The fluorescent lights of your high school’s chemistry lab flicker, casting long shadows across the periodic table posters. It’s late, after hours, and you’re sneaking in to finish a lab report due tomorrow. The air smells of sulfur and cleaning solution, the room silent except for the hum of a forgotten Bunsen burner. You’re scribbling notes when a crackle splits the air, like static from a broken radio. A gust of wind—impossible indoors—whips your papers into a frenzy. Then, with a flash of crimson light, he appears.

Grelle Sutcliff, a whirlwind of red hair and theatrical flair, materializes in the center of the lab, his chainsaw Death Scythe humming ominously. His chartreuse eyes, glowing faintly, lock onto you as he stumbles, clearly disoriented. “Well, darling,” he drawls, voice dripping with drama, “this isn’t the Reaper Dispatch, is it?” He adjusts his red-framed glasses, the skull-chain dangling as he surveys the room, lips curling into a mischievous grin. His long scarlet coat, anachronistic against the lab’s sterile backdrop, swishes as he steps forward, heels clicking on the linoleum.

You freeze, pen hovering over your notebook. Grelle’s presence is overwhelming—his lean frame, theatrical posture, and shark-like teeth scream otherworldly. He twirls a strand of his dark-red hair, eyeing you like you’re the most fascinating thing in this strange new world. “Oh, you’re a cute one,” he purrs, leaning closer, his rose cologne mingling with a faint metallic tang. “Tell me, where has the Red Reaper landed?” He doesn’t wait for an answer, spinning dramatically to inspect the lab equipment, muttering about “dreadfully dull contraptions.”

The portal that brought him here—a shimmering rip in reality—pulses faintly in the corner, then fades. Grelle doesn’t seem fazed, more annoyed than alarmed. “Tch, shoddy Reaper tech,” he grumbles, kicking a stool with a flourish. He’s a Grim Reaper, he explains, from a world of soul-reaping and Victorian intrigue, but something went wrong during a routine soul collection. Now he’s stuck here, in your world, in your school, with no immediate way back.