Hitoshi's eyes flashed with fury as she slammed her fist down on Nezu's desk. The crack that split through the wood was like a snap of thunder, reverberating through the room. Her hands were trembling—not with fear, but with the kind of frustration that was building into something darker. Her sharp gaze never left Nezu, who sat there calmly, the tea in his hand never shaking as if he were some kind of unshakable mountain. He could read the room; he knew what was coming.

"What in the hell do you mean you can't do anything about it?" Hitoshi's voice was low, venomous, but tinged with panic. She was trying to hold herself together, trying to push down the dread clawing at her chest, but it was impossible. Izuku was out there. Her Izuku. And no one was lifting a finger.

Nezu glanced over the rim of his tea cup, not looking remotely disturbed by Hitoshi's outburst. Behind him, Present Mic and Aizawa were quieter than usual. Present Mic kept glancing between Nezu and Hitoshi, his usually carefree attitude replaced with a grim concern. Aizawa remained silent, but his sharp eyes were locked onto Hitoshi, the same worry that gnawed at her twisting in his expression.

"I'm not saying we can't do anything," Nezu replied, his voice cool and measured, "I'm saying the situation is more complicated than you think."

Hitoshi's breath hitched in frustration. Complicated? It wasn't complicated. Izuku was a target. His body, his mind, both had been corrupted by the manipulations of that woman. And now, this? The Low End Girls had him, and they would not let him go easily. They were dangerous, unpredictable, and—Hitoshi's blood boiled—if they got their way, they would twist Izuku into something even worse than the mess he'd already been made.

"I don't care how complicated it is, Nezu. Izuku's life is at stake!" Her hands balled into fists again, nails digging into her palms. She stepped closer to the desk, leaning over it, not caring if she looked reckless. "Do you have any idea what his mentality is like? He may look like a teenager, but that boy... he's a child trapped in an adult's world. He doesn't even realize what's happening to him. He's been brainwashed. And you're just sitting there with your damn tea."

There was a tense silence in the room.

Nezu didn't flinch. He simply set the tea cup down, meeting Hitoshi's eyes with an expression she couldn't quite place. It was almost...pitiful.

"Aizawa," Nezu said calmly, as if Hitoshi hadn't just erupted in front of him. "Present Mic... you know the complexity of this situation better than anyone. How many lives are we willing to risk for one?"

Hitoshi's blood ran cold. "What the hell do you mean by that?" she hissed.

Aizawa stood up slowly, his usual somberness heavy in the air. He walked over to Hitoshi, his expression unreadable but his presence almost suffocating. He placed a hand on her shoulder, the weight of it heavy, not in comfort, but in something she couldn't decipher.

"Nezu's not wrong," Aizawa said, his voice quiet but firm. "Izuku has become a pawn in something much bigger than we can handle. But we also have to consider the bigger picture."

Hitoshi jerked away from Aizawa's touch, her heart pounding as she turned away, pacing furiously. "The bigger picture?" she repeated in disbelief. "What's the bigger picture? All that matters right now is Izuku. He needs us now, not some political chess game!" She spun to face Aizawa, her eyes full of desperation. "I'm going to get him back. Whether you help or not."

Nezu finally spoke again, his voice cutting through the tension with eerie calmness. "Shinsou," he said, his tone even, "you'll need more than anger to solve this. This isn't a simple rescue mission. The Low End Girls are well connected. And Izuku...his mind is not just fragile. It's twisted in ways you don't understand. We can't rush in without considering all consequences."

Her chest tightened, the weight of Nezu's words sinking in. "I know he's fragile," she whispered, voice breaking for the first time. "But I also know that if we don't move now, there might not be anything left of him to save."

There was a heavy silence in the room, but this time, it wasn't just Hitoshi who was breathing heavily.

The tension in the room escalated as Hitoshi's fury flared once more. She felt like her chest was on fire, her heart racing with each word that left her lips. Her hands shook, but her anger burned hotter than the shaking.

"Nightingale," she spat, the name left a venomous hiss in her throat. "The same Nightingale who stole his innocence. The same Nightingale who plans to turn him into a mindless slave." She slammed her fist down on Nezu's desk again, the crack of the wood now echoing through the room. "What in the hell were you thinking?"

Nezu didn't flinch, his demeanor unchanged. He set down his tea cup carefully, his eyes narrowing slightly but never losing their usual calm composure.

"I'm aware of the bond, Hitoshi. It was documented in Izuku's files before he was admitted here," Nezu replied, his voice soft, almost too calm. "And no, Izuku wasn't exactly 'kidnapped.' He's merely returning to his mistress, Nightingale, as per the bond established years ago."

The words hit Hitoshi like a slap to the face. "Returning?" Her voice rose in disbelief. "You're letting him go back to that woman? To her? The one who hurt him so damn badly?!" Her fists clenched at her sides.

Aizawa stood from his chair, his sharp gaze cutting through the air, and intervened. "You don't think we know this?" His voice was measured, but there was an undeniable edge to it. "We're acutely aware of his profile. What's happening to him? We get it."

Hitoshi's breath caught in her throat as she locked eyes with Aizawa. She could feel her anger turning to a raw, aching pain. "Then why the hell would you allow him to go back to her? To the very person who caused him all this pain? You're sending him straight back to hell." She was practically shaking with the weight of her own emotions, her voice laced with betrayal and disbelief.

Present Mic let out a heavy sigh, leaning back in his chair, looking every bit as exhausted as Hitoshi felt. "It's complicated, Hitoshi," he said slowly, his tone flat and resigned. "When it comes to a blood oath—whether willingly or not—it can't be broken. And Nightingale holds seniority over him. She's of a higher rank than anyone here."

Hitoshi scoffed bitterly, the words feeling like a slap across her face. "Bullshit," she muttered, her voice shaking with frustration. "You're telling me this is about rank? You'd rather let Izuku go back to that monster because of some damn oath? It's one thing to send him with the Low End Girls, but to involve Kayama-sensei in this?" Her voice cracked, and she slammed the desk again, her fists trembling with fury.

Nezu's eyes darkened slightly, but his voice remained eerily calm. "Kayama-sensei wouldn't do anything drastic. She knows better," he said, almost dismissively.

But Hitoshi wasn't backing down. "Kayama-sensei is involved with them," she shot back, her voice rising to a near-shout. "If it wasn't for me—if I hadn't intervened—Izuku would be nothing more than a shriveled raisin by now. You think she wouldn't let them do that to him? You think she wouldn't have enjoyed watching him suffer?"

Present Mic shifted in his seat, his face growing darker. "That's enough, Hitoshi," he said softly, but firmly. "We understand your anger. We do. But it's not as simple as you think."

"Not as simple?" Hitoshi's voice was almost a growl now, the tension in the room nearly unbearable. "You're telling me you're willing to sacrifice Izuku just because of some twisted rules, some ridiculous chain of command? You're all sitting on your asses, acting like protocol matters more than his damn life!"

Aizawa's voice cut through the noise, low and sharp, as he finally stepped forward. "We know what's at stake, Shinsou," he said, his gaze steely. "This isn't just about a blood oath. At the end of the day, this is all about the bigger picture. The consequences of breaking that bond could be catastrophic, for Izuku and for all of us. We're walking a tightrope, and we're doing everything we can to protect him. But we can't just go in guns blazing and expect it to end well."

Hitoshi felt her heart race as she looked at Aizawa, trying to keep herself from breaking down in front of them all. "Then do something," she whispered harshly. "Stop hiding behind rules. Get Izuku away from her before it's too late."

Nezu's eyes softened just slightly, the weight of the situation settling into his expression. "We're trying, Shinsou. But the threads we're pulling are more delicate than you realize. If we move too quickly, we risk pushing him further into Nightingale's control. We can't afford that."

Hitoshi's eyes burned, her body trembling as she stared at them, trying to wrap her mind around what was being said. Move too quickly? They were already too late. Izuku had already been dragged back into the pit, and if they didn't act now, there might not be a Izuku left to save.

Hitoshi's arms folded tightly across her chest, her gaze seething with contempt as she stared down the men in the room. Her words were like a razor cutting through the tense silence, sharp and unforgiving.

"That's it," she said, her voice dripping with venom. "We're basically sending Izuku back to that bitch on a silver platter. Why not put a sign out saying 'free slaves, take your pick'?" Her words hung in the air, thick with fury.

Aizawa, his expression hardening as he stepped forward, was the first to respond. "Mind your tongue, you. Don't say anything that you're going to regret."

But Hitoshi was beyond regret now. She was beyond holding back. Without missing a beat, she spat at the ground, her disgust palpable in the air. "What more is there to say?" Her voice was a guttural growl now. "I thought I could go to my resourceful teachers to help a defenseless boy in need. A boy who needs rescuing more than life itself. Are you even aware of what she's done to him inside and out? Practically dipped his paintbrush, and there's no consequence, all because of some archaic rule?"

Her words crashed into the room like a storm, the raw anger building until it could barely be contained. She narrowed her eyes, her gaze hardening like steel. "Hear. This. Now. If my precious Icchan gets hurt because you all want to play neutral, then the blood is on all of your hands."

With that final declaration, her heart pounding like thunder in her chest, Hitoshi spun on her heel and stormed out of Nezu's office. The door slammed shut behind her, a sharp echo that rang through the silence, amplifying the weight of her frustration. The sound reverberated, and for a moment, everything felt suspended in a suffocating quiet.

Her mind was a whirlwind of thoughts, each one faster than the last. How could they let this happen? How could they be so...passive? They were supposed to protect Izuku, to be the ones to stop this nightmare before it got any worse. But now, it felt like they were just letting him slip through their fingers.

She had already formed the sacred blood bond with him. The feeling of that connection, deep and permanent, still pulsed within her, but now... now, it was nothing but static. Her senses screamed at her, the bond, once clear and full of warmth, now a cold, empty pulse. Nightingale's energy had grown stronger, an unrelenting wave that clung to the bond like a predator stalking its prey. It was getting louder, darker... and she could feel it in the pit of her stomach, a knot of dread she couldn't shake.

The nerve of those Low End bitches. The way they had taken him away, using his blood like some kind of liquid asset. As if Izuku was nothing more than a resource to be drained and discarded. But what they didn't realize—what they couldn't possibly know—was that when they were done with him, when they had drained every last drop of life from his veins, he would be their plaything. Their puppet, their object to do with as they pleased. And that, above all else, was unforgivable.

The weight of it all crushed down on her. This wasn't just about rescue; this was about vengeance, about protecting the boy who had been through so much, the boy who had been broken and rebuilt in ways no one should ever have to endure. And yet here she was, with her hands tied by rules that meant nothing in the face of this injustice.

She could feel her anger stirring again, simmering just beneath the surface. But this time, it was different. This time, she wasn't going to let them hide behind their protocols or their rules. She would find a way, by any means necessary, to rip him away from Nightingale's clutches, to bring him back—whole.

And if they wouldn't help her, if they wouldn't act...then she would do it herself.

Meanwhile….

The van's headlights sliced through the thick darkness, illuminating the immaculately paved road as Kayama-sensei guided the vehicle deeper into Musutafu's Upper-Class District. Rows of luxurious homes loomed on either side, their stately silhouettes partially hidden by high stone walls and ornate wrought-iron gates. The air itself felt different here—heavy with the subtle scent of jasmine from the neatly manicured gardens, mixed faintly with the earthy aroma of recently watered grass.

When the vehicle finally slowed to a halt at the entrance of a particularly grand estate, Kayama-sensei's eyes scanned the imposing gate before her. Intricate ironwork spiraled gracefully into shapes reminiscent of thorned roses, a clear yet subtle warning to those who dared to enter without invitation. An electronic keypad, discreetly illuminated by a dim amber glow, awaited the code to grant passage into the estate beyond.

"Yaoyorozu," Kayama-sensei spoke sharply, turning her head over her shoulder, only to witness Momo leaning over, her lips locked onto Kyouka's slender neck, tasting the young vampire's sweet essence. Irritated by the display, Kayama hurled an empty soda can toward the duo, causing Jirou to recoil instinctively with an indignant hiss, sharp fangs momentarily exposed.

"Hey, you pervs. Snap out of it and give me the access code," Kayama reiterated firmly, an annoyed edge clear in her voice.

Yaoyorozu, slightly dazed from being interrupted, gingerly rubbed the spot where the can had struck her head. Grumbling quietly, she turned toward Jirou, who sighed impatiently and reached into her backpack, pulling out a crumpled slip of paper.

"0715," Jirou announced, eyes narrowing slightly as she muttered "bitch" under her breath, quietly enough to avoid another reprimand from their teacher.

Satisfied, Kayama punched in the numbers with manicured fingers, each tap on the keypad sounding louder than the last in the tense silence. There was a brief pause, followed by a soft electronic chime. The gate slowly parted, releasing an audible creak as the elegant metalwork unfolded to grant access.

As the van ascended the driveway, its tires rolled smoothly over pale stones, each perfectly placed to form intricate patterns resembling swirling roses and thorny vines, echoing the motif at the gate. Rows of meticulously pruned hedges guided their path forward, while antique-style lanterns cast a ghostly amber glow over the gardens, which were beautifully landscaped yet carried an air of quiet foreboding.

In the back seat, Ochako comfortingly held Izuku, the young man entirely unaware of the dark intentions surrounding him. He cheerfully toyed with his treasured Kamen Rider figurines, his expression soft and utterly oblivious, a stark contrast to the sharpened, predatory glances directed toward him.

Jirou eyed Izuku in the rearview mirror, the corner of her lips twitching upward as she spoke, her voice dripping with sardonic amusement. "How's our little blood doll back there?"

Ochako protectively ruffled Izuku's emerald curls affectionately. "In good hands, sensei," she replied sweetly, casting Jirou a meaningful glare as if to assert her temporary ownership.

Kayama-sensei smiled indulgently, her tongue flicking over the sharp points of her fangs. "Excellent. The more innocent he remains, the sweeter he'll taste."

Soon, their destination loomed ahead—a sprawling mansion of gothic grandeur known as the Nightingale manor. Rising ominously against the velvet night sky, the structure was constructed from stone aged to a deep, shadowy gray, accented by towering spires and looming gargoyles that appeared to stare down at them with watchful stone eyes. Heavy wooden doors, dark as ebony, waited expectantly beneath intricately carved arches, illuminated dimly by flickering sconces.

Kayama brought the van to a halt just before the grand staircase, the engine humming gently before falling silent. The moment the vehicle stopped, the doors of the mansion opened soundlessly, revealing a line of impeccably dressed servants standing rigidly in welcome, their faces expressionless as porcelain dolls.

From the entryway emerged a dignified butler clad in a sharply tailored suit, his posture perfect as he bowed respectfully. "Welcome," he announced smoothly, his voice like velvet over steel. "Lady Nightingale has been eagerly awaiting your arrival."

Kayama stepped gracefully from the van, her heeled boots clicking crisply on the stone pavement as she moved to join the servants awaiting them. Ochako gently coaxed Izuku from his seat, holding his hand protectively, while the other girls flanked him closely, eyes glinting with anticipation.

Approaching Izuku, Kayama-sensei leaned down, brushing his cheek gently with her finger, drawing the faintest trickle of red. Her smile widened, darkly amused by the innocent confusion reflected in his wide, trusting eyes. "Come, little doll," she whispered tenderly. "Your mistress awaits."

A few minutes later….

The butler led them quietly into the richly furnished parlor room, the lavish surroundings enveloping them immediately. Plush velvet curtains cascaded from floor-to-ceiling windows, framing the moonlit gardens beyond. Walls lined with dark oak shelves held leather-bound tomes, ancient in appearance, their spines shimmering faintly under the glow of brass wall sconces.

Mina, Momo, and Kyouka settled onto an elegant burgundy couch, the fabric plush beneath their fingertips. Across from them, Kayama-sensei gracefully reclined on a matching sofa, her movements fluid, predatory even in rest. Beside her, Ochako guided Izuku to sit, gently patting his head as the boy eagerly resumed his imaginary battles, completely absorbed in the plastic world of heroes and villains.

The quiet crackling of logs in the ornate marble fireplace filled the silence, casting long shadows that danced across the walls, creating an eerie yet inviting atmosphere. Aromas of roasting chestnuts drifted delicately through the room, warm and sweet, blending harmoniously with the faint scent of aged mahogany.

Ochako's eyes lingered on Izuku, a pang of guilt momentarily flickering through her dark gaze. He was so pure, utterly untouched by the darkness that surrounded him. Yet, her conscience quickly surrendered to a deeper, instinctual craving. Her tongue darted out, moistening her lips as a thin trickle of drool slid down her porcelain cheek. He was perfection—sweet, innocent, utterly delectable.

The heavy wooden door swung open once more, the butler gliding silently back into the parlor. His voice was smooth, resonating softly as he asked, "Might I offer refreshments for our honored guests?"

Kyouka spoke first, her tone sultry and playful, "Cherry wine, please."

One by one, the other girls murmured in agreement, a chorus of quiet assent echoing through the luxurious room. Izuku remained oblivious, too entranced by his toys to even notice the conversation.

The butler inclined his head respectfully and withdrew. When the door reopened moments later, he was no longer alone. Beside him stood two young women, clearly foreign in their appearance, both with flowing golden hair cascading neatly over their shoulders. Their sapphire-blue eyes sparkled with nervous curiosity, and their delicate forms were elegantly showcased in pristine Catholic schoolgirl uniforms: crisply pressed white shirts, navy blue skirts, knee-high stockings, and polished black Mary Jane shoes. Silver crosses dangled from thin chains around their slender necks, glinting softly in the firelight.

Mina's eyes widened, her pink skin glowing softly in anticipation, as she leaned forward hungrily. A playful, wicked grin tugged at her lips, revealing her sharp fangs. "Ah, girls of faith," she purred sensually, eyes flickering hungrily between the newcomers. "My favorite kind of taste."

The blonde girls obediently moved toward their designated couches without hesitation, almost dreamlike in their movements, their expressions clouded with an enchanting innocence. As soon as they reached the couches, Momo gently pulled one onto her lap, while Kyouka softly tugged the other closer. Mina moved swiftly, her hands caressing the soft neck before her. In an instant, sharp fangs pierced delicate skin, eliciting soft gasps from the young women as a thick, sweet nectar began to flow.

Ochako watched briefly, the sounds of gentle drinking, whispers, and muffled moans filling the room. Her heart quickened, excitement building as her gaze drifted back to Izuku. Soon, she thought longingly, feeling her hunger rise. Soon she would have her own sweet, innocent taste—her little blood doll, completely unaware of the feast awaiting him.

Izuku's focus broke away from his toys, his curious emerald eyes widening at the unfamiliar sounds echoing through the parlor. Soft, eager slurping noises and gentle moans filled the room, prompting him to glance upward with innocent bewilderment. He set his Kamen Rider figurines carefully in his lap, his gaze locked onto the scene unfolding before him.

He watched, puzzled, as Mina eagerly pressed her lips against the foreign girl's pale neck, her fangs deeply embedded, savoring the rich, crimson nectar. Momo cradled the blonde gently, running her tongue delicately over the fresh puncture marks, catching every droplet of blood as it trickled down porcelain skin. Kyouka tenderly caressed the other girl's cheek before sinking her teeth in once more, her eyes fluttering closed in pleasure as she drank.

Pointing hesitantly with one finger, Izuku asked in a childlike voice, clear and innocent, "What are they doing?"

Kayama-sensei turned to Izuku, smiling sweetly, her dark eyes gleaming mischievously behind her glasses. "That's just what happens when you love someone, dear."

Izuku blinked slowly, confusion clearly etched across his youthful features. "Two girls can do that?" he questioned innocently. "Mommy says it only happens between a man and a woman."

His words were met with immediate, roaring laughter echoing off the elegant walls, each girl unable to contain their amusement at his sweet, genuine naivety. Mina giggled, nearly spilling her drink as she wiped tears from her eyes. Momo chuckled warmly, lovingly licking the remaining drops of blood from the girl's skin, giving Izuku an affectionate glance. "Oh my God, he's so adorable—it's almost criminal."

Kyouka smiled slyly, her lips still stained a faint crimson. She pressed a lingering, comforting kiss onto the young woman's flushed cheek, then smirked knowingly at Izuku. "Traditionalist, moralist Christians, I bet," she mused, gently nudging the blonde toward Ochako and Kayama-sensei. "Come now, sweetheart, give our teacher and Ochako a taste."

Obediently, the girl slowly made her way across the plush carpet, settling submissively between Ochako and Kayama-sensei. The two eagerly accepted their share, sharp fangs sinking delicately into her soft flesh, the room once again filled with the tantalizing music of delicate, indulgent feeding.

Kyouka couldn't resist returning her attention to Izuku, who was watching with fascination. She patted the spot beside her, smiling softly. "God, Midoriya, you really are just too precious. Come here and sit next to me."

Izuku obediently set aside his toys, carefully walking over to Kyouka, his cheeks already tinged with pink as he took a seat beside her. She gently stroked his tousled hair, observing him curiously before leaning closer, her voice dropping to a hushed whisper. "Tell me, Midoriya, have you ever kissed a girl before?"

Izuku's blush deepened dramatically, his eyes darting shyly downward. "Um… just once, from my onee-chan, Hitoshi," he admitted timidly.

Kyouka laughed softly, shaking her head. "No, sweetie. I mean a real kiss." Before Izuku could process her words, Kyouka's fingers grasped the collar of his shirt, gently pulling him toward her. Her lips, warm and soft but tinged with the intoxicating flavor of cherry wine, met his in a tender, yet possessive kiss.

Izuku's eyes widened in surprise, unsure of how to respond, how to breathe. His mind raced with confusion and innocent curiosity as Kyouka deepened the kiss, savoring his sweet, untouched innocence as though it were the finest delicacy of all.

Kyouka pulled back slowly, her breath soft against Izuku's trembling lips as she murmured gently, "Did it feel good, Midoriya-kun?"

Izuku's face flushed a vibrant shade of crimson, eyes wide and uncertain, clearly overwhelmed by sensations he had never experienced before. His lips parted slightly, fumbling for words that refused to form. He stared back at her, bashful silence answering more clearly than words could.

Momo watched the scene unfold with a blend of fascination and impatience. With a slight sigh and a confident smile, she gently pushed Kyouka aside, gracefully taking her place. "Allow me, Kyouka," she purred softly. Her lips swiftly enveloped Izuku's, delicate yet passionately assertive. Izuku's heart raced as Momo's kiss deepened, her mouth sweet and impossibly tender, yet tinged with something thick, rich, and syrupy.

Kyouka rolled her eyes dramatically, clicking her tongue. "Fine, have your fun," she grumbled, returning her attention to the blonde girl, who shivered in anticipation as Kyouka resumed tasting the girl's delicate neck.

Izuku hesitantly pulled away from Momo, his tongue instinctively flicking out to savor the lingering sweetness. Eyes sparkling with innocent curiosity, he softly murmured, "It tastes... like syrup."

Momo's smile widened knowingly, her dark eyes glistening mischievously. She stroked his cheek tenderly, tilting her head playfully. "Would you like to know where that lovely taste came from, I-zu-ku?"

His heart fluttering nervously, Izuku nodded shyly, eyes filled with genuine curiosity.

Momo glanced toward Kyouka, gently commanding, "Kyouka, let our sweet little Izuku have a taste."

Kyouka smiled indulgently, eyes flashing with amusement. She guided the blonde girl gently forward. Obediently, the girl tilted her slender neck upwards, the fresh bite marks gleaming invitingly under the soft amber glow from the fireplace.

Izuku hesitated, overcome with shyness, carefully dipping a single trembling finger into the tiny rivulet of crimson streaming down the girl's porcelain skin. With a cautious, uncertain expression, he placed his finger to his lips. His eyes widened instantly at the tantalizing flavor that burst across his tongue, sweet and rich, like syrup infused with ripe cherries.

Kyouka, voice soft and encouraging, whispered to him, "Don't be afraid, Midoriya-kun. Taste her directly."

"Sorry..." Izuku murmured bashfully, before leaning forward hesitantly. His pink tongue gently lapped at the warm blood, the sweetness overwhelming his senses. His pupils dilated, heart pounding as a new craving awoke within him, growing stronger with each intoxicating taste.

Kayama-sensei observed him thoughtfully, her smirk darkening with amused surprise. "Well, well," she purred softly, leaning back comfortably. "It appears our innocent little cinnamon roll isn't quite as pure as we thought."

Suddenly emboldened, Izuku wrapped his arms instinctively around the blonde girl, burying his face eagerly into the crook of her neck, lapping hungrily. The girl's eyes fluttered shut as she shuddered in his embrace, an odd, sly smile forming on her delicate lips.

Before anyone could react, the blonde girl's delicate fingers tightened possessively around Izuku's back, her sapphire-blue eyes abruptly flashing scarlet as her lips parted to reveal sharp, predatory fangs. With lightning-fast reflexes, Kayama-sensei lunged forward, grabbing Izuku by the collar and yanking him roughly backward, away from the suddenly feral young woman.

"Get away from him!" Kayama-sensei hissed fiercely, her own fangs exposed menacingly. Her eyes narrowed suspiciously, surprise and fury flashing across her features. "She's a vampire!"

The room descended into tense silence, the delicate facade of innocent indulgence shattered in an instant, leaving them all staring uneasily at the mysterious blonde intruder, who merely licked her lips with a dangerous, knowing smile.

The snarling blonde's eyes glowed with a demonic hunger, her once-submissive demeanor stripped away, revealing the feral beast within. Crawling with inhuman speed, her claws scraped the floor as she growled low in her throat, amber-tinged saliva dribbling from her fangs.

"I can smell the sweetness," she rasped, her voice thick with desire. "Sweeter than candy. Let me have a taste of that liquid platinum…"

She lunged, but was immediately intercepted—Mina tackled her from the side, pinning her by the shoulders, while Momo gripped her waist and Kyouka grabbed a fistful of the vampire's hair, wrenching her back with surprising force.

"Back off, blood hag!" Kyouka snapped, her eyes glowing violet with irritation.

"Must feed! Must feed…must breed!" the girl shrieked, her voice distorting into something demonic and inhuman. Her limbs flailed, jerking with animalistic desperation as her mouth opened impossibly wide, aiming blindly for Izuku.

Izuku scrambled backward, heart pounding. He clambered behind the couch, eyes wet and wide as he whimpered softly, too afraid to call for help, too confused to understand why everything was unraveling.

Then—

"That is enough."

The room fell still. The vampire girl froze in place, her claws retracting slowly as the command washed over her like a tidal wave of dread.

Footsteps echoed in slow, deliberate rhythm, clicking gracefully against the hardwood as a figure emerged from the darkened corridor just beyond the parlor's edge. Every girl turned toward the sound instinctively, instinct and reverence sharpening their posture.

And then she stepped into view.

The woman moved like midnight itself had taken shape and woven itself into flesh. Her black hair was cut short and sharp, framing a face so pale it glowed like alabaster touched by frost. Yet her skin held a subtle glow—an ethereal gleam as if blessed by moonlight and stained by the blush of a dying rose.

Her eyes—amber, deep, and ancient—scanned the room, glinting with danger and knowing. They did not blink. They did not falter. They saw.

The dress she wore hugged her form with regal precision, its deep forest green shade seeming to shimmer like shifting shadows with every fluid step she took. Gold embroidery traced ancient symbols and arcs along the collar and hem, their meaning unknown but unmistakably powerful. The neckline framed the curve of her throat with deliberate invitation—a cruel taunt for lesser vampires who dared meet her gaze.

Izuku peeked out from behind the couch, his breath caught in his chest. His eyes were drawn helplessly to the woman's lips—painted the color of ripened cherries—and curled into a smile. But it wasn't warm. It was seductive, sharp-edged, and somehow... inevitable. A smile of ownership. Of quiet triumph.

It was the kind of smile that said: I've been waiting for this moment. I've been waiting for you.

And as her amber gaze finally locked onto Izuku, her tongue pressed softly against the inside of her cheek, the smile deepened—no longer amused, but possessive.

"You've grown, my little darling," she whispered, her voice soft and heavy, like velvet soaked in wine. "And yet… still so sweet."

Back to Hitoshi….

Hitoshi was bent over her backpack, checking the contents one last time, her mind a jumble of thoughts. She didn't know where to start—Izuku could be anywhere, and Nightingale's influence was only growing stronger, a shadow hanging over everything. But Hitoshi had never been one to back down from a fight, especially when it came to someone she cared about. Her heart pounded with the urgency of the moment, the weight of what she was about to do.

She zipped up the backpack and slung it over her shoulder. Her fingers brushed against the hidden kit inside, a set of tools she hoped she wouldn't have to use, but had prepared for anyway. She knew she was up against vampires far stronger than her, but that wasn't going to stop her. Her eyes narrowed, determination setting in. I'll find you, Izuku. I'll get you out of there. I'll make sure she never touches you again.

The moment of quiet was shattered by a voice from the doorway, a familiar tone cutting through her focus. "Seems like my little fishy is on a hunt for her Icchan."

Hitoshi's jaw tightened, her muscles coiling in reflex, but she didn't look up. She was too focused on the task ahead. She was this close to leaving when she realized her mistake: the door had been left unlocked.

The knock on the door was soft but firm. Hitoshi sighed, exasperated, before muttering under her breath, "What in the hell do you want, Riko?"

She turned, expecting to find the annoyance of her past looming on the other side. What she didn't expect was the sight of her ex-girlfriend Riko Yamada standing there, framed in the doorway, her presence a stark contrast to the storm of emotions swirling inside Hitoshi's mind.

Riko stood there, casually composed, her dark brown hair falling in soft waves just past her shoulders, a few stray strands framing her face. There was something effortlessly graceful about her, something that made her presence commanding without needing to raise her voice. She wasn't flashy, but everything about her spoke volumes—confidence in the simplest way. Her eyes, deep brown and warm, studied Hitoshi with a quiet, almost unnerving patience. It felt as though she could see right through her, read her thoughts without needing to say a word.

Riko's posture was relaxed, but there was strength in the way she carried herself. She wasn't tall, just a couple inches shorter than Hitoshi, but there was a quiet resilience in the way she held herself. Lean and athletic, her build suggested a life lived in motion, each movement controlled, deliberate. She wasn't trying to stand out, but somehow, in her calm, steady way, she did.

For a moment, the air between them thickened with the weight of their history. It had been a while since they'd seen each other, since things had fallen apart. The tension between them wasn't just in the silence; it was in every unspoken word, every shared memory. But Hitoshi wasn't in the mood for nostalgia.

She crossed her arms, her voice laced with irritation. "What do you want, Riko?"

Riko didn't immediately respond. Instead, she stepped forward just enough to close the door softly behind her, the motion graceful and almost deliberate. She let the silence hang for a moment before speaking, her voice soft but steady. "I know you're about to do something stupid, Hitoshi. And I know you're going after him."

Hitoshi's eyes narrowed, her heart rate quickening at the mention of Izuku. "What the hell do you know about it? This doesn't concern you."

Riko's gaze didn't waver, her calm demeanor never slipping. She was always like this—cool under pressure, knowing exactly what to say to get under Hitoshi's skin. But there was something different this time. The concern in her eyes was unmistakable.

"You're going after him," Riko repeated, her voice carrying a weight that Hitoshi didn't want to acknowledge. "And you're going to get yourself killed if you're not careful."

Hitoshi stiffened, her frustration bubbling over. "I don't need your help, Riko. This is my problem, not yours. So stay out of it."

But Riko wasn't backing down. She took a step closer, her presence suddenly more imposing than it had been. "I never said I was going to help you," she said quietly, her eyes softening. "I'm just... trying to get through to you. Think about what you're doing. Think about what you're walking into."

Hitoshi felt a knot form in her stomach, something between fear and anger. "I'm doing what I have to do. You wouldn't understand."

Riko shook her head slightly, as if she'd expected the response. "Maybe I wouldn't," she said, her tone gentle but firm. "But I do know you, Hitoshi. And I know that if you go down this path, you'll regret it. You can't save him if you're dead."

Hitoshi stood there for a long moment, her chest tight with the weight of Riko's words. She wanted to push her away, to ignore her, to keep moving forward, but there was something in Riko's gaze that stopped her—a truth that she couldn't deny.

Finally, she exhaled sharply, dropping her arms. "I don't have time for this," she muttered, but there was an edge of uncertainty in her voice. Riko's gaze never left her, and for the first time in a long while, Hitoshi wondered if maybe, just maybe, Riko was right.

Riko didn't move, but her voice was steady. "Be careful, Hitoshi. And if you need help... you know where to find me."

With that, Riko turned to leave, her presence lingering in the room like a soft, painful reminder of everything Hitoshi had left behind.

As the door clicked shut behind her, Hitoshi stood still for a moment, her heart racing. She didn't know what would happen next, but there was one thing she was certain of—she wasn't turning back now. Not until she had Izuku safe.

And if it meant breaking every rule, every law, every damn thing standing in her way, then that was exactly what she would do.

To be continued…..