“Nice!”

Kanata couldn’t help but exclaim—perfect hit! Now the werewolf was fully exposed. Hearing her thrilled cry, it let out a low growl: deeper, fiercer than before.

*Grrrrr…*

A taunt. A signal. Virus-ravaged monsters attacked any living thing in sight—their rational minds long gone.

Maybe this werewolf was once just another ordinary citizen of the Cherryfall Dominion. Who knew?

Locking onto Kanata, it raised its arms high. Claws bared, gleaming under the silvery moonlight.

Each one lined up like sharpened bayonets, cold and lethal.

*Whoosh—*

A dark blur lunged. Kanata’s reaction lagged a split second. She barely dodged—the backpack strap snapped, tumbling into the grass.

Good news: supplies stayed intact. Easy to grab.

Bad news: the werewolf’s eyes locked onto the pack—and then—

“Yamete!”

Kanata yelled in protest. Useless. Claws shredded the canvas bag to ribbons; gear scattered everywhere.

Uh-oh. Total disaster. Most ammo was in that pack. Her belt pouch held barely a handful.

While the beast was distracted, Kanata snatched a few items, stuffed them into an empty pocket, mind racing for a plan.

She *had* injected the weakening serum… yet the monster’s assault only grew fiercer.

“Could it be an enhancement serum? No way…”

Ugh. Pathetic. First real fight, already backed into a corner—no backup, dwindling supplies. Truly desperate.

Seeing her only dodge, the werewolf pressed harder. Every swipe tore through tough shrubs like paper, leaving shredded debris.

Its weakest spot? The core, hidden dead center in its chest. One clean strike—straight to the heart—and this ends.

But… how to make a raging werewolf stand still for that?

Frustration flickered across her face.

…

Meanwhile, Alessia cut the meeting short. Same dull topics. She’d had enough. Door slammed. Early dismissal.

Thirsty—but not for water. Withdrawal clawed at her throat, craving fresh blood.

Mouth said no. Body betrayed her. Straight to the hospital.

“How dare you ignore my texts? Bold.”

Annoyed. She’d messaged Kanata about her “daily activities.” No instant reply—*unusual*.

Silence? Irritating.

She strode to the room, didn’t knock, pushed the door open. Empty. Bed rumpled. Kanata gone.

Hospital gown tossed on the sheets. Shoes missing. In the trash bin, a quiet foil blister pack of strong painkillers.

“Tch…”

A cold knot tightened in Alessia’s gut. Something was very, very wrong.