My name was Ishida. Twenty-seven years old. Male. Living in Tokyo, Japan.
I used to work at a black company—one of those soul-crushing corporations where you're expected to give everything and receive nothing in return. I endured the suffocating overtime, the unpaid hours, the silent expectation that I give up being human and become a machine. But I broke. I couldn't take it anymore. I walked away.
I thought things would get better.
They didn't.
I sent my resume everywhere—job portals, convenience stores, even manual labor sites. But no one responded. Day by day, my savings dwindled. Rent became impossible. The landlord didn't hesitate to kick me out.
From then on, I lived in a tiny rented cubicle in a cybercafé. At least there, I had a roof and electricity… for a time. But eventually, I couldn't even afford that.
My wallet was empty. My stomach too. I wandered the alleyways like a ghost, just another forgotten soul in the backstreets of Tokyo.
One night, I sat against a damp wall and looked up at the cloudy sky. The neon lights of the city didn't reach me here. It was just me and the quiet darkness.
"Did I do something wrong in a past life?" I murmured.
A bitter laugh escaped my lips.
"I want money! A house! Women! Is that too much to ask?" I shouted into the heavens, my voice echoing between buildings like a madman's prayer.
No one answered.
Four days passed. No food. No water. No help. The hunger clawed at my insides. My body no longer responded. My limbs felt heavy. My thoughts slowed. People walked past me like I didn't exist. No one even glanced my way.
Why is everyone so cruel?
My vision blurred. My breath grew shallow.
Then—nothing. No pain. No warmth. No light.
Just... silence.
---
I stirred.
Slowly, my eyes fluttered open.
Silken sheets caressed my skin. The ceiling above me shimmered with ornate carvings, lit softly by a warm, golden glow. I blinked.
What… where was I?
I sat up slowly, the bed beneath me softer than anything I'd ever touched. The room was large, elegantly decorated in a European classical style. Velvet drapes framed tall windows, and through them, the crescent moon hung in the night sky.
The lighting was dim, but not from bulbs or lamps—small stones embedded in the walls glowed faintly, casting a magical hue across the chamber.
"Strange... technology?" I muttered.
I looked down at my hands—and froze.
Slender fingers. Pale, porcelain skin.
"Hello? Is anyone there?" I called out. But the voice that I heard from myself wasn't the one I remembered. It was soft. Feminine. My voice… was different.
Alarmed, I stumbled out of bed and rushed to the mirror.
What stared back left me breathless.
A woman.
Beautiful. No—ethereal.
Long brunette hair, silky and smooth. Eyes like polished sapphires. Fair skin without blemish. Delicate features. A graceful, curvaceous form.
I touched my cheeks, my lips, my neck. Then… my chest. I was undeniably, unmistakably female.
"What in the world…" I whispered.
A sharp sting flared in my skull. I cried out, clutching my head as unfamiliar memories surged into my mind. A tidal wave of names, faces, places—none of them mine, yet they were mine.
I collapsed to my knees as visions blurred before my eyes—gatherings of nobles, dark halls lit by moonlight, and the feeling of power coursing through cold veins.
After what felt like an eternity, the pain subsided. My breathing steadied.
And I knew.
I was no longer Ishida.
I was Ella Esklair. Twenty-one years old. A viscountess. A noblewoman born into prestige, power—and something far more terrifying.
A vampire.
But not just any vampire.
A daywalker.
A rare anomaly in vampire bloodlines. One who could walk beneath the sun, who did not burn at its touch. Revered by some, feared by most. I had inherited both beauty and danger, nobility and darkness.
Then, a strange sensation welled up within me—a sudden, overwhelming thirst.
I could feel my fangs extending, piercing slightly past my lips. A dull ache throbbed in my gums. My throat burned with need—not for water, but for something darker… something richer.
Panicking, I reached for the silver bell at my bedside and rang it urgently.
"Tania! Tania!" I called out, my voice laced with both desperation and command.
The door opened swiftly, and a young woman in a crisp maid uniform entered with practiced grace.
"Yes, my lady?" she said, bowing slightly as she hurried to my side.
"Bring me my usual drink," I said, trying to maintain composure even as the hunger gnawed at me.
"At once, my lady. Please wait just a moment," Tania replied, then turned on her heel and rushed out of the room.
Moments later, she returned carrying a crystal bottle and a polished glass on a silver tray. The liquid inside shimmered dark crimson beneath the candlelight.
She poured it without a word, the aroma of wine and something more—something coppery—rising in the air.
I took the glass and drank it down in one smooth motion.
The burn in my throat eased.
The thirst dulled.
My fangs slowly retracted, shrinking to a subtle sharpness just barely visible if one looked closely. Still unnatural, but no longer threatening.
I exhaled deeply, savoring the temporary relief.
"You may leave now," I told her softly.
"Yes, my lady." Tania bowed again and quietly exited the room, the door clicking shut behind her.
I set the glass aside and leaned back into the silken pillows, staring out the window at the moonlit sky.
The drink—my "usual"—was a blend of rich red wine and animal blood. It was the only thing I could stomach. The thought of drinking blood directly… it made my stomach twist.
Why animal blood? Because I refuse to harm humans.
…At least for now.
I pulled the covers over myself and sank into the softness of the mattress. The lingering scent of rosewood and velvet filled the air.
"I'll think about all this tomorrow," I murmured to no one.
And with that, I closed my eyes—and slept soundly for the first time in two lives.