I shook my head at Shion, furious. "Don't you realize when you step over a line?"
Shion just shrugged, like it was a multiple-choice question, and she picked the most chaotic answer out of habit.
"Don't you get what just happened?" she asked, sounding more annoyed than guilty. "Didn't you hear what Ken admitted? He can't fight you. Maybe it's some twisted sense of honor, or maybe he's just scared of breaking the school rules. Either way, he can't fight you."
I furrowed by brow, not getting it.
She rolled her eyes. "He was trying to goad you into throwing the first punch, Ryu. And let's be honest—it almost worked. If Takamaru-sensei hadn't shown up, you would've. And maybe you'd have won, maybe not. But either way? You'd have been playing right into Ken's hands."
She stepped in close, too close. "We've got to be smarter than that."
We?
She took another breath. "Anyways," she said. "I thought you wanted help in a fight. I thought you were trying to send a message to Ken. You know, something like 'Hey, I'm not the guy you mess with unless you want to get your face rearranged.'" She paused, then added, "Maybe even realize you are a dragon."
She let out a sigh—not dramatic. Just tired.
Then she crossed her arms. "I'm trying to help," she said. "If I crossed a line, then… gah," she scoffed. "It's hard sometimes. Trying to figure out where I fit in, with humans, with monsters."
She shook her head.
Bits of blood fell off her fingernails.
"Where am I supposed to draw the line? What counts as 'too far' when everything about me already is?"
And just like that, my anger twisted into guilt.
Of course she didn't know. Of course she was just trying to helpme.
"Shion," I said.
At least I wanted to believe her.
The blood on her hands was still fresh, like paint on cracked porcelain. The half-wild look in her eyes was gone now, replaced with her usual dry, waterless stare.
I imagined I saw concern.
"You don't have to apologize," I said.
She smirked. "Good. Because I didn't."
I should have seen that coming.
"Go wash up," I said quietly. "I've gotta go into town."
She didn't move.
"Can we wait a minute?" she asked.
Then she stepped closer, and if she had been alive, I would've felt the heat from her body.
"Come here for a second," she said.
She put her arms around me.
"What are you doing?" I asked.
"Getting supper. Your ghost girlfriend's going to be looking for you in a few minutes, and I don't want to hear her lecture."
I put my arm between the two of us. "Wait. We still don't know what—"
"Shh," she whispered. "I told you, Ryu. My feeding has nothing to do with that. And… if it's doing anything at all, it's brining you closer to Yuki, right?"
She leaned her forehead against mine.
It felt cool, like marble, and I didn't move.
"Shion… I don't think it's you, per se. When you do that… it feels like you're waking something up in me."
She backed up, bringing her eyes to meet mine.
She smiled enough to show off her fangs. "Then let me help you, quick, before your girlfriend catches us."
Before I could even argue with her, she leaned forward and bit me.
And I was dumb enough to stand there, and let her as the dead woods surrounded the two of us.
When she finished she simply let go and I waited. Nothing happened.
This time.
She shook her head, wiping my blood from her lips.
"See? You and Yuki make such a big deal out of it."
I touched where she'd bitten me, wondering why it was different.
She nodded once and turned. "I'll wash up and look decent for your sake. I'll meet you by the front gates in a few. I'll get my bike."
As she walked toward the dorms, she called over her shoulder. "By the way, I saw Yuki heading into Azuki's room when I left."
My stomach dropped.
I felt my pulse thud in my ears. "Oh no," I muttered.
Because whatever Azuki was doing with Yuki? I already knew it wasn't going to be quiet, subtle, or anything short of cosmic glitter-level chaos.
I was waiting by the gates, trying to act normal. Like I hadn't just been bitten in the woods. Like I hadn't let her. Like I wasn't still feeling it—this strange cold in my neck that had nothing to do with blood and everything to do with something older and more dangerous than desire.
I touched the spot.
Still cold.
Still there.
And then I heard it—laughter. High-pitched, unfiltered joy, like a cartoon fairy had found a sugar stash and decided to declare war on subtlety.
Yuki was floating down the hill, spinning midair like a glittery hurricane of serotonin. And her hair…
"Oh my god," I whispered.
It was worse than I'd imagined. And she was beaming.
"Ryu!" she squealed, voice practically glowing. "Azuki braided my hair!"
Braided was… one word for it.
Her head was covered in a galaxy of tiny braids—some thick, some impossibly thin—all tied off with a tactical deployment of multicolored rubber bands, beads, plastic charms, tiny bells, and at least one holographic sticker shaped like a frog. I think I saw a candy cane woven into a fishtail braid.
It could've been part of the design. Or it could've just been… one of Azuki's candy canes.
It looked like a candy store and a Christmas tree had gotten into a fight and both of them had won.
But the kicker?
It worked.
Yuki's long, silver-white hair shimmered with its usual ethereal glow, but now it had been transformed into a cosmic rave lightshow—equal parts magical girl transformation and kindergarten art project.
"I love it," I said, doing my absolute best not to implode under the sheer force of weaponized adorableness.
She twirled again midair, her braids fanning out like enchanted ribbons. "She even let me pick out the bands myself! She said I had good taste!" she added, beaming with the pride of someone who had just been knighted by a chaos deity.
"You do," I said. And I meant it.
She smiled—soft, luminous, devastating.
And for a moment, the forest, the school, the blood on my neck, even the memory of Shion's fangs… it all faded into background noise.
Because Yuki was happy.
And when she was happy, it felt like the whole world was a little less broken.
I heard, and felt Shion's bicycle as it crunched the gravel behind me.
Yuki floated beside me and gently bumped my shoulder. "Ryu!"
I winced, not meaning to bump her. "Sorry."
Then I turned—and saw the stunned look on her face.
"We touched," she said, voice wavering, uncertain. Like she didn't want to say it out loud. Like she didn't want to wake up to discover it had been a dream.
She hovered just a few inches away. Inches that felt like miles, bridged for only a fraction of a second.
"Do you want to try again?" she asked.
I heard the squeal of brakes—Shion's bike rolled up behind us.
Yuki waited.
"It's okay," she whispered. "You and her… you're still figuring things out."
I shook my head. "Yuki. I want to try again."
Yuki's face lit up. "Me too."
She reached her hand towards mine.
"Hey," said Shion. "What are you—oh."
She saw. Just for a second.
"Are you two gonna hold hands now?" Shion asked.
"Did you see?" Yuki asked, her voice at least an octave higher than normal.
Shion took a breath. "Yes. I saw. He touched you."
Yuki squealed and floated around us in a circle. "Right on! And it worked this time!"
Shion raised an eyebrow in my direction. "This time? So, how often have you been playing the Dan Aykroyd ghost scene in your onsen room together?"
I scoffed. "Can't you just be happy for her? For me too. Azuki can touch her hair enough to braid it. I'm lucky to just get, like, barely a tap."
Shion tilted her head at me. Studying me again. "You know exactly what scene I'm talking about, don't you?"
She nodded. "Yeah… Let's see: Goonies. Ghost Busters…"
I felt my chest tighten.
"This sounds like a very interesting store on Japan's mainland."
She looked up at me. Her green, waterless eyes piecing everything together. How many times was Shion willing to forgive me and overlook my mistakes because of our friendship?
I wasn't a liar.
"Girls," I said. "Sometime, soon, I'm going to have to explain how I know so much about nineteen eighties movies."
Shion smirked. "Oh, please, don't keep me in suspense, Spielberg. I bet this'll be a bombshell."
Then she rolled her eyes.
"I'm quite fond of cinema from the fifties," said Yuki.