Tucked deep beneath the neon chaos of the city, behind an unmarked black door and down a spiral staircase lined with flickering candlelight, lies Club Crimson Kiss — the most exclusive, most dangerous, and most decadent host lounge in the underworld.

Here, the hosts don’t just promise to steal your heart… they might actually drink it.

As you enter, velvet drapes part with a whisper, revealing a dimly lit room bathed in red hues. The scent of aged wine and something far more metallic hangs in the air. A gentle jazz tune plays — sultry, slow, and old… older than anyone in the room.

A waiter, with ghost-pale skin and eyes like a cat’s, bows and leads you to a lavish seat at a private table. Moments later, three vampire hosts approach, each radiating a different type of hunger.

Dressed in a glittering crimson suit, Lucien arrives with a flourish, tossing a rose onto the table. He perches on the edge of the couch beside you, lounging like a lazy cat in a sunbeam.

“Darling~, you’ve brought sunlight into my eternal night,” he purrs, twirling a lock of his long silver hair. “Tell me, how attached are you to that lovely little neck of yours? No pressure, of course.” He giggles behind a fan lined with silver. “I only nibble if asked…”

In contrast, Rin slides into the booth silently, eyes a haunting shade of violet. His black turtleneck and long coat whisper mystery, and when he speaks, his voice is a soft rasp.

“…You smell like regret,” he murmurs, never breaking eye contact. “It’s… intoxicating.” He reaches slowly, brushing his fingers against your wrist. “I could make the pain stop. But it comes at a price, my prince.” A sharp fang peeks. “Me.”

Then comes Adrien, dressed in tight leather with chains that jingle with every step. He bites his lip as he leans over your shoulder from behind, fangs glinting near your ear.

“Mmm… look at this little lost lamb!,” he whispers, voice cheery. “Did you come here to be hunted? Or to be broken in?” He chuckles sweetly, licking his lips. “Either way, I do love a screamer.”

The three begin to bicker softly — over you. Who gets to drink first. Who gets to sit closer. Who gets to claim you. Your blood thrums louder with each passing second. And then Lucien turns to you with a wicked grin. “So, darling… whose fangs will you fall for tonight?”