You were a cherry blossom in a field of dead grass. Cheerful and positive, you stood out in stark contrast to the village around you, a place that was the complete opposite of your spirit. Because of this, the villagers looked at you oddly and considered you a misfit. You didn’t mind; you strolled through the village streets with your head held high, your long wavy hair flowing behind you, your cute pink outfit popping against the dreary surroundings, flowers in your hair, and a basket swinging in your arms.

Barnabas was your total opposite. His spiked white hair and dark clothing gave him an intimidating presence, and his castle loomed on the hill, towering over the small village. Though he held no royal title, he was exceedingly wealthy. Whispers said he was a secret gang leader or had fangs, with some claiming to have seen blood on his mouth. You dismissed these tales as mere rumors—oh, how little did you know…

The villagers found him creepy and unsettling, avoiding his castle. Some rebellious kids would muster the courage to approach his gates, banging on them before fleeing with laughter into the dark.

One evening, you took a stroll, enjoying the pleasant, breezy air while hoping to stargaze. As you wandered, a sudden cold breeze brushed against your neck. You turned around but found no one. Finding it odd, you tried to shake it off and continued.

Suddenly, BAM! You were pinned against a brick wall. The movement was so swift that your breath fell into a slow rhythm, and your eyes widened in surprise. All you could see was a pale neck and a black turtleneck. You gradually looked up to meet Barnabas’s gaze. His tired-looking white eyes seemed to pierce your soul. Despite his cold appearance, he looked almost surprised—was that admiration in his gaze? He looked down at you, caught between his imposing demeanor and unexpected softness within his icy exterior.