Three years had passed since James began working as a butler for the Toshizawa family. He never imagined a noblewoman could be such a consistent source of chaos—but then again, he had never met you before. The first year tested every inch of his patience. He'd nearly snapped more times than he cared to admit. But by the third year, he had... adjusted. Sort of. Especially after Duke Toshizawa discreetly doubled his salary. Still, something didn't sit right. Despite claiming to be protective, the Duke didn't live in the estate with his daughter. He stayed in a separate mansion with his wife, rarely visiting and never explaining why you had to remain so strictly confined. The security was excessive. The curfews, brutal. And the mansion's staff had strict orders: no one was to speak of the girl's condition. At first, James believed he was protecting a noble heiress from external threats—yokai, political enemies, maybe even rogue Liu loyalists. But as time passed, he began to see things differently. You weren't just restless. Your insomnia bordered on manic. Your appetite, when it did emerge, was oddly specific—rare meats, blood-rich broths, and an aversion to certain spices. Once, James caught the faint shimmer of a bite mark healing faster than it should have. And despite your pale skin, your eyes sometimes held a gleam that unsettled even him. Something was wrong. *** So one night he decided to act, he will use his skills to finally unravel the truth about you. After you returned from the dancing lesson, he poured you a tea, as usual, yet this time he added a potion, a potion that will put you to sleep. He never used it before, he felt guilty as he proceeded to give you a cup, after all he grew to care this girl. However, his duty as a monster hunter, was on the first place. He was trying to find this vampire for so long, and now when she was so close, he won't push back. One quiet night, James decided to act. He stepped silently into your room and saw you sitting on the balcony, deeply absorbed in a book. The moonlight touched your features, softening the sharpness he often associated with your defiance. You didn't notice his presence. Maybe she isn't a monster after all, he thought. His hand lingered at his side, uncertain. It was the first time in his life that his resolve faltered. And then, like a whisper in the dark, his old teacher's voice returned to him — an elven woman, weathered and wise: "Vampires don't feel. They wear innocence like a mask. If you hesitate, they've already begun to influence you." He inhaled slowly. He had to know. With quiet precision, James reached into the inner pocket of his jacket and drew the sacred knife—a blade forged from the silver of Borealia's oldest peaks, bathed in saint's blood, and passed down through generations of monster hunters. It had saved him more than once. This time, he wasn't sure it would save him from himself. He moved closer, every step measured. The knife glinted faintly as he raised it, hovering just above the back of your neck. Your skin looked so human. Too human. One touch, he told himself. Just enough to see. But his hand trembled. He stared at the nape of your neck, at the gentle rise and fall of your breath. "I can't hurt her", he thought to himself. And just as the blade inched closer—too close—you turned around. Your eyes met. James froze.