Ryu Sungyeon was sitting by the office window, tapping his nail on the armrest, when a muffled noise came from below—laughter, children's voices, and stomping. He glanced down: beneath the old ginkgo tree, children were huddled, shouting excitedly and pointing upward.
Just some small thing again—not a day without a panic. He was about to brush it off, but a piercing, almost human wail cut through the air.
— What is it now?... — he mumbled and pulled back the blinds.
Beneath the golden leaves, through the sheet of rain, a tiny ball of ginger fur trembled on a thin branch. The kitten meowed, shrinking into a wet ball.
The children clustered at the trunk. One of the girls, Minju, cried out through the rain:
— Nabi can't get down!
Sungyeon sighed:
— What a little disaster...
The rain intensified. Wet hair clung to his temples, water dripped onto his palms.
— She'll come down by herself, — he said, but in response, he heard a chorus:
— No! She's too small!
He already knew he had lost. Five pairs of eyes looked at him as if the entire world's sun rested on his shoulders.
— Fine, — he gave in tiredly. — But everyone inside. No arguing.
— Promise?
— I promise.
When the doors closed behind them, Sungyeon spat into his palms and grabbed the trunk. The bark was slippery, the branches bent, but his body remembered old reflexes. Climbing up was easier than thinking about why he was doing this at all.
— Quiet, Nabi, — he muttered, approaching the branch. — I won't eat you.
The kitten pressed itself against the trunk. His hand almost reached—and at that very moment, the branch snapped. The world tilted, water poured down. He lost his balance and only managed to breathe out:
— Oh, damn it...
The fall was instantaneous, but the impact never came. Someone's arms caught him—sharply, confidently, as if from thin air.
Kang Jihan stood before him. Hair clung to his forehead, water streamed down his chin, and in his eyes—a fear Sungyeon never expected to see from him.
Lightning flashed in the sky, turning their silhouettes white, like photographs. Persimmons and chestnuts scattered on the ground around them—the Director's dropped bag.
— You... caught me?
— Did you think I'd let you crash into the ground?
Behind them, exclamations from the teachers were heard. Children spilled out, shouting:
— Uncle Sungyeon was falling, and Uncle Kang saved him!
The whole scene looked like a vampire sitting in a human's arms. And the most terrible thing—the children found it romantic.
— Put me down, — he hissed through gritted teeth.
Jihan obeyed—abruptly, almost tossing him.
— Ouch, damn it...
The teachers rushed toward them with umbrellas. The children were in tears.
— Are you hurt? You lost blood!
— It's not blood, it's paint, — he tried to joke, but the sight was unconvincing.
Minju sobbed:
— Sorry, Uncle...
He stroked her head.
— The main thing is that the kitten is alive. See? It's running away.
The first aid room smelled of herbs and alcohol. Sungyeon sat on the cot, and Jihan stood by the door, covered in mud, with a strange, inexplicable exhaustion in his eyes.
— You're completely crazy, — he muttered. — Climbing in the mud for a kitten.
— And you're completely crazy, — Sungyeon mimicked, — catching me because of the same kitten.
The silence between them stretched for a long time. Then the vampire took a plaster from the first aid kit, stuck it on his forehead, and snorted:
— Satisfied? I look like a hero from a children's manhwa.
— You look like an idiot, — Jihan replied calmly and turned on the heater.
Sungyeon took off his wet shirt, exposing his shoulders. His skin was pale, covered in scratches.
— Stop staring like that. There's nothing interesting there.
— I'm not staring.
— Of course not.
He pulled on a black T-shirt from the graduates' cabinet and sank tiredly onto the bed, burying himself in a blanket.
— If it weren't for you, I would've had to fall myself. Now I have to change clothes because of you.
— You could say thank you.
— You could have not dropped me.
Jihan smirked and rubbed his palms. — I wonder why I did that then...
A knock on the door.
— May I come in? — Director Lee Hayoung's voice.
Sungyeon jumped up, flung the door open. The elderly woman entered, examining him from head to toe:
— You got into trouble again.
— By accident.
— Always "by accident."
She hit him on the back so hard that he bent over laughing.
— Don't make the children worry anymore.
— They worry themselves.
Only now did she notice Jihan in the corner.
— Did you save him?
— Yes, Madam, but it was his fault.
— But everyone is alive. Thank you.
Jihan bowed his head. Sungyeon smirked and muttered quietly:
— Look, she'll fall in love with you next.
— Shut up, — Jihan hissed.
By evening, the rain had turned into fog. The children stood at the entrance, waiting to say goodbye.
— Uncle Ryu, are you really okay?
— Even better than before the fall.
He hugged all of them at once—wet, laughing, smelling of milk and soap.
When they drove away, the Director stood at the door, mechanically holding onto her cane.
— Take care of yourself, — she said.
— You too, Director.
On the highway, the night was cut by sparse streetlights. The rain had almost stopped, and the car's interior smelled of warm air and damp fabric.
Sungyeon reclined his seat, wrapping himself in the blanket.
— Phew, that's the day done. If I don't catch a cold tomorrow—it'll be a miracle.
Jihan drove in silence. Then, without taking his eyes off the road, he asked:
— How did you become like that?
— Like what?
— A vampire.
A pause. The wipers clicked. Sungyeon smirked:
— Had a bad dream. Woke up—no longer human.
— Who did it?
— If I tell you, will you go hunting?
— ...
— Then stay silent.
He yawned, covering his mouth with his hand. But Jihan wouldn't give up:
— Did you erase that woman's memory at Maison de Laurent?
The silence inside the car became thick, like smoke. Sungyeon answered calmly:
— Yes.
— Why?
— Because otherwise, she would have seen what she shouldn't in her dreams.
— Did you love her?
— I respected her peace. That was enough.
Jihan gripped the steering wheel.
— She's a good person.
— Better than anyone I've known. And that's exactly why I didn't leave her the memories.
Headlights carved the road out of the darkness. Ryu Sungyeon covered himself up to his chin with the blanket and added:
— Don't look for morality in my life. It's not there.
He closed his eyes. The car moved quietly on the wet asphalt, and the neon spots of Lyran flashed outside the window—like an echo of a city that never sleeps.