When he opened his eyes, Samael was greeted by a ceiling that was far too white.
The light hurt.
An excruciating headache throbbed inside his skull, as if someone were hammering it from the inside. He let out a low groan and tried to move—an unforgivable mistake.
"Ah… my head…" he muttered.
With difficulty, he turned his face and surveyed his surroundings. He did not recognize the place, but the clean, metallic scent was unmistakable.
"…The infirmary," he concluded, grimacing.
His memories returned in fragmented flashes—the dojo, the impact, Leon's smile.
Samael's jaw tightened.
"That bastard could've hit a little lighter…" he complained in a surprisingly normal tone. Not the usual low, controlled whisper he always used.
"Sorry, but it was a fight. I couldn't really hold back."
The voice came from beside the bed.
Calm. Controlled.
Samael froze.
He slowly turned his head… and found Leon sitting there, relaxed, as if he were visiting an injured friend.
"What are you doing here?" Samael asked.
Only then did he realize it.
His voice had dropped dramatically. Almost to a whisper.
Leon raised an eyebrow, curious.
"Why are you talking so quietly now?"
"Nothing…" Samael replied far too quickly. "…And, uh, sorry."
Embarrassment followed immediately. He had cursed Leon without realizing he was present—and now he couldn't stop speaking in that subdued tone.
An uncomfortable silence settled between them.
How strange… Samael thought. I don't know why, but I really don't like this guy.
It wasn't anger.It wasn't fear.
It was something more instinctive.
There was one crucial detail Samael didn't know.
The infirmary had no windows.
Outside, the sun was already setting.
Night was approaching.
"About your question…" Leon said, breaking the silence. "Since I was the one who knocked you out, Professor Rock asked me to bring you here."
It sounded simple. Logical.
But there was a detail Leon conveniently left out.
He hadn't been chosen.
He had volunteered.
More than that—he had used his influence to make sure it was him.
A few hours earlier
"He's still not showing any signs of waking up, professor," a female student said, concern evident in her voice.
Professor Rock crossed his arms, observing Samael's unconscious body.
"Hm… can someone take him to the infirmary?"
"I can, professor!" the girl replied immediately, far too eager to hide her desire to please him.
Before Rock could respond, Leon stepped forward.
"I think it'd be better if I take him," he said with a polite smile. "He might feel uncomfortable waking up while being carried by a girl."
"That's not a problem," the student countered, holding her ground. "I'll do my best not to make him uncomfortable."
For a moment, Leon said nothing.
He simply cast a brief glance over his shoulder.
His lackeys understood instantly.
"Hey… if Leon asked to do something, you obey," one of them said, approaching the girl with a threatening tone.
"Easy, easy… no need for violence," Leon added, raising a hand as if calming them down.
His smile never faded.
"I'll take him, alright?" he concluded, already lifting Samael. "No need to worry."
It didn't sound like a request.
And it left no room for negotiation.
Leon was still sitting there, the same polite smile on his face.
"You slept for quite a while, Samael," he said, his calm voice echoing against the white walls. "I was worried."
A chill ran down Samael's spine. The shadows in the corners of the room seemed to stir, reacting to his discomfort. He knew Leon was lying—he just didn't know why.
And beyond the pain caused by the lie, Samael felt something else.
Something inside him.
Something pressing.Trying to break free.
"The nurse said you should stay here until she gets back," Leon continued.
"Okay…" Samael replied, swallowing hard. "I think it's better if you leave now."
He tried to sound calm. Normal.
He failed.
Panic and desperation leaked into his voice.
Leon tilted his head slightly.
"Oh…" he murmured with a smile. "What are you so afraid of that you're trying to kick me out in a panic?"
His eyes gleamed.
A dangerous gleam.
It was the unmistakable sign that Samael had piqued his interest.
"N-Nothing…" Samael whispered, still panicking. "You're imagining things…"
Inside, however, he felt it.
The pressure was increasing.
Something within him was stirring, forcing its way out.
"I'm fine now. You can go," he insisted, his voice faltering slightly in his desperate attempt to end this.
Leon observed every microexpression.
Every tremor.
"I'm worried about you," he replied with the same calm smile. "So I'll stay a little longer."
The instant those words were spoken, a sharp pain pierced Samael's chest.
It wasn't physical.
It was visceral.
"If you don't leave… I will," Samael said, already moving to get out of bed.
Dizziness nearly sent him crashing to the floor, but desperation pushed him forward. He stood, ready to run.
He didn't make it two steps.
Leon blocked the exit with his body.
He didn't touch him.
He didn't need to.
"The nurse said to wait," Leon said, his tone now firm, authoritative. There was no opening. No negotiation.
That was when it happened.
The thing Samael feared most.
The transition began.
The air grew heavy. The shadows stretched across the white walls, warping in unnatural ways. Samael clutched his chest, gasping, feeling something shift beneath his skin.
"I-I think it's better if you leave now…" he said, his voice different. Unstable.
Leon blinked once.
Something was wrong.
Samael's appearance radiated pure panic and despair—but Leon couldn't understand why.
And that…
Intrigued him.
More than that.
It entertained him.
His lips curved into a slightly wider smile.
Forcing the situation suddenly seemed like an excellent idea.
The air in the infirmary became charged, oppressive. Samael dropped to his knees—not from weakness, but because his bones felt as though they were melting and reforming in real time. A groan escaped his throat—not of pain, but of sheer existential terror.
"What is… happening?" Leon's voice lost a bit of its composure. It wasn't fear—it was awe. He watched as the bones of Samael's face subtly shifted, the jawline softening, the shoulders narrowing beneath the uniform shirt. It was slow, deliberate, unnatural.
The shadows on the walls writhed like living things, reacting not to light, but to the distortion of reality unfolding at the center of the room.
Samael lifted his face. The same features—yet different. Softer. His already messy hair seemed longer, finer. His golden eyes, now framed by darker lashes, shone with a mix of panic and ancient fury.
The voice that emerged was a hoarse whisper, unmistakably feminine:
"Leave."
Leon didn't leave. He stepped forward—not to attack, but to observe more closely. His eyes devoured every change, every detail, with the hunger of a collector gazing upon a one-of-a-kind masterpiece.
"Incredible…" he whispered, extending a hand—not to touch, but as if measuring the distorted field around Samael. "Metamorphosis? A transformation Aspect? No… it's too… personal. It's like you're being undone and remade."
Samael—or whoever he was at that moment—shrunk back. Fury gave way to pure despair. He was naked in his anomaly before the most dangerous kind of predator: one fascinated by his weakness.
"I warned you…" the trembling voice said.
"You did," Leon agreed, a smile of genuine admiration on his lips. It was the smile of someone who had just won the greatest prize imaginable. "But you didn't explain. And now…" he took another step, closing the distance to nothing. "Now I need to understand. What are you, Samael Necroline? Or should I call you something else now?"