him like a dark wing.

Neku frowned, tugging his hand free from Moka's grasp as he adjusted the headphones around his neck. "Guess I'll catch up with you later," he muttered, his tone dry but tinged with curiosity. Moka opened her mouth to protest, her fangs peeking out as she bit her lip, but the man's presence seemed to stifle her usual energy. She nodded reluctantly, clutching her bike closer as she watched him go. "O-Okay, Neku! Don't be too long, alright?" she called after him, her voice fading into the rustle of dead leaves as he followed the stranger.

The side path twisted through a denser patch of the forest, the trees here gnarled and hunched, their branches clawing at the sky like skeletal hands. The man in black led him in silence, his boots crunching against the gravel with a steady, deliberate rhythm. Neku kept his hands in his pockets, his mind churning—Joshua's game, the bus driver's cryptic warnings, and now this. The air grew colder as they approached a squat, stone building separate from the main academy, its walls streaked with moss and ivy. A heavy wooden door, weathered and studded with iron, creaked open under the man's gloved hand, revealing a dimly lit hallway that smelled of old paper and wax.

"Inside," the man said, stepping aside to let Neku pass. The interior was stark—bare stone walls, a single flickering lantern casting long shadows across the floor. At the end of the hall loomed another door, this one carved with intricate, swirling patterns that seemed to shift in the low light. "The chairman's office," the man added, his voice a low rumble as he gestured toward it. "He's waiting."

Neku stood there now, alone outside the door, the man in black having melted back into the shadows without another word. The air buzzed with a faint, electric hum, like the static before a storm, and the bite mark on his neck throbbed faintly under the collar of his shirt. He shifted his weight, the faint hum of his headphones grounding him as he stared at the carved door. "What the hell does this guy want with me?" he muttered under his breath, his fingers brushing the Player Pin in his pocket. The distant echo of bats screeched somewhere outside, a reminder of the weirdness he'd already waded through—and a hint that this was just the beginning.

The heavy wooden door thudded shut behind Neku with a hollow boom, sealing him inside the chairman's office like a tomb snapping closed. A shiver crawled up his spine, the air thick and stagnant, pressing against his skin as if he'd just stepped into an execution chamber. The room stretched out before him, vast and shadowed, its edges swallowed by a darkness that seemed to pulse with quiet menace. The only light came from rows of flickering candles lining the walls on either side, their flames dancing weakly in wroughtiron holders. The wax had dripped over time, forming grotesque stalactites that glistened faintly, casting jagged shadows across the stone floor. The scent hit him hard—burnt wax, old leather, and something sharper, metallic, like rust or blood long dried.

All around the room, tall cabinets loomed, their dark wood polished to a glassy sheen. But it was the skulls that caught his eye—dozens of them, maybe hundreds, perched atop the cabinets or embedded into the shelves. Some were human-sized, others unnaturally small or elongated, their empty sockets staring down at him with a silent, hollow judgment. A few gleamed white, freshly cleaned, while others were yellowed and cracked, stained with age. One near the corner had a jagged hole punched through its brow, as if something—or someone—had taken a swing at it. The faint clatter of his own footsteps echoed as he shifted, the sound swallowed quickly by the oppressive stillness.

"Lovely place," Neku thought, his internal voice dripping with sarcasm as he shoved his hands deeper into his pockets. He glanced around, taking in the details: a massive desk squatted at the far end of the room, its surface cluttered with papers, a quill pen, and what looked like a dagger with a hilt shaped like a serpent's head. Behind it, a high-backed chair sat empty, its leather upholstery worn and cracked, the kind of throne that screamed power without needing to say a word. The candles flickered again, a draft he couldn't feel stirring the flames, and for a moment, he swore one of the skulls shifted, its jaw tilting ever so slightly.

Neku exhaled sharply through his nose, rocking back on his heels as he waited. The bite on his neck throbbed faintly, a dull reminder of the vampire girl who'd dragged him into this mess—literally—and now here he was, stuck in some gothic nightmare waiting for a chairman who apparently had a thing for creepy decor. "Joshua, you bastard," he muttered under his breath, the words barely audible as he adjusted the headphones around his neck. Whatever this was about, it better be worth the detour. The air hung heavy, the silence broken only by the soft pop of a candle wick and the distant, muffled rumble of thunder seeping through the thick walls.

A low voice slithered out from the darkest corner of the room, smooth and heavy, like oil pooling over stone. "Welcome, Mr. Sakuraba." The words hung in the air, deliberate and unhurried, carrying a weight that made the flickering candlelight seem to dim for a moment. Neku's head snapped toward the sound, his eyes narrowing as he tried to pierce the shadows cloaking the far end of the office. The faint glow of the candles lining the walls barely reached that spot, but he could just make out a figure—tall, broad-shouldered, draped in a long, flowing robe that shimmered faintly, as if woven from threads of moonlight. The hood obscured the man's face, leaving only a pair of eyes glinting beneath it, sharp and luminous, like twin embers smoldering in the dark.

The chairman stepped forward, his boots silent against the stone floor despite the room's echoing acoustics. The air shifted with his movement, growing colder, thicker, as if his presence alone sucked the warmth from the space. The skulls atop the cabinets seemed to watch him too, their hollow sockets catching the candlelight in a way that made them look almost alive. He stopped a few paces from Neku, his hands clasped behind his back, the robe's sleeves draping over them like wings folded shut. Up close, the fabric revealed intricate patterns—swirling runes or maybe claw marks—etched in silver thread that gleamed faintly when the light hit them just right.

"Oh yeah, that's not creepy at all," Neku thought, the sarcasm a thin shield against the unease coiling in his gut. He kept his hands in his pockets, fingers brushing the Player Pin as he squared his shoulders, refusing to let the creepy vibe rattle him. The chairman tilted his head slightly, those glowing eyes studying him with an intensity that felt like it could peel back skin and bone to see what lay underneath. The silence stretched, broken only by the soft sputter of a candle wick and the distant, muffled growl of thunder seeping through the walls.

"You're a long way from Shibuya," the chairman said at last, his voice low and resonant, carrying a faint amusement that didn't reach his shadowed face. "And yet, you carry its mark. Curious, isn't it?" He unclasped his hands, letting one rise to gesture vaguely at Neku—or maybe at the air around him, as if tracing something invisible. The motion was slow, deliberate, and the candlelight glinted off a heavy ring on his finger, its surface etched with a symbol Neku couldn't quite make out. "The board has taken an interest in you, Mr. Sakuraba. A rare thing, for a newcomer to draw such attention before even stepping foot in the academy proper."

Neku's jaw tightened, his mind racing. Joshua's game, the bus driver's cryptic jab about this place having teeth, Moka's fangs—now this guy, talking like he already knew more than Neku was ready to give up. He shifted his weight, the faint ache in his neck pulsing where Moka had bitten him, and met the chairman's gaze with a steady stare of his own. "Yeah? And what's that supposed to mean?" he asked, his tone sharp but controlled, the dry edge of his voice cutting through the room's oppressive hush. The chairman's eyes gleamed brighter for a moment, and Neku could've sworn the skulls along the walls tilted just a fraction, as if leaning in to listen.

The chairman's chuckle rolled through the room like a low rumble of thunder, dark and resonant, reverberating off the skulllined cabinets. "I assume Joshua hasn't told you anything, has he?" he said, his voice laced with a dry amusement that curled at the edges. He shifted slightly, the candlelight catching the faint shimmer of his robe as it rippled over his broad frame, the hood still cloaking his face in shadow save for those piercing, glowing eyes. "Sounds just like him—always playing his little games, leaving others to stumble through the pieces."

Neku's brows shot up, his hand twitching in his pocket where the Player Pin sat, cool and heavy against his fingers. "You know Joshua?" he asked, the words slipping out sharper than he'd intended, suspicion threading through his tone. His mind spun—Joshua's smug grin, the glint of his pistol, the cryptic way he'd dumped him into this mess without so much as a heads-up. And now this guy, lounging in a creepy office like some gothic king, dropping Joshua's name like it was nothing. The bite mark on his neck pulsed faintly, a dull ache tying him back to Moka and the chaos she'd already dragged him into.

The chairman tilted his head, the motion slow and deliberate, those glowing eyes narrowing as if savoring Neku's reaction. "Oh, I've known him longer than you might imagine," he said, his voice dipping into something almost playful, though the weight behind it hinted at depths Neku couldn't yet grasp. He stepped closer, the hem of his robe brushing the stone floor with a faint whisper, and the air grew colder, sharper, carrying a faint metallic tang that mingled with the burnt wax. "He's a slippery one, isn't he? Always weaving his webs, watching the flies squirm. But you—" He paused, raising a gloved hand to point at Neku, the heavy ring on his finger glinting with a serpentine design. "You're not just another fly, are you? There's something… different about you."

Neku stiffened, his jaw tightening as he met that glowing stare headon. The chairman's words echoed Moka's earlier ramble about his scent—life and death tangled together—and the bus driver's jab about the Game's mark. He shifted his weight, the faint creak of his sneakers against the floor swallowed by the oppressive hush of the room. "Different how?" he shot back, his voice steady but edged with a challenge. "And why the hell does that matter to you?" The skulls along the walls seemed to lean in, their hollow sockets catching the flickering light, and for a moment, he swore he felt the air hum—like the static of a scan about to kick in, buzzing at the edges of his senses.

The chairman's glowing eyes flared briefly, a spark of something unreadable flickering within them as he let out another low, rumbling chuckle. "Joshua has told me quite a lot about you, Mr. Sakuraba," he said, his voice smooth and deliberate, curling through the dim office like smoke. He took a step closer, the hem of his shimmering robe brushing the stone floor, the faint clink of hidden metal beneath the fabric hinting at something more than just cloth. The candlelight danced across the silver runes etched into the material, casting fleeting shadows that writhed like living things. "And I must say, I'm intrigued."

Neku's fingers tightened around the Player Pin in his pocket, the cool edges digging into his palm as he held the chairman's gaze. Joshua's name dropping from this guy's mouth felt like a punch to the gut—complicated didn't even begin to cover it. The smug bastard had shot him, dragged him through the Game, and then left him with that parting smirk and a city still standing. Trust and forgiveness were tangled up in a mess Neku hadn't fully unraveled, but hearing Joshua's influence stretch all the way to this skull-lined crypt made his skin crawl. "Intrigued, huh?" he said, his voice low and edged with suspicion. "What'd he say? That I'm a sucker for his games, or just dumb enough to keep playing them?"

The chairman tilted his head, the motion slow and almost serpentine, those glowing eyes narrowing as if peering straight through Neku's sarcasm. "He spoke of a boy who walked through death and came out changed," he said, his tone shifting to something quieter, more probing. "Someone who learned to trust when every instinct screamed against it. A misanthrope who found value in others, even in him—despite everything." He paused, letting the words settle, heavy as the air in the room. The skulls along the cabinets seemed to loom closer, their hollow stares fixed on Neku, and the faint sputter of a candle wick punctuated the silence.

Neku's jaw clenched, a flicker of unease rippling through him. That hit too close—too much like the monologue he'd thrown at Joshua in his head a week after the Game, standing by Hachiko with Shiki and the others, waiting for a friend who never showed.

I can't forgive you, but I trust you. The chairman's words scraped at that raw edge, and he shifted his weight, the ache in his neck from Moka's bite flaring faintly. "Sounds like he left out the part where he's a manipulative ass," he muttered, his tone dry but laced with a bitterness he couldn't quite mask. "What's your angle? Why drag me in here just to talk about him?"

The chairman's lips—barely visible beneath the shadow of his hood—curved into a faint, knowing smile. "Because, Mr. Sakuraba, you're here for a reason," he said, his voice dropping to a near-whisper that still carried through the room. He raised a gloved hand, the serpent-ringed finger pointing at Neku's chest, as if aiming for the heart beneath his shirt.

The chairman's gloved hand lingered in the air, the serpent ring glinting ominously as the candlelight flickered across its coiled design. His voice softened, but the weight behind it pressed harder, filling the shadowed office like a rising tide. "That quality Joshua spoke of… I believe it's exactly what this academy needs," he said, his glowing eyes locking onto Neku's with an intensity that felt almost tangible, like a hand brushing the back of his neck. The skulls lining the cabinets seemed to lean in closer, their hollow sockets catching the dim light as if straining to hear every word.

Neku's brow furrowed, his fingers tightening around the Player Pin in his pocket until the edges bit into his skin. The chairman's words hung there, heavy and deliberate, stirring up echoes of Shibuya—Shiki's hesitant smile, Beat's brash loyalty, Joshua's smug grin as he'd lowered his gun. He shifted his weight, the faint ache from Moka's bite pulsing under his collar, grounding him in the weirdness of this moment. "What quality?" he asked, his voice low and guarded, suspicion threading through it like a wire. "I'm not some hero. I just… survived."

The chairman's lips twitched beneath the shadow of his hood, a faint smile that didn't reach those glowing eyes. "Survived, yes. But more than that, you changed," he said, his tone taking on a quiet reverence that made Neku's skin prickle. He stepped closer, the hem of his robe whispering against the stone floor, and the air grew colder, sharper, carrying the faint tang of rust and wax. "Joshua told me how you shifted his view—his hatred of humanity, his certainty that it was all rot and noise. Years I've known him, and that's no small feat, Mr. Sakuraba. To make him see worth where he saw none… that's a rare power."

Neku's jaw tightened, his mind flashing back to that final standoff in Shibuya—the weight of the gun in his hand, Joshua's taunting smirk, the city's fate balanced on a choice he couldn't bring himself to make.

I can't forgive you, but I trust you. He'd meant it then, standing by Hachiko a week later, hoping Joshua might show. He hadn't, of course—Composer duties or just his usual cryptic bullshit—but the trust had stuck, tangled up with everything else. "Yeah, well, he's still an ass," Neku muttered, his tone dry as he shoved the memory down. "What's that got to do with this place?"

The chairman chuckled again, a low, rolling sound that echoed off the skulllined walls. "Everything," he said, lowering his hand to clasp it behind his back once more. The candlelight caught the silver threads in his robe, making them shimmer like veins of lightning. "This academy exists to bridge divides—between monsters, between worlds. You've already bridged one, whether you meant to or not. Joshua saw it. I see it. And soon, others will too." He tilted his head, those glowing eyes narrowing slightly. "You're not here by accident, Mr. Sakuraba. You're here to grow—and to help others do the same."

The chairman's words lingered in the air like a heavy fog, curling around Neku as the flickering candlelight cast long, jagged shadows across the skulllined cabinets. "Grow, huh?" Neku muttered, his voice rough with skepticism as he shifted his weight, the faint creak of his sneakers against the stone floor swallowed by the room's oppressive hush. His fingers flexed around the Player Pin in his pocket, its cool edges a tether to Shibuya—to Joshua, to the Game, to everything he'd clawed his way through. The chairman's glowing eyes bore into him, unblinking, and Neku couldn't shake the feeling that this guy saw more than he was letting on—maybe more than Joshua ever had.

The chairman stepped back, his robe rustling faintly as he turned toward the massive desk at the room's far end. The motion was smooth, almost too fluid, and the candlelight glinted off the serpent ring as he gestured toward the chair behind it—a hulking thing of cracked leather and dark wood, like a throne carved from shadows. "This academy is a crucible," he said, his voice low and steady, carrying that same quiet weight that made the air feel thicker. "A place where monsters learn to coexist, to temper their nature. You've already proven you can shift perspectives, Mr. Sakuraba. I'd like to see what you can do here."

Neku's eyes narrowed, tracking the chairman as he moved. The guy's cryptic spiel was starting to sound like Joshua's brand of bullshit—vague enough to dodge questions, sharp enough to stick. "And if I don't feel like playing your game?" he asked, his tone dry but edged with defiance. The bite mark on his neck throbbed faintly, a dull reminder of Moka and the chaos waiting outside this room. He wasn't here to be some pawn again—not for Joshua, not for this hooded creep.

The chairman paused, halfturning so the candlelight caught the curve of his shadowed smile. "You're already in it," he said, amusement threading through his words like a blade sliding into silk. "But I'm not Joshua. I don't pull strings for amusement alone. You'll find purpose here—whether you seek it or not." He gestured toward the door, the heavy wood still sealed shut behind Neku. "The opening ceremony awaits. Your friend—Moka, was it?—will be wondering where you've gone."

Neku huffed, adjusting the headphones around his neck as he shot the chairman one last look. Those glowing eyes lingered on him, steady and unreadable, and the skulls along the walls seemed to tilt just a fraction, as if nodding him out. "Yeah, whatever," he muttered, turning on his heel and heading for the door. The air buzzed faintly as he gripped the handle, a low hum that prickled at his senses—like the static of a scan, or maybe just the weight of this place settling into his bones. He pushed the door open, the creak of its hinges echoing through the hall as he stepped out, leaving the chairman's shadowed figure behind.

The corridor stretched ahead, cold and dim, the faint scent of moss and old stone replacing the wax and rust of the office. Neku shoved his hands into his pockets, the Player Pin brushing his knuckles as he walked. Joshua's voice echoed in his head—"Have fun at school, Neku"—and now this guy, talking about growth and purpose like he was some kind of mentor. "Tch. Both of 'em can shove it," he grumbled under his breath, the distant rumble of thunder seeping through the walls as he made his way back toward the academy proper. At least Moka was upfront about her weirdness—fangs and all.

Back in the chairman's office, the heavy door groaned shut behind Neku, its echo swallowed by the oppressive stillness. The flickering candles cast jagged shadows across the skulllined cabinets, their hollow gazes fixed on the center of the room where the chairman stood, his robe shimmering faintly in the dim light. The air shifted—sharp and electric, like the crackle before a storm—and a soft chuckle broke the silence, lilting and smug.

"Quite the mouth on him, hmm?" Joshua's voice slithered into the room, smooth as silk and edged with that familiar selfsatisfied drawl. He materialized near the desk, leaning against it with a casual grace that belied the power humming beneath his fragile frame. His ash-blond hair caught the candlelight, glinting with a grayish sheen as he tilted his head, dark violet eyes glinting with amusement. His lavender shirt hung loose, the top button undone, wrinkles rippling across the fabric as he crossed his arms. The dark gray trousers slouched over his white sneakers, scuffed at the toes, and despite the boyish slouch, there was an undeniable weight to his presence—a shadow of the Composer lurking beneath the pretty boy facade.

The chairman turned slowly, the hem of his robe brushing the stone floor with a faint hiss. Those glowing eyes narrowed, a spark of recognition—or perhaps annoyance—flaring within them. "Yoshiya," he said, his voice low and resonant, carrying the weight of centuries. "I wondered when you'd show your face." He stepped forward, the serpent ring on his gloved hand glinting as he gestured toward the door Neku had just exited. "He's sharper than you let on. Less pliable, too."

Joshua's lips curled into a smirk, an expression that could've been charming if it weren't so damn predatory. "Oh, he's a handful, alright," he said, his tone light but laced with a quiet pride. He pushed off the desk, pacing a slow circle around the chairman, hands tucked into his pockets. The faint squeak of his sneakers against the stone punctuated the stillness. "But that's what makes him fun. You should've seen him in Shibuya—snarling at me one minute, saving the city the next. He's got a knack for turning heads, even when he doesn't mean to."

The chairman's hooded head tilted, tracking Joshua's movement like a hawk sizing up a sparrow. "A knack you underestimated," he replied, his voice dry as old bone. "You told me he'd changed you—convinced you humanity's worth a second glance. I've known you long enough to call that a miracle." He paused, the candlelight catching the faint curve of his shadowed smile. "Or a fluke."

Joshua stopped mid-step, pivoting on his heel to face the chairman. His smirk softened, just a fraction, and for a moment, those violet eyes flickered with something deeper—something almost human. "Not a fluke," he said, quieter now, the smugness peeling back to reveal a thread of sincerity. "He's… persistent. Got under my skin, made me question things I'd written off ages ago. Shibuya's still standing because of him, you know." He shrugged, the motion too casual for the weight of the words, and glanced toward the skulls lining the walls. "Thought he might do the same here. Shake up your little monster club."

The chairman's gloved hands clasped behind his back, the faint clink of metal beneath his robe breaking the hush. "He's already begun," he said, his tone measured but tinged with curiosity. "That bite on his neck—Miss Akashiya's mark, I presume. He's tangled himself in her orbit without even realizing it."

Joshua chuckled, the sound bubbling up from his chest like a melody laced with mischief. "Leave it to Neku to get himself entangled with a vampire on his first day here," he said, his voice dripping with a blend of amusement and smug satisfaction.

The chairman remained still, his gloved hands clasped behind his back, the serpent ring glinting as the shadows danced across his robed form. "Entangled indeed," he replied, his tone low and resonant, carrying the weight of someone who'd seen centuries of chaos unfold. The glowing eyes beneath his hood narrowed slightly, as if peering through the layers of Joshua's flippant demeanor. "That girl—Miss Akashiya—her presence clings to him already. I felt it the moment he stepped in here. Blood and defiance, a curious mix."

Joshua's smirk widened, his fingers drumming idly against the edge of the desk, the faint tap tap tap echoing in the skulllined office. "Oh, he's got a talent for picking up strays," he said, his voice light but edged with something sharper, a flicker of memory from Shibuya. "Give him a couple of weeks, and he'll have half this academy trailing after him, fangs or not. Probably muttering about how annoying it all is while he's at it." He pushed off the desk, sauntering a step closer to the chairman, his sneakers scuffing softly against the stone floor. "You're welcome, by the way. I did say he'd stir things up."

The chairman's shadowed smile twitched, barely visible beneath the hood. "Stirring is one thing," he said, his voice dry as the rustle of old parchment. "Surviving is another. Yōkai Academy isn't Shibuya, Yoshiya. The rules here bite deeper—literally, it seems." He gestured toward the door Neku had stormed through, the heavy wood still sealed shut, as if holding back the storm brewing beyond it. "If he's to do what you claim, he'll need more than sharp words and stubbornness."

Joshua shrugged, the motion loose and carefree, but his eyes glinted with a quiet confidence. "He's got more than that," he said, his tone softening just enough to hint at the faith he'd grudgingly come to place in Neku. "He changed me, didn't he? Turned my whole 'destroy the city' phase into a quaint little memory. If he can handle my mess, a vampire girlfriend's just a warmup." He flashed a grin, all teeth and charm, and the air in the room seemed to hum faintly, a ripple of his Composer's aura brushing against the stillness.

Whatever would happen next, Joshua knew that Neku was bound to turn this academy upside-down. And he couldn't wait to see it.

The chairman then rose from his shadowed perch, his robe unfurling like a storm cloud spilling across the stone floor. The faint clink of hidden metal beneath the fabric punctuated his movement, and the candlelight danced across the silver runes etched into his hem, casting writhing shadows that seemed to coil and stretch toward the edges of the room. He straightened, his gloved hands falling to his sides, the serpent ring on his finger catching the dim glow as he turned toward Joshua.

"Now, if you'll excuse me," he said, his voice a low rumble that reverberated through the stillness, "I have an opening ceremony to attend to." He stepped forward, the hem of his robe brushing the floor with a soft hiss, and paused just long enough to tilt his hooded head toward the Composer. Those glowing eyes flared briefly, a spark of something ancient and unreadable flickering within them. "It was a pleasure to see you again, old friend."

Joshua didn't move from his lean against the desk, his slender frame slouched with a careless grace that belied the weight of his presence. His ash-blond hair shimmered faintly in the candlelight, tousled strands framing his sharp features as he flashed a grin—half charm, half challenge. "Likewise," he replied, his tone lilting with that smug edge he never quite shed, even after Shibuya. His dark violet eyes followed the chairman's retreat, glinting with amusement as the older figure swept toward the door. "Give Neku my regards, yeah? Tell him not to get bitten too much before I visit."

The chairman's shadowed smile twitched beneath his hood, but he offered no reply. The heavy door groaned open under his touch, the sound echoing through the dim corridor beyond, and he stepped out, his robe trailing behind him like a fading storm. The door thudded shut, sealing the office in silence once more, and Joshua was left alone with the skulls and the flickering flames.

He straightened, brushing a hand through his hair as he cast a glance around the room. The candles sputtered, casting jagged shadows across the desk's dark wood, and the faint hum of his Composer's aura pulsed faintly in the air—a reminder of the power he kept tethered, even now. "Old friend, huh?" he murmured to himself, his voice soft but laced with a wry edge. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his slouched trousers, the white sneakers scuffing lightly against the stone as he sauntered toward the center of the room. "Guess we'll see how long that lasts once Neku starts breaking things." He raised a hand, fingers snapping with a faint crackle of static, and the air shimmered briefly before he vanished—leaving only the echo of his chuckle and the flickering candles to keep the skulls company.

XXXXXXXX

The morning sun hung low over Yōkai Academy, its pale rays slicing through a thick veil of gray clouds that clung stubbornly to the horizon. The campus sprawled out before Neku like a scene from some gothic nightmare—crumbling stone archways choked with ivy, gnarled trees twisting toward the sky like skeletal hands, and the distant, restless crash of waves against unseen cliffs. It was all jagged edges and brooding shadows, a place that screamed secrets and promised chaos. Yet, as Neku stood in the courtyard, gravel crunching under his sneakers, he couldn't shake the jarring sense of normalcy that had draped itself over the opening ceremony like a cheap blanket.

He'd braced himself for something unhinged—maybe a feral howl, a flash of claws, or even some creepy blood oath to kick off the year. Instead, it was just… dull. The auditorium had been a cavernous husk, its vaulted ceiling swallowed by gloom, the rows of wooden pews polished smooth by years of restless students. The air carried a faint whiff of mildew and wax, mingling with the sharp sting of nervous sweat as the chairman's voice rolled out in deep, measured tones—something about unity, discipline, and "forging bonds." Neku had slouched near the back, arms crossed, headphones dangling around his neck as he half-listened, his eyes drifting over the crowd. No fangs, no glowing eyes—just a sea of green blazers and bored faces, whispering and shifting like any other school he'd ever dodged. It was almost insulting how ordinary it felt, like the place was mocking him with its restraint.

He'd scanned the room for Moka, expecting that shock of pink hair or the glint of her green eyes to stand out amid the monotony. She'd been stuck to him earlier, all flustered apologies and soft smiles after that bike crash, her fangs brushing his neck in a moment that still sent a jolt through him when he lingered on it. But now? Nothing. No trace of her in the packed auditorium, no flicker of her uniform or that black choker with its odd little cross. He'd hung back as the ceremony fizzled out, the shuffle of feet and low chatter filling the space as students spilled into the courtyard, but she was nowhere. Maybe she'd skipped it, he thought, or maybe she was just better at slipping through crowds than he'd given her credit for.

Neku sighed, shoving his hands into his pockets as he turned toward the main building. The Player Pin grazed his knuckles, its cool weight a quiet anchor to Shibuya—to the Game, to Joshua, to the people who'd cracked his world open whether he'd wanted them to or not. "Guess I'll catch her later," he muttered, his voice lost in the rustle of leaves overhead. The bite mark on his neck pulsed faintly, a low ache that flared with each step, tying him to her in a way he couldn't quite unravel yet. He tugged his collar higher, the fabric scraping the tender skin, and started walking.

The path to the classrooms cut through a grove of warped trees, their bark peeling away in thin, brittle strips that danced in the breeze like shed scales. The air was cool and damp, laced with the salty bite of the sea and the rich, loamy scent of wet earth. Students drifted past in loose knots, their blazers a sharp green against the muted grays and browns of the landscape, their voices a steady hum of chatter and laughter. Neku didn't shy away from their glances this time—Shibuya had beaten that habit out of him, one hard-earned lesson at a time. He met a few curious stares with a nod or a halfshrug, his orange spikes drawing eyes he didn't bother dodging. He wasn't here to shut everyone out anymore; if someone wanted to talk, fine—he'd deal.

The main building rose ahead, its stone face weathered and streaked with moss, the tall windows catching the cloudy light in dull, smudged reflections. A bell clanged from somewhere deep inside, its echo rolling through the courtyard like a call to arms. Neku paused at the entrance, the heavy double doors creaking open as a wiry kid with messy black hair brushed past, tossing him a quick, sidelong look before vanishing into the gloom. Neku stepped in after him, the air shifting from crisp and briny to warm and musty, tinged with the faint grit of chalk dust and the stale weight of old paper.

The hallway stretched out, lined with dented lockers and posters peeling at the corners—club flyers, rules, a map he skimmed but didn't memorize. His sneakers squeaked against the polished floor, the sound cutting through the low buzz of students filtering toward their rooms. He fished his crumpled schedule from his pocket—Class 1-3, first floor, down the hall. Easy enough. He'd sit through whatever this place threw at him, keep an eye out for Moka, and figure out what kind of game he'd stumbled into this time. She couldn't dodge him forever, not with that clumsy streak and those eyes that stuck in his head like a pin's imprint. If she didn't crash into him again by lunch, he'd track her down himself.

Neku's lips twitched into a faint grin, the bite mark tingling under his collar as he stuffed the schedule back into his pocket and headed down the hall. This place might've been playing tame for now, but he could feel it—the undercurrent, the static hum at the edges of his senses, like Shibuya's Noise waiting to pounce. He'd faced worse than a school full of monsters. Let it show its fangs—he'd be ready.

The classroom hummed with the restless energy of a fresh start, its walls a faded beige streaked with years of scuffs and faint scratches that hinted at more than just careless furniture. Rows of desks stretched across the scuffed wooden floor, their surfaces etched with faint carvings—names, doodles, the occasional claw mark smoothed over by time. Neku slipped through the doorway, his sneakers whispering against the planks as he scanned the room. His eyes landed on an empty seat near the window, its chipped edge bathed in the muted gray light filtering through the glass. Perfect spot—close enough to the exit for a quick getaway if this place decided to bare its teeth. He slid into the chair, dropping his bag beside him with a soft thud, and leaned back, arms crossed.

The room filled steadily, a tide of green blazers and chatter washing in. Some students clustered near the front, laughing and jostling like they'd known each other forever, while others—newer faces, probably—drifted to empty seats with a mix of silence and awkward glances. A girl with dark braids slid into the desk beside Neku, offering a quick nod he returned with a half-shrug.

The door swung open with a faint creak, and the buzz of voices tapered off as their homeroom teacher stepped in. Ms. Shizuka Nekonome was a petite figure, her strawberryblonde hair pulled into a loose bun that bobbed with each step. She wore a crisp white blazer over a black halter top, the fabric clinging to her slim frame, paired with a miniskirt that swished just above her knees. A thin chain dangled around her neck, a small bell jingling softly with her movements—a quirky touch that matched the catlike tilt of her smile. Her eyes, nearly closed behind oval glasses, glinted with a playful sharpness as she crossed to the blackboard, heels clicking against the floor. She snatched up a piece of chalk, her movements quick and precise, and began scribbling in a looping scrawl that filled the board with purpose.

The students shifted, desks creaking as they turned to face her, a ripple of obedience settling over the room. Neku stayed slouched, one elbow propped on the desk, watching as she finished with a flourish and stepped to the right, pointer in hand. The board read Yōkai Academy's Purpose and Rules in bold strokes, underlined with a playful curl.

"Hello, hello, everyone!" Ms. Nekonome's voice was bright, almost singsong, cutting through the last murmurs like a bell. She tapped the pointer against the board, her bell necklace chiming faintly. "My name's Shizuka Nekonome, and I'm your homeroom teacher for Class 1-3. I know the headmaster already gave you the big welcome, but I wanna say it again—welcome to Yōkai Academy!" Her lips stretched into a grin, fangs peeking out just enough to catch the light, and Neku's brow twitched. There it was—the first crack in the mundane mask.

She pointed to the header on the board, her movements brisk and animated. "Now, as you all know, Yōkai Academy's got one big goal—to teach monsters how to live in the human world. That's it, plain and simple! So, we've modeled our classes after human schools—math, history, all that jazz—plus some extras on cultural stuff, boundaries, differences, you name it. But!" She paused, her pointer snapping to the first rule with a sharp tap. "There are two big rules you've gotta keep in mind. First—on campus, you stick to your human form, no exceptions unless you're told otherwise."

She slid the pointer down to the second rule, her grin widening. "And second—don't go flashing your true form to other students! This is all about practicing how to blend in, right? If you're running around showing off your scales or wings or whatever, it kinda defeats the point of looking human, doesn't it?" She giggled, a light, airy sound that bounced off the walls, and the class rippled with a few chuckles in response.

Neku nodded to himself, the logic clicking into place. It wasn't so different from the Reapers back in Shibuya—materializing in the UG at will, their wings only unfurling where the RG couldn't see. Joshua had told about a Reaper's wings housing their true power. He wondered if it was the same here—if these monsters' true forms were tied to their strength, tucked away until the right moment. His fingers brushed the Player Pin in his pocket, its edges cool against his skin, and he leaned his head against the window, the glass chilly through his hair. The bite mark throbbed again, sharper this time, and he resisted the urge to rub it. Moka's face flickered in his mind—those green eyes, that clumsy smile. Where the hell was she?

"Hey, teach!" A gruff voice cut through the room like a blade, yanking Neku out of his reverie. He turned his head, eyes narrowing as they landed on the source—a hulking student sprawled across a desk near the front. The guy was built like a linebacker, broad shoulders straining the seams of his green blazer, a glint of metal flashing from the lip ring hooked through his sneer. His dark hair was slicked back, greasy strands catching the light, and his thick fingers drummed impatiently on the desk, the sound a dull thud against the wood. "Wouldn't it be better if we just ate those puny humans? Except for the hot girls—I can think of better things to do to them."

A ripple of snickers rolled through the class, sharp and jagged, like the crackle of static before a storm. The guy leaned back, crossing his arms with a smug grin, his meaty hands flexing as if already imagining the chaos he'd unleash. Neku's gaze hardened, a flicker of disgust curling his lip as he sized the jerk up. The dude's bravado stank of the same posturing he'd seen in Shibuya—empty noise from someone who thought volume equaled strength. He shifted in his seat, the chair creaking faintly under him, and kept his eyes locked on the guy, waiting to see how this played out.

Ms. Nekonome's pointer froze midair, the faint jingle of her bell necklace cutting through the laughter like a warning chime. Her nearly closed eyes snapped open just a fraction, a glint of something feline and unamused flashing behind her glasses. She tilted her head, strawberryblonde bun bobbing slightly, and her lips pursed into a thin line before stretching back into that catlike smile—only now, it carried a razor's edge. "Oh, my," she said, her voice lilting but laced with a quiet steel. She stepped forward, her heels clicking sharply against the floor, and tapped the pointer against the board with a deliberate thwack. "That's a very… creative idea, Saizou. But I'm afraid that's not quite the point of Yōkai Academy."

She turned fully to face him, her petite frame radiating a surprising weight as she rested the pointer across her shoulder like a whip. "See, eating humans—or, um, doing other things to them—kinda defeats the whole 'blending in' thing, doesn't it? We're here to learn how to coexist, not to turn the human world into a buffet." Her tone stayed light, almost playful, but the way her fingers tightened around the pointer said she wasn't entirely joking. "Besides," she added, her grin widening to show a hint of fang, "I'd hate to have to report you to the headmaster on day one. He's not as forgiving as I am, nya!"

Saizou snorted, slumping back in his seat with a lazy shrug, but the smugness didn't quite fade from his face. "Whatever, teach. Just sayin' what we're all thinkin'." His eyes flicked around the room, searching for approval, but the laughter had died down, replaced by a mix of uneasy glances and stifled giggles.

Neku couldn't help himself; a sharp snort escaped him, cutting through the lingering snickers like a blade. "Yeah, thinking how to get ourselves killed, you mean," he said, his voice low but laced with a dry bite that carried across the room as he fixed Saizou with a steady stare.

Saizou's head snapped around, his narrow eyes glinting with a predatory edge. "What'd you say, punk?" His voice rumbled, thick and gravelly, his meaty hands flexing as he straightened up, the chair groaning under his weight. The smug grin faltered, replaced by a scowl that tugged at the piercing in his lip.

Neku didn't flinch, meeting Saizou's glare head-on. "Just saying your brilliant plan's got more holes than Swiss cheese," he shot back, his tone even but edged with a quiet defiance. He straightened in his seat, the window's chill seeping through his blazer as he elaborated, ticking off points with a casual flick of his fingers. "First off, eating humans? That's a fast track to getting hunted down—humans don't just sit around waiting to be lunch. They've got numbers, weapons, and a nasty habit of holding grudges. Second, this whole 'hot girls' thing? You'd blow your cover in about five seconds trying to play Casanova with fangs out. And third—newsflash, tough guy—this school's here to teach us how to not screw ourselves long-term. So maybe think past your stomach for once."

The room went still, the last echoes of laughter dying out as heads swiveled between Neku and Saizou. Ms. Nekonome's pointer hovered midair, her bell necklace jingling faintly as she tilted her head, those nearly closed eyes glinting with a mix of amusement and curiosity. Saizou's scowl deepened, his thick brows knitting together as he leaned forward, the desk creaking ominously. "You got a death wish, punk?" he growled, his voice dropping low, a threat coiled tight in every syllable. His fingers curled into fists, knuckles whitening, but he didn't move—yet.

Ms. Nekonome stepped in, her heels clicking sharply as she tapped the pointer against the board with a crisp thwack. "Okay, okay, boys, let's not turn my classroom into a wrestling ring on day one, nya!" Her voice stayed bright, but there was a firm undercurrent to it, like a claw sheathed in velvet. She flashed that catlike grin, fangs peeking out as she pointed at Saizou. "Saizou, I get it, you're a big thinker, but let's keep those ideas in the 'what-not-to-do' category, hm? And you—" She swung the pointer toward Neku, her strawberry-blonde bun bobbing. "Good points, but let's save the debates for after class, okay? We've got a lot to cover!"

Saizou slumped back in his seat, his broad frame radiating a sullen heat as he crossed his arms, the lip ring glinting dully under the flickering lights. "Whatever," he huffed, his voice a low growl that rumbled through the room. He tilted his head, nostrils flaring as he inhaled deeply, his eyes narrowing into slits. "I do know I've been smelling something really damn human around here… maybe even since the opening ceremony."

Ms. Nekonome's pointer paused mid-swing, the faint jingle of her bell necklace cutting through the air as her strawberryblonde bun bobbed. Her nearly closed eyes widened just a fraction, a flicker of unease passing over her feline features before she smoothed it away with a frown. "Well, that can't be right," she said, her voice dipping into a rare, serious tone. She adjusted her glasses, the oval lenses catching the light as she tapped the pointer against her palm. "This school's under a barrier—specifically to keep humans out. If one made it in here somehow, they'd be killed on the spot."

Neku's mind jolted, a sharp "Wait, what?" echoing in his head as his fingers tightened around the edge of his desk. Killed on the spot? That was… extreme. His brow furrowed, eyes flicking from Ms. Nekonome to Saizou and back again. Wasn't this place supposed to be about coexisting with humans, not turning them into target practice? The rules she'd just laid out—human forms, blending in—it all sounded like a playbook for peace, not a death sentence. He leaned back, the window's chill seeping through his blazer, and let his gaze drift over the class. The other students had gone quiet, some exchanging quick, uneasy glances, while others stared straight ahead, like they'd heard this before and knew better than to question it.

Saizou smirked, leaning forward again, his thick hands splaying across the desk as he fixed Ms. Nekonome with a challenging stare. "Yeah? Then why's my nose telling me different, teach? I know what I smell—weak, soft, human." His voice dripped with disdain, and he shot a sidelong glance toward Neku, his lip curling as if daring him to pipe up again.

Ms. Nekonome's catlike smile returned, though it didn't quite reach her eyes this time. She stepped closer to the front of the room, her heels clicking with a deliberate rhythm, and twirled the pointer between her fingers. "Oh, Saizou, your nose might be sharp, but let's not jump to conclusions, nya! The barrier's been up for centuries—headmaster's magic doesn't mess around. Maybe you're just smelling… I dunno, someone's lunch?" She giggled, the sound light but forced, and waved a hand dismissively. "Anyway, no humans here, so let's focus on the rules, okay? We've got a lot to cover before lunch!"

Neku's jaw tightened, his thoughts racing as he watched her deflect. The Reapers flashed through his mind again—Joshua's cryptic smirks, the way they'd bent rules in the UG while keeping the RG blind. This barrier, the instant-death policy—it felt like a different game, one with higher stakes and murkier lines. He glanced at Saizou, whose smug grin hadn't faded, then back to Ms. Nekonome, her playful demeanor masking something he couldn't quite pin down. The Player Pin in his pocket felt heavier, a quiet hum against his leg, and he wondered just how deep this academy's secrets ran—and what they'd do if they sniffed him out.

Neku leaned against the window, the cool glass a steady anchor against his shoulder as he tuned out Saizou's lingering bravado. The guy's threat still hung in the air, but Neku let it slide off him like water. "Low profile," he thought. "As long as I keep my head down, I'll be fine—blend in, figure out the rules, stay off the radar."

The thought had barely settled when the classroom door rattled, sliding open with a sharp clack that cut through the hum like a snapped string. Every head swiveled toward the sound, Neku's included. A voice floated in from the hallway, soft and breathless, tinged with a familiar lilt. "Sorry I'm late," it said, the words tumbling out in a rush. "I got lost after the entrance ceremony."

Ms. Nekonome's pointer stilled, her bell necklace jingling faintly as she pivoted toward the door. Her strawberry-blonde bun bobbed, and her nearly closed eyes crinkled with a warm, feline smile. "Oh, that's fine, dear! No worries at all—just take a seat," she chirped, waving a hand toward the room with a casual flick of her wrist, the white sleeve of her blazer fluttering.

"Okay, thanks," came the reply, and then she stepped in—Moka, her knee-length pink hair cascading over her shoulders like a spill of cherry blossoms caught in the wind. Her green eyes, wide and luminous, swept the room, framed by lashes that fluttered as she took in the sea of faces staring back at her.

The reaction was instant. A chorus of gasps and murmurs erupted from the boys, their voices tripping over each other in a chaotic swell. "Who is she?" one hissed, his desk creaking as he leaned forward, eyes wide. "That hair… those eyes…" another muttered, his voice thick with awe. "She's so beautiful," a third breathed, the words practically a prayer as the room tilted toward her like flowers chasing the sun. Even Saizou straightened, his smug scowl melting into something hungrier, his lip ring glinting as he smirked.

Moka's gaze darted around, her cheeks flushing a faint pink as she clutched her bag tighter, the leather strap creaking under her fingers. Then her eyes landed on Neku, and for a split second, she froze—her breath catching, her lips parting slightly. Recognition sparked in those green depths, followed by a burst of joy that lit her face like dawn breaking over the horizon. "Neku…?" she said, her voice a soft question, tentative but warm.

Oh no.

Neku sighed as he raised a hand in a half-hearted wave. "Hey, Moka," he said, keeping his tone even despite the sinking feeling in his gut. Low profile? Yeah, that was shot to all hell.

"NEKUUUUUU!" Moka's cry rang out, high and gleeful, and before he could brace himself, she moved—no, practically flew—across the room. Her skirt flared as she launched herself toward him, arms outstretched, her pink hair streaming behind her like a comet's tail. Neku barely had time to blink before she collided with him, her momentum knocking him clean off his chair. They hit the floor in a tangle, his back slamming against the worn planks with a dull thud, her weight pinning him as she wrapped her arms around his neck in a fierce, unrelenting hug.

The room erupted—gasps, laughter, a few jealous grumbles from the boys as Moka clung to him, her face buried against his shoulder. Her hair spilled over his chest, soft and faintly scented with something sweet—vanilla, maybe, or flowers he couldn't name. Her uniform pressed against him, the fabric warm from her body, and the Rosario cross dangled between them, brushing his collarbone with a cool, metallic tickle. "I was so worried I wouldn't find you!" she mumbled into his jacket, her voice muffled but brimming with relief, her breath hot against the bite mark she'd left earlier.

Neku grunted, one hand braced against the floor as he tried to sit up, the other hovering awkwardly near her back. "Yeah, uh… good to see you too," he managed, his voice dry but not unkind, his orange spikes mussed from the impact.

The classroom floor was harder than it looked, the worn planks digging into Neku's back as Moka's enthusiastic tackle kept him pinned. Neku's breath hitched, more from the impact than anything else, and he propped himself up on one elbow, the other hand hovering uselessly near her shoulder. "Uh, Moka, you good?" he muttered, voice rough but tinged with a reluctant warmth.

She pulled back just enough to beam at him, green eyes sparkling like she'd won the lottery. "Neku! I can't believe it's you!" she chirped, her fangs peeking out adorably as she clung to him, oblivious to the chaos she'd unleashed. Her uniform skirt had hiked up slightly in the tumble, flashing a glimpse of pale thigh that Neku pointedly ignored, focusing instead on disentangling himself without looking like a total jerk.

Then he felt it—the weight of a dozen glares boring into him like laser beams. He glanced up, and oh boy, it was a full-on massacre of envy. The guys in the room had gone from drooling over Moka to shooting him death stares that could've peeled paint off the walls. Saizou's meaty fists clenched, his lip ring twitching as he growled low in his throat, while the kid with the mop of black hair from earlier looked like he was mentally sharpening a pitchfork. Even a few girls joined the hate parade—one with braids tied tight enough to crack walnuts, another with a pixie cut who huffed and crossed her arms like Neku had personally offended her ancestors.

Neku sighed, the sound long and suffering, as Moka finally let him go and scrambled to her feet, smoothing her skirt with a sheepish giggle. He hauled himself up, brushing dust off his blazer, and muttered under his breath, "Yeah, low profile's officially toast. Thanks, Moka." He shot her a sidelong glance, half-exasperated, half-amused, as she clasped her hands together, practically vibrating with joy.

Ms. Nekonome cleared her throat, her bell necklace jingling as she tapped her pointer against the desk with a sharp clack. "Alright, alright, settle down, everyone! Let's not turn this into a circus, nya!" Her catlike grin was back, though her eyes flicked between Neku and Moka with a spark of curiosity. "Miss Akashiya, glad you made it—grab a seat, okay? We're just getting started!"

Moka nodded, her hair bouncing as she turned to Neku with a blinding smile. "Can I sit next to you, Neku?" she asked, voice all sunshine and innocence, like she hadn't just turned him into Public Enemy Number One.

He shrugged, waving a hand toward the empty desk behind him. "Sure, knock yourself out." She plopped down with a happy little bounce, her bag thudding onto the floor, and the glares intensified—Saizou's practically a growl made visible, the braid girl's a silent vow of vengeance. Neku slumped back in his chair, propping his chin on his hand as he stared out the window.

"Great. Day one, and I'm the guy who stole the prom queen." He could almost hear Joshua's smug cackle echoing from Shibuya: "Oh, Neku, you do have a knack for drama!"

Yeah, this was gonna be a long semester.

XXXXXXXX

The bell rang out, a sharp clang that sliced through the classroom's stifling air, signaling the end of Ms. Nekonome's lesson. The room erupted into a flurry of motion—chairs scraping, bags rustling, voices rising in a chaotic swell as students spilled toward the door. Neku barely had time to shove his notebook into his bag before Moka was on him, her slender hand clamping around his wrist with a grip that belied her delicate frame. "Come on, Neku!" she chirped, her voice bright and insistent, green eyes gleaming with uncontainable excitement. "Let's explore the school—I wanna see everything with you!"

He didn't get a chance to protest. With a tug that nearly yanked him off balance, she hauled him out of his seat, her pink hair bouncing like a beacon as she dragged him toward the door. Neku stumbled after her, sneakers scuffing the worn floorboards, and cast a quick glance back at the room. The jealous glares hadn't let up—Saizou's meaty fists twitched as he glowered, the braid girl's lips pursed into a thin line of disdain, and the mophaired kid muttered something dark under his breath. If looks could kill, Neku figured he'd have holes burned straight through his skull by now. "Yeah, good call," he muttered, half to himself, as Moka pulled him into the hall. Any longer in there, and he'd be dodging pitchforks instead of stares.

The corridor was a different beast—narrow and dimly lit, its stone walls streaked with moss and etched with faint, cryptic scratches that might've been graffiti or claw marks. The air hung heavy with the scent of damp earth and the distant tang of saltwater drifting in from the sea beyond the campus. Students milled about in clusters, their green blazers a stark contrast to the muted grays and browns of the building, their chatter a low, restless hum. Moka led the charge, her steps light and quick, her skirt swishing with each bounce. Neku trailed behind, hands shoved into his pockets, the Player Pin a cool weight against his thigh as he tried to keep up without looking too eager.

It didn't take long for the stares to follow them. Every corner they turned, every hallway they crossed, eyes latched onto them like burrs. A trio of guys near a locker froze mid-conversation, their jaws dropping as Moka flashed by, only to narrow into scowls when they spotted Neku at her side. A girl with a high ponytail leaned against the wall, twirling a strand of hair, her gaze flicking from Moka's radiant smile to Neku's slouched figure with a huff of indignation. Even a lanky kid with glasses, nose buried in a book, peeked over the pages long enough to shoot Neku a withering look before ducking back into his story. The envy was palpable, a thick, sticky heat that clung to him with every step, and Neku's shoulders hunched slightly under the weight of it.

"Geez, Moka," he said, voice dry as they rounded a corner into a wider hall lined with tall, arched windows. The gray light streamed in, casting long shadows across the floor, and he glanced at her sidelong. "You sure know how to make a guy popular."

She blinked, turning to him with a tilt of her head, her pink hair spilling over one shoulder like a cascade of silk. "Huh? What do you mean?" she asked, all wideeyed innocence, as if she hadn't just turned him into the school's most hated man in under an hour. Her Rosario cross glinted faintly, swaying with her movement, and her lips curved into a small, puzzled smile.

Neku snorted, gesturing vaguely at the hallway behind them. "All those death glares? Pretty sure half the school's plotting my funeral right now." He kept his tone light, but there was a flicker of truth in it—he could feel the prickling heat of their stares even now, a dozen pairs of eyes tracking them from the shadows.

Moka's smile faltered, her brows knitting together as she glanced back, finally noticing the hostile undercurrent she'd breezed past. "Oh… oh no, really?" she murmured, her voice softening with a hint of guilt. She stepped closer to him, her shoulder brushing his arm, and clasped her hands together. "I didn't mean to—I just… I'm so happy to see you, Neku! I got so lost earlier, and then I found you, and…" She trailed off, her cheeks flushing a soft pink that matched her hair, and she fidgeted with the hem of her blazer.

"Yeah, yeah, I get it," he said, waving a hand to cut her off, though the corner of his mouth twitched upward despite himself. "Just… maybe ease up on the tackling next time, huh? I'd like to stay in one piece." He adjusted his headphones around his neck, the familiar weight grounding him as they kept walking, the jealous stares trailing them like a pack of wolves waiting for an opening.

The hallways of Yōkai Academy stretched out like a labyrinth, a maze of stone corridors where the air hung thick with the briny scent of the sea and the earthy musk of ancient walls. The gray light filtering through the tall, arched windows painted shifting patterns across the floor, illuminating motes of dust that danced in their path. Moka's hand had long since released Neku's wrist, but she stayed close, her steps light and buoyant, her pink hair swaying with each turn as she pointed out little details—the chipped gargoyle perched above a doorway, the faint hum of a vending machine tucked in an alcove, the way the floor tiles gleamed like wet scales under the dim lights.

Their conversation flowed easily, a steady stream of small talk that wove around the edges of the school's quirks. "Look at that!" Moka exclaimed, pausing to peer at a bulletin board plastered with faded flyers—club signups, a lost and found notice for a suspiciously claw-shaped pen. "Do you think they have a music club? I bet you'd like that, huh, Neku?" Her green eyes sparkled as she glanced at him, her voice warm and teasing, and he couldn't help but shrug, a faint smirk tugging at his lips.

"Maybe," he said, hands in his pockets as he leaned against the wall beside her. "If they've got anything worth listening to. This place looks more like it'd have a 'how to haunt 101' class than a decent band." She giggled, the sound bright and unguarded, and it hit him how natural it felt—like Shiki's laughter, soft but persistent, the kind that could pull you out of your own head without trying too hard.

They kept moving, their chatter drifting from the school's gothic architecture to the oddities they'd spotted in class—Ms. Nekonome's bell, Saizou's lip ring, the way the windows seemed to fog up even on a clear day. Neither of them touched on family or old schools, an unspoken boundary they sidestepped with ease, as if they both knew some doors were better left closed for now. Instead, Moka marveled at the sprawling courtyard visible through a window, its twisted trees clawing at the sky, while Neku mused about whether the cafeteria served anything edible or just "monster chow." "I hope they've got something sweet," she said, clasping her hands together with a dreamy look. "I love desserts—oh, and stuffed animals! They're so cute, don't you think?"

He raised an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth twitching. "Stuffed animals? What, you've got a collection or something?" She nodded eagerly, launching into a story about a plush bat she'd won at a fair once, and Neku found himself listening—really listening—his usual guarded edges softening under her warmth. Vampire or not, Moka had this way about her, a genuine curiosity that made him feel seen, not judged.

The jealous glares still trailed them, a persistent heat prickling at the back of his neck. Every hallway brought new eyes—guys leaning against lockers, their whispers turning sharp as Moka laughed at one of his dry quips; girls in tightknit clusters, their stares icy as she brushed a strand of hair behind her ear. One dude with a buzz cut nearly dropped his bag gawking at her, only to scowl at Neku like he'd personally stolen his lunch money. Neku just kept walking, his slouch unbroken, though he couldn't shake the feeling he'd been marked as the school's resident villain. "Great," he thought, "day one, and I'm the guy who snagged the princess. Joshua's probably laughing his ass off somewhere."

Moka didn't seem to notice—or if she did, she didn't care. She stopped by a stairwell, peering up at the shadowed landing above, her skirt swaying as she rocked on her heels. "I wonder what's up there," she said, turning to him with a grin. "Wanna check it out? Maybe there's a secret room or something!" Her enthusiasm was infectious, and Neku felt the last of his tension ease, replaced by a flicker of something lighter.

"Sure," he said, nodding toward the stairs. "But if we find a ghost, you're dealing with it. I'm not in the mood to get haunted today." She laughed again, grabbing his sleeve this time as she started up the steps, and he let her pull him along, the weight of the glares fading into the background as her warmth filled the space between them.

The rooftop of Yōkai Academy stretched out beneath a sky bruised with heavy clouds, the air crisp with the bite of salt and the distant rumble of waves crashing against unseen cliffs. The campus sprawled below, a patchwork of jagged stone buildings and gnarled trees twisting like frozen specters against the horizon. Neku leaned against the railing, his forearms resting on the cold metal, anx Beside him, Moka pressed her hips against the railing, her pink hair spilling over her shoulders in soft waves, the Rosario cross glinting faintly at her throat. Her uniform skirt fluttered as she shifted, one knee bent, her hands gripping the rail with a casual ease.

Lunch had been a surprising win—vending machine sandwiches that weren't half-bad, washed down with canned tea that left a bitter tang on his tongue. They'd found this spot after wandering, the roof deserted save for the two of them, a rare pocket of quiet amid the school's restless hum. The silence between them was comfortable, broken only by the occasional creak of the railing or the rustle of leaves skittering across the concrete behind them.

Moka broke the quiet first, her voice soft but curious, cutting through the stillness like a pebble dropped into a pond. "So, Neku," she started, turning her head to look at him, her green eyes catching the muted light. "I know Ms. Nekonome said we can't reveal our secret identities to each other, but… since you already know I'm a vampire…" She trailed off, biting her lip slightly, her fangs peeking out as she hesitated. "Maybe it wouldn't hurt to share."

Neku's stomach dropped like a stone. "Well, shit." His mind kicked into overdrive, fingers tightening around the railing as he stared out at the campus, buying himself a beat to think. Answer too fast, and she'd sniff out any cracks in his story—those green eyes were sharp, even if she played sweet. Wait too long, and she'd get suspicious, her naive trust turning into something harder to dodge. He could feel her gaze on him now, warm but expectant, her head tilted just enough to make her hair spill over one shoulder like a pink waterfall.

He exhaled through his nose, keeping his tone casual as he glanced at her sidelong. "Yeah, about that…" he said, letting the words hang for a second, testing the waters. The bite mark on his neck tingled faintly, a reminder of her fangs and the blood she'd already tasted—human blood, if Saizou's sniffing was anything to go by. He couldn't just blurt out the truth—not yet, not when Ms. Nekonome's "killed on the spot" warning still echoed in his skull. But Moka wasn't like Saizou or the others; she'd stuck by him, dragged him around with that clumsy, earnest energy that reminded him of Shiki. Maybe he could bend the rules without breaking them.

"I'm… not exactly like everyone else here," he settled on, keeping his voice low, his eyes flicking back to the horizon. "Let's just say I've got my own kind of weird going on. Nothing you need to worry about, though." He shrugged, the motion loose but deliberate, hoping it'd be enough to satisfy her without tipping his hand. The Player Pin pressed harder against his leg, a silent nudge from Shibuya, and he wondered how long he could dance around this before she—or someone else—started asking harder questions.

Moka blinked, her lips parting slightly as she processed his words, then nodded slowly, her smile returning like the sun peeking through clouds. "Oh, okay! I guess we all have our secrets, huh?" she said, her tone light again, though there was a flicker of curiosity in her eyes she didn't quite hide. She leaned closer, her shoulder brushing his arm, and rested her chin on her hand. "I won't push, promise. I'm just glad you're here, Neku. It's more fun with you around."

He snorted softly, the tension in his chest easing as he met her gaze. "Yeah, well, you're not so bad yourself," he said, the words gruff but honest. The roof stretched out around them, a quiet island in the storm of the school, and for now, that was enough.

That was until a rough, grating voice shattered the comfortable silence like a brick through glass.

"Hey, girl! You're Moka Akashiya, right?" The words scraped across the rooftop, loud and jagged, dripping with a cocky edge that made Neku's shoulders tense. He turned, his orange spikes catching the wind as his eyes narrowed on the stairwell door swinging open with a rusty creak. Saizou Komiya lumbered out, his bulk filling the frame, the green blazer straining across his broad chest, with that damn lip ring glinting as he grinned, a predator's leer. His tongue—too long, too wet—slid out, flicking over his lips like he was tasting the air, and his gaze locked on Moka with a hunger that made Neku's skin crawl.

Moka shifted, her body tensing as she straightened from the railing, her hands tightening around the metal. Her skirt swayed slightly, the pleats catching the light, and the Rosario cross at her throat gleamed faintly as she turned to face him. Up close, Saizou's presence was suffocating—his heavy boots thudded against the concrete, each step a deliberate claim on the space, and the faint musk of sweat and something sharper, almost metallic, rolled off him. He stopped a few feet away, towering over her, his thick fingers flexing at his sides as he raked his eyes over her like she was a slab of meat on display.

"I am, yes," Moka said, her voice steady but edged with a frown that pulled her brows together. She crossed her arms, the motion subtle but firm, her green eyes narrowing as she met his stare. "Can I help you, Mr…?" She trailed off, leaving the question hanging, her tone polite but cool, a thin shield against the way he loomed.

"Komiya. Saizou Komiya," he drawled, his voice a low rumble as he stepped closer, close enough that the shadow of his bulk fell across her. His tongue flicked out again, a grotesque little dance, and he smirked, showing teeth that were too sharp, too eager. "Heard about you, Akashiya. Pretty little vampire, huh? Figured I'd come see what the fuss is about." His eyes slid down her frame, lingering on the curve of her hips, the strain of her blazer, and Neku felt a hot spike of irritation flare in his chest.

Moka's lips pressed into a tighter line, her fingers digging into her arms as she shifted her weight, putting a fraction more space between them. "Well, you've seen me," she said, her tone clipped now, the warmth she'd shown Neku replaced by a wary edge. "If that's all, we were kind of in the middle of something." She glanced at Neku, a quick flicker of her eyes that carried a silent plea—back me up here.

Saizou's grin widened, undeterred, and he leaned in, his breath hot and sour as it brushed her hair. "Oh, I don't think so, princess. You and this punk—" he jerked his chin toward Neku, his voice dripping with disdain—"look like you could use some real company. What's he got that I don't, huh?" His meaty hand twitched, like he was itching to grab something—her, the railing, anything to stake his claim.

Neku couldn't hold it in any longer. He straightened from the railing, hands sliding out of his pockets as he turned to face Saizou fully, his orange spikes catching the wind. "A brain? Relatively decent social skills? The common courtesy to not act like a lecher when first meeting a girl?" His voice dripped with dry sarcasm, each word a precise jab as he tilted his head, meeting Saizou's glare with a cool, unflinching stare. "Take your pick, really."

Moka's tension broke with a giggle, a bright, involuntary sound that bubbled up despite the situation. She clapped a hand over her mouth, her eyes crinkling with amusement as she glanced at Neku, a spark of gratitude flickering in her gaze. The sound was like a match struck in the dark, and Saizou's grin vanished, his face twisting into a snarl as he wheeled on Neku, his bulk shifting with a creak of leather and muscle.

"You think you're funny, don't you, asshole?" Saizou growled, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through the concrete. He took a step forward, boots thudding heavily, his thick fingers curling into fists that looked like they could crack stone. His tongue flicked out again, a grotesque little twitch, and his eyes narrowed into slits, dark and dangerous. "Keep talking, punk. I'll wipe that smirk off your face."

Neku's expression didn't waver, his gaze locked on Saizou with a cool, unshaken edge. After three weeks of taking down Noise in Shibuya's twisted streets, scrapping with Reapers who'd sooner erase you than talk, facing down Game Masters with god complexes, and staring into the Composer's smug, untouchable face—Saizou was a mosquito buzzing around his head. A loud, annoying mosquito, sure, but barely a blip on the radar. He tilted his head slightly, hands still loose at his sides, the Player Pin humming faintly in his pocket like a quiet cheer from his old life. "Yeah? Go ahead and try," he said, voice steady and dry, a thread of challenge woven into the calm. "Just don't cry when you figure out I'm not as easy to squash as you think."

Moka's giggle had faded, her green eyes darting between them, wide with a mix of worry and trust. She edged closer to Neku, her shoulder brushing his arm, the warmth of her presence a stark contrast to Saizou's looming bulk. "Neku…" she murmured, her voice soft but tight, her fingers gripping the railing until her knuckles paled.

Saizou's snarl deepened, his broad chest heaving as he took another step, close enough now that Neku could smell the sour mix of sweat and cheap cologne rolling off him. "Big words for a little shit," he spat, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through the rooftop's stillness. His meaty hand shot up, fingers splaying as if to grab Neku's collar—or maybe his throat—but he froze midmotion, his eyes flicking to Moka, then back to Neku, a flicker of calculation cutting through his rage. "You think you're hot stuff 'cause she's hanging off you? I'll break you in half and take her for myself."

Neku's lips twitched, a faint, humorless smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "You're welcome to try," he said, his tone flat but laced with a quiet steel that dared Saizou to make good on his threat. He shifted his weight, ready to move if it came to it—Shibuya had taught him how to dodge, how to hit back, how to keep standing when the odds were stacked. Saizou might be big, but Neku had faced worse and walked away breathing. Saizou's hand twitched upward, fingers splaying toward Neku's collar, his snarl twisting into something feral—until Moka moved.

"W-Wait!" she yelped, her voice sharp with urgency as she darted between them, her slender frame a sudden barrier. Her hands shot out, one grabbing Neku's wrist with a grip that was soft but insistent, the other hovering in the air as if to hold Saizou at bay. "Let's just go, Neku—please!" She tugged him back, her heels clicking against the concrete as she started dragging him toward the stairwell, her pink hair bouncing with each hurried step. Over her shoulder, she called out, "Sorry, Saizou! We didn't mean to—um—upset you or anything! Bye!"

Saizou froze mid-lunge, his thick brows knitting together as her words hit him, his outstretched hand hovering awkwardly before dropping to his side. His scowl deepened, but he didn't follow, his boots rooted to the spot as he glared after them, a low growl rumbling in his chest. The rooftop's chill swallowed the sound as Moka hauled Neku through the stairwell door, the rusty hinges squealing shut behind them.

The stairwell was a dim, narrow chute, the stone walls slick with damp and streaked with faint moss. The air smelled of mildew and rust, the faint drip of water echoing from somewhere below as their footsteps clattered down the steps. Moka's grip on Neku's wrist didn't loosen, her fingers warm against his skin, and she kept glancing back at him, her green eyes flickering with a mix of relief and worry. "That was close," she huffed, her voice breathy as they hit the third-floor landing, the door to the hallway looming ahead. "I didn't want you two to fight—he looked really mad!"

Neku let her pull him along, his sneakers scuffing the worn stairs as he shrugged, his free hand sliding into his pocket. "Yeah, well, he's all bark," he said, his tone dry but softer now, the edge dulled by her presence. "Guy's a walking cliché—big talk, bigger ego. I've dealt with worse." The memory of Shibuya's Noise and Reapers flashed through his mind, a flicker of static he shook off as they stepped into the hall.

Moka's lips curved into a smile, tentative at first, then blooming with a quiet radiance that seemed to chase the hallway's gloom away. "Still," she said, her voice a soft melody against the distant hum of students echoing from deeper in the building, "that wss really nice of you, Neku. Thank you for sticking up for me up there." Her fangs peeked out as she spoke, a subtle glint that made her look both delicate and fierce, and she clasped her hands behind her back, rocking slightly on her heels.

Neku exhaled through his nose, one hand drifting up to rub the back of his neck, his fingers brushing the edge of his orange spikes where they met his collar. "It's really no problem," he said, his tone gruff but carrying a thread of sincerity he couldn't quite mask. "That's just what friends do, right? Guy was being a creep—someone had to call it out." He shoved his other hand into his pocket, the Player Pin pressing cool against his thigh, grounding him as he met her gaze.

Moka's smile stretched wider, a burst of sunshine that lit up her whole face, her eyes crinkling at the corners as she stepped closer, her sneakers scuffing lightly against the stone floor. "Still," she insisted, her voice bubbling with warmth as she stood beside him, close enough that her shoulder nearly brushed his arm, "I don't want my only friend getting into trouble because of me." Her fingers fidgeted with the hem of her blazer, twisting the green fabric as she tilted her head, her pink hair spilling over one shoulder like a cascade of cherry blossoms caught in a breeze.

Neku's brow arched, a flicker of surprise cutting through his usual deadpan. "Wait, only friend?" he echoed, turning to face her fully, his headphones shifting slightly around his neck. That didn't add up. Moka was practically a walking ray of sunshine. He'd figured she'd have a whole crowd trailing her by now, friends lining up to bask in that glow. "You're kidding, right? With how you are, I thought you'd have tons of people begging to hang out."

Moka's cheeks flushed a soft rose, the color creeping up from her neck as she ducked her head, her gaze dropping to the cracked tiles beneath her feet. "Well…" she murmured, her voice a hesitant whisper, barely audible over the drip of water echoing from somewhere down the hall. She shifted her weight, one knee bending slightly, her skirt swaying with the motion. "I'm not really good at making friends. And besides…" She lifted her eyes then, meeting his with a smile that bloomed like dawn breaking over the horizon, bright and unguarded. "You already let me drink your blood! It's the first time anyone's ever let me do that!"

Neku's mind flashed back to that moment—the sudden jolt of her fangs sinking into his neck, the hot rush of panic before he'd shoved her off, stumbling back with a hand clapped over the bite. He didn't bring it up, though, letting the memory sit unspoken as he rubbed the back of his neck again. "Yeah, well," he said, his tone dry as desert sand, "I still stand by my stance on you not doing that without my permission." He leaned against the wall, the cool stone seeping through his blazer, and shot her a sidelong glance. "Not exactly how you make a good first impression, you know."

Moka's smile faltered for a heartbeat, her green eyes widening as a flicker of guilt passed over her face. "Oh—I—I'm sorry about that," she stammered, her hands flying up to wave in front of her, the Rosario cross at her throat swaying with the motion. "I didn't mean to—it just… happened! You smelled so good, and I was so nervous, and…" She trailed off, her blush deepening to a ripe strawberry hue, and she clasped her hands together, twisting her fingers as she looked at him with those big, earnest eyes. "But you didn't get mad—not really. You stayed. That's why I like you, Neku. You're different."

He snorted softly, pushing off the wall to stand straight, his headphones shifting around his neck as he adjusted his stance. "Different, huh? That's one way to put it." His voice stayed gruff, but there was a flicker of warmth beneath it, a reluctant admission that her words hit something soft in him. She was right—he hadn't bolted, hadn't ditched her even after the blood-drinking stunt. Maybe it was the way she reminded him of Shiki, all bright energy and quiet trust, or maybe he was just too stubborn to let a little vampirism scare him off after Shibuya's madness.

"Though, to be honest," he said, his voice dry as ever, "you don't really fit the description of what a vampire's supposed to be. Less Bram Stoker and more… sparkly teen drama reject." He smirked, the jab hanging in the air with a playful edge. "Hell, you're out here prancing around in sunlight like it's no big deal. Where's the brooding cape and coffin vibe?"

Moka's face scrunched up at the mention of Stoker, a groan escaping her lips as she threw her head back dramatically, her pink hair whipping like a banner. "Ugh, Bram Stoker," she huffed, crossing her arms with a pout that made her fangs peek out adorably. "Don't even get me started on that hack! Do you know how many misconceptions that guy spread about us? It's ridiculous!" She stomped one sneaker against the floor, the sound a sharp clack in the quiet hall, and launched into a rant with the energy of a kid who'd been waiting to unload this for years.

"I mean, seriously!" she went on, her hands flailing as she ticked off points on her fingers. "I don't sleep all day and stay up all night like some creepy bat—well, okay, I like staying up late sometimes, but that's not the point! And coffins? Pfft, no way. I've got a perfectly comfy bed with a fluffy quilt and a stuffed bat named Mr. Flaps, thank you very much. Oh, and mirrors? I can see myself just fine—how else am I supposed to fix my hair?" She twirled a strand of pink around her finger, then dropped it with a huff. "And don't even get me started on food. I can eat human stuff no problem—tomato juice is my go-to when I'm out of, uh, you know…" She trailed off, tapping her lips with a sheepish grin, her cheeks flushing pink again.

Neku raised an eyebrow, leaning back with a faint smirk as she barreled on. "No bat-turning, no wolf-shifting, no fancy cloud of mist nonsense either," she said, waving her arms like she was shooing away the ideas. "Though, okay, I'll admit, that'd be pretty cool. Imagine me swooping in like, 'poof, I'm mist!'—but nope, just boring old me." She sighed, then perked up, jabbing a finger at him. "So yeah, Stoker's full of it. Total hack. Probably never even met a real vampire."

He snorted, the sound half a laugh as he pushed off the wall, hands sliding into his pockets. "Yeah, you're definitely not the 'lurking in a crypt' type," he said, his tone teasing but warm. "More like a walking sugar rush with fangs. Guess I'll have to rethink my vampire lore—turns out it's less 'count of darkness' and more 'countess of chaos.'" He nodded toward her, the smirk softening into something closer to a grin as her laughter echoed down the hall, bright and unstoppable.

After her laughter died down, Moka's expression shifted, a flicker of seriousness cutting through her playful rant. "Still," she said, her voice dropping to a quieter, more deliberate tone, "there is one thing about me." Her fingers moved to the collar of her uniform shirt, hesitating for a heartbeat before she tugged it open, the fabric parting to reveal a generous glimpse of her cleavage. The creamy swell of her skin caught the torchlight, drawing Neku's gaze like a moth to flame—smooth, pale, framed by the faintest shadow of her collarbone. His breath hitched, eyes lingering for a split second before he jerked them upward, heat prickling at the back of his neck. That's when he saw it: the black leather choker circling her throat, its silver rosary gleaming with an almost menacing elegance. At its center, a dark red gem pulsed faintly, a black slit running through it like a predator's eye staring back at him, unblinking and alive.

"When this rosary is removed," Moka continued, her voice steady but laced with a weight that hadn't been there before, "I transform into my true self. A real vampire." She let the shirt fall closed, her fingers brushing the cross as she straightened, her green eyes locking onto his with an intensity that made the air feel heavier. "And I can be… very scary." There was no bravado in her words, just a quiet truth, underscored by the way her lips pressed into a thin line, her usual brightness dimming for a moment.

Neku blinked, his hand dropping from the back of his neck as he processed that. The rosary's gem seemed to pulse once, a silent challenge, and he could almost feel its stare boring into him, sizing him up. "Scary, huh?" he said, his tone dry but curious, tilting his head as he studied her. "Guess that explains why you're not just a walking sugar high all the time. What's the deal with that thing—keeps the real you locked up or something?"

Moka nodded, her fingers hovering over the rosary, not quite touching it. "Yeah, sort of," she said, her voice softening as she glanced down at it, her pink hair falling to curtain her face. "It's a seal. My outer self—me, right now—is gentler, but when it's off… she's stronger, fiercer. A true vampire, like I said. She's not bad, just… different." She looked up at him then, her smile returning, small but genuine. "I don't much, though. I like being this me with you."

The hallway's torchlight wavered, casting trembling shadows across the stone as Moka's words settled between them, her revelation about the rosary hanging in the air like a quiet thunderclap as Neku processed her words. A true vampire—scary, she'd said. His curiosity piqued, tugging at the edges of his usual guarded calm.

Moka tilted her head, the motion sending a ripple through her hair, and her green eyes softened as she shifted the conversation. "So," she began, her voice lighter now, threaded with curiosity, "where did you go to school before coming here?" Her fingers brushed the edge of her blazer, a nervous little tic as she waited, her sneakers scuffing faintly against the worn tiles.

Neku shrugged, his hand dropping from his neck to rest in his pocket, the Player Pin a familiar anchor against his thigh. "Public school," he said, keeping it vague, his tone casual but clipped. "Back in the city." Shibuya's chaotic streets flickered through his mind—neon signs, honking taxis, the endless hum of life—but he didn't elaborate, letting the words sit plain and unadorned.

Moka's face scrunched up, her nose wrinkling as if she'd smelled something sour. "You mean… a human school?" Her voice pitched upward, laced with a mix of disbelief and something sharper—affronted, almost. She took a step closer, her skirt swaying, the Rosario glinting as she planted her hands on her hips, staring at him like he'd just admitted to swimming with sharks for fun.

"Yeah," Neku replied, arching an eyebrow as he pushed off the wall, his headphones shifting around his neck. "I was in a school surrounded by humans. What about it?" He crossed his arms, mirroring her stance, his orange spikes catching the torchlight as he studied her sudden shift. Her brightness had dimmed, replaced by a tension that crackled in the space between them, and he couldn't quite pin down where it was coming from.

Moka bit her lip, her fangs peeking out as she hesitated, her gaze dropping to the floor for a moment before flicking back to him. "I just…" she started, her voice quieter now, threaded with a raw edge. She hugged herself, fingers digging into her arms as she took a shaky breath. "I really don't like humans that much." The confession spilled out, soft but heavy, and Neku straightened, his casual slouch vanishing as her words hit him square in the chest.

She looked up at him then, her green eyes shimmering with a mix of hurt and defiance, and the dam broke. "They can be so cruel and mean," she said, her voice rising, trembling with the weight of memory. "I know because I went to human schools in junior high. Everyone ignored me—like I didn't even exist. And some… some of them made fun of me because I was different." Her hands balled into fists at her sides, her nails biting into her palms as she pressed on, the words tumbling out like a flood she couldn't stop. "They'd whisper behind my back, call me weird, laugh when I tripped or said something wrong. I was so lonely, Neku—they made me feel like… like it'd be better if I just disappeared." Her voice cracked on the last word, and she shook her head, her pink hair whipping around her face. "I just hate them so much!"

The hallway seemed to shrink, the torchlight casting her shadow long and jagged against the stone as her outburst echoed off the walls. Neku stood there, hands still crossed, his gaze steady on her as she trembled, her chest heaving with the force of her rant. The sweet, bubbly girl he'd been joking with moments ago was gone, replaced by this raw, wounded version of her, and it stirred something in him—something that remembered the sting of isolation, what it was alike to be alone away from the crowd.

Her case was different from his, though. Neku's isolation had been a choice, a wall he'd built brick by brick after his best friend's death, long before the Game turned his world upside down. He'd pushed people away, wrapped himself in silence and sharp edges, a shield against the kind of pain that hollowed you out and left you gasping. Moka hadn't chosen it—hers was forced, carved into her by cruel whispers and cold shoulders, a loneliness she hadn't asked for. He could see it in the way her shoulders hunched slightly, the way her voice had cracked, and it stirred something in him, a flicker of recognition that made his chest tighten.

He shifted, uncrossing his arms as he stepped closer, his sneakers scuffing against the worn tiles. "Yeah, I get it," he said, his voice low but steady, cutting through the heavy air. "Humans can be assholes—trust me, I've seen it. Had my share of getting kicked around too, just… different reasons." He rubbed the back of his neck, his orange spikes shifting as he glanced at her, then away, the torchlight catching the faint scar her fangs had left. "But you're not wrong about the lonely part. Sucks when you're the odd one out and no one gives a damn."

Moka's eyes flicked up to him, wide and shimmering, her lips parting slightly as his words sank in. The tension in her shoulders eased, just a fraction, and she unclenched her fists, her fingers flexing as if shaking off the ghosts of junior high. "You… you really get it?" she asked, her voice soft, almost fragile, like she was afraid he'd take it back. She stepped closer, her skirt swaying, the faint scent of her—something sweet, like vanilla and strawberries—drifting into the space between them.

"Yeah," he said, shrugging, his tone gruff but honest. "Doesn't mean I'm gonna start a 'humans suck' club with you, but… I get it. Took me a while to figure out not everyone's out to screw you over, though." Memories of Shiki, Beat, and Rhyme flashed through his head as he spoke those words, a tether to the Shibuya he had left behind.

Moka's green eyes bore into Neku's, wide and shimmering with a storm of confusion and hurt, her fists unclenching as her fingers twisted together, nails biting into her palms. "How can you defend them?" she asked, her voice a fragile thread, raw and trembling. "How can you be so sure that not all of them are bad?"

Neku let out a slow breath, the sound a soft hiss in the heavy air as he shifted his stance, his sneakers grinding faintly against the gritty tiles. "I'm not defending them," he said, his voice low and deliberate, cutting through the damp stillness like a knife through fog. "A lot of 'em are assholes—selfish, petty, too wrapped up in their own bullshit to see past their noses. I used to think they all were, too." He paused, his lips twitching into a faint, bitter smirk as he dropped his hand, letting it hang loose at his side. "Hell, I was like that at one point myself."

Moka blinked, her head tilting slightly, the motion sending a ripple through her hair as her brows knitted together. The torchlight caught the curve of her cheek, the faint flush still lingering from her outburst, and her lips parted as if to speak, but she held back, waiting. Neku's gaze drifted to the wall for a moment, tracing the jagged shadows, before sliding back to her. "Back then, I figured keeping everyone out was easier," he said, his tone gruff but threaded with something raw. "Lost someone—best friend—and after that, I didn't want to feel that kind of hurt again. So I shut down. Pushed people away. Thought it'd keep me safe." He snorted softly, a dry, self-deprecating sound. "Turns out, it just made me a dick to everyone else."

Her eyes widened further, a flicker of understanding dawning behind them, and she took a small step closer, her skirt rustling faintly. The air between them shrank, her warmth brushing against the edge of his senses—sweet, like vanilla laced with the faintest hint of iron. "But… you're not like that now," she said, her voice softer, almost tentative, as if testing the waters. "You're here. With me."

Neku's smirk faded, replaced by a quieter look, his shoulders easing as he nodded. "Yeah, well… took a while to figure out it's not all bad," he said, his voice dropping lower, almost a murmur. "Ran into some people who didn't give up on me, even when I was a total jackass. They stuck around, showed me there's more to it than just surviving on your own." His mind flickered to Shibuya again—Shiki's smile, Beat's loud laugh, Rhyme's calm faith, even Joshua's smug grin- and he shrugged, a small, almost imperceptible motion. "Not saying humans are perfect. Far from it. But some of 'em… they're worth the hassle. Changed how I see things, at least."

"I...see." Moka said, her voice a soft murmur, barely rising above the drip of water echoing down the corridor. Her gaze lingered on him, searching, as if trying to peel back the layers of his gruff exterior to find the truth beneath. She shifted her weight, one sneaker scuffing against the gritty tiles, her skirt swaying gently with the motion.

Neku leaned against the wall, his blazer rumpling against the cool stone, the Player Pin in his pocket a steady anchor as he watched her. His orange spikes tilted as he shrugged, hands sliding deeper into his pockets. "Yeah, well," he said, his tone low and rough, but with a thread of something softer woven through it, "took me long enough to figure it out. Doesn't mean I'm singing their praises or anything—just means I stopped assuming the worst every time." His eyes flicked to hers, then away, tracing the jagged shadows on the wall before settling back on her.

Moka's lips curved into a small, tentative smile, her fangs peeking out as she stepped closer, the space between them shrinking until the faint warmth of her brushed against him—sweet, like vanilla with a whisper of iron. "That's… kind of amazing, Neku," she said, her voice gaining a little strength, a quiet awe threading through it. "I mean, after all that, you still gave them a chance. I don't know if I could've done that." Her fingers brushed the edge of her blazer, a nervous tic, but her eyes stayed on him, steady and bright, like she was seeing him anew.

He snorted, a dry huff of a laugh, and rubbed the back of his neck, the faint scar from her bite tingling under his touch. "Don't get all mushy on me," he muttered, though the corner of his mouth twitched upward, betraying the gruffness. "Wasn't exactly my idea—had to get dragged into it kicking and screaming. But… yeah, guess it worked out." He dropped his hand, meeting her gaze fully now, the torchlight glinting off his headphones as he tilted his head. "Point is, you don't have to like 'em. Just don't let 'em decide who you are. They don't get that kind of power unless you give it to 'em."

Chapter Six: Echoes in the Twilight

The hallway's damp chill lingered on their skin as Moka's tentative smile softened the shadows, her green eyes catching the torchlight with a quiet shimmer. The air hung heavy with the scent of wet moss and rust, the faint plinkplink of dripping water a steady rhythm in the distance, but her presence—warm, sweet, like vanilla kissed with iron—cut through it all. Neku stood with his hands in his pockets, the Player Pin a cool weight against his thigh, his orange spikes tilting as he shrugged off her awe with a gruff mutter. The tension from her outburst had ebbed, leaving a fragile stillness between them, one that felt like it could tip either way.

"Come on," he said, jerking his head toward the stairwell at the hall's end, his voice low but firm. "Let's get back to campus before someone else decides to pick a fight." He pushed off the wall, his sneakers scuffing against the gritty tiles, and started walking, the faint creak of his blazer blending with the echo of his steps. Moka hesitated for a heartbeat, her fingers brushing the rosary at her throat, then hurried after him, her skirt swaying as she fell into step beside him.

The stairwell swallowed them in a narrow chute of shadow, the stone walls slick with condensation, the air growing cooler as they descended. Each step clattered faintly, Neku's steady pace matched by Moka's lighter tread, her sneakers tapping a quick, eager rhythm. The torches thinned out here, their flickering light replaced by slivers of gray daylight seeping through cracked windows, painting the stairs in a muted wash of dusk. Outside, the sky had deepened to a bruised purple, streaked with threads of orange as the sun sank below the horizon, casting the academy's jagged silhouette into sharp relief.

Moka's voice broke the quiet as they hit the ground floor, the heavy door groaning open to spill them into the courtyard. "It's kind of pretty out here, isn't it?" she said, her tone lifting as she tipped her head back to take in the sky. The breeze tugged at her pink hair, sending it fluttering like a banner, and she hugged her arms against the evening chill, her blazer rustling softly. The courtyard stretched wide before them, a patchwork of cracked cobblestones and gnarled trees, their skeletal branches clawing at the fading light. Lanterns flickered along the paths, their glow warm but feeble against the encroaching dark.

"Yeah, if you're into the whole 'haunted castle' vibe," Neku replied, his voice dry as he scanned the scene, hands still buried in his pockets. The air carried a crisp edge now, laced with the faint brine of the nearby lake and the earthy musk of fallen leaves crunching underfoot. He glanced at her sidelong, catching the way her eyes sparkled despite the gloom, and felt a flicker of something—amusement, maybe, or just the stubborn pull she seemed to have on him. "Guess it beats the rooftop circus we just left."

She giggled, the sound bright and unburdened, and skipped a step ahead, spinning to face him as she walked backward. "Oh, come on! It wasn't that bad. You were pretty cool up there, you know—standing up to Saizou like that." Her fangs peeked out as she grinned, her green eyes crinkling with mischief. "I bet he's still up there growling to himself."

Neku snorted, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. "Yeah, well, he can growl all he wants. Guy's a walking meat slab—big talk, no brains. Not worth the hassle." He kept his pace steady, his headphones swaying against his chest as the cobblestones crunched beneath his sneakers. The campus loomed ahead, its towering spires piercing the twilight, windows glowing like scattered embers in the dark. Students milled about in the distance, their voices a low hum carried on the wind, but here, it was just the two of them, the world shrinking to the space between her playful steps and his measured stride.

Moka slowed, falling back into step beside him, her shoulder brushing his arm as they neared the main path. "Still," she said, her voice softening, "I'm glad you were there. It… means a lot." She glanced at him, her pink hair catching the lantern light, and her smile turned quieter, warmer, a little thread of trust woven into it.

He shrugged, his gaze flicking to the path ahead. "Don't mention it," he muttered, but the gruffness couldn't quite hide the way his eyes softened, just for a second, before he looked away. The campus gates creaked open as they approached, the night settling in around them like a heavy curtain, and the faint hum of life beyond promised a reprieve from the day's chaos—or at least a new kind to face together.

Neku's mind churned beneath his calm exterior, her earlier words—"I just hate them so much!"-echoing like a warning bell. She didn't know he was human, and the thought gnawed at him, a splinter he couldn't quite dislodge. He wasn't big on lying—never had been, even before the Game stripped him bare and forced him to face himself—but this felt different. Her scars ran deep, jagged and raw, mirroring the ones he'd carried after his friend's death, back when he'd armored himself in isolation. Telling her now could shatter this fragile thing between them, and he wasn't ready to risk that. Not yet. He'd wait, pick the right moment when the truth wouldn't feel like a betrayal. For now, he kept his mouth shut, his hands buried in his pockets, the Player Pin a cold anchor against his thigh.

Moka glanced at him, her green eyes catching the lantern light, soft and unguarded. "Thanks for walking with me," she said, her voice a gentle hum, her fangs peeking out as she smiled. "It's nice, you know? Not being alone." She hugged her arms against the chill, her skirt swaying as they reached the fork where the dorms split off—girls to the left, boys to the right.

"Yeah, no prob," Neku replied, his tone gruff but warm at the edges. He pulled one hand free, rubbing the back of his neck where her bite mark pulsed faintly. "See you around, Moka." He gave her a small nod, the corner of his mouth twitching upward, and turned down his path, fishing a crumpled paper from his pocket. The dorm assignment—Room 314—stared back at him in smudged ink as he trudged toward the boys' building, its hulking silhouette rising against the night sky like a brooding giant.

Moka lingered at the fork, watching him go, her pink hair fluttering in the breeze. "Good night, Neku!" she called, her voice bright, before spinning on her heel and disappearing into the shadows of her own path, her steps fading into the hum of the campus.

Neku's sneakers scuffed the gravel as he approached the dorm, the air growing heavier with the scent of pine and damp stone. The building loomed, its windows glowing like scattered embers, the faint buzz of voices leaking through the walls. He was halfway to the entrance, paper still in hand, when a shadow detached itself from the darkness ahead—a broad, hulking figure blocking his way. Saizou.

The guy stood like a wall of muscle, his boots planted wide, his dark eyes glinting with a predatory edge under the lantern light. His lip ring flashed as he sneered, his overlong tongue flicking out to wet his lips, leaving a slick sheen that caught the glow. His uniform strained across his chest, the sleeves rolled up to reveal forearms thick with sinew, and his fists flexed at his sides, knuckles popping with a sound like snapping twigs. "Well, well," he drawled, his voice a low growl that rumbled through the night. "Look who's skulkin' around after playin' hero. Thought you could just walk away after that little stunt on the roof, huh?"

Neku stopped short, his hand tightening around the dorm paper as he sized Saizou up, his expression flattening into a deadpan mask. The guy was big, sure—built like a damn truck—but Neku had faced worse. This was just another loudmouth with too much ego. "Didn't think you'd cry about it this long," he said, his tone dry as dust, slipping the paper back into his pocket. "What's your deal, Saizou? Here to flex or just waste my time?"

Saizou's growl rumbled through the air, low and thick, as he stepped closer, his shadow swallowing the light between them. "I'm here to give you a warning, punk," he snarled, his voice dripping with menace, each word punctuated by the flex of his jaw. "Since I'm such a nice guy. Stay away from Akashiya if you know what's good for you."

The words hit Neku like a dull thud, his mind flashing back to Moka's bright smile.' He didn't flinch, though—didn't even blink—just tilted his head slightly, orange spikes shifting as he sized Saizou up. "Yeah?" he said, his voice dry as ash, slipping the dorm paper back into his pocket with a slow, deliberate motion. "And what's it to you? Last I checked, she's not your property."

Saizou's sneer twisted into something uglier, his tongue flicking out again, a slick, reptilian motion that made Neku's stomach turn. "You don't get it, do you, city boy?" he spat, taking another step, close enough now that Neku could smell the sour reek of sweat and cheap cologne rolling off him. "Moka's mine—been watchin' her since she got here. That little rooftop stunt? You're lucky I didn't snap you in half right there." His fists tightened, the knuckles whitening, and he leaned in, his breath hot and rancid against the cool night air. "So here's the deal: back off, or I'll make sure you're not walkin' anywhere tomorrow."

Neku's hands stayed in his pockets, his stance loose but grounded. Internally, his mind churned—Moka didn't know he was human, and he'd decided to keep that buried for now, her scars too deep to risk cracking open. Saizou's threat only sharpened that resolve; the guy didn't deserve a say in who she talked to, least of all some creep with a possessive streak. "Funny," Neku said, his tone flat but edged with a quiet steel, "I don't see her wearing your name tag. She seemed pretty happy walking with me five minutes ago—didn't mention you once." His lips twitched, a ghost of a smirk. "Guess you're not as unforgettable as you think."

Saizou's eyes flared, a guttural growl ripping from his throat as he loomed closer, his bulk casting Neku in shadow, his sneer baring teeth that looked too sharp for comfort. "You got a death wish, punk?" he snarled, cracking his neck with a slow, deliberate tilt. "Keep talkin', and I'll pound that smart mouth right into the dirt."

Neku's lips twitched, a dry spark igniting in his chest as he slipped the paper back into his pocket with a slow, deliberate slide of his fingers. "That so, huh?" he shot back, his tone sharp and biting, like a blade honed on Shibuya's streets. "Then why don't you put your money where your mouth is?" He stepped forward, closing the gap just enough to feel the heat rolling off Saizou, his sneakers grinding the gravel with a soft crunch. "Tomorrow. Meet me outside the school grounds. We'll settle this there."

Saizou blinked, his sneer faltering for a split second, caught off guard by the challenge. "What are you—?" he started, his thick brows knitting as he tilted his head, the lip ring glinting under the lantern's glow.

Neku didn't usually pick fights—trouble had a way of hunting him down, dragging him into its jaws kicking and screaming, from Shibuya's Noise to the Reapers' games. But he knew guys like Saizou too well: all bluster and bulk, the kind who'd fester and grow bolder if you didn't stomp them out fast. Letting him stew meant risking worse down the line—maybe even for Moka—and Neku wasn't about to roll those dice. His voice stayed steady, cutting through the night like a wire pulled taut. "You heard me. Tomorrow, outside the gates. Bring whatever you've got."

Saizou stared at him, then threw his head back, a harsh, barking laugh erupting from his chest, the sound bouncing off the dorm's stone walls. "Oh, that's rich, city boy!" he roared, his tongue flicking out again, a grotesque slash of wet pink against his jagged grin. "You really think you can take me on?" His laughter died into a low, rumbling chuckle as he leaned in, his bulk casting Neku in a pool of shadow, his breath a rancid wave of heat. "What's to stop me from pounding your scrawny ass into the dirt right here, right now?"

Neku's mind snagged on the last sentence—"wow, dude, phrasing"—but he kept it locked behind his teeth, letting a faint, taunting smirk curl his lips instead. "Guess you're scared to find out what happens when it's a fair shot," he said, his voice a cool, deliberate jab, each word laced with just enough venom to sting. "What, need the sneak attack to feel big? Thought you were tougher than that."

Saizou's eyes narrowed to slits, the laughter choking off as his sneer twisted into something darker, more dangerous. His fists clenched tighter, the knuckles whitening until they looked ready to split through his skin, and he loomed closer, his shadow swallowing the lantern light. "You've got balls, punk," he growled, his voice dropping to a guttural hiss, the words vibrating with barely leashed fury. "I'll give you that. Fine—tomorrow it is. I'll be more than happy to grind you into dust, nice and slow, so you can regret ever opening that smart mouth."

Neku held his gaze, unflinching. "Good," he said, his tone flat but edged with steel. "See you there, tough guy." He stepped past Saizou, shoulder brushing the brute's arm just enough to feel the tension coiled in his frame, and kept walking toward the dorm, the gravel crunching under his sneakers as the night swallowed him whole. Saizou's glare bored into his back, a tangible weight, but Neku didn't turn—didn't need to. His hands stayed buried in his pockets, the Player Pin a steady hum against his thigh, its faint vibration a reminder of the tools he carried—pins in his bag, relics of Shibuya's chaos, ready to tip the scales tomorrow. Whatever happened, he'd sort it out. One way or another.

The dorm building rose ahead, a hulking mass of weathered stone and glowing windows, the faint buzz of voices seeping through its walls like a distant swarm. Neku's sneakers scuffed the last stretch of gravel as he approached the entrance, the crumpled paper with "Room 314" still tucked in his pocket, its edges worn from his grip. His mind churned—Moka's smile, her scars, the secret of his humanity he'd buried for now. Saizou's threat only sharpened his resolve; the guy was a problem, a festering sore that'd get worse if left unchecked. Tomorrow would be the reckoning, and Neku wasn't about to let it spiral beyond his grasp. The pins would see to that.

He pushed through the dorm's heavy door, the hinges groaning as it swung open, spilling him into a dimly lit foyer. The air inside was warmer, thick with the musty scent of old wood and the faint tang of sweat from too many bodies packed into one space. The floorboards creaked under his weight, worn smooth by years of restless feet, and a bulletin board sagged against the wall, plastered with faded flyers and scribbled notes. A staircase spiraled upward to his left, its banister chipped and stained, and he started climbing, the echo of his steps swallowed by the low hum of chatter drifting from the halls above.

He soon hit the third floor, the hallway stretching out in a dim tunnel of peeling paint and flickering bulbs. Doors lined the walls, some cracked open to spill snippets of noise—music, arguments, the clatter of a dropped can. He fished the paper from his pocket, doublechecking the number, and stopped at 314, its brass plaque dulled with age. The key he'd been given rattled in the lock, stiff and uncooperative, but it gave with a grudging click. The door swung inward, revealing a cramped room barely big enough for the essentials: a narrow bed with a sagging mattress, a desk scarred with graffiti, a single window overlooking the shadowed campus. The air smelled faintly of dust and stale laundry, the walls bare except for a few stubborn stains.

He dropped his bag onto the bed, the thud muffled by the thin blanket, and unzipped it to check the pins nestled inside—Psychokinesis, Pyrokinesis, a few others he'd kept from the Game. Their faint glow pulsed through the fabric, a quiet promise of power, and he zipped it shut again, satisfied. Tomorrow, Saizou would get his shot, but Neku wasn't walking in blind. He kicked off his sneakers, letting them thump against the floor, and flopped onto the bed, the springs creaking under his weight. The ceiling stared back at him, cracked and yellowed, and he let his mind drift—Saizou's sneer, Moka's laugh, the weight of a truth he'd have to face eventually. For now, though, he'd rest. The fight could wait 'til morning.

XXXXXXXX

The morning sun draped the campus in a lazy golden sheen, its rays glinting off the dewkissed grass and bouncing against the gnarled spires of Yōkai Academy. A faint breeze stirred the air, carrying the sharp tang of wet soil and the fleeting sweetness of wildflowers blooming along the path. Neku trudged toward the school gates, his sneakers grinding the cobblestones into submission, hands jammed deep into his pockets where the Player Pin buzzed alongside a small arsenal—Psychokinesis, Pyrokinesis, Cure Drink, etc—each one a quiet hum of potential chaos tucked into his bag. His orange spikes flared defiantly in the light, his headphones slung around his neck, silent but poised to blast out some tunes when he needed it. The dorm's lumpy mattress had left him stiff and surly, but the adrenaline simmering in his gut kept him sharp, his mind locked on Saizou's smug face and the reckoning waiting beyond the gates.

The path wound past the courtyard, the rusted gates creaking in the distance like a tired old beast, when a burst of pink energy exploded into his peripheral vision. "Neku! Good morning!" Moka chirped, practically skipping out from a side trail, her voice a sugarsweet melody that could've woken half the dorms, her green eyes sparkling with that relentless cheer she wielded like a superpower. She clutched a teetering stack of books to her chest, her sneakers tapping a peppy rhythm as she closed the gap, all sunshine and fangs and way too much enthusiasm for this early in the morning.

"Hey, Moka," Neku muttered, tossing her a half-nod without breaking stride. She fell into step beside him, her energy buzzing like a live wire, and tilted her head, pink locks spilling over her shoulder like a waterfall. "Where're you off to so early?" she asked, her voice bright and curious, her steps bouncing just enough to make her skirt flare like a little green flag.

Neku shrugged, the pins clinking faintly in his pocket as he adjusted his bag. "Oh, nothing much," he said, his tone so laid-back it bordered on absurd. "Just going to go beat Saizou's ass." The words dropped out of him with all the gravitas of a weather report, his face deadpan, hands still buried in his pockets as he kept walking.

Moka nodded absently, her smile autopilot-perky, her brain lagging a good three seconds behind his casual bombshell. "Oh, okay," she said, her voice a chirpy little hum as she bobbed her head, hugging her books tighter like they were a teddy bear. Then—bam—the penny dropped, and her eyes ballooned to the size of dinner plates, green irises practically popping out of her head. "Wait, WHAT?!" The scream tore through the morning stillness like a banshee on a sugar high, her books wobbling dangerously as she flailed, one hand shooting out to snag his sleeve in a death grip. Her fangs flashed as her jaw dropped, a perfect caricature of cartoon shock, and she spun to face him, her skirt twirling like a frantic pinwheel. "Neku! Did you just say you're gonna fight Saizou?! Like, beat him up?!"

Neku stopped, turning to her with a look so flat it could've leveled a building, one eyebrow arching like she'd just asked if the sky was blue. "Yeah," he drawled, stretching the word out as his lips twitched into a ghost of a smirk. "That's the plan. Guy's been itching for it since yesterday—thought I'd oblige." He rocked back on his heels, gravel crunching under him, utterly unfazed by her spiraling panic.

"Moka, relax. I'll be fine," he added, his voice a low, steady rumble as he tried to toss her a lifeline before she drowned in her own freakout. But she was already off the rails, her hands flying to her cheeks, squashing them as she gaped at him, her pink hair bouncing with every wild little hop she took. "Relax?! Relax?! Neku, he's ginormous! Like, 'crush-you-with-one-hand' ginormous! And he's got that gross slimy tongue and those creepy paws and—oh my gosh, what if he flattens you into a pancake?!" Her voice climbed higher with every word, her arms flailing like windmills, books teetering as she painted one unhinged scenario after another. "Or—or what if he picks you up and tosses you into the lake?! Or what if he—"

She paused, her eyes lighting up with a new, horrifying vision, and leaned in close, her voice dropping to a dramatic whisper. "What if he uses that nasty tongue to—"

Neku's face blanched, a rare crack in his cool as his stomach lurched. "Okay, first of all: ew," he cut in, his voice sharp enough to slice through her tirade, one hand shooting up like a stop sign. "Don't even go there. That's a mental image I'm not unpacking today—or ever." He shuddered, visibly, the smirk replaced by a grimace as he shook his head, trying to scrub the thought from his brain. "Second of all, chill out. I've dealt with worse than some overgrown lizard with a lip ring. Guy's big, sure, but he's not invincible. I've got this."

Moka froze mid-hop, her mouth still half open, her hands hovering like she'd been caught mid-rant. Her green eyes darted over him, wide and frantic, searching for any sign he was joking—or bluffing. Only to be stunned the sheer calm radiating off him—hands in his pockets, shoulders loose, that faint smirk tugging at his lips—hit her like a brick. He wasn't joking. He wasn't bluffing. This wasn't some half-baked bravado to impress her. He was legitimately, unshakably confident, like he'd already played this fight out in his head and knew the ending credits would roll in his favor.

Her hands dropped from her cheeks, fingers twitching against her stack of books as she blinked at him, her brain scrambling to catch up. "A-are you sure?" she asked, her voice small and tentative, teetering on the edge of disbelief. She shifted her weight, one sneaker scuffing the ground, her pink hair swaying as she tilted her head, searching his face for any crack in that ironclad certainty. The rosary at her throat glinted, its red gem catching the sun like a tiny, watchful eye, and her fangs peeked out as her lips parted, waiting for him to backtrack or laugh it off.

Neku met her gaze, his eyes steady and sharp, the kind of look that could cut through fog. "Yeah, I'm sure," he said, his tone low and even, like he was stating a fact as plain as gravity. He shifted his bag slightly, the faint clink of pins inside a quiet underscore to his words. "Saizou's a loudmouth with fists—seen his type before. He's not walking away from this thinking he's king of the hill." The smirk widened just a fraction, a glint of something fierce flickering behind it, and he gave a small shrug, like the whole thing was already a done deal.

Moka's jaw slackened, her books slipping an inch in her grip before she caught them with a little jolt. "But—but he's so big," she stammered, her voice climbing back up to that frantic pitch, though softer now, laced with a mix of awe and worry. "And you're just… you're just gonna walk out there and—Neku, what if he—" She cut herself off, biting her lip, her green eyes darting to the gates and back to him, like she could already see the showdown playing out in gory detail.

He snorted, a quick huff of amusement. "What if he what? Trips over his own ego and knocks himself out? I'd pay to see that." His voice stayed dry, but there was a warmth in it, a quiet nudge to ease her off the ledge. "Look, Moka, I've handled worse. Trust me on this." He didn't elaborate—didn't need to. The pins in his pocket hummed, a secret edge she didn't know about, and that was enough for now.

Moka's pink hair swayed as she shook her head, still grappling with the fact that he wasn't bluffing. "Okay," she said finally, her voice a hesitant squeak, barely above a whisper. Then her brows furrowed, and she straightened up, her sneakers planting firm on the path. "B-But I'm still coming with you!" The words burst out of her, fierce and stubborn, her fangs peeking out as her lips set in a determined line.

Neku blinked, his smirk faltering for a split second as he turned to her fully. "Moka, you don't have to—" he started, his voice low and edged with a rare flicker of concern, but she cut him off with a quick shake of her head, her hair bouncing like a pink storm.

"No way!" she huffed, puffing out her cheeks as she clutched her books like a shield. "If you're going out there to face that big oaf, I'm not letting you do it alone! What if he—ugh, I don't know—tries something sneaky? Or gross? I've seen how he looks at people!" Her nose wrinkled, a flash of disgust crossing her face, and she took another step, practically gluing herself to his side. "Besides, I'm tougher than I look, you know!" She flashed a grin, her fangs glinting in the sunlight, a mix of adorable and fierce that was pure Moka.

He sighed, dragging a hand through his spikes, the faint scar on his neck tingling as he weighed his options. "Fine," he muttered, his tone gruff but resigned, the corner of his mouth twitching upward despite himself. "But stay back when it starts. I don't need you getting caught in the crossfire—or biting him if he gets too close." He shot her a sidelong glance, half-teasing, half-serious, and started walking again, the gates looming closer with every step.

Moka beamed, skipping to keep pace, her energy bubbling over as she hugged her books tighter. "Deal! Oh, but if he does anything weird, I'm totally kicking him in the shins first!" she chirped, her voice bright with a gleeful edge, like she was already picturing it.

Neku chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that rolled out of him at the thought of her charging up to Saizou, all five-foot-five of her, and planting a solid kick in the brute's shins. He could see it clear as day—Saizou hopping around, clutching his leg, his ugly mug twisted in pain while Moka stood there, triumphant and smug. "I'll hold you to that," he said, his voice rough but warm, the corner of his mouth quirking into a rare, genuine grin.

"You better!" Moka shot back, her smile blooming wide, fangs peeking out as she tilted her head up at him. Her voice carried a playful edge, bright and unshakable, and she skipped a step ahead, spinning to face him for a moment before falling back into rhythm. The gates loomed closer, their iron bars casting long, skeletal shadows across the path, but her energy cut through the tension like a blade, a burst of light against the morning's quiet menace.

Neku didn't say it, but he felt it—the way her presence softened the edges of this whole mess. He was sure of the win, the pins in his pocket a trump card Saizou couldn't match, but having her there, all sunshine and steel, made the walk less heavy. Her chatter, her stubborn insistence, the way she stuck to him like a burr—it was welcome, a spark of warmth he hadn't realized he'd needed until now. He kept his eyes on the gates, the faint hum of the pins a steady pulse in his pocket, but his smirk softened just a fraction as she rambled on beside him.

"Seriously, though," she said, her tone dipping into mock seriousness as she hugged her books tighter, "if he tries anything weird, I'm not waiting for permission. One good kick, and he'll be too busy crying to bother you!" She mimed the motion with an exaggerated swing of her leg, nearly toppling her stack of books, and giggled, the sound bright and infectious.

Neku snorted, shaking his head. "Yeah, I'd pay to see that. Just don't trip over him when he goes down." His voice stayed dry, but the amusement in it was clear, a thread of camaraderie weaving between them as they closed the last stretch to the gates, the showdown waiting just beyond.

There, just beyond the gates, stood Saizou, a hulking slab of arrogance planted in the dirt like he owned it. His massive arms were crossed over his chest, straining the seams of his uniform shirt, the rolled-up sleeves exposing forearms thick with muscle and veins that pulsed like twisted cables and with a cocky smile that split his face, revealing teeth too sharp to be human. His boots were scuffed and caked with mud, his stance wide and rooted, exuding the kind of confidence that came from breaking things and never being broken back. The smile widened into a leer when he spotted Moka at Neku's side, his tongue flicking out to wet his lips, leaving a slick, glistening trail.

"Well, well," Saizou drawled, his voice a gravelly taunt that rolled across the field like a thunderclap. He uncrossed his arms, letting them hang loose, fists flexing as he took a step forward. "I'm impressed, city boy. Thought you were just talkin' a big game, but you actually dragged your scrawny ass out here." His gaze slid to Moka, slow and deliberate, his leer deepening as he licked his lips again, the motion grotesque and deliberate. "And you even brought Akashiya with you. Good. It'll be real nice when she sees me wranglin' your little neck and realizes who she should be with." His laugh was a low, guttural bark, his chest puffing out as he cracked his knuckles, the sound sharp and menacing in the still air.

Moka's face twisted, her green eyes flashing with disgust as she glowered at him, her fangs bared in a snarl that was equal parts adorable and fierce. She whipped her head to Neku, her pink hair snapping like a whip, and planted her hands on her hips, books still tucked under one arm. "Can I please kick him in the shins now?" she hissed, her voice tight with indignation, practically vibrating with the urge to charge. "He's practically begging for it with that slimy attitude!"

Neku's lips twitched, a dry chuckle rumbling out of him as he pictured it again. "Hold that thought," he said, his tone low and amused, his eyes flicking to Saizou with a glint of steel. "Let me soften him up first. Then you can have your shot." He stepped forward, the gravel crunching under his sneakers, his hands sliding out of his pockets as the pins in his bag pulsed, ready to turn this cocky bastard's day into a nightmare.

Saizou's leer didn't falter, his dark eyes narrowing as he sized Neku up, his tongue flicking out once more like a snake tasting the air. "Big words, punk," he sneered, rolling his shoulders with a crack that echoed across the field. "Let's see if you can back 'em up."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever," Neku said, his voice a low, dry scrape, dripping with casual disdain as he shifted his weight to one hip. "Can we hurry this up? I wanna wrap this up before breakfast is over. Got my eye on those nuggets." His arms stayed crossed, his posture loose but coiled, and the sheer nonchalance of it—treating this like a chore instead of a brawl—made Saizou's left eye twitch, a tiny tic of irritation cracking through his smug facade.

Saizou stood a few yards off, a towering slab of meat and menace rooted in the dirt like a gnarled oak. His uniform shirt strained across his barrel chest, the fabric stretched taut over bulging muscle, the rolledup sleeves exposing forearms roped with veins that pulsed like living cables. His dark hair hung in greasy strands over his brow, framing eyes that gleamed with a feral, predatory glint, and his lip ring flashed as his cocky smile twisted into something uglier, more vicious. His boots, scuffed and crusted with dried mud, ground into the earth as he shifted, his fists flexing at his sides with a sound like snapping twigs. Moka's presence at Neku's side only fueled his leer, his tongue flicking out to slick his lips in a grotesque, deliberate swipe. "Ohhhh, don't worry, city boy," he growled, his voice a deep, guttural rumble that vibrated through the ground. "I'll make this real quick. By the time I'm done with you, there won't be anything left to pick up off the dirt—just a smear for the ants to crawl over!"

And then, with a roar that split the air like a thunderclap, Saizou began to transform. His body shuddered, bones cracking and popping as his frame stretched upward, towering past ten feet in a matter of seconds. Muscle swelled beneath his skin, ripping through his uniform in jagged tears, the fabric shredding across his chest and thighs to reveal a hide of coarse, grayishgreen scales that glistened wetly in the sunlight. His arms thickened into pillars of raw power, each fist ballooning to the size of a man's torso, knuckles studded with bony protrusions that jutted out like blunt spikes. His fingernails elongated into curved, yellowed talons, wickedly sharp and glinting with a dull sheen, though they paled next to the sheer mass of those monstrous hands—fists that could crush stone to powder with a single swing.

His face warped next, his jaw stretching wide as his teeth lengthened into jagged, needlepointed fangs, each one a glistening ivory dagger that overlapped his lips in a snarl. His tongue lolled out, longer now, a slimy, pink slab that dripped with saliva, flicking restlessly as his eyes narrowed to slits, pupils contracting into thin, reptilian lines that glowed with malice. His shoulders hunched forward, sprouting jagged ridges of bone that tore through what remained of his shirt, while his legs thickened into treetrunk pillars, the tattered remnants of his pants clinging to his calves like rags. A faint, rancid stench rolled off him—sweat and musk and something sour, like meat left too long in the sun—mixing with the dry dust of the field as he loomed there, a grotesque titan of flesh and fury.

Saizou grinned, a wicked slash of teeth and malice, basking in his true form (a monstrel, a hybrid nightmare of scales and sinew) like a king on a throne. "Let's see that little shit snark his way out of this one", he thought, his chest puffing out as he rolled his shoulders, the bony ridges along his spine grinding audibly. He swung his gaze to Neku, expecting a trembling mess, maybe even a puddle of fear at the sight of his grandeur—something to savor before he smashed the punk into the dirt.

Instead, he got… nothing. Neku stood there, arms still crossed, his orange spikes blazing defiantly in the sunlight, his blazer rumpled but his posture loose, unbothered. The bastard's face was a blank slate of boredom, his sharp eyes half-lidded as if he'd just been dragged out of bed for this. Then, to top it off, he yawned—a slow, deliberate stretch of his jaw, one hand lifting lazily to cover his mouth like Saizou's whole display was a snoozefest.

"Is that it? Really?" Neku drawled, his voice a dry, cutting scrape that hung in the air like a taunt. He tilted his head, sizing Saizou up with a look that said unimpressed louder than words. "I've seen scarier at Halloween costume shops. Though, I guess I gotta give you some credit—you're a hell of a lot uglier than the best of 'em." His lips twitched into a smirk, faint but razorsharp, and he shifted his weight, the pins in his pocket humming faintly against his thigh.

Saizou's grin froze, then shattered. His eye twitched again, harder this time, a vein pulsing in his scaly temple as Neku's words sank in like a blade between the ribs. Ugly? Ugly?! This spiky-haired twig dared to— "I'LL KILL YOU, YOU LITTLE SHIT!" he roared, the sound a guttural explosion that shook the ground, flecks of spit flying from his maw. His massive right fist cocked back, muscles bulging as he wound up, the air itself seeming to ripple with the force. Then he swung, a bone-crushing haymaker aimed straight for Neku's smirking face, expecting to smear him into the dirt with one brutal blow.

The fist crashed down, slamming into the ground with a thunderous boom that sent a shockwave rippling outward, dirt and grass exploding in a gritty cloud. Saizou's snarl twisted into a triumphant leer, his chest heaving as he straightened up, ready to gloat over the flattened remains of his prey.

But there was nothing. Just a crater in the earth, jagged and empty, the dust settling around it like a shroud. Saizou blinked, his slit eyes narrowing as he scanned the field, confusion creeping into his fury. Where the hell—

Moka, still clutching her books a few steps back, let out a tiny gasp, her green eyes darting around. "Neku?!" she squeaked, her pink hair bouncing as she spun, searching for him.

Then, cutting through the haze like a blade, came his voice—dry, lazy, and dripping with mockery. "What, that's your best shot? Gotta say, I'm disappointed." It floated down from above, casual as a passing comment, and Saizou's head snapped up, his fangs baring in a snarl as he spotted Neku perched atop one of the gate's rusted spires. The orange-haired punk sat there, one leg dangling, his arms crossed again, his blazer rumpled and his headphones glinting faintly against his neck. His sharp eyes glinted with a mix of boredom and amusement, like he was watching a bad movie unfold. He lounged up there like a king on a throne, utterly unfazed.

Saizou's snarl twisted into a roar, his massive chest rumbling as he stomped a foot, cracking the ground beneath him. "You little—get down here so I can rip that smart mouth off your face!" His voice was a guttural bellow, spit flying as his tongue lashed out, slick and grotesque, his fists clenching so hard the bony spurs on his knuckles popped audibly.

Neku tilted his head, his smirk widening just a fraction. "Nah, I'm good up here. Nice view of your ugly mug from this angle—really brings out the 'discount Halloween reject' vibe." He leaned back slightly, the Player Pin humming in his pocket, its siblings itching for action. "Tell you what, though—why don't you try again? Maybe you'll hit something this time. Like, I dunno, your own foot."

Saizou's eye twitched again, a furious little spasm that cracked through his snarling facade as Neku's taunt sank in. The punk's voice—dry, lazy, and sharp as a knife—had lit a fuse, and now it was burning fast. With a roar that shook the ground, Saizou charged, his massive feet pounding the dirt into craters, each step a thunderclap that sent clumps of earth flying. His fists swung forward, a twin battering ram of muscle and bone aimed straight for Neku's perch atop the gate spire, intent on smashing him into a bloody smear and silencing that infuriating mouth for good.

Neku didn't flinch. He sat there, orange spikes blazing in the sunlight, blazer rumpled and headphones glinting against his neck, his arms still crossed like he was waiting for a bus. His sharp eyes tracked Saizou's lumbering charge, the corner of his mouth twitching into a faint, dry smirk. "Huh. Looks like it's my turn then," he muttered, his voice low and casual, as if he were deciding what to order for lunch. His hand slipped into his pocket, fingers brushing the pins nestled there, and the air around him crackled faintly as he pulled out Pyrokinesis.

In an instant, he leapt from the spire, the motion fluid and effortless, landing in a crouch just as Saizou's fists crashed into the gate. The iron buckled with a shriek, bending inward like wet cardboard, but Neku was already gone. He straightened, raising one hand, and a burst of orange-red flame erupted from the ground beneath Saizou's feet. The fire roared upward, a searing blast of heat that swallowed the monstrel's legs, the flames licking at his scales with a hiss and a pop. The air filled with the acrid scent of singed flesh and burning scales, a sharp counterpoint to the dry dust, and Saizou bellowed, his roar twisting into a howl of pain as the lingering heat chewed into his thick hide.

Moka, still a few steps back, gasped, her green eyes wide as she clutched her books tighter, her pink hair bouncing as she leaned forward. "Whoa!" she squeaked, her voice a mix of awe and excitement, her fangs peeking out as she watched the flames dance. "Neku, that's amazing!" Her sneakers scuffed the dirt, her body practically vibrating with the urge to cheer him on, though she stayed put, honoring his earlier request to keep back.

Saizou stumbled, his massive frame lurching as the blue fire scorched his legs, leaving blackened patches where scales had cracked and peeled. His slit eyes narrowed, fury boiling over as he swung his head around, searching for Neku through the haze of smoke and heat. "You little—!" he snarled, his voice a guttural rasp, spit flying as his tongue lashed out. "I'm gonna crush you into paste!" He reared back, one massive fist cocking for another swing, the air rippling with the sheer force of his intent.

The blow landed with a bone-rattling crunch, smashing into the dirt and sending up a plume of dust and shattered grass, the ground trembling under the impact. His snarl twisted into a triumphant leer, his chest heaving as he straightened, expecting to see Neku's broken body pulped beneath his knuckles. But the field was empty—nothing but a fresh crater, the earth split open like a wound, and Saizou's slit eyes narrowed, confusion warring with his fury as he scanned the haze.

Before he could even growl, Neku's voice cut through the dust, dry and biting. "Swing and a miss. You're batting zero, big guy." The words came from above him, and Saizou's head jerked up, his fangs baring as he caught sight of Neku—perched casually atop his outstretched arm, hands still buried in his pockets like he was lounging on a park bench. Neku had warped there in a blink, the Top Gear pin kicking in with a faint shimmer of energy that left the air buzzing faintly around him. His blazer hung loose, rumpled from the fight, his headphones glinting against his neck, and his sharp eyes glinted with a mix of boredom and mockery, his smirk a thin, razor-edged line.

Saizou froze, his arm still extended, the sheer absurdity of it—Neku just standing there, unflinching—making his eye twitch harder, a vein throbbing in his scaly temple. "What the—GET OFF ME!" he bellowed, his voice a thunderous rasp, spit flying as he shook his arm like a dog with a flea. His massive muscles flexed, the scales rippling as he tried to fling Neku off, but the punk stayed put, his balance unshaken, the pins in his pocket humming with quiet menace.

Neku tilted his head, glancing down at Saizou's snarling face with a look that screamed unimpressed. "You done flailing yet? 'Cause I've got better things to do than play rodeo with you." His tone was flat, almost lazy, but the glint in his eyes said he was already picking his next move, the pins in his pocket practically itching to turn this into a beatdown.

Saizou's snarl twisted into a guttural bellow as he swung his other arm up, a massive, scalecovered slab aimed to swat Neku off like a fly. The air whined with the force of it, his knuckles whistling as they cut through the haze.

But the fist hit nothing. A faint shimmer rippled where Neku had been, and Saizou's arm crashed into his own scales with a meaty thud, the impact sending a ripple up his flesh. Before he could even roar, Neku reappeared—Top Gear kicking in again—warping back onto the same arm, hands still in his pockets, posture as casual as if he were waiting for a train. "Wow, you're really bad at this," he drawled, his voice a low, cutting scrape that dripped with mockery. "What's that, strike three? Maybe stick to arm wrestling trees—might actually hit something."

Saizou's eye twitched violently, a vein pulsing in his scaly temple as he swung again, his free arm lashing out in a wild arc, talons slashing the air. Another miss—Neku vanished in a blink, reappearing on the opposite arm, leaning slightly as if testing a diving board. "Gotta be faster than that, big guy," he said, his tone flat but laced with a razor edge. "Or is lumbering around all you've got?" Saizou roared, a guttural explosion of spit and rage, and swung again, his massive hand whistling past Neku's fading outline. The punk warped back to the first arm, then the other, a relentless game of teleporttag that left Saizou flailing, his own fists smacking into his scales with dull, frustrated thumps.

Moka watched from a safe distance, her green eyes wide and gleaming, her pink hair bouncing as she shifted her weight between her sneakers. Her uniform—green blazer sharp, white shirt crisp, skirt swaying—clung to her frame, the rosary at her throat pulsing faintly with each of Saizou's misses. She clutched her books tighter, her knuckles whitening, but a grin tugged at her lips, fangs peeking out. "Keep it up, Neku!" she called, her voice bright with a mix of awe and glee.

Saizou's chest heaved, his scales rippling as he staggered, his arms swinging wildly now, each miss fueling his rage into a frothing, mindless storm. "STAND STILL, YOU LITTLE RAT!" he bellowed, his voice a ragged snarl, spit flying in thick ropes as his tongue lashed out, his slit eyes darting to track Neku's flickering form. But the punk kept moving, warping between arms with Top Gear, his taunts a steady drip of acid on Saizou's fraying nerves.

Saizou's latest swing had missed again, his massive arm crashing into nothing as Neku warped away with Top Gear, leaving the monstrel flailing in a cloud of dust. But this time, Saizou wasn't playing the fool. With a guttural snarl, he lashed out with his tongue—a slimy, whiplike slab that shot forward, coiling around Neku's arm midteleport with a wet, squelching grip. The boy rematerialized a few feet away, his sneakers skidding on the dirt, his orange spikes catching the sun as his blazer flared briefly with the motion. His arm jerked against the tongue's hold, and his face twisted—not in fear, but in pure, unfiltered disgust. The texture was vile: slick, rubbery, and warm, like a slug dipped in rancid oil, and it clung to his sleeve with a sticky tenacity that made his skin crawl.

"HA! GOT YOU NOW, YOU LITTLE BASTARD!" Saizou crowed, his voice a triumphant bellow that rolled across the field like thunder. His massive chest puffed out, his scales rippling as he yanked his tongue back, dragging Neku a step closer. His slit eyes gleamed with sadistic glee, his fangs bared in a leer as he flexed his free fist, ready to smash the punk into next week.

But then he froze. Neku just stared at him, his sharp eyes narrowing into a look that was equal parts pity and revulsion, like he'd stepped in something foul and was debating whether to scrape it off. "Probably shouldn't have done that," he said, his voice a dry, cutting drawl that hung in the air like a warning shot. His free hand slipped into his pocket, fingers brushing the pins nestled there, and the air around him crackled faintly as he pulled out Lightning Rook. A faint hum of electricity sparked to life, tiny arcs of yellow-blue energy dancing along his fingertips.

Saizou barely had time to blink before Neku raised his hand and let loose. A bolt of lightning erupted from his palm, a jagged lance of raw power that streaked through the air with a deafening crack. It slammed into Saizou's tongue, the slimy appendage sizzling as electricity coursed through it, the stench of burnt flesh and ozone cutting through the field's dusty haze. The monstrel's triumphant leer twisted into a howl of agony, his massive frame convulsing as the current raced up his tongue and into his body, his scales smoking where the bolt bit deep. His grip slackened, the tongue loosening around Neku's arm with a wet plop, and the boy yanked himself free, shaking off the lingering slime with a grimace that said he'd rather burn his sleeve than touch it again.

Saizou's monstrous form loomed like a grotesque statue gone wrong, his grayish-green hide slick with a greasy sheen that glistened in the light, now marred with blackened patches where the lightning had bitten deep. His massive fists hung limp for a moment, the bony spurs on his knuckles dull and singed, while his yellowed talons twitched uselessly. His maw gaped, a jagged mess of fangs still dripping with drool, but his tongue—once a slimy, whiplike terror—was now a shriveled, blackened lump, smoking faintly as it dangled from his mouth. The bony ridges along his spine clicked as he staggered, his treetrunk legs wobbling slightly, the tattered scraps of his uniform swaying like sad flags of defeat.

Moka stood a few paces back, her green eyes wide as saucers, her pink hair bouncing as she shifted her weight between her sneakers. She clutched her books to her chest, her knuckles whitening, but her lips parted in a stunned little "o" as she watched Neku dismantle Saizou like it was a game. "He's not just holding his own—he's making this look easy!" she thought, her fangs peeking out as her gaze darted between the two. Those abilities—wielding fire, lightning from his hands, teleporting like a ghost—weren't like any monster she'd ever seen at Yōkai Academy. Was he a mage? A spirit? Something else entirely? Her mind raced, but her heart thumped with a giddy thrill.

Saizou, meanwhile, clutched his ruined tongue with one massive hand, his slitpupil eyes watering as he let out a scream that was half pain, half fury. "YUUU LIL' SHID! I'LL RIP YUUU APAR'!" he bellowed, the words a garbled, wet mess as his charred tongue flopped uselessly, slurring everything into a comical mush. Spit flew in thick ropes, splattering the dirt, and his free fist shook in the air, promising violence he couldn't quite deliver yet. "YUU'RE DEA', SPIKY! DEA'!" The threat might've landed harder if it didn't sound like a drunk toddler throwing a tantrum, his scorched tongue turning every syllable into gibberish.

Neku, standing a few feet away, shook off the last of the slime from his sleeve with a grimace, his orange spikes catching the sun as his blazer settled back into its rumpled state. He tilted his head, squinting at Saizou like he was trying to decode a bad radio signal. "What'd he say?" he asked, turning to Moka with a dry, puzzled drawl, his hands sliding back into his pockets. His sharp eyes flicked to her, one brow arching as if this was all just a mildly annoying sideshow.

Moka blinked, then giggled, her hand flying to her mouth to stifle it. "Um, I think he said, 'You little shit, I'll rip you apart'?" she ventured, her voice lilting with uncertainty as she glanced at Saizou's flailing form. "Or maybe 'You're dead, spiky'? It's hard to tell with… that." She nodded toward the monstrel's blackened tongue.

Neku snorted, his smirk twitching wider. "Yeah, could be. Sounds more like 'Yogurt's red, sticky' to me. Maybe he's confessing his lunch plans." He leaned back slightly, his tone flat but dripping with sarcasm, completely ignoring Saizou's thrashing a few yards away.

Saizou's eye twitched harder, his massive chest heaving as he caught the tail end of that. "WHA'?! NO! I SAI'—YUU'RE DEA'! DEA'!" he roared, stomping a foot so hard the ground cracked, his charred tongue flopping like a sad, overcooked noodle. His slit eyes blazed, but the effect was ruined by the wet, mushy garble of his words, spit spraying everywhere as he waved his fists.

Moka tilted her head, her pink hair swaying as she squinted at him. "Wait, wait—did he just say 'You're deaf'?" she asked, turning to Neku with a grin that showed off her fangs. "Like, is he worried about your hearing now? That's sweet of him!"

Neku's smirk grew into a rare, fleeting grin, his eyes glinting with dry amusement. "Nah, think he's stuck on 'dead.' Maybe 'dairy'? Guy's got milk on the brain. Explains the smell." He shrugged, his voice a lazy drawl, as if Saizou's tantrum was background noise to their little chat.

"SHUD UP! I'LL KILL YUU BO'!" Saizou howled, his massive arms flailing now, his tongue slapping against his chin as he lunged forward a step, only to stumble over his own scorched foot. His fury was palpable, a redhot wave rolling off him, but the two of them just kept going, chatting like he was an angry mime they'd forgotten to tip.

Moka giggled again, her books shifting in her arms as she leaned toward Neku. "Ooh, 'kill you both'! I got that one! He's really trying, huh?" Her tone was bright, almost cheerful, like she was grading a kid's spelling test.

"Yeah, gold star for effort," Neku deadpanned, his gaze flicking back to Saizou with a look of mock pity. "Too bad his tongue's got a bigger burn than his comeback game."

Saizou's already thin patience snapped like a brittle twig and with a roar that shook the ground—a guttural, frothing explosion of rage—he charged, his massive feet pounding the dirt into craters, each step a thunderous boom that sent clods of earth flying. His slit-pupil eyes blazed with murder, his charred tongue flopping uselessly as his arms pumped, propelling his hulking frame straight for Neku like a runaway freight train. Dust billowed in his wake, the air rippling with the sheer force of his intent to crush the punk into the ground.

Neku didn't flinch. His orange spikes flared in the sunlight, his blazer rumpled but his posture loose, hands still buried in his pockets as he watched Saizou barrel toward him. His sharp eyes narrowed, a faint smirk tugging at his lips as his fingers brushed the pins nestled against his thigh. "Alright, let's wrap this up," he muttered, his voice a dry scrape of resolve. The air around him hummed faintly as he gripped Velocity Attack, and then he moved—exploding forward in a blur of motion, an orange streak cutting through the haze.

The pin's energy surged through him, wrapping his body in a faint, shimmering barrier of kinetic force that crackled like static against his skin. His sneakers pounded the dirt once, twice, then he was a missile, hurtling straight into Saizou's charge. The first impact hit like a battering ram—Neku slammed shoulderfirst into the monstrel's gut, the barrier flashing bright as it drove into Saizou's scales with a bonerattling crunch. The hulking beast grunted, his massive frame lurching back a step, but Neku didn't stop. He ricocheted off, his speed a dizzying whirl as he darted around Saizou's side, then slammed into his ribs with another jarring blow. The barrier flared again, a pulse of force that cracked against the monstrel's hide, sending a ripple through his flesh. Saizou swung a massive fist, but Neku was already gone—spinning back in from the other side, barreling into Saizou's knee with a low, punishing hit that made the beast's leg buckle slightly, a howl of frustration tearing from his ruined throat.

The air buzzed with the rhythm of Neku's onslaught, his body a blur of orange and kinetic energy as he hammered Saizou over and over, each strike a calculated burst of speed and power. The monstrel flailed, his massive arms swiping wildly, but he caught nothing but dust—Neku was too fast, too precise, the Velocity Attack pin turning him into a living pinball that bounced off Saizou's bulk with relentless force. Finally, Neku skidded to a halt a few feet away, his sneakers kicking up a plume of dirt as he straightened, his breath steady despite the flurry. Saizou staggered, his slit eyes wild with pain and fury, his charred tongue slapping against his chin as he roared incoherently.

Neku's hand slipped back into his pocket, fingers brushing Kusanagi as his smirk widened a fraction. "Up you go," he said, his tone flat but edged with dry amusement. He lunged forward again, this time leaping high as the pin's energy flared—a sand-colored aura coiling around his fist. He twisted midair, then drove an uppercut straight into Saizou's jaw with a resounding crack. The blow landed like a cannon shot, the force of Kusanagi sending a shockwave through the monstrel's skull, his head snapping back as his massive body lifted off the ground. Saizou's arms flailed uselessly, his slit eyes rolling as he soared upward, a grotesque comet trailing dust and drool against the glaring sky.

Before he could even peak, Neku was already moving again. His hand darted to Fresh Line, and the air shimmered as he teleported—vanishing in a blink and reappearing above Saizou's airborne form. His orange spikes caught the sun as he twisted, gripping a sand-colored blade of energy that pulsed with raw intent. With a grunt of effort, he drove downward, slamming the blade into Saizou's chest like a guillotine. The impact was thunderous—a bone-shaking boom that echoed across the field as Neku rode the monstrel's body straight into the ground. Dirt exploded outward in a gritty wave, the earth splitting into a jagged crater as Saizou crashed down, his massive frame slamming into the soil with a wet, meaty thud. Dust and debris rained around them, the air thick with the sharp scent of upturned earth and the faint sizzle of Saizou's singed scales.

Neku landed lightly a few feet away, his sneakers scuffing the dirt as he straightened, hands sliding back into his pockets. The crater smoked faintly, Saizou sprawled at its center—a groaning, twitching heap of scales and muscle, his charred tongue lolling out to one side, his slit eyes halflidded with pain. He wasn't out yet, though—his massive chest heaved, a low, guttural growl rumbling from his throat as he shifted, claws scraping weakly at the dirt.

Neku tilted his head, his sharp eyes flicking over the monstrel with a rare glint of grudging respect. "Huh. Gotta give you props, big guy," he said, his voice a dry drawl that cut through the haze. "Most'd be down for the count by now. You're stubborn, I'll say that." His smirk returned, faint but sharp, as he rocked back on his heels, the pins in his pocket humming faintly against his thigh.

Saizou's chest heaved, each breath a ragged, wet rasp that sent a shudder through his bulk. His slit-pupil eyes, still burning with a mix of fury and pain, locked onto Neku standing a few feet away, the orange-haired punk unfazed, hands buried in his pockets. The monstrel's massive hand clawed at the dirt, dragging himself up just enough to prop on one elbow, his voice a low, guttural growl that barely pushed past his ruined tongue. "You… wha' th' hell're you?" he slurred, the words a messy tangle of anger and something new—fear—his slit eyes narrowing as they traced Neku's lean frame. His charred tongue flopped against his chin, smearing drool into the dust, and his free hand clenched into a shaky fist, the spurs on his knuckles grinding together with a dull scrape.

Neku tilted his head, his orange spikes catching the sunlight like a defiant flare, his blazer rumpled but his posture loose, almost bored. His sharp eyes flicked over Saizou, sizing him up with a look that was half curiosity, half disdain, his smirk twitching faintly at the corner of his mouth. "Me? Just a guy who's tired of your noise," he said, his voice a dry, cutting drawl that sliced through the haze. He shifted his weight, the pins in his pocket humming faintly against his thigh, their energy a quiet pulse in the air. "Guess I could ask you the same, but I'm not sure 'walking dumpster fire' counts as an answer."

Moka, still a few paces back, clutched her books tighter, her green eyes wide with a mix of awe and disbelief as she watched the scene unfold. She couldn't tear her gaze from Neku, her mind spinning with questions. "He's not like anything I've seen here," she thought, her heart thumping with a strange blend of excitement and curiosity. Those pins, that speed, that lightning—none of it fit the monsters she knew. But more than that, the way he'd turned Saizou into a punching bag without breaking a sweat—it was almost unreal.

Neku's sharp eyes flicked over Saizou, his smirk a thin, dry line as he spoke. "So, are you ready to call it quits yet?" His voice was a lazy drawl, cutting through the haze with a casual edge, as if he'd just asked about the weather.

Saizou's slitpupil eyes flared, a mix of fury and defiance burning through the pain. With a guttural growl, he hauled himself up, his massive frame shaking but standing, dirt cascading off his scales like a landslide. "Like hell," he snarled, the words a wet, slurring mess past his ruined tongue, but the venom was clear. His chest heaved, his fists clenching with a dull crackle, spurs grinding together as he steadied himself, refusing to bow.

Neku sighed, a long, exaggerated breath that said "fine, your funeral." "Guess I'll just have to make this quick," he muttered, his hand slipping into his pocket. The air hummed faintly as he pulled out Lolita Chopper, his fingers curling around the pin as a sand-colored aura flared to life around his right arm, coiling like a living blade. He sprang forward, a blur of motion too fast for the eye to track, his sneakers kicking up dust as he closed the gap. The first jab snapped out—a rapid-fire burst of energy that slammed into Saizou's chest with a sharp thwack, forcing a wet grunt from the monstrel's throat, spit flying from his maw. Neku didn't stop—his arm became a whirlwind, the aura-blade striking again and again, a relentless flurry of jabs that pounded Saizou's gut, ribs, and shoulders. Each hit landed with a visceral crack, the sound echoing across the field as Saizou staggered, his massive frame rocking with every blow, drool and spit spraying in thick ropes.

Before Saizou could swing back, Neku swapped pins, his hand darting to Shiro. The aura shifted, sharpening into a thrusting lance of energy that gleamed around his arm. He lunged, driving the blade straight into Saizou's sternum with a deep, resonant thud. The force sent the monstrel reeling, his massive body catapulting back several meters, his feet lifting off the ground as he sailed through the air, arms flailing uselessly. The impact kicked up a plume of dust, his scales scraping the dirt as he bounced once, twice, before skidding to a halt, a low groan rumbling from his chest.

Moka's green eyes widened, her pink hair bouncing as she leaned forward, barely keeping up with the onslaught. "N-Neku!" she gasped, her voice a squeak of awe, her fangs peeking out as her gaze darted between him and Saizou. "How is he so fast? " she thought, her heart racing with a mix of thrill and disbelief.

Neku wasn't done. His hand slipped to Tigris, and the air chilled as three massive ice spikes erupted from the ground beneath Saizou's still-flying form. The pillars—jagged, crystalline, and glinting like frozen daggers—jutted upward in a perfect line, their tips catching the sunlight as they speared toward the monstrel. The first spike slammed into his gut, a brutal crunch echoing as it pierced his scales, lifting him higher. The second caught his chest, driving him upward with a wet snap, and the third rammed into his shoulder, spinning him midair like a grotesque pinwheel. Saizou's roar twisted into a howl, his slit eyes rolling as the ice juggled him, frost spreading across his hide in crackling webs.

Spotting a gnarled tree nearby, its roots half-exposed in the dry soil, Neku's eyes narrowed. He raised a hand, and Psychokinesis flared to life—a faint shimmer rippling through the air as the tree groaned, its trunk wrenching free with a splintering crack. Dirt and roots trailed behind as it soared upward, guided by Neku's will, until it hovered above Saizou's spiraling form. With a flick of his wrist, Neku sent it crashing down—a massive, wooden hammer that slammed into Saizou's back with a thunderous boom. The impact drove the monstrel straight into the ground, the earth splitting open in a fresh crater as dust and debris exploded outward, the tree shattering into splinters that rained around the smoking pit.

Saizou lay there, sprawled facedown in the dirt, his massive frame twitching but still. A low, guttural groan escaped his maw, his charred tongue flopping against the soil, his slit eyes halflidded with exhaustion. The fight was over—he wasn't getting up this time.

Neku straightened, his orange spikes settling as he slid his hands back into his pockets, the pins' hum fading into silence. His smirk returned, faint but sharp, as he glanced at the crater. "Told you I'd make it quick," he said, his voice a dry scrape of finality, the field falling quiet save for the faint crackle of settling dust.

Moka stepped forward hesitantly, her sneakers scuffing the dirt as she edged closer to the crater's rim. Her green eyes shimmered with awe, wide and bright, her pink hair swaying as she clutched her books to her chest like a shield. Her fangs peeked out as she bit her lip, her gaze darting between Neku and the groaning Saizou. "Neku… that was incredible," she said, her voice soft but tinged with excitement, a little chirp that cut through the stillness. She tilted her head, her hair spilling over one shoulder. "I've never seen anything like that. Those… things you used—what are they?"

Saizou groaned again, a low, guttural sound that rumbled from his chest as he rolled onto his side, one massive hand pressing into the dirt. His slit eyes narrowed, focusing on Neku with a mix of resentment and exhaustion, his charred tongue slapping against his chin as he tried to speak. "Yuu… bas'ard…" he slurred, the words a wet, mangled mess, but the venom lingered. He coughed, a harsh, hacking sound that sent a glob of spit splattering into the crater, and pushed himself up to one knee, his massive frame trembling but refusing to collapse entirely.

Neku's smirk twitched, his gaze sliding back to the monstrel with a faint arch of his brow. "Still kicking, huh? Gotta admit, you're tougher than you look—and that's saying something, considering you look like roadkill." His tone was dry, almost conversational, as he shifted his weight, the pins in his pocket clinking faintly. He glanced at Moka, jerking his chin toward her. "These? Just tools. Call 'em pins. They do the heavy lifting when I can't be bothered." He shrugged, like it was no big deal, though the glint in his eyes hinted at something sharper beneath the nonchalance.

Moka's lips parted, a quiet "Oh!" escaping as she leaned closer, her curiosity sparking. "Pins? Like… magic? Or tech? They're so cool!" Her voice bubbled with enthusiasm, her green eyes flicking to his pocket as if she could see the hum of energy through the fabric. She took another step, her sneakers crunching on a twig, and smiled shyly. "You're really something, Neku. I mean, taking down Saizou like that—it's like you didn't even break a sweat!"

Saizou growled, a low rumble that vibrated through the crater as he hauled himself to his feet, swaying but upright. His massive chest heaved, his scales rippling as he clenched his fists, the spurs on his knuckles grinding with a dull scrape. "Shuddup… both'a yuu…" he rasped, his voice a wet snarl, his slit eyes burning with a stubborn flicker of defiance. He staggered forward a step, his treetrunk legs wobbling, but he squared his shoulders, refusing to back down even as the pain etched lines into his snarling face.

Neku turned slowly, his orange spikes catching the sun in a fiery halo and his eyes narrowed as he sized up Saizou, taking in every shuddering breath, every twitch of those massive fists, every glint of defiance in those slit eyes. The smirk on his lips faded into something harder, a thin line of resolve as he stepped forward, his sneakers crunching over the debris-strewn dirt. Without a word, he descended into the crater, each step deliberate, the dust swirling around his legs as he closed the distance. He stopped a few feet from Saizou, planting himself firmly in the monstrel's shadow, and tilted his head up to meet that furious gaze headon.

"Listen up, Saizou," Neku said, his voice a low, steady drawl that cut through the haze like a blade, devoid of its usual sarcasm. "I'm only gonna say this once." His tone carried a weight that hadn't been there before, a quiet authority that seemed to press down on the air between them. He didn't blink, didn't shift, his eyes boring into Saizou's with an intensity that made the monstrel's trembling pause for a split second. "You've got two choices here. Stay down, crawl back to whatever hole you came from, and we're done. Or keep pushing, and I'll bury you so deep in this dirt they'll need a shovel to find what's left." He let the words hang, his breath steady, his posture unshaken, the faintest crackle of energy sparking in the air around him as if the pins in his pocket were daring Saizou to test him.

Saizou froze, his massive chest heaving with wet, ragged breaths, each one sending a shudder through his bulk. His slit eyes met Neku's, and for a moment, something shifted—a flicker of doubt, a crack in the wall of his fury. Those sharp, unflinching eyes staring back at him weren't playing around. They weren't mocking or taunting now; they were a warning, cold and absolute, like the glint of a blade held steady at his throat. His charred tongue twitched against his chin, a glob of drool splattering into the dirt, and his fists clenched once more, the spurs grinding with a faint, brittle sound. He opened his maw to snarl, to spit some garbled defiance—but the words caught, his gaze faltering under Neku's unrelenting stare.

"One last chance," Neku said, his voice dropping lower, a quiet dare that hung in the air like a guillotine's shadow. He didn't move, didn't flinch, his posture loose but coiled, ready to end this in a heartbeat if Saizou so much as twitched wrong. The silence stretched, heavy and taut, the only sound the faint rasp of Saizou's breathing and the distant rustle of Moka shifting nervously at the crater's edge.

Saizou's shoulders slumped, the fire in his eyes dimming as the pain finally overtook him. His massive frame swayed, his treetrunk legs buckling beneath him, and with a low, guttural groan, he crumpled. His knees hit the dirt first, a dull thud that sent a puff of dust into the air, and then he pitched forward, his bulk crashing down with a wet, meaty slap. His slit eyes fluttered shut, his charred tongue lolling out to one side, and his breathing slowed to a shallow, uneven rasp. He was out—defeated, the fight beaten out of him at last.

Neku exhaled through his nose, a short, sharp sound, and stepped back, his gaze lingering on Saizou's unconscious form for a moment longer. "Took you long enough," he muttered, his smirk creeping back, faint but sharp, as he turned away, dusting off his hands even though they'd never left his pockets.

Neku climbed out of the crater with a casual stride, his orange spikes catching the light like a flare against the dull backdrop. His blazer hung loose, dusted with grit, the fabric creased from the fight, while his headphones rested snug against his neck, a quiet anchor amidst the chaos. His hands slid back into his pockets, the pins within giving off a soft, satisfied hum that vibrated faintly against his thigh. He paused at the rim, casting a sidelong glance at Saizou's prone form, his sharp eyes glinting with a mix of dry amusement and something harder—resolve, maybe, or just the wearines of dealing with a stubborn fool. The silence stretched, broken only by the faint rasp of Saizou's shallow breaths and the distant rustle of wind through the ruined field.

Moka hurried forward, her sneakers kicking up little puffs of dust as she closed the gap between them. Her green eyes sparkled with a wild mix of awe and exhilaration, her pink hair bouncing with each eager step. She clutched her books tighter, her knuckles whitening, and flashed Neku a bright, fanged grin. "Neku, that was unreal!" she exclaimed, her voice a burst of warmth that sliced through the heavy air. "You just… took him apart like it was nothing! How do you even do that?" She rocked on her heels, her curiosity bubbling over as she glanced back at Saizou, then at Neku again, her gaze lingering on his pockets as if she could peek at the pins through sheer willpower.

Neku shrugged, his smirk twitching back to life, a faint curve that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Practice," he said simply, his voice a low, dry scrape that carried a hint of exhaustion. He tilted his head toward her, his orange spikes shifting slightly. "And a few tricks up my sleeve. Nothing special." He stepped past her, his sneakers crunching over a shard of wood, and glanced out at the wrecked field, the craters and debris a map of the fight he'd just ended. "Guy like that? All muscle, no brains. Makes it easy."

From the crater, a low groan rumbled up, Saizou's massive chest heaving as he stirred, his slit eyes cracking open just enough to glare at Neku's back. His charred tongue slapped against his chin, a wet, pitiful sound, and he muttered something unintelligible—a garbled curse, maybe, or just the last gasp of his pride. His hand clawed at the dirt, dragging a faint furrow, but he didn't rise again, the pain anchoring him to the ground like a chain.

Moka giggled softly, her hand flying to her mouth as she glanced at the monstrel, then back at Neku. "Well, I think it's pretty special," she said, her tone light but earnest, her green eyes softening as she watched him. "You're not like anyone else here, you know? It's… kind of amazing." She shifted her books in her arms, a shy smile tugging at her lips, her fangs catching the light as she waited for his response, the field settling into an uneasy calm around them.

Neku's sharp eyes softened just a fraction as he turned to Moka. A rare, genuine smile tugged at his lips—small, but real—his voice a low, easy drawl. "Thanks," he said, the word simple but carrying a warmth that caught her off guard. His hand slipped into his pocket, fingers brushing the Psychokinesis pin, and the air rippled faintly as Saizou's unconscious bulk lifted off the ground. The monstrel floated upward, his massive limbs dangling like a puppet with cut strings, his head lolling back as a faint groan escaped his maw. Neku kept his grip steady, the pin's energy humming through him as he glanced at Moka. "Guess we should get ready to head back to the school, huh? Don't wanna miss breakfast after I drop this guy off at the infirmary."

Moka blinked, her green eyes widening as she tilted her head, pink hair spilling over her shoulder. Her Yōkai uniform—green blazer sharp, white shirt crisp, skirt brushing her thighs—shifted slightly as she adjusted her grip on her books, the rosary at her throat glinting red in the light. "You're really going to do that for him?" she asked, her voice a soft chirp of surprise, her fangs peeking out as she glanced at Saizou's floating form. "Even after he tried to pulverize you?"

Neku shrugged, his smirk creeping back, a lazy curve that didn't quite hide the glint in his eyes. "Why not? Dude's a pain in the ass, but he's already down. Wouldn't feel right just leaving him here to rot." He shifted his weight, the air around Saizou shimmering as he adjusted the psychic hold. "Plus, the infirmary's on the way. Might as well." He started walking, his sneakers crunching over the debrisstrewn dirt, Saizou's massive body drifting alongside him like a grotesque balloon. He paused, glancing over his shoulder at Moka. "You coming or what?"

"Ooh yeah, I'll be right there!" Moka stammered, her cheeks flushing faintly as she hurried to catch up, her steps quick and light. Her books jostled in her arms, her skirt swaying with each stride, and she fell into pace beside him, her green eyes flicking between Neku and the floating Saizou. As they walked, her mind buzzed with a quiet wonder. Neku… he's got such a kind heart, doesn't he? she thought, her gaze softening as she watched him. Sure, he'd just beaten Saizou into the ground without breaking a sweat, his pins turning the fight into a onesided spectacle—but here he was, making sure the guy didn't get left behind. It wasn't just strength; it was something deeper, a steady compassion that hid beneath his sharp edges and dry quips. She'd seen how he fought, fierce and unrelenting, but this? This was different. It was gentle, in its own way, and it made her chest feel warm, like a little spark flickering to life. He's not like the others here, she mused, her fangs catching her lip as she smiled to herself. He's tough, but he cares. That's… really special.

The two trekked across the field toward Yōkai Academy, the distant spires of the school rising against the horizon like a gothic mirage. Saizou bobbed along beside them, his unconscious bulk swaying slightly in the psychic grip, a ridiculous sight that turned their walk into something almost comical. Neku's smirk widened as he caught Moka stifling a giggle, her hand pressed to her mouth, and soon they were both laughing—quiet at first, then louder, the sound bubbling up like a shared secret. The image of two teenagers strolling off, joking and chuckling while one psychokinetically hauled a monster like a makeshift kite, was a peculiar sight,a snapshot of chaos and camaraderie that felt uniquely theirs.

One thing was for sure: Yōkai Academy was in for one hell of a ride.

"…I can still kick him in the shins though, right?"

"Go for it."

"Yay!"

WHACK

"AUUUUUUUUUUUGH!"

Yep. One hell of a ride.