Chapter One

Despite the downpour, the muggy weight of summer clung stubbornly to the air.

The rain, far from cooling the world, only stirred the warmth around into something damp and suffocating. A breeze brushed past, oddly warm against the skin—deceptively fresh, like a false promise whispered at the end of a weary day. For Mochida Yuu, it was anything but refreshing. He had been lingering on the edge of the street, hoping to catch the evening bus. But the storm that had loomed for hours finally broke, delaying him just long enough to miss it—by a cruel, unforgiving three minutes.

He let out a weary sigh, his gaze falling to his soaked clothes. Drenched to the bone, he cursed himself for not bringing an umbrella. The weather forecast had been clear—rain after seven. He had even checked it. Still, he’d walked out without the one thing he needed. Now, his white, collared button-up clung transparently to his skin, outlining his torso in sharp contrast to the black jeans that were now heavy with rainwater.

Shame prickled beneath his skin, but what was the use now?

Embarrassment had already settled in, and there was no turning back time. He kept forgetting even the simplest things lately—small, necessary details slipping through his fingers like sand. To spare himself the chance of running into anyone and making the situation even more awkward, he chose to take a shortcut home. Still, a trace of unease crept up his spine. That path wasn’t exactly safe. Lately, the city had been rattled by a string of brutal murders—grisly killings pinned on some wild animal said to have broken loose and vanished into the streets.

Even so, Mochida Yuu couldn’t bring himself to care. If fate decided to end his life that night, then so be it. After all, what did he have left? Everything that ever mattered to him had already slipped away.

Now, he was nothing more than a forgotten figure—just another ordinary high school humanities teacher, moving through life with empty hands and nothing left to lose.

Mochida let out another long sigh before running a hand through his soaked hair, the strands clinging stubbornly to his forehead. Without a word, he resumed walking, his shoes squelching faintly with each step until he reached a narrow alley tucked between shadowed buildings. Without hesitation, he slipped into it. Though he was still a fair distance from home, weaving through these backstreets would help him dodge the crowded roads and shave precious minutes off the journey.

His fingers tightened around the handle of his work bag as he pressed on, keeping to his own quiet rhythm.

Despite it being the height of summer, the rain striking his skin felt unnervingly cold, sending a faint tremor down his spine. Perhaps it was because he was soaked through—or maybe it was just the way summer nights could turn unexpectedly cool in Yokohama. Either way, the chill clung to him like a whisper of something waiting in the dark.

The rain began to pour with a relentless fury, its intensity blurring the night into shifting shadows and streaks of water. Visibility dwindled to almost nothing, yet Mochida pressed forward, squinting through the downpour, trying to make out even the vaguest shapes ahead. The droplets clung to his silver-rimmed glasses, further distorting his view, but he had no choice—without them, he was as blind as a bat.

Just as he turned into yet another narrow alley, his foot caught on something slick. In an instant, his balance gave way, and he slipped—his body lurching forward—before he stumbled over some object hidden beneath the murky dark and crashed face-first onto the ground.

His first instinct told him it was just rainwater, a deep puddle pooling beneath his hands. But then came the sensation—thick and sticky—coating his fingertips. He recoiled slightly, confused. It wasn’t water. Before he could make sense of it, the nearby streetlight sputtered back to life with a soft electric hum. It flickered erratically, struggling to stay lit, clearly in need of maintenance.

And in that trembling, faltering glow, Mochida saw what lay beneath him—and for a long, breathless moment, he couldn’t comprehend what his eyes were showing him.

The scene before him was nothing short of a nightmare. Limbs—so many of them—were scattered across the alley like discarded dolls, and a dark pool of blood soaked the ground in a wide, grotesque smear. It was the kind of carnage that whispered of a massacre, something savage and unthinkable that had just taken place. But what Mochida had tripped over wasn’t the dismembered flesh or twisted limbs—it was a dog. More precisely, the lifeless body of one.

The stench of death was thick, iron-laced, and suffocating. The alley reeked with it, turning his stomach. Heart pounding, Mochida scrambled to his feet, panic flooding his veins. He had to leave—now—before someone saw him here and drew the wrong conclusion. The last thing he needed was to be tangled up in a murder investigation.

But just as he spun around to flee, a sound stopped him cold. Soft sniffles. Guttural grunts. A strange, aching noise that didn’t belong to the wind or rain.

He turned slowly, eyes searching the shadowed corner of the alley—and there she was.

A girl.

No older than ten, hunched in the darkness in a tattered, filthy dress. Her entire body was drenched in blood, from her matted hair to her trembling fingers. She wept and whimpered, but the sounds were not just cries—they were laced with pain, deep and raw, as if something inside her was tearing apart.

And yet, even amidst the horror around them, it was she who held his gaze the longest.

Mochida’s eyes widened in disbelief as he took in the sight before him. Cautiously, he stepped forward, one foot hesitating after the other, but the girl immediately recoiled. A low snarl tore from her throat, sharp and warning, followed by a hiss that revealed her unnaturally large fangs—feral and glistening beneath the flickering streetlight.

He froze in place, his breath catching in his throat. Then, slowly and without sudden movement, he lowered himself down onto his knees, settling into the cold, wet ground. Gently, he extended a trembling hand toward her, palm open in peace.

“I… I don’t know who you are,” he said, voice shaking but soft, “but… I won’t hurt you, little one. Come, and I’ll guide you to safety. There’s no need… to be afraid now. You’re a brave girl, aren’t you?”

His words faltered, the stutter slipping through when he fully realized—this child wasn’t normal. She wasn’t just a lost little girl. But at the same time, there was something unmistakably human in her eyes, something wounded, something young.

And in that moment, it was his deep love for children that overpowered the fear pounding in his chest. His heart thudded wildly, torn between dread and instinctive compassion—but compassion won.

The girl remained pressed against the wall, her small frame taut with tension as she bared her fangs once more, claws extended in warning. Still, Mochida didn’t flinch. Instead, a faint, gentle smile touched his lips as he slowly reached his arm toward her again—a gesture of trust rather than fear.

But before his hand could reach her, she lunged and sank her teeth into his wrist.

Pain exploded through him, sharp and searing, forcing him to clench his jaw and bite down hard on his own lip to keep from crying out. Blood trickled down his arm, warm and pulsing, but he didn’t pull away. Instead, he leaned in further and rested his forehead against her stick-thin head, his free hand rising to gently pat her, tender and paternal, like a father comforting a frightened child.

That single, selfless act shattered her defenses.

She released his wrist with a sob so raw it trembled through the air, her eyes spilling tears like a dam broken at last. And in that moment of vulnerability, Mochida moved quickly, closing the gap between them in one breath and wrapping his arms around her.

He held her tightly, protectively, cradling her fragile form as he continued to stroke her blood-matted hair—quietly, patiently, like he had all the time in the world.

Her tiny fists clung desperately to his soaked shirt as she buried her face into his chest, her sobs wracking her small body. Despite the stranger’s scent, the unfamiliar beat of his heart, there was something in his embrace—a faint, flickering warmth—that stirred a long-forgotten memory. A comfort she had once known, cradled in her mother’s arms.

And so, even though she knew nothing about him, she found herself silently praying. Praying that he wasn’t like the others—the men who had only ever approached her with cruel intentions, who sought to hurt, to take, to use her for their own twisted needs.

With tear-filled eyes, she slowly lifted her gaze, peeking out from the crook of his arm. The alley around her was painted in blood, a grotesque reminder of the chaos she had unleashed just to survive—to escape the merciless grip of harm once again.

But now, there was nowhere left for her to go.

No safe place. No family. No future.

She had no one else.

This man, whose arms felt impossibly warm and, for some reason, heartbreakingly lovable.

All she had… was him.