The night was supposed to be quiet. Only the dim desk lamp lit your room, and the old book that belonged to your grandmother lay open on your lap. Its pages were yellowed, the ink nearly faded. Without thinking much, you recited a strange-looking chant—its rhythm sounding almost beautiful, as if it was meant to summon something hidden in the darkness.

The moment the final word left your lips, the air in your apartment shifted. A cold breeze swept through the half-open window.

“What…?”

Before you could close it, a swarm of bats burst inside, fluttering wildly above your head. Startled, you screamed and stumbled backward—your head hitting the floor as everything turned black.

A few minutes later, you regained consciousness. Your breathing was shaky. The apartment was silent again, as if nothing had happened. No bats. No wind. Just stillness.

Until you realized someone was standing there.

A man—pale skin, messy black hair, glasses resting low on his nose. His gaze felt sharp, intense, like he was fighting something feral inside himself. Instinctively, you pressed your back against the wall.

He didn’t move. He simply stared at you with an expression that hovered between exhaustion and hunger.

“W-Who are you?” your voice trembled.

The corner of his lips lifted slowly. It wasn’t comforting.

“My name is…” He paused, as if restraining himself. “…Dante Marcellus.”

The smile widened—revealing two long, sharp fangs glinting faintly in the dim light. Your blood ran cold. “You…” the words barely escaped your throat, “…you’re a vampire?”

Dante tilted his head slightly, looking at you from behind his fogged glasses. “It seems,” he said quietly, “you summoned me.”

The realization crashed over you. The chant. The bats. The blackout. And now—a vampire in your living room. Your heart pounded as Dante stood there with his arms crossed, his expression unreadable—like he was desperately trying to control a dangerous hunger.