Epitaphs For Immortals

A hand touching his cheek brought Hayato back to consciousness.

His body felt heavy and cold, and suddenly, sharp pain coursed through him. His body was covered in countless sword and gunshot wounds, some of which were deadly.

. . . Where am I . . .

He opened his eyes. Someone was touching his cheek—a girl, it seemed. But he had lost too much blood, and his eyes wouldn't focus. Everything looked blurred.

He was in the woods, bathed a in cold, pale, silver light. The delicate figure standing there seemed no more than sixteen or seventeen years old. Her long hair, the same color as the moonlight shining overhead, flowed like silver threads in the midnight wind.

He touched his clothing. His skin, and even the fresh light blue haori he had worn over his chain mail were now dyed crimson red. That uniform was his pride.

The Shinsengumi.

Anyone in Kyoto during the shogunate's final days would have recognized that haori. It was the mark of the Shinsengumi, the elite combat unit of the shogunate forces known as the Wolves of Mibu. It was the unit Hayato belonged to, his pride, his very reason for living.

Until just a moment ago, that is.

He had been defeated and was about to die.

Why? How could this be?

He questioned himself with his dying, dulled mind. And found one answer.

January 1868. Kyoto—Toba and Fushimi.

The battle against the Western Domain Alliance—Satsuma, Choshu, and Tosa. The Tokugawa shogunate forces had suffered a crushing defeat, including Hayato's own Shinsengumi.

Hayato's heart flooded with regret. Yet for some reason, anger began bubbling up within him.

Still unable to focus, he looked around him. Corpses everywhere. All the bodies belonged to shogunate soldiers, including his fellow Shinsengumi.

Why? How could this be?

The reason for their crushing defeat—was it the difference in military equipment like Western-style cannons and new guns? No, that wasn't it.

The difference in total troop numbers? That wasn't it either. If numbers decided battles, the outcome should have been reversed.

The reason they lost the battle was . . .

Suddenly, his vision focused on the girl in front of him.

Those eyes glowed faintly in the darkness like exotic jewels. Her pale skin was far more translucent than ordinary people, reminiscent of waxwork.

And above all, behind her crimson lips, he glimpsed those unusually sharp canine teeth—no, they were fangs.

A vampire . . . !

The foreigners from the West who had arrived with the Black Ships, trying to change this country—they were ruled by a superhuman race that could only be called inhuman monsters. Their very existence was the reason the shogunate forces had suffered such a crushing defeat in this battle.

Hayato had heard that in the West, this vampire species occupied nearly every position of power in society—royalty, politicians, military leadership—treating humans like livestock or slaves.

Having built a civilization that expanded across the world, the vampires had grown dissatisfied with the West, their original domain, and extended their reach to the East. Even that vast Qing Dynasty had fallen completely under their control—the memory still fresh.

He had heard that the Satsuma and Choshu domains in Japan had already fallen under vampire control, but until this moment, Hayato had believed the Tokugawa Shogunate still possessed the strength to resist these terrifying invaders.

Bullets shattered their skulls, yet they kept advancing. Cannon blasts tore off their limbs, yet they rose again, reconstructing their bodies before his very eyes. These foreign soldiers—immortal beings that defied all logic—had been deployed as the New Government Army.

The shogunate forces naturally struggled, and their battle lines collapsed. Even so, Hayato rallied what fighting spirit remained and continued the battle. He fought with everything he had . . . only to end up like this.

Despite the intense hatred he directed straight at her, the girl showed no intention of leaving. She gazed at him as if she had never encountered the emotion before. No matter how fiercely he glared, it was completely useless against those transparent eyes.

With each passing second, what little strength remained in his body continued to ebb away.

Damn . . .

A-are you . . . all right?

The foreign girl—who should have been his enemy—spoke with what seemed like genuine concern for him. He wanted to brush away the hand she extended, but his grievously wounded body lacked even that much strength.

What are you . . .

Then suddenly, he realized there was yet another reason for his defeat. That's right—he must not forget. There was someone else who deserved his hatred even more.

That man's name was . . .

Shinsengumi strategist . . . Kashitaro Ito!

A senior executive within the Shinsengumi who possessed talent and leadership rivaling Isami Kondo or Toshizo Hijikata. No one—not Hayato, not anyone—could have anticipated that such an exceptional man would use the chaos of battle to turn his traitorous fangs against his own comrades.

The Fushimi Magistrate's Office—the Shinsengumi's stronghold. Enemy assault forces had suddenly appeared inside what should have been impregnable defenses, guided there by the executive Ito.

And the moment Hayato witnessed that damning scene, a blade pierced straight through his body from behind.

He remembered the agony as the cold steel gouged his organs. Yet, Ito was smiling as he spoke.

That things have come to this pass truly saddens me, Masaki. Your ability to notice my actions speaks to your excellence. But ironically, that excellence has also become your downfall. If there was any fault in you, it was only this—

Then he brought his mouth close to Hayato's ear and whispered.

You were not on my side. But rest assured, your sacrifice will not be in vain. I intend to make use of you in every way possible. I shall report that our unit was destroyed and forced to retreat due to your betrayal. Ah, it truly pains my heart. The anguish you must feel—you who yearned to be a samurai more than anyone. Trying so hard to become a samurai only to die as a coward.

He would never forget a single word. The malice lurking beneath that soft, smiling voice had seared his brain with white-hot fury.

Ito—I'll never forgive you!

His fist sank into the mud with a dull thud.

Desperate to kill his bitter enemy, yet trapped and helpless as his comrades' screams filled his ears . . . he struggled to stand, using the sword planted in the ground for support.

. . . Gah!

Searing pain shot through every inch of his body, but that wouldn't quell his rage.

The enemy had been lead inside, launching an impossible surprise attack from within their own ranks. Divided by this betrayal, the Shinsengumi was now little more than a rabble, his comrades being brutally slaughtered with inhuman ferocity. Pain shot through his clenched teeth.

Don't try to stand . . . !

Vampires—or Children of Eternal Night, whatever one called them—the girl before him was undoubtedly one of their kind. The Western powers controlled by this race had forced Japan to open its borders, ultimately leading to his comrades' deaths. So why would this girl, who should be his enemy, show such concern for him?

He glared at the girl with renewed hatred, but then suddenly noticed that she too was wounded and bleeding. Her breathing was labored, and he could sense her pain.

You're wounded too . . . ? But wounds like that, vampires should be able to . . .

Vampires from across the sea possessed healing powers that could close even fatal human wounds in the blink of an eye. How much time had passed since the girl was wounded remained unclear, but her blood still flowed bright red.

This wound . . . I was running to escape when some men in black shot me . . . They said to use "silver" bullets.

The girl spoke haltingly.

He remembered hearing that silver was toxic to vampires and slowed their healing. However, silver weapons and bullets weren't easily obtained, so the truth of this had remained unclear.

Wait. More importantly . . .

You were shot by men in black? Black uniforms like this?

He pointed to the corpse of a man in a black uniform lying nearby—someone Hayato himself had killed. In other words, a New Government Army soldier.

The girl looked at the corpse and nodded.

To Hayato, vampires automatically meant "enemy." But this vampire girl had been shot by the New Government Army—who were also Hayato's enemies. Moreover, the fact that they'd used silver bullets meant they'd known she was a vampire.

The idea of enemies trying to kill their own kind—such a contradiction stirred something unprecedented in Hayato's heart.

The mortal enemy who had destroyed the shogunate forces. The girl who had been nothing more than such a symbol . . . was now becoming something different in his mind.

What are you . . . who are you . . .

But . . .

At his question, the girl looked completely taken aback.

I . . . don't know. Anything . . .

To his surprise, deep fear crossed her face. Her expression was too genuine for deception.

You don't know anything . . . no, are you saying you don't remember . . . ?

The girl's innocent expression somehow eased Hayato's wariness.

My name is . . . Hayato. Hayato Masaki. I'm a retainer of the Shinsengumi, under the Kyoto Protectorate . . .

By stating his name again, he regained a measure of strength. Who he was and what he should do gradually became clearer.

Hayato looked at the girl in front of him once more. Though she was a vampire—a blood clan member—her wounded form seemed like something to protect rather than destroy. It felt strange to him.

Perhaps that emotion came not from Hayato himself, but from the ideals he had always strived to uphold.

If I could at least fight, I could protect you . . . but . . .

As if following that inner voice, he spoke those words to her.

Protect . . . ? You'll help me?

The girl's eyes seemed to brighten just a little. She looked at him with hope and confusion.

Can you really fight to protect someone?

You can't believe it? Though that's assuming I survive this and can move again . . .

I've always had my hands full just taking care of myself. Even now, I never thought I might be able to help you . . . That's why I think you're amazing.

The girl spoke with genuine wonder, as though she truly hadn't known such people existed in this world.

So Hayato repeated it once more, putting absolute conviction behind his words.

Yes, I'll protect you . . . I give you my word as a samurai.

His wounds were deep, and blood continued flowing steadily. His body grew colder by the moment. The creeping shadow of death clung to his consciousness and wouldn't let go.

But speaking that promise—that oath—changed everything. He could not yield to something as trivial as death.

A samurai keeps his word—that was the guiding principle Hayato had always carried in his heart.

But . . . do you really remember nothing? Where you came from, or even your own name?

At his question, the girl fell into deep thought. The silence seemed to stretch on forever. But then she finally spoke, her voice barely a whisper.

Hitsugi.

Hitsugi. That means coffin. That's your name?

Coffin—it was far too strange a sound for a person's name. A casket that holds the dead inside. Even for an ominous name, it was peculiar.

Yes . . . Hitsugi. Call me that.

For some reason, the girl looked satisfied, as though she'd accomplished something meaningful with that simple act—like she'd obtained a precious treasure.

This behavior left Hayato bewildered. Just who was this girl?

. . . !

Suddenly, he felt something warm rising in his throat and spat it out.

It was a massive amount of blood. Pain that had been numbed came rushing back, piercing through his entire body. His strength drained away and he collapsed to his knees again. He could feel his organs, on the verge of shutting down, convulsing. Death felt closer than ever.

Damn . . .

The word slipped out quietly, and hatred and regret burned through his mind.

Is this as far as I go?

To Hayato, who was born a peasant, warriors—samurai—were like the sun blazing in the heavens. They were unique, absolute beings. At some point, perhaps foolishly, he had come to harbor an intense yearning to become that sun himself.

In a rigid class system, it was virtually impossible for a peasant to become a warrior. Even so, Hayato couldn't abandon this dream.

So Hayato strove to be more "samurai-like" than anyone else. To be poor yet diligent, to despise cowardice, to help the weak. And to choose loyalty over life itself, never breaking a promise.

Strength was also essential for samurai whose profession was battle. He devoted himself body and soul to mastering swordsmanship and martial arts, never neglecting the training of mind and body.

Then the "perfect opportunity" presented itself to Hayato.

The crisis of the Tokugawa Shogunate arrived with the Black Ships. The world was thrown into chaos, and even those born as warriors could only be swept along by the turmoil. Rising in their place was the Shinsengumi, composed of samurai, regardless of their origins.

Among Shinsengumi retainers, who weren’t discriminated by birth when enlisting, were many from peasant and merchant backgrounds. Indeed, even executives like Isami Kondo and Toshizo Hijikata weren't of samurai lineage. The Shinsengumi was fanatically devoted to the concept of the samurai, making it an ideal place for Hayato as well.

He’d never had his heart soared higher than the day he knocked on the gates of the Shinsengumi headquarters. Finally, Hayato had become the samurai he had always dreamed of being, in both name and reality.

Yet here he was, in this pathetic state.

This defeat didn't simply mean the shogunate forces' tactical withdrawal from a local battle.

In the place he had finally reached after yearning for it since childhood, Hayato's very identity had been shattered to pieces. The terrifying vampires, the foreigners' power that transcended all reason . . .

Just a few short years after obtaining the "samurai" status he had believed absolute, he had been swept up in a storm of inevitable change. Like the wheel of God, it would crush everything and transform this country from its very roots.

Even so, if he could have fought bravely as a samurai and fallen nobly before the unstoppable force of the times, Hayato could have died with a smile.

But that man—Ito had said he intended to frame Hayato as a traitor. He had trampled on the last pride remaining to him, robbing him even of the resolve to face death with peace of mind.

That was precisely why he could not accept such an ending—it was simply unthinkable.

Had even the blood he could vomit dried up? Only coughs came now. Hitsugi stared intently at Hayato's blood that had dyed the ground crimson. Her eyes seemed to glow faintly like fireflies.

Vampires. Those who had tortured and killed Hayato's comrades had the same eyes.

. . . Hayato? Are you going to die?

Hitsugi asked far too quietly, as if she didn't even understand the meaning of the phenomenon called death.

Am I going to die? Hayato questioned himself at those words. Like this? As a traitor? Meeting the worst possible death, utterly unbecoming of a samurai?

Suddenly, rage surged through his heart while his thoughts became sharp as steel. So utterly cold and detached that his body's fate no longer mattered to him.

Like hell I'll accept this . . . ! I refuse to die like this!

Fury driving him forward, he grabbed Hitsugi by the neck and pulled her close. Fighting to force out each word, he said:

Hitsugi . . . you're a vampire, aren't you? Then . . . if I became your thrall, could I survive?

It was a desperate sliver of hope—and the crossroads that would lead him down a path of no return.

Hayato knew vampires could transform humans into thralls by drinking their blood. Though he didn't understand the exact process, the thought seized hold of him completely.

Right here, right now—can you turn me into a vampire? Tell me, can you do it?!

Hitsugi looked completely stunned as he shook her, but even so, she gave a small nod.

Hayato was choosing to abandon his humanity—to become one of the very vampires that had invaded Japan.

He wasn't without doubts about this choice. Even so . . .

Listen, I can't just die here as a traitor, dying in disgrace as a samurai . . . ! Being a true samurai is the most precious thing in my life . . . ! For that, I don't care what hell I have to endure. I want to be reborn and fight for it again—this time for a vision of myself that no power can ever steal away . . . ! I'll have my revenge on that bastard and clear my name. That is my mission!

The words came from the very depths of his soul.

The supernatural immortality of the vampire thralls who were his enemies—the sight that had been burned into his memory alongside despair had now become his hope. If he could gain that regenerative power, even these fatal wounds would heal instantly.

As if moved by Hayato's blood-soaked desperation . . . something shifted in Hitsugi's expression, which had shown only confusion until now.

The most precious thing in life . . .

She repeated his words, then looked up as if suddenly remembering something.

I feel like I've heard that somewhere before . . .

If you'll give me new life . . . the life of a vampire . . . then in return for fulfilling my mission, I will protect you with everything I have . . . This is a promise. And I am a samurai. I never break my promises.

As his consciousness and vision faded, Hayato clung desperately to Hitsugi. Strength continued draining from his body.

I would give Hayato new life . . .

Hitsugi murmured in bewilderment.

Hesitantly, she reached toward Hayato's neck . . .

Found them, over here.

At that moment, parting the undergrowth, two figures emerged from the darkness.

Both wore black Western military uniforms. Hitsugi's face twisted in terror.

Why . . . why are you trying to kill me? For whose sake? For what purpose?

A girl hunted without understanding why. Her desperate question, driven by raw emotion, was met with silence.

We are Satsuma retainers . . . but we don't know the reason. We only follow our lord's command.

The two Minié rifles took aim at Hitsugi. Silver bullets gleamed in their chambers. Hitsugi closed her eyes helplessly as death approached.

But those two guns never fired—because their target had suddenly multiplied.

You—

The two who had pursued Hitsugi stared wide-eyed at the scene before them. Small wonder—for the corpse lying nearby had risen like a specter.

He shouldn't be able to stand again. He shouldn't be able to fight at all.

Anyone could see at a glance how gravely wounded he was. Yet even so, Hayato had risen once more.

A samurai fulfills his promises.

A body wounded beyond repair, like torn rags full of holes. Only one thing supported it now—the driving force of pure conviction.

That haori . . .

Recognizing the blood-stained light blue haori that Hayato wore, one man narrowed his eyes. The other continued, his gaze filled with rage.

I know it—I've seen that haori in the capital! Those cursed Wolves of Mibu who slaughtered so many of our brothers!

This time the two Minié rifles finally burst to life in flames and gunpowder smoke.

A thunderous roar rang out in unison through the midnight mountains. But the fired bullets found no target at all.

Hayato's blade had left its sheath even faster, deflecting every bullet and sending them clattering to the ground.

The Satsuma retainers were stunned. Even for the greatest master, slicing rifle bullets out of midair was an impossible feat.

Hayato knew it too. It was a miraculous technique made possible only by the extreme focus that came with being so close to death. If asked to do it again, he surely couldn't.

The two pursuers hesitated, abandoning their Minié rifles rather than taking the time to reload. Each drew their swords.

Both blades rose without hesitation, pointing skyward—but by then, Hayato had already become a blur of motion.

The next instant, the sharp ring of steel cutting through flesh and bone pierced the darkness.

A clean horizontal cut appeared across one Satsuma soldier's torso, and he toppled sideways in a spray of blood. Hayato's mid-section reverse cut had literally bisected the man's body. This was the explosive power of a dying flame's final burst.

How . . .

Hitsugi murmured in wonder. The other Satsuma retainer stared blankly at his fallen comrade's upper torso, then as if remembering himself, turned to face Hayato.

Kiieeeeeeeeeeeeeeeyaaaaahhh!!

With the explosive sarukyo—the distinctive battle cry of his school—his sword rose high overhead. The stance for Jigen-ryu's deadly technique: a great strike that required no second blow.

I'll send you back to the afterlife!

He launched himself from the ground. A blindingly fast charge that left afterimages, driven by a spirit that abandoned all defense and feared not death. A desperate, killing strike that merged his entire being with the single blade he unleashed, seeking to cut Hayato in two—

The lightning-fast strike found its mark, tearing Hayato's hated Shinsengumi light blue haori cleanly in half.

That is, only the haori and nothing more.

. . . I cannot die.

The moment the torn haori fell to the grass . . . the Satsuma retainer collapsed in a spray of fresh blood, cut down by Hayato.

A perfectly timed counter-technique delivered while evading Jigen-ryu's fatal first strike by a hair's breadth. With this, the battle's outcome was decided.

Hayato tried to sheathe his sword but failed, collapsing where he stood. Every sensation in his body was fading away. It was as if he had used up the very last of his life force.

Hayato . . . !

Hitsugi pressed herself against him. He found her warmth comforting.

Why did you push yourself so hard . . . for my sake?

The girl asked her question with terrible distress, and Hayato smiled gently in response.

Of course. A samurai keeps his promises . . . though even that may be beyond me now . . .

Hayato . . .

Hitsugi's voice calling out to him grew more and more distant.

He could feel his thoughts dissolving like ink dropped in water. With irresistible force, he was falling from life into death . . . when suddenly . . .

He thought he glimpsed a reaper-like shadow rising behind Hitsugi. Had his time finally come? He strained his eyes to see. No—it was the Satsuma soldier he thought he had just cut down.

Hitsugi . . . ! Behind you!

Whether his sword had lacked killing power in his half-dead state, or the enemy possessed terrible tenacity—either way, he hadn't managed to deliver a fatal blow. He tried to stand but no longer had the strength.

A tremendous fear gripped his heart—far stronger than when he had faced his own death.

The intense fear of being unable to fulfill his promise—of being unable to uphold his way of life as a samurai.

And then—

With the thunderous roar of exploding gunpowder, the Satsuma soldier's heart erupted in a spray of blood.

. . . I got him.

Smith & Wesson Model II Army—a state-of-the-art six-chamber revolver using metallic cartridges. When Hitsugi turned around, she gripped the revolver in her hand.

What Hayato saw was a lump of iron utterly unsuited to a girl's delicate hands. Gray gunpowder smoke was rising from the tip of the black-gleaming barrel. Hayato couldn't imagine why Hitsugi would have such a gun.

This was probably the first time she had aimed at a person, the first time she had pulled the trigger. When Hitsugi turned toward him, her face had gone pale and she was trembling.

But in her eyes, he could see the determined light of someone ready to fight for survival. Hitsugi carefully tucked the gun into her pocket.

Ever since I was given this by someone, I couldn't bring myself to use it. But after meeting you, Hayato, I feel like something inside me has changed . . . Hey, can I trust the promise you made to me?

Hayato's face was reflected in Hitsugi's jewel-like eyes.

Hayato nodded firmly. He could no longer speak.

Yes. It's a promise. A samurai always keeps his promises.

And just who was this "someone" . . . ? The question had barely formed in his mind when Hayato's consciousness rapidly faded away.

As that final fragment was about to dissolve into nothingness . . . a strange scent, both sweet and metallic, wafted past his nose.

And the moment he thought he saw something reflecting the moonlight near Hitsugi's mouth—Hayato's consciousness was swallowed by darkness.

1853—fifteen years before the outbreak of the Boshin War.

Four massive steam-powered warships bearing American military registration—the "Black Ships"—arrived off Uraga Bay. East India Fleet Acting Commodore Matthew Calbraith Perry, commanding the fleet, presented demands for Japan's opening to the Tokugawa Shogunate.

There was no doubt that this incident became the catalyst that plunged the Japanese archipelago into a spiral of upheaval.

Overwhelming maritime technology, a mature modern civilization, and military force that had subjugated countless peoples . . . all of this overwhelmed the Japanese as well.

Hard on the heels of America taking the lead, the old and new great powers—Britain, France, and the Netherlands, which had long maintained connections with Japan—also rushed to get involved.

As a result, the Tokugawa Shogunate—and the nation of Japan—was forced to accept the demands presented by them. Them—namely the ruling class of Western foreigners, the immortal vampire species called the Children of Eternal Night.

* * *

Hayato, how are you feeling?

Hayato awoke to Hitsugi's voice. Dusk was already falling around them.

. . . Sorry. I was sleeping.

Three days had passed since they began traveling along the highway from Kyoto-Fushimi. They continued their journey while keeping a low profile, stopping at post towns along the way to procure food and other supplies. Tonight, Hayato and Hitsugi had decided to take shelter from the wind and rain in the hall of a run-down temple.

Hitsugi's distinctly foreign hair and eye color attracted attention. Though they had procured a wide hat large enough to hide her face, that alone didn't feel like enough.

No, it can't be helped. I don't know much about it myself, but right after turning, your body feels sluggish and you need lots of sleep.

At Hitsugi's words, Hayato examined his own body. All the wounds he had sustained in the Battle of Fushimi had healed completely, as if nothing had ever happened. Not only that, all his senses seemed sharpened, and his body felt surprisingly light.

When he asked Hitsugi if this was what vampires were like, she seemed to have no memories from before her turning, so she didn't really know if these changes were normal.

We might be nearly immortal, but that doesn't mean we can't die—that much I do know.

She said this based on her actual experience of nearly being killed, and taking enemy lives.

Wounds from silver heal slowly, and if you're shot in the heart with a silver bullet, you'll die instantly. Also, if you're pierced by something like a stake and lose too much blood before the wound can close . . .

We die?

Hayato asked for confirmation.

Probably.

Hitsugi nodded. Hayato took another look at himself.

Hayato had other changes as well. First, his canine teeth had developed abnormally. His eye color hadn't changed, but he learned that they would glow faintly red when his emotions ran high. The very structure of his muscles seemed to have changed, and he felt considerably stronger.

These matched the vampire characteristics he had heard rumors about while in the Shinsengumi.

However, he also learned that those rumors contained several mere superstitions. First, vampires feared neither crosses, nor faith, nor garlic, and they could cross running water (though this superstition should have been disproven when the Black Ships crossed the sea to arrive in Japan). They could walk in sunlight and enter homes uninvited. And they could survive without taking virgin lives for blood—in other words, they could obtain nutrition from ordinary food as well.

Hayato, want some of this?

Hitsugi split a steamed bun she had bought from a roadside stall on the town's outskirts, and offered him half. But Hayato declined with a smile. As they had discussed on the day they first met, Hitsugi had apparently escaped from a place where she had been confined before. This was also her first time in populated areas. Despite being fugitives, she was curious about everything she saw.

Hayato found this endearing as well. Though they were in a hurry, he spent their meager travel money buying things that caught Hitsugi's interest—buns, dumplings, and the like.

On the other hand, unlike when he was human, his interest in food had diminished. Instead, there was something else he felt a strange craving for . . .

An indescribable fragrance drifted from Hitsugi's neck. His chest felt full, and disturbing feelings welled up within him.

These unfamiliar desires toward women were completely foreign to Hayato, who had devoted his entire life to swordsmanship. Feeling an overwhelming urge to press his lips to her neck, Hayato quickly pulled away from Hitsugi.

What? What's wrong?

Hitsugi looked at Hayato in surprise. Flustered, Hayato tried to change the subject.

What about you, Hitsugi—are you all right camping out like this every night? Don't you want to bathe?

Right after leaving Fushimi, they had entered a large post town to gather information. There, Hayato learned that rumors were spreading about him being the one who betrayed the Shinsengumi. Fury burned through him, but he managed to keep it in check.

It was fine as long as he was presumed dead, but since his body hadn't been found, pursuers from the Shinsengumi would surely come. He had to reach Edo before then. And no matter what, he would expose Ito's betrayal and have his revenge.

He was determined not only to achieve that single-minded goal but also to keep his promise to protect Hitsugi. However, he couldn't ignore the fact that by traveling with him, she was being dragged down an even more dangerous and difficult path. He even felt felt a little guilt at the thought.

Of course, he had explained the situation to Hitsugi. But even so, her resolve was unwavering.

I'll go wherever you go, Hayato.

She had the same determined look in her eyes as when she had shot down the Satsuma soldier.

Ah! Wait—do you think I smell bad, Hayato?

Hitsugi sounded almost offended as she sniffed at herself.

N-no! Of course not!

From her appearance, Hitsugi was clearly a girl of marriageable age. Worried he might have hurt her feelings, Hayato quickly denied it. Having avoided contact with women since he began pursuing the samurai path, he felt quite uncomfortable around them.

Then suddenly, Hitsugi leaned in close and sniffed him. Her delicate features and feminine curves, so close he could see them clearly, made his heart race.

Hmm? I don't think you smell that different from me . . . But I've only ever been wiped down—I've never actually taken a proper bath, so I wouldn't really know . . .

According to Hitsugi, all she remembered was sleeping in a dark, sealed coffin-like place.

When he had asked her name earlier, she had given him a single word in response.

Hitsugi.

That was her reply. So he had assumed that was her name, but apparently it wasn't. The truth seemed to be that the only thing she clearly remembered was the image of a coffin.

Apparently there had been many humans and other vampires there, but she could only drift in and out of consciousness occasionally and never spoke with any of them. The cycle between sleep and half-waking dreams repeated endlessly. However long it actually lasted, it would have been more than enough time for anyone to feel desperately lonely.

While sleeping, Hitsugi had been continuously fed blood for survival by those who were probably protecting her. Then mysteriously, through that blood, she could feel someone's memories and fragments of information flowing into her—knowledge about this world and the people living in it. That was how language and other knowledge had accumulated within her as well.

However, these were fragments forced upon her, not something she had acquired through her own experience. They were like glimpses she could only observe from the outside. Her otherworldly manner despite having knowledge was probably due to this.

The more he thought about it, the stranger everything about her seemed.

Her appearance was obviously foreign, needless to say. Yet she spoke Japanese fluently, without the halting quality of forced learning. That suggested that though she was foreign and part of the vampire bloodline, she might have been raised here in Japan. In other words, the "coffin-like place" she mentioned might be somewhere in this country.

And most importantly, there was the question: why was Hitsugi being pursued by the Imperial Army?

The western domains of Satsuma and Choshu had already fallen under the rule of the Western powers, and he had heard rumors that especially the higher-ups had become vampires. Why would such people be so fixated on killing a single vampire girl?

Right after leaving Fushimi, Hayato had asked Hitsugi that question. She answered that "a certain man" had freed her from the "coffin-like place." The gun she had used to shoot the pursuing Satsuma retainer had also been entrusted to her by that man. But trying to learn more than that was futile. Though Hitsugi tried desperately to answer, her memories seemed vague, and in the end she couldn't give him any coherent response.

When he borrowed Hitsugi's pistol to examine it, it was a new type of gun he had never encountered before. It used metallic cartridges containing gunpowder, bullet, and percussion cap all sealed together, and was ready to fire once loaded.

It would surely be a luxury item even abroad. In this country especially, he couldn't imagine what kind of person would possess such a thing. It would be nearly impossible to obtain unless you were a key shogunate official with considerable foreign connections. No matter how carefully he examined it, Hayato could find no clues to its origin.

Suddenly, pain shot through his neck. The fang marks where Hitsugi had pierced him were still there.

Hey, Hitsugi. Let me ask you again . . . my body will never go back to being human, will it?

. . . I don't think so. I'm sorry.

Hitsugi spoke in a subdued voice like a scolded child.

That day, after Hayato had lost consciousness, Hitsugi had bitten his neck and performed the baptism. It was a ritual by which vampires create others of their kind. When a vampire drinks human blood and mutual agreement of souls is achieved between them, that person transforms from human to vampire. What kind of mystery worked there was beyond Hayato's understanding, nor did he remember that moment. Only the fact that it had been performed was certain.

I'm not blaming you. I just wanted to confirm . . . Hitsugi, you haven't been drinking blood since that day, have you? You eat food, though. Is that all right?

Hitsugi showed a complex expression at that question.

Actually . . . there's something I haven't told you yet, Hayato.

Hitsugi's eyes gleamed mysteriously, making Hayato's heart skip.

Vampires and humans have the same bodily structure, so we can get nutrition from regular food too. But that alone isn't enough. Without blood, something like an invisible source of life—different from physical strength—seems to weaken. And now for the main point . . .

Hitsugi paused, then looked at him with a meaningful expression. She leaned closer to Hayato, close enough that he could feel her breath against his lips.

. . . Would you try drinking my blood?

Hayato's heart jumped as if it had been waiting for those very words.

Even among our kind, it seems we can replenish our life force a little by sharing each other's blood. And . . . when I first drank your blood, I caught a glimpse of something. Your frustration, your resolve . . .

So if it's okay with you, Hayato . . .

Hitsugi spoke with downcast eyes, sounding uncertain. She looked like an innocent girl embarrassed by her first intimate moment. Seeing her silver lashes, Hayato felt an overwhelming urge to taste her blood right then and there.

But just imagining himself sinking his fangs into Hitsugi's pale neck sent a chill through him. The wound would heal instantly, but Hayato still hesitated.

Sensing Hayato's confusion, Hitsugi said hurriedly:

I think just a little would be fine . . . like this much.

Hitsugi bit her index finger with her canine tooth. A bead of blood welled up on the surface. Captivated by that crimson drop, Hayato felt his heart clench.

Ah, yes . . .

Hayato took Hitsugi's hand and put the tip of her index finger in his mouth. The rich taste of blood spread across his tongue. A pleasant numbness washed over him—the sweet, intoxicating essence of life. He sucked on Hitsugi's finger hungrily.

Hitsugi watched Hayato with dreamy, entranced eyes. As if savoring the moment, she moved that finger gently inside his mouth.

Then she took Hayato's hand and bit his fingertip in the same way. The pain of her fangs piercing his skin was strangely pleasant—almost sweetly numbing. Hitsugi drew Hayato's bleeding finger between her lips.

He could feel his own life flowing into her warm mouth. They carefully licked away each other's blood with tender, caressing motions. In that breathless moment, soft wet sounds echoed through the hall.

Haah . . .

Hitsugi's cheeks flushed pink, and seeing this, Hayato wanted to push her down right then and there.

No, what the hell am I thinking?

Suddenly his head cleared, and Hayato hurriedly pulled his mouth away from Hitsugi's finger. A thin strand of saliva stretched between them, betraying his reluctance to part.

An overwhelming sense of guilt washed over him afterward.

Hayato had devoted himself entirely to the samurai ideal, strictly forbidding himself even the romantic relationships that other men his age pursued. This left him feeling deeply awkward around women, and his shame at having desires toward them ran deeper than most.

And Hitsugi was an innocent girl who had come to him seeking help. Having impure thoughts about someone like that was absolutely unthinkable for a man of honor. Hayato forced himself to look away from her.

What's wrong? Did you . . . did you not like it?

Hitsugi was flustered by Hayato's distant reaction. Perhaps driven by unconscious anxiety, she moved closer to him. As her soft skin pressed against him, Hayato took a deep breath to steady himself.

No, that's not it . . . We need to get up early again tomorrow. Let's go to sleep.

Hitsugi stared at him intently, as if trying to read his true feelings. Eventually she lay down with what looked like resignation.

Hayato also turned his back to her and lay down.

. . . Hayato?

Her voice sounded small and vulnerable, like a child calling out in the dark, and he felt her presence draw closer.

What we just did . . . it felt good, didn't it?

Yes.

Hayato deliberately kept his voice steady so his inner turmoil wouldn't show.

Then . . . would you let me do this?

Her body heat reached him through his back. Hayato's heart, which had finally been settling down, suddenly began racing like mad. Then Hitsugi slipped her hand inside his kimono. Her touch was cool yet smooth and soft, making him shiver involuntarily.

Do this . . . she can't mean . . . no, surely not!

The desires he had tried to suppress came flooding back. Hayato gasped and fought to calm his pounding heart.

Are my hands too cold? Sorry. But somehow when we touch like this, skin to skin, I feel so complete. Please, just let me stay like this for a little while.

But there was no hint of sensuality in Hitsugi's voice at all. This gave Hayato a strange sense of relief. The area where her palm rested gradually grew warm—a warmth that wasn't unpleasant in the least.

Yes, this feels safe . . . I think I can sleep well now . . .

Hitsugi pressed close against him. It was as natural a gesture as a puppy seeking warmth from its mother. As he desperately tried to stop himself from thinking about the softness of her body pressed directly against his bare skin, he heard Hitsugi's peaceful breathing. In her steady, healthy breathing, he felt the complete trust she placed in him.

Hayato gradually fell into a comfortable sleep as well.

* * *

Hayato was dreaming.

The first thing he felt was darkness and suffocation.

A place like a giant box, completely cut off from the outside world. The intense feeling of confinement reminded him of being inside a coffin.

I see, this is . . .

Hayato understood. This was probably Hitsugi's memory. It might be related to drinking her blood earlier.

In this place, everything was vague—the passing of time, information, people. Nothing stood out; everything blurred together and faded away.

Still hasn't awakened?

Is there a compatibility problem with [redacted]'s blood?

But we must succeed. This is our wish.

The conversations that occasionally reached his ears sounded like relatives discussing a child's future. Though there was no hostility, they didn't seem to show any consideration for Hitsugi as an individual. Rather, they were matter-of-fact—like conversations about some crafted object or lifeless creation.

Only this unchanging, stagnant time passed, flowing endlessly . . .

Suddenly, a brilliant white light pierced the dark world.

The "coffin-like place" was being opened from the outside, and someone was trying to lead Hitsugi out. He could tell it was a man, but his features were obscured by the backlighting, impossible to make out. All he could sense was that the man bore no ill will toward Hitsugi.

The man spoke.

You can go anywhere and become anything.

Being able to decide that for yourself is what makes a true human being.

Look upon this world. Touch living people. Cry and laugh as you feel moved to. Struggle and strive like that to discover what kind of person you truly are.

And someday, become the person you want to be.

Those words stirred Hayato's heart deeply as he touched Hitsugi's memory. The emotion felt so intense perhaps because these were the first words ever spoken to Hitsugi as a human being with her own personality.

While Hayato tried to make out the man's face, his consciousness gradually dissolved into the dream . . .

* * *

The next morning arrived. Perhaps due to their blood exchange, Hayato's physical condition had improved remarkably. The terrible drowsiness that had plagued him since his turning was gone, and he felt strength surging through his entire body. As Hayato prepared himself for the day, he questioned Hitsugi.

Last night I dreamed of that "coffin-like place" you mentioned. I think it was because I drank your blood . . . There was a man who led you out of there, wasn't there?

Hitsugi seemed somewhat grumpy this morning for some reason, but she nodded at Hayato's words.

Yes. He said that when the time comes, he'll appear before me once more.

Hayato listened to those words with wariness. The intent behind the words were unclear. Regardless of who the man's true identity might be, if he proved to be an enemy, Hayato was prepared to cut him down.

What he said before that . . . about becoming the person I want to be, and things like that—I didn't really understand what it meant. But for some reason, when I met you on that battlefield, I thought: maybe with this person, I can figure it out.

Pierced by Hitsugi's direct gaze, Hayato felt embarrassed for some reason.

Become the person you want to be . . . huh.

Hayato mulled over the words the man had spoken. A nagging question remained. Why had that man told Hitsugi such things and freed her from that unknown place?

Still, he couldn't see the purpose behind it. Had it simply been out of pity for Hitsugi's circumstances?

There were other problems to consider as well.

About those forces we fought in Fushimi . . .

The Satsuma forces who, while part of the New Government Army, had operated separately from the main force and seemed to be moving solely to pursue Hitsugi.

They weren't trying to capture you—they were trying to kill you. They even used silver bullets.

Until yesterday, Hayato had thought they were pursuers from Hitsugi's original location. However, judging from Hitsugi's memories, those from the "coffin-like place" seemed to need her for some reason. While it was possible they had decided to kill her after she escaped from there, wouldn't they first try to bring her back? Moreover, he thought it strange to entrust such a task to Satsuma samurai who didn't seem to know the full circumstances. Hayato's intuition led him to one possibility.

Hitsugi. You might be pursued by two or more factions.

The first group was whoever had confined Hitsugi to that "coffin-like place." The second was whoever had set the Satsuma forces in motion—someone with completely different motives.

Both remained unidentified, which was concerning. The latter group in particular had probably already learned about the failed attack and might be planning their next move.

They would need to be even more careful, Hayato decided. But for some reason, Hitsugi's expression remained troubled.

Hey, what's wrong?

Hitsugi spoke, still maintaining that troubled expression.

I think I saw one of your memories yesterday too, Hayato . . . That person who was your superior in the Shinsengumi—I couldn't make out their name, but you really respected them, didn't you?

At Hitsugi's mention of his former superior, nostalgic feelings welled up in Hayato's chest.

Yeah . . . that's right.

But his thoughts immediately turned bitter. By now, had word of Hayato's supposed betrayal reached that person's ears as well? Would they still believe in him after he had abandoned his humanity to become a vampire?

He unconsciously clenched his fist, as if trying to shake off his anxiety. Pulling his cloak low over his face, he stepped outside the inn.

* * *

As she watched Hayato walk away into the morning light, Hitsugi reflected on the dream she'd had the night before—Hayato's memory.

In the dream, Hitsugi had become Hayato himself. She had felt all the emotions and thoughts that Hayato must have experienced at that time.

Among those memories, she recalled Hayato's conversation with a particular person.

I am [redacted].

The introduction came from someone much shorter than Hayato.

Shortly after joining the Shinsengumi, Hayato had been assigned to the First Unit. When he learned the name of the captain who led that unit, he remembered trembling with nervousness even before they met.

Of course, he had already known about this person before then.

Among the fierce warriors of the Shinsengumi, this person was a genius swordsman who ranked among the very best. And they were only three years older than Hayato himself.

And then, that first day they met in the detached building of the Mibu headquarters—now just a nostalgic memory . . . the Yagi Residence.

What's this? Why are you staring at my face so intently with that puzzled look?

Ah, no. I'm sorry.

Hmph . . . well, I know what you're thinking anyway.

As if such reactions were nothing new, a cold smile drifted onto [redacted]'s lips.

You were probably thinking I'm some short little runt with a pale face like a woman's, right?

Bullseye. Hayato was flustered. His honest first impression had been exactly that, but there was no way he could voice such thoughts. Cold sweat formed on his back.

[Redacted] glared up at him with a piercing look. His heart froze under that penetrating gaze.

This was bad. Just when he thought he'd finally been accepted into his long-desired Shinsengumi, was his first impression with his immediate superior possibly the worst it could be? Hayato felt a wave of panic.

Hah . . . hahaha! You're a man who can't tell lies—not just with your mouth but with your whole face. They say that in the samurai world these days, getting along is more important than anything. You'll never get promoted acting like that, you know?

But unexpectedly, [redacted] burst into what seemed like delighted laughter. Apparently he wasn't angry after all. Hayato couldn't help but feel relieved, but was that showing on his face too?

But . . . when we're dodging under flashing blades, someone like you is the kind I'd want watching my back.

Then a small fist struck him in the chest. The solid impact had a strangely pleasant feel to it.

I like you, Hayato Masaki, was it? Until you become a proper Wolf of Mibu, I'll personally retrain you starting today. Are you prepared?

True to that declaration, Hayato was put through rigorous training with absolutely no mercy in practice. He never managed to score even a single point against [redacted]. He was simply captivated and filled with admiration for that genius talent from an entirely different dimension—a real prodigy of the sword.

The strength of his admiration for [redacted] hadn't changed even after learning that secret, but . . . he felt the nature of that admiration had shifted somewhat.

If this genius swordsman had participated in the Battle of Toba-Fushimi, would the outcome of the war have been different?

While thinking such thoughts, Hayato's consciousness dissolved and vanished like bubbles in the dream . . .