Chapter 2: The First Echo

My body felt electrified—like something inside me had been set alight.

Her touch lingered on my cheek. Cool. Gentle. But it left a warmth that refused to fade, pulsing beneath my skin as if her lips had drawn a line between who I was and what I might become.

I replayed the moment repeatedly.

The way her eyes studied mine. That subtle shift in her voice when she said it’s different with you. The kiss.

Was it gratitude? A soft thank-you sealed with elegance.

Or… did it mean something more?

The thought sent a rush through me—warmth, followed by doubt. Someone like her—untouchable, self-assured, a constellation orbiting far beyond my reach—she couldn’t look at me like that. Could she?

My chest tightened.

I tried to shake it off, to remind myself it was nothing. Just a gesture. Her way of closing the moment. But another part of me—quieter, more stubborn—held onto the possibility.

It felt like standing at the edge of something vast.

Hope urged me forward. Reality begged me to back away.

I closed my eyes, trying to level the storm in my head. But it wasn't just my thoughts.

Something deeper was changing.

The air felt different.

Sharper.

I noticed things I never had before: the faint hum of a vending machine across the yard, the rustle of leaves overhead, the soft tap of a distant footstep echoing down a hallway I wasn’t near.

I wasn’t imagining it.

The world had turned up its volume.

As I stepped off campus, the change became even more pronounced. Every detail stood out—each sound, texture, even the weight of the wind against my jacket. The scent of bread drifted from a bakery three streets away, sweet, and distinct. A car passed, and I picked out the metallic ripple of its exhaust, the click of rubber against asphalt.

I glanced upward.

The buildings around me looked... clearer.

Not just sharper. Crisper. Their edges caught the dying sunlight in a way I’d never noticed—like the city had been outlined in high definition and only now did I have the eyes to see it.

I stopped beneath a streetlight. Its hum vibrated against my eardrum, a low buzz I could feel more than hear. Somewhere nearby, a cyclist swore under his breath, voice swallowed by the breeze—but I caught it, perfectly.

The world wasn’t louder.

It was awake.

Or maybe—I was.

I brushed my fingers across my cheek, where she’d kissed me.

Was that what did it?

Had something shifted in me because of her?

The thought came and went in a rush.

I was tired. I was spiralling.

I’d imagined it all.

But deep down, I knew the truth.

The world hadn’t changed.

I had.

The Following Evening:

I stepped inside. The scent of simmering miso and grilled fish greeted me, soft and familiar. Normally, it would’ve settled something in me.

Tonight, it made my stomach curl.

The hallway felt longer, narrower. Like the walls were watching.

I dropped my bag near the shoe rack and slipped past the entry, keeping my head down. I just wanted silence. My room. A door between me and the world.

But the living room lights were on.

My parents’ voices carried easily into the hall.

“He’s doing so well,” Dad said. “Kenta got accepted into the regional research program. That school’s no joke.”

“Already interning, too,” Mom added with a smile in her voice. “I told you he’d go far.”

I stopped just shy of the living room archway, unseen.

It was always like this.

Kenta. Kenta. Kenta.

The golden son whose footsteps came with applause. My brother’s name filled the space like sacred incense.

“We’ll head out early tomorrow,” Dad continued. “Pick him up from the institute. They’ve been raving about his presentation, you know.”

“Should be a nice weekend,” Mom replied. “Just the four of us. Something simple. Let me look for a hotel.”

I blinked in disbelief.

Four?

I thought we were fi-

I remembered-I wasn’t even considered part of the family.

Before I could slip past, Aoi shuffled in from the hallway, tapping away at her phone.

She didn’t even look at me.

She never did.

“Speak of the devil,” Dad said, chuckling. “We were bragging about your brother again.”

Aoi gave a half-nod. “Mhm.”

“Honestly, we probably should leave Hikaru behind,” Dad joked. “He’d probably sleep the whole weekend if we let him!”

That was the spark.

I stepped fully into the light. Usually, I would let his sly remarks slide and try my best to ignore him. But something in me snapped. “What’s that supposed to mean?” I responded.

Dad glanced up, surprised. “You know what I mean. You’ve been drifting lately.”

“You mean not being Kenta?”

His expression shifted. “No need to be dramatic.”

I took a step closer. “You compare us every day. In everything. You act like he’s perfect and I’m just... here.”

Mom looked up from folding napkins. “Hikaru—”

“No,” I said. “You talk like I’m the problem. That if I just 'asked Kenta for help,' I’d magically be like him.”

Dad narrowed his eyes. “That’s not what I said.”

“But it’s what you meant.”

Aoi glanced up briefly but returned to scrolling.

“I’m not lazy,” I snapped. “I’m tired. Tired of being invisible. Of being weighed against someone who doesn’t even notice I exist.”

Dad stood slowly. “Watch your tone.”

“I am,” I said. “For once. You should, too.”

His voice dropped. “Don’t talk to me like that in my house.”

I stared at him. “Then maybe start talking to me like I’m part of it.”

Mom stepped between us. “Enough,” she said gently. “Hikaru, go cool off.”

My pulse raced, but I let it go.

I turned on my heel and headed down the hall.

And I slammed the door harder than I needed to.

Akane Fujiwara’s POV:

The room is quiet.

Too quiet.

Moonlight drips in through the curtains, delicate as frost, tracing silver lines along my desk, the edge of the mirror, the sleeves of my school blouse. I sit with perfect posture—shoulders aligned, ankles crossed, fingers folded just so.

It’s how I was raised.

How a Fujiwara presents themselves. Always measured. Always immaculate.

Even in solitude.

Especially in solitude.

But tonight, something’s fractured inside me—and I don’t know how to hold it still.

Hikaru.

His name burns soft beneath my ribs, threaded like warm static through my thoughts. I keep thinking about the hallway. About how he stood there—bleeding, shaking—and still stepped between me and the world like it was the most natural thing.

No hesitation. No calculation.

Just him.

When our eyes met, he saw me.

Not the version I construct every day in front of the school, the teachers, the council, the entire world. Not the girl built out of corrections and posture and faux elegance.

Just me.

And he didn’t flinch.

Even when my eyes shifted.

I know he saw it. That brief shimmer of red. Not brown. Not Hazel. Not any human shade.

He stared.

And then—

He said nothing.

Not one word.

I expected fear. Panic. Maybe disgust.

But all I saw was confusion.

Curiosity.

Something quiet.

Something familiar.

He should’ve asked what I was. He should’ve run. That’s what normal people do—stare at the anomaly until it breaks, then blame it for the discomfort.

But Hikaru didn’t do that.

He accepted me. Or he didn’t realise what he was accepting—but it doesn’t matter now.

Because he’s mine.

I don’t normally let people close.

That’s not a poetic statement. It’s policy.

Humans have always been impossible to tolerate. Loud. Reactive. Emotionally fragile in the most selfish ways. They break things and cry about the shards. They idolise things they don’t understand, then crucify them the second they get too real.

And worst of all?

They expect me to be perfect.

Every breath I take is curated.

Every syllable rehearsed.

I’ve been holding together a flawless façade since I was old enough to be watched.

Smile this way.

Speak like that.

Never lose control.

Not even in grief. Especially not in anger.

I don’t know if I hate humans because they’re greedy and ignorant—or because they expect me to clean up after their mess and call it elegance.

But Hikaru…

He didn’t need me to perform.

He didn’t interrupt the silence between us. Didn’t fill it with meaningless noise. His presence wasn’t demanding. It was grounding.

Like breathing in a memory.

And when I kissed him, it wasn’t strategic.

It wasn’t even planned.

I just wanted to touch him.

And now I can’t stop replaying that moment. The way his breath caught. The way his skin warmed beneath mine. The way I felt something pull inside me, low, dangerous, and real.

I may have gotten carried away.

Normally, a kiss like that would be symbolic—political, even.

But this wasn’t courtship.

It was a mark.

A bond.

And whether Hikaru realizes it or not... I made him mine.

Of course, I didn’t mean for it to go this far. I didn’t mean to give him anything—but the transfer was instinctive. I felt it the moment our pulses connected.

The power slipped into him. A thread of me, stitched beneath his skin.

He won’t become a vampire—not fully.

That would take blood. Ritual. Permission.

But the gift was passed. And it won’t fade.

His senses are already shifting.

His awareness will sharpen. Sight, sound, instinct—all of it will bloom. He’ll feel the shadows differently, hear things no one else can, taste memory in the wind.

And his body?

It will change.

Subtly. Maybe not.

But something in him already felt... off.

I noticed it before the kiss. Even before in the hallway.

Something in his gaze.

Like he wasn’t entirely rooted in the human world.

He wasn’t one-hundred percent human to begin with.

And by tomorrow?

He won’t be.

Which means—

I may have endangered him.

If anyone from the inner circles of Noctarra catches the scent... if word spreads that he’s marked...

He becomes a target.

Or worse—a weapon.

But I won’t let them have him.

I don’t care about protocol.

Or bloodlines.

Or council rules.

I will protect him.

I don’t care if it costs me everything.

Hikaru is mine.

Not because I decided it.

Not because I need him.

Because the moment I touched him, something in me recognized him. Something ancient. Something soft.

And I will kill the world if it tries to take him from me.