Chapter Two

Mochida had brought the young girl home with him, offering her a place of warmth and safety.

He had laid out fresh clothes for her and even prepared a fruity bubble bath, hoping the scent and the comfort would ease her fears. Now, she sat quietly before him, wrapped in a soft, light pink dress that fit her petite frame perfectly. He smiled gently as he ran a towel through her long, wavy raven hair, which cascaded all the way down to her waist. She was so small, and yet her hair had grown beautifully, thick and healthy, a rare sight for someone so young and clearly weathered by hardship.

He worked patiently, wanting to ensure every strand was dry, but as he continued, a sharp pulse of pain shot through his bandaged wrist—the same one she had bitten. He winced slightly but said nothing. There was still more to do in the kitchen, and dinner wouldn’t cook itself. So, with a quiet sigh, he decided not to push himself further. The last thing he needed was to strain the injury more than he already had.

He would get everything done—carefully, quietly—just enough to keep their little world from falling apart.

“Here you go,” Mochida said gently, finishing the last stroke of the towel through her now-damp hair. “I’m going to check on our dinner, so in the meantime, why don’t you sit tight—or feel free to look around and explore a little.”

His voice was calm, soft as a whisper of trust, and the young girl gave a small nod in response. She was still perched on his lap, but just as she began to slide off, she paused and turned back to face him. Her wide, crimson eyes locked with his—eyes he hadn’t truly noticed until they were under the warm glow of his home’s lights. Strange, striking, and full of silent questions.

“Umm… Mister,” she asked, her voice shy and uncertain, “what should I call you?”

The question brought a tender smile to his face. He reached out and gave her head a light, affectionate pat, like a father would his daughter.

“I’m Mochida Yuu,” he replied kindly.

“And you can call me whatever you like. But what about you, little princess? What’s your name?”

The words lingered in the air, warm and kind.

The young girl knew there was nothing soft or graceful that resembled her as a princess. Yet, this man, whose arms had held no judgment, had chosen to call her that, as if the title alone might soothe the weight she carried.

Her gaze dropped, avoiding his eyes, and she answered in a soft murmur, “Akane… Akane Yuzuriha.”

Mochida’s hand returned to her slightly damp hair once again, giving it a gentle pat as a smile bloomed on his face, genuine and reassuring.

“That’s a very pretty name, Akane.”

A faint blush colored her cheeks at the unexpected praise, and she lowered her head more. Then, without another word, she slid off his lap, her small feet padding across the floor.

Mochida rose soon after, disappearing into the kitchen with quiet urgency to tend to their dinner, leaving behind a moment that, in its simplicity, had begun to stitch together something fragile between them—something like trust.

Though Mochida had told Akane she could do whatever she liked, she quietly chose to trail behind him into the kitchen. Without saying a word, she stood off to the side, watching him intently as he moved with quiet purpose, working over the stove with rice and meat. She didn’t recognize the dishes he was preparing—not exactly—but there was something unmistakable in the air: the warmth of a home-cooked meal, crafted with patience and quiet affection.

For the next fifteen minutes, she remained still, observing as the aromas filled the small space. Mochida stirred with practiced ease, his movements calm and deliberate. When he finally turned off the stove and switched off the rice cooker, he moved to set the table, carefully arranging the dishes with an almost fatherly grace.

Akane said nothing, but her eyes followed every motion, a quiet curiosity blooming within her.

Once everything was in place, Mochida turned toward her, his voice as gentle as always, “Come, Akane. Let’s have dinner before it gets cold.”

With those words, Mochida settled himself on the floor in front of the low table, which was now filled with steaming dishes—an array of food that Akane couldn’t even begin to identify. Still, she quietly joined him, taking a seat across from where he sat, her eyes wide as she took in the generous spread.

Without hesitation, Mochida handed her a pair of chopsticks, his tone casual as he asked, “Do you know how to use these?”

To his pleasant surprise, Akane nodded and demonstrated with ease. She wielded them skillfully, and within moments, she began eating, though her choices were clear. She picked out the meat first, savoring it while ignoring the vegetables, the eggs, the rice, and even the colorful fruit salad that glistened invitingly at the edge of the table.

As she chewed contentedly, Mochida spoke again, his voice softer this time, and his words caught her off guard, though in truth, she had been expecting them.

“Um, Akane…” he began, hesitant but utterly kind, “if you don’t mind, may I ask a few things about your origin? I won’t if it makes you uncomfortable. I don’t want to pry into your life if you’re not ready.”

Akane, still savoring the tender, juicy meat with quiet delight, gave a small nod in response. She didn’t pause her chewing, but her gesture was clear—he could ask. She had already made her decision the moment this man had brought her into his home. He had bathed her with care, clothed her in warmth, and fed her a meal she could never have imagined. All of it—prepared lovingly, patiently, as if he had been waiting for her far longer than she could ever know.

Mochida studied her for a moment before speaking, his voice calm but laced with gentle curiosity.

“I noticed… your crimson eyes—they have dilated pupils. And your skin, it’s pale, but it doesn’t match the warmth you carry. It made me wonder…” He leaned forward slightly, his tone never once turning cold.

“Could you tell me what happened in that alley? And more importantly… what exactly are you?”

He held her gaze, unwavering and kind.

“Don’t be afraid. Just tell me everything. I promise I’ll try my best to understand, and then… maybe I’ll know how to help you. Whatever it is I’m lacking, I want to learn.”

After taking another mouthful of the savory meat, Akane paused and slowly turned to face Mochida. Her voice came soft, almost trembling, as she spoke—words that seemed to carry the weight of countless scars.

“I… promise me that you won’t hate me,” she said, her crimson eyes fixed on him with a pleading intensity.

“Because people like you—warm, kind, and caring—always end up hating people like me in the end.”

But Mochida didn’t waver. Not even for a breath. His response came instantly, his tone unwavering and full of quiet conviction.

“I promise,” he said, meeting her gaze with steady warmth.

“No matter what you reveal about yourself… I would never hate you.”

Akane gasped softly, stunned by the unwavering devotion in his voice. She took a deep breath, her small chest rising and falling as she steadied herself, then began to speak—her voice low, fragile, yet resolute.

“I am a chupacabra,” she confessed. “Or… at least, I’m half of one. I’m the result of a failed government experiment.”

Her eyes flickered with pain, her fingers curling slightly against her lap as she continued.

“My parents couldn’t afford to survive anymore. So they sold themselves—sold me too—to government officials. They were trying to create a new breed of living weapons: dogs of war… the chupacabra. But they haven’t succeeded. Not really. They’re using humans to try and make them, and most of the results have been failures. Instead of becoming full chupacabras, most subjects end up like me—hybrids. Half-human, half-chupacabra.”

She glanced up at him, eyes gleaming.

“The government wants full conversions—monsters who can shift into humans and then back again, without flaw. But a half like me… I’ll never be fully human again. My crimson eyes, my pale skin, even my hair—it won’t stop growing, no matter what I do. It’s proof I’ll never go back.”

Her voice grew tighter, more guarded, as if reliving each word.

“My parents and I ran. We knew what would happen otherwise. They’ve been discarding hybrids like me, killing us off. Only the fully converted ones are kept alive because they have better control, better abilities. They can transform into powerful beasts and then shift seamlessly back into human form. But hybrids? We just become grotesque creatures—wild, dangerous, like enraged dogs—with barely any strength, and even less control over our rage.”

She paused, her tone thick with bitterness and sorrow.

“And because the government’s been running this operation in secret, they won’t allow any loose ends. No risks. That’s why… they’re killing every last one of us who didn’t turn out right.”

Mochida sat frozen, unable to fully grasp the weight of what he had just heard. The truth Akane had shared clung to the air like a storm cloud, heavy and aching. Tears welled in his eyes, unbidden, and before he knew it, he rose from his place and walked over to her. Without a word, he lowered himself beside her and gently pulled her into his arms.

He held her close, pressing her trembling frame against his chest as his hand began to softly pat her back—each movement slow and careful, meant to comfort rather than console.

“I’m so sorry you had to endure something so awful,” he whispered, his voice cracking with emotion. “Especially when you’re just a child. But don’t worry… I’ll protect you.”

He pulled back then, just enough to look into her face, and reached up to tenderly wipe away the tears streaking her cheeks. Akane gave him a slow, fragile nod in response—then her gaze drifted past him.