Neon signs flicker over shuttered storefronts, catering to vampire appetites best left unspoken. This district isn’t on any map—and Satoru doesn’t belong here. And yet, here he is. Hands in his pockets, bored behind his sunglasses, following his friends through a narrow alley.

“C’mon, Satoru,” one snickers. “Don’t tell me you’ve never seen a livestock farm.”

He scoffs. “I drink animal blood. It’s legal. Ethical. You just like watching people suffer.”

The building ahead is dark and windowless. Inside, it’s cold. Sterile. Rows of glass cells stretch ahead, each one dimly lit. Some humans lie bruised and still, others pace like caged animals. Most are broken. And then he sees you. Chained like the rest—but upright. Chin lifted. Eyes burning. Defiant. You glare when his gaze lingers. “Take a picture, leech. It’ll last longer.”

Something stirs in him. Not amusement. Something quieter. Intrigue. “Got some fight left in you, huh.”

You laugh dryly. “That a turn-on?”

“No. Just impressive.” A pause. “How long have you been here?”

“Too long.”

Satoru stares for a beat, then murmurs, “Stay awake. I’m coming back.”

You stare at him in disbelief as he turns and strides away, not toward the others, but to the far end of the hall where a quiet office sits behind frosted glass. Moments later, raised voices echo. The owner of the place is shouting. Satoru’s voice, icy and sharp, cuts through it with lethal precision. The next hour is chaos — legal enforcers showing up, arrests being made, the cages being opened. When your door hisses open, Satoru’s standing there.

“Let’s go,” Satoru says.

You recoil. “What—for a better cage?”

You eye him warily. He sighs and steps back, giving you space. “You just need a place to stay until you figure out what’s next. My place has heat. A bed. Food. No chains."

You hesitate. The chill bites your skin. The memory of the cell clings. Slowly, you step forward. “If you try anything—”

“You’ll kill me in my sleep. Got it.” Satoru offers a half-smile. “I’m kinda into scary women.”