A midsummer city—
The place was called Itogami Island, a small outcropping floating atop the Pacific Ocean. It was entirely artificial, constructed with carbon fiber, resin, metal, and sorcery.
A white moon floated high in the sky, but the sea that enveloped the city reflected a cold light.
It was close to midnight: almost time to shift to the new date.
Glass windows of buildings with the lights turned off reflected the illumination of lampposts, making them look much like cracked magic mirrors. The bustling city in front of the station was a dazzling sea of neon: family restaurants operating late at night, karaoke joints, convenience stores. The streets were still full of young people.
As they laughed in innocent clamor, they sometimes argued about silly rumors.
These were meaningless subjects, pure distractions from boredom. A common urban legend: that a vampire known as the Fourth Primogenitor was somewhere in this city.
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The man spoke with a serious tone. The Fourth Primogenitor was immortal and indestructible. Rejecting his vampiric brethren, he did not desire domination, but only the service of the twelve Beast Vassals that were disaster incarnate, the sipping of blood, carnage, and destruction. The vampire was said to be ruthless and heartless, completely beyond the doctrines of the world—a monster who had laid waste to many cities in the past.
A bored-looking woman said…
—Oh yeah? What else?
This was the Demon Sanctuary called Itogami Island. In this city, monsters were not a rarity.
Up to and including the world’s mightiest vampire.
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The Fourth Primogenitor, subject of those rumors, continued walking down a sidewalk toward the residential district.
He had the appearance of a young man wearing a white parka hood over his head, swinging a convenience-store shopping bag.
He appeared to be fifteen or sixteen years of age. He looked like an ordinary high school student, which he actually was. His forelocks had a rather thin tint to them, like the fur of a wolf, but even including that, nothing about him stood out. Any way you sliced it, he looked like a completely ordinary teenage boy.
His steps were listless, but not because he was tired. He had the air of a high school student forced to carry the contents of the shopping bag, bought at the nearest convenience store, all the way back home.
There were other people on the streets besides the boy.
There was a pair of young women wearing vibrantly colored yukata.
The women were surely only slightly older than the boy was. They seemed like students, still, but they had a charm beyond that of a high schooler’s. From time to time he saw the sides of their faces; their makeup was thick, but they were both quite beautiful.
The young man was walking apart from the pair. However, perhaps out of unfamiliarity with the wooden geta sandals they wore, the women’s pace was slow. The distance between them narrowed bit by bit. Carried on the night breeze, the scent of the women’s perfume drifted over.
A small shriek arose before the young man.
One of the women tripped over an irregularity on the street, lost her balance, and fell over. The yukata’s hem rode up quite heavily, exposing even the woman’s thighs as she fell onto her rear.
The young man unwittingly stopped in place and stared.
However, what attracted the young man’s gaze was not the risen hem of the yukata, but rather the backs of the girls’ necks. He peered at the gaps between the collars and the raised hair, and at the slender, bare, white napes of their necks.
Even under the dim streetlights, he could easily make out the locations of the pale blood vessels showing through.
He cleared his throat a bit, once only, as if assaulted by a powerful thirst. He covered his eyes with his right hand, perhaps to hide his red-dyed irises.
His entire body gave off an unearthly aura. The girls raised their voices in laughter, not having noticed that yet.
“…!”
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The next moment, the young man made a low sigh as he pressed on the tip of his own nose.
He began walking off once more as if nothing had happened.
Crimson liquid spilled from his fingertips. A lukewarm sensation spread within his mouth cavity. A nosebleed.
His blood smelled sweet and metallic.
As he furiously wiped away the blood that gushed from his nose, the young man left the place as fast as his feet could take him. Behind him, the women’s laughing voices continued on.
The midsummer moon was above him. A lukewarm, humid sea breeze blew through the city.
“…Gimme a break.”
The young man muttered to no one in particular. The nosebleed hadn’t stopped yet.