Victor was slumped on the sofa, his body thrown haphazardly, one leg dangling to the side and his arm resting on the backrest, his gaze fixed on the ceiling. There was no real focus there. He wasn’t analyzing anything specific, he wasn’t planning his next workout, nor was he trying to solve any immediate problem. He was just... still. The physical exhaustion was still present, spread throughout his body, but that wasn’t what weighed most heavily on him at that moment. What kept coming back, repeating insistently, were Carmilla and Scarlet’s words. Not the tone, not the irritation, but the content. What they said, and especially the way they said it, wouldn’t leave his head.

He took a deep breath, exhaling slowly without changing position. The feeling was strange. He had been pressured before, criticized before, had been through worse situations physically and mentally, but this... this was different. There was no gratuitous aggression, no exaggeration. It was direct. Simple. And for that very reason, it was harder to ignore. He didn’t like to admit it, but some of what was said made sense. And that bothered him more than any blow.

The silence in the space where he was didn’t last long. First came the footsteps. Not discreet, not controlled. They were heavy footsteps, accompanied by rapid movement, as if someone were pacing back and forth impatiently. Soon after, voices. Two. And it wasn’t a quiet conversation. It was an argument. Not loud enough to be a complete scandal, but charged enough to make it clear that this had been going on for some time.

Victor closed his eyes for a second, lightly pressing his temples with his fingers before letting out a heavier sigh. He didn’t get up, didn’t turn his body, didn’t try to interrupt directly. He just spoke, without raising his voice, but with enough authority to be heard.

"Carmilla. Scarlet. Get out of here."

There was a brief silence on the other side, as if both had stopped at the same time. There was no verbal response. There was no complaint. There wasn’t even a sarcastic comment, which in itself said a lot about the current state of their relationship. The next instant, two presences vanished almost simultaneously, dissolving into a mist of blood without any dramatic effect. They simply ceased to be there.

Victor opened his eyes again, still staring at the ceiling. He didn’t comment on it. He didn’t need to. The situation between them wasn’t good, and he knew it. It wasn’t something he was willing to resolve at that moment either.

The footsteps that followed were different. More controlled. More organized. And they weren’t coming from inside, but from the main entrance. Victor didn’t change position, but his attention shifted. He didn’t need to see to know it wasn’t the two of them returning.

The door opened.

Serafall entered first, her gaze automatically scanning the room, like someone assessing more than just the physical space. Right behind her, Charlotte entered carrying the rigid briefcase with the same care as before. Her expression was focused, direct, like someone who already had a defined objective. Rakshasa came next, completely at ease, her gaze calm, analyzing the environment without any sign of discomfort. Her butler entered last, almost imperceptibly, his presence so controlled that it seemed to occupy no space at all.

Victor didn’t get up.

He only turned his face enough to look in their direction, still lying on the sofa, his body slumped, without any attempt to adjust himself or show formal respect for their presence.

"Hi," he said, his voice slurred, lacking real energy. "Are you finished?"

His gaze quickly swept over each of them, lingering a little longer on Serafall, but without lingering.

"I’m not feeling very well," he continued, turning onto his stomach and partially burying his face in the back of the sofa. "Can you guys argue outside? I’m going to try to get some sleep."

Serafall frowned slightly. That wasn’t the kind of reception she’d expected, especially considering his recent condition.

"What happened?" she asked bluntly.

Victor didn’t respond immediately. He pulled his arm up, covering part of his head as if trying to block any interaction. When he spoke, his voice was muffled, but still audible.

"I screwed up," he said. There was a short pause, and then he finished with a tone that mixed tiredness with something close to frustration. "I’m depressed. Get out of here."

The silence that followed was brief, but heavy with reading. Charlotte observed the scene attentively, her eyes moving from Victor to Serafall and back again, analyzing not only his physical state but his behavior. It was the first time she had seen him in person, and that already said a lot.

Without commenting on his tone, she moved. The briefcase was carefully placed on a nearby surface and immediately opened. The interior was precisely organized, medical instruments lined up, everything prepared for immediate use.

She picked up a syringe.

Large.

The needle was unusual, visibly longer and thicker than standard.

"Can I draw blood now?" Charlotte asked, looking at Serafall, but already holding the tool, ready to use.

Rakshasa glanced at her instantly, her expression shifting slightly, not to exaggerated surprise, but to direct interest.

"Draw blood?" she repeated, tilting her head slightly. "Why?"

Charlotte didn’t answer immediately. Her gaze returned to Victor, assessing his position on the sofa, the apparent state of his body, his breathing, his lack of active reaction to his surroundings.

Serafall crossed her arms for a second, clearly processing more than one thing at a time. The way Victor was acting, what Charlotte had said before, and Rakshasa’s presence there in the middle.

"Explain," Serafall said, looking at Charlotte.

Charlotte didn’t hesitate this time.

"His blood might be the only thing capable of saving Natasha," she said directly. "But I need to confirm it first."

The atmosphere changed.

Not explosively, but noticeably. The information immediately shifted the weight of the situation.

Victor didn’t move.

But he heard.

This was clear from the slight adjustment in his breathing, almost imperceptible, but enough to indicate attention.

Rakshasa kept her gaze on Charlotte for a few more seconds before shifting it to Victor again, now with a more defined interest.

"So that’s it," she murmured, more to herself than to the others.

Serafall looked at Victor.

"Stand up," she said.

It wasn’t aggressive.

But it wasn’t optional either.

Victor didn’t respond immediately. His body remained in the same position for a few seconds, as if deciding whether it was worth reacting. In the end, he slowly exhaled and turned his face to the side, without standing up completely.

"Later," he said. "Not now."

Charlotte took a step forward.

"This can’t wait," she said, her tone still controlled, but firmer.

Victor opened one eye, looking at her more directly for the first time.

"Everything can wait," he replied. "Including this."

Rakshasa let out a small, low, humorless laugh.

"Interesting," she commented.

Serafall didn’t laugh.

Her gaze deepened.

Serafall took a step forward, her gaze fixed on him, trying to keep her voice steady despite the urgency that was already evident. "Victor," she said, more direct now, without beating around the bush, "this is about Natasha. If you help me, I can teach you about—"

He cut her off before she finished, without even looking properly in her direction. "Enough training," he replied, exhaling through his nose, clearly impatient with that approach. "I’m good."

The silence that followed was uncomfortable. It wasn’t a common refusal, nor simple stubbornness. It was exhaustion. A weariness that didn’t just come from his body, but from everything that had been pushed upon him in recent months. He didn’t argue, didn’t contend, didn’t try to justify himself. He simply rose from the sofa with a slow movement, like someone still feeling the weight of his own body.

Charlotte was already ready, syringe in hand, but didn’t say anything. She only watched as Victor walked towards her, stopping close enough to make it clear that he wasn’t going to cooperate in the conventional way.

"Stay still," he said simply.

Before anyone could react, his hand moved. There was no long preparation, no hesitation. His fingernail lengthened slightly, taking on a more rigid shape, almost like an improvised blade. He pulled his own arm and made a direct cut, deep enough to leave no doubt about his intention.

The blood flowed instantly.

Not in drops.

In a stream.

Charlotte froze for a second, surprised by how carelessly he did it, without even adjusting the angle or thinking about method. It was brutal. Direct. Functional.

Victor extended his arm over the open case, tilting his wrist slightly to direct the flow. The blood began to fall inside, staining the organized interior, covering instruments, filling the space haphazardly.

No one interrupted.

Serafall remained silent, observing. There was no approval in her gaze, but there was also no interference. She understood what he was doing, even if she didn’t like the method.

Charlotte reacted quickly after the first second. She adjusted the position of the case, ensuring that the blood wasn’t completely wasted, trying to salvage as much as possible from that improvised collection. It wasn’t the ideal method, far from it, but it was... sufficient, considering the situation.

Rakshasa watched from the side, his eyes fixed on the movement, analyzing not only the act itself, but the intention behind it. There was no dramatization, no need to show resistance. He simply did it.

When he judged it was enough, Victor clenched his fist tightly. The flow lessened, and the cut began to close slowly, not instantly, but enough to stop the active bleeding. He didn’t look at his own arm, didn’t check the result. He just lowered his hand.

"There you go," he said, emotionlessly.

Charlotte quickly closed the briefcase, holding it tightly, already protecting the contents as if it were something critical. Her gaze was still on him, assessing, clearly processing what had just happened.

Victor was already turning back to the sofa.

"Now get out of here," he continued, his voice lower, heavier. "I want to be alone."

He threw himself back onto the sofa in almost the same way as before, turning his body to the side and resting his arm over his face, closing off any chance of conversation.

Serafall didn’t speak immediately. Her gaze lingered on him for a few seconds, as if deciding whether to insist or not. In the end, she slowly exhaled, her body relaxing slightly, even though the tension hadn’t completely disappeared.

Charlotte clutched the briefcase to her body, her mind already focused on the next step, what needed to be done with it, the time they had, the real possibilities.

Rakshasa didn’t move along with the others. When Victor dropped that answer and threw himself back onto the sofa as if nothing mattered, she remained still, looking at him with a level of attention that didn’t match the rest of the room.

"What a pathetic way to put it?" she said loudly, without softening anything.

It was exactly the kind of thing Serafall had thought, but not said. The difference was that Rakshasa had no reason to hold back. Victor didn’t even take his arm away from his face. "Huh? Leave me alone... I’m burnt out, I’m fucking exhausted..." he began, his voice slurred, without any concern for who was listening.

He didn’t finish.

The impact came first.

Rakshasa moved without warning, and the punch landed cleanly, sideways, heavy enough to completely dislocate his jaw instantly. Victor’s body left the sofa without resistance, crossed the narrow space of the room, and hit the wall with a dry, loud sound that reverberated through the room.

It wasn’t pretty.

It wasn’t controlled.

It was direct.

The kind of blow that wasn’t meant to teach technique, it was meant to interrupt a state.

Victor fell to the floor on his side, his body taking a second to react after the impact. His head turned slightly, misaligned, his jaw clearly out of place. He tried to say something, but the sound didn’t come out right. Just a choked, faltering noise.

Rakshasa walked toward him unhurriedly, as if it hadn’t required any effort at all.

"Congratulations," she said, looking down, her voice steady. "You’ve achieved another one of my first times."

She tilted her head slightly, observing his state without any sign of regret.

"It’s the first time I’ve felt contempt for someone I like."

There was a short pause.

"Actually, it’s two first times," she continued. "It’s the first time I’ve liked someone."

The silence in the room weighed differently after that. It wasn’t emotional. It was strange. Too direct.

Rakshasa then glanced at Serafall, as if Victor wasn’t even the main issue anymore.

"Go sort out what needs to be sorted out," she said simply. "I’ll educate your son a little."

Serafall held her gaze for a second. She clearly considered interfering, her body tensing slightly as if assessing the entire situation in a single instant. But the image of Victor abandoned like that, giving up halfway through, was still fresh in her mind.

She exhaled through her nose.

"Do whatever you want," she replied. "Killing is forbidden."

Without waiting for a response, she turned towards Charlotte.

"Let’s go," she said, regaining her focus. "We need to get to Natasha as quickly as possible."

Charlotte nodded immediately, gripping the briefcase tightly, and followed without question. The two left the room without looking back, their pace quickening as they moved away.

The door closed.

And the silence that followed was not the same as before.

"How long have you been training without rest?" she asked seriously.

Victor shrugged: "Four months."

"Without rest and learning what improved? Are you an idiot? Who was the moron who sent you—"

"My mother did the training."

"Your mother? The one who never trained in her entire life and is blessed to be a Brutal Genius? The self-taught mother who doesn’t even know how to teach the basics? That mother?"

Victor looked at her, "What?" 𝑓𝘳𝑒𝑒𝓌𝘦𝘣𝘯ℴ𝑣𝘦𝑙.𝘤𝑜𝑚

"Damn, what did they do to you? Did someone who actually trains teach you anything?"