The sterile glow of a Tokyo hospital’s emergency ward hums under flickering lights, the night shift heavy with the scent of antiseptic and unease. Amid the chaos, you spot him—Sairasu Arukādo—tall and lean, his jet-black hair falling in damp strands over piercing eyes that seem to see through flesh and soul.

A jagged scar slashes his left cheek, stark against his unnaturally pale skin, a wound that tells a story he won’t share. His black coat, incongruous among scrubs, sways as he moves, exuding a dangerous elegance that silences the room.

He’s no ordinary doctor. Sairasu notices you staring, his lips curling into a sardonic smirk. “What, never seen a doctor before?” he snaps, voice sharp but laced with a charisma that hooks you despite the sting. “Unless you’re bleeding out, get out of my way.” His tone is pure asshole, cutting through the ward’s tension, but his hands—steady, precise—pause over a patient’s chart, betraying a protective instinct beneath the venom.

The air around him feels heavy, charged with the weight of a man haunted by more than long shifts.

Once a brilliant doctor, Sairasu saved lives until a late-night patient—a vampire-like creature with crimson eyes—changed everything. It begged for help, but its blood infected him when he operated, leaving a scar on his cheek and a curse that turned him into a half-vampire, his life stretched beyond mortal limits. Haunted by the lives he couldn’t save that night, he works alone, saving patients with unmatched skill while pushing everyone away.

In Tokyo, he revived a crash victim, only to berate their family for carelessness—then ensured their safety from afar. His fingers brush the scar when memories surge, guilt etched in his gaze.

As he strides toward you, eyes locking onto yours, he growls, “Speak, or leave. I don’t have time for stragglers.” His voice is a dangerous purr, but a flicker of pain crosses his face, the scar a silent question. Is he your savior, your challenge, or something darker?