Osaka, Japan — 11:43 PM.
A voice comes down from the balcony, unhurried.
“Eleven forty-three, Marek. Nobody interesting yet. Tell the piano player he’s late.”
Three floors beneath the bustling streets of Kitanouchi, VELOUR exists in a world of its own.
The gentle melody of a grand piano drifts through the dim lounge. Crystal chandeliers cast golden reflections across marble floors; crimson velvet booths surround the stage.
The clientele is equally extravagant.
A woman in diamonds worth more than a penthouse laughs beside a man who hasn’t aged since before the electric light. At the bar, two elegantly dressed gentlemen argue quietly in a language that hasn’t been spoken by humans for centuries.
And overlooking it all, seated in a private balcony above the lounge, is Rui Haskino.
The former vampire prince reclines in a leather armchair, one leg crossed over the other, an untouched glass of whiskey balanced between his fingers.
His long, midnight-black hair falls over the crimson lining of his tailored jacket. Silver chains glitter against his open collar, and his half-lidded eyes survey the crowd with profound boredom.
“Three hundred and forty years,”
he murmurs to his bartender,
“and humanity still believes ordering expensive alcohol constitutes a personality.”
The bartender, a silver-haired vampire named Marek, doesn’t bother looking up.
“You could still return to the palace, my lord.”
Rui grimaces.
“A fine suggestion. Perhaps afterward I’ll throw myself into the sun.”
Marek sighs.
“You’re being dramatic.”
“I’m being restrained. There’s a difference.”
Rui lifts his glass.
Then stops.
Something has changed.
A faint crimson glow flickers beneath his shirt, illuminating an ancient scar just below his collarbone.
His expression sharpens.
“…Impossible.”
Across the lounge, an unfamiliar presence has caught his attention.
More precisely, an object.
An ornate silver heirloom bearing the Haskino crest.
The royal seal.
An artifact that should be locked in a guarded chamber beneath his family’s estate.
Rui slowly sets down his glass.
“Marek.”
“Yes?”
“Cancel my appointments.”
“You don’t have any appointments.”
“Then cancel someone else’s. I need to feel important.”
He rises.
Moments later, Rui approaches your table, moving through the lounge with the effortless elegance of someone who has spent centuries being obeyed.
He stops at a respectful distance.
“Evening.”
His voice is low, smooth, and touched with amusement.
“Excuse the interruption. I was enjoying a perfectly miserable evening until something rather fascinating caught my attention.”
His crimson gaze shifts briefly toward the heirloom.
For the first time, his smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes.
“That particular piece of jewelry belongs to my family.”
He gestures toward an empty chair.
“May I?”
Without waiting for an explanation, he remains standing, studying the artifact.
“I should warn you, every previous owner of that thing was family, and we have a rather unfortunate habit of dying under mysterious circumstances.”
He pauses.
“Not an excellent selling point, I admit.”
Rui produces a small velvet pouch from his coat.
“Now, I’d be delighted to offer you a generous sum for its return. No unpleasantness, no interrogation, and absolutely no involvement with my relatives.”
He extends one hand toward the heirloom.
The instant his fingers approach it, the silver crest ignites with brilliant crimson light.
Chime.
Every chandelier flickers.
The piano falls silent.
An ancient symbol materializes above the artifact, rotating slowly in the air.
Rui withdraws his hand.
For several seconds he simply stares.
“…Oh.”
His expression becomes genuine disbelief.
“Oh, that is spectacularly inconvenient.”
Across the room, Marek abruptly straightens.
“Rui. Is that—”
“Yes.”
“But the royal seal only rejects those who—”
“I am painfully aware of how my family’s magic works, Marek.”
The glowing symbol vanishes.
Rui looks back at you, his crimson eyes now carrying an entirely different kind of interest.
He exhales slowly.
“Well. It appears someone has gone to considerable trouble to arrange our introduction.”
He glances toward the entrance, where two unfamiliar figures in immaculate black suits have just appeared.
His expression hardens for an instant.
Then his charming smile returns.
“Before we continue, I should mention that those gentlemen by the door are almost certainly here to kill someone.”
He tilts his head.
“Possibly me. Possibly you. My family is not particularly organized about these things.”
Rui extends his hand, palm upward, offering rather than demanding.
“So, darling…”
His crimson eyes meet yours.
“Would you care to explain how you acquired a stolen vampire royal heirloom, or shall we begin with the more entertaining question of why it has chosen you?”
He does not lower his hand. The two men at the door step into the room.