The refrigerator door had been left open. Cold air spilled from within, and across the kitchen floor, along with white wisps of vapor, lay the crushed remains of meat buns. "[cold]My meat buns. Crushed again." Alucard's long fingers plucked up one of the ruined buns. Silence. But the crimson of his eyes held none of their usual boredom. His vertically slit pupils gleamed, burning red. "[scared]I-it wasn't me! It was physics! When I put my cake box in, there was definitely enough room!" Seras Victoria waved both hands frantically in front of the refrigerator. Her blonde hair was tied back with a kitchen headband, but her panic had left it disheveled. In her left hand, a box of banana cake. Her right hand twitched, caught between reaching for the Harkonnen—her massive cannon—and not. "[cold]Physics does not crush three meat buns." "Please don't logic-check me!" It was supposed to be a quiet Sunday morning. Soft sunlight streamed through the window, dyeing the kitchen tiles gold. The polished sink gleamed, and the air carried a faint citrus note—Walter's hair tonic—mingled within it. But the space in front of the refrigerator was a battlefield. Alucard took one step forward. Black hair swayed, the hem of his coat fluttering. From his back, countless eyes seemed to faintly surface... or so it felt. When he wasn't carrying his usual convenience store bag, he was, after all, somehow different. "Hey, Seras." "[scared]Y-yes..." "[serious]Do you want to die?" "Wha—!?" The voice was utterly serious. A chill ran down Seras's spine. Well, she was a vampire, so maybe it didn't literally freeze, but it was terrifying regardless. (*Master Alucard is genuinely angry! Over three meat buns!*) As Seras searched for an escape route, a hand came to rest gently on her shoulder. "[gentle]Oh my, my. Good morning to you both." Seras nearly jumped out of her skin. At some point, Walter C. Dornez had appeared right behind her. The elderly butler, his white hair neatly combed back, stood with perfect posture. In his hands he carried a tray, upon which rested a steaming teapot and three cups. Approaching without a sound was one of this seventy-three-year-old's special skills. "[cold]Walter, this is not the time for tea." "[gentle]No, Master Alucard. It is precisely the time for tea." Walter smiled pleasantly. His brown eyes were not smiling at all. The seasoned, intimidating presence of the man once called the "Angel of Death" quietly filled the kitchen. "[gentle]Before Father Anderson arrives, let us first restore peace to the refrigerator. Perhaps after tea?" So saying, Walter quietly closed the door of Refrigerator C—Alucard's dedicated meat bun storage. A key ring briefly peeked from his pocket. He was the sole neutral party who held keys to every refrigerator. The fragrance of Darjeeling wafted gently through the kitchen. Alucard stared at Walter for a moment, then let out a small sigh. "[cold]...Hand over a cup." "[gentle]Certainly, sir." Seras clutched her chest in relief. Her heart was pounding—even a vampire's heart worked properly at times like this. "[sad]I'm sorry, Mr. Walter... it's because of my cake." "[gentle]My dear Seras, your banana cake is a splendid creation. The only issue is where to put it." The three gathered around the small kitchen table. Walter poured tea into the cups with elegant, ritualistic precision—not a single motion out of place. Seras wrapped both hands around her cup and took a careful sip. Not the usual Assam. Today it was Darjeeling. "[gentle]It's delicious..." "[gentle]For this one hour, let there be peace in the kitchen. That is my creed." Alucard tilted his cup in silence. After five hundred years of living, he had come to find the taste of tea not entirely disagreeable. Though his profile still looked sullen. (*Three meat buns...*) The crushed buns still lay on the floor. No one had cleaned them up. —A ceasefire had been established. On the surface, at least. --- Eleven-fifty in the morning. The Hellsing manor's drawing room stood in perfect readiness. In the six-meter-high space, flames flickered in two fireplaces. Shields engraved with records of anti-creature exterminations lined the walls, and the waxed floor gleamed like a mirror. As a final touch, Walter placed a small vase at the center of the table. A single white rose. Cut fresh from the garden. Beside it, a white plate was set. On it—three meat buns. "[cold]Why are you serving meat buns." Alucard leaned against the wall, glaring at the plate. He wore his red long coat, his long black hair more neatly arranged than usual. In his pocket, a small soy sauce packet. "[gentle]They are the confections for the tea party." "[cold]Those are my meat buns." "[gentle]Provided from Refrigerator C. There are still twenty-seven in reserve." "Twenty-seven remaining? That number has decreased." "[gentle]For today's tea party." On the opposite side of the table, Seras placed her banana cake. A work of pride, with a beautifully baked color. "[worried]I wonder if Father Anderson will eat the cake or the meat buns..." "[cold]If he lays a hand on the meat buns, he will not get off lightly." "[serious]Master Alucard, the Father is a guest, you know!?" At that moment— The carillon bells rang throughout the mansion. Noon, exactly. The front doorbell. "[gentle]We have a guest." Walter straightened his back, his face becoming that of the butler. He pulled white gloves from his pocket and slowly put them on. Alucard's lips curled slightly upward. "[laughing]...This is getting interesting." The three passed through the great hall and headed for the entrance foyer. --- The large oak doors of the entrance. Alucard himself reached for the handle. Creeeak... The heavy door swung open. Light from outside streamed in. Blue sky. The scent of garden roses. And— "[laughing]Thank you for the invitation, vampire." Standing there was a giant in white vestments. Two meters tall. His close-cropped silver hair was neatly kept as befitted a clergyman, yet his bangs stood defiantly on end for some reason. Behind gold-rimmed glasses, green eyes narrowed in a smile. Stigmata—holy wounds—floated on both hands, and those large hands extended a single tin. A tin of cookies. "[laughing]Blessed confections as a gift. Baked in the name of God." Alucard slowly opened his mouth. "[laughing]Do you want to die, Father?" He was smiling. Seras saw it. Master Alucard was smiling. His eyes were smiling. And Anderson wore the exact same grin. "[laughing]I'll just resurrect if I do, so it's no problem." Smile met smile at the entrance. The same temperature. The same depth. As if looking into a mirror—terrifyingly identical smiles. Seras shuddered. (*What... is that smile... it's like he's meeting a friend... but his eyes aren't smiling at all...!*) "[cold]Come in. The tea party is ready." "[laughing]Much obliged. I happened to bake too many cookies myself. A perfect opportunity." The two advanced from the entrance into the great hall. Two sets of footsteps. Yet their presence—each was an entire army's worth. "[gentle]Welcome, Father Anderson. Please, come in." Walter guided Anderson to the drawing room with a perfect butler's bow. Not a single gap in his composure. Anderson stopped and offered the tin to Walter. "[gentle]I have heard that Sir Walter's tea is a blessing from God. Today, I hope to partake of that blessing." "[gentle]You honor me with such words. I am deeply humbled." Walter accepted the tin with both hands. Brown eyes and green eyes met for just an instant. (*This person is a proper adult too...*) Seras murmured inwardly. A strange sense of solidarity between the mansion's only two sensible adults was born in that moment. --- The drawing room. The fireplace crackled softly. The fragrance of Darjeeling filled the warm air. Alucard and Anderson sat facing each other. Walter poured tea for each in turn, and Seras quietly placed her banana cake on the table. Her hands nearly trembled with tension. "[gentle]First, please enjoy your tea." Anderson took his cup and closed his eyes, as if savoring the aroma. "[gentle]...A superb Darjeeling. So this is Sir Walter's tea. The closest place to Heaven may well be this mansion." "[cold]A priest speaking of Heaven. With one foot already in Hell." Alucard tilted his own cup, speaking in a leisurely tone. "[laughing]Hell and Heaven—both are equally the Lord's presence to me. Alucard, which would you prefer to go to?" "[cold]Either is fine, so long as it isn't boring. Right now, this tea is interesting." On the surface, it was a calm conversation. Recent events, the Vatican's latest movements, the weather in London—trivial topics. But Seras noticed. Anderson's eyes kept flicking toward the center of the table. (*The plate of meat buns...?*) On the white plate, three meat buns. No longer steaming, but well-shaped and plump. Alucard had noticed too. His fingers rested lightly on the edge of the plate. "[cold]Father. Are you not going to eat your cookies?" As he spoke, he pulled the plate a few centimeters toward himself. "[gentle]Ah, yes. Since I went to the trouble of baking them, by all means. —However." Anderson set down his teacup—and in that same timing, casually pushed the plate back. "[gentle]Those meat buns are most intriguing. What sort of thing does a Protestant vampire favor? Purely a matter of interest." "[cold]Just ordinary Chinese steamed buns. Nothing remarkable." Alucard's fingers now reached for the tin of cookies. He drew it toward himself. "[cold]So these are cookies. I'll take them in return." "[laughing]Oh, by all means, please do—" Still smiling, Anderson pushed the tin back. The two men's hands quietly wrestled across the tabletop. The conversation continued. Talk of recent events. Talk of the Vatican's new choir. But on the table, the plate and the tin moved back and forth—silently, yet unmistakably. Seras blinked rapidly. (*The meat bun plate... is it moving...? Did it just come five centimeters this way? No, now it's gone back the other way...?*) "[whispers]I'm just imagining it... right...?" She was utterly bewildered. But Walter was different. In the corner of the room, preparing a fresh pot, his brown eyes saw everything. The timing of when teacups were set down—that alone was the ceasefire line in their battle. (*The moment a cup is placed, the plate moves...*) Walter observed those precise movements as if recording them. A small smile played at his lips. "[gentle]The next Darjeeling is ready." When he set down the cups, both men's hands stopped simultaneously. A ceasefire. --- As the tea party reached its middle stage, Anderson finally reached for the plate of meat buns. "[gentle]Hmm... truly, a curious food. This white surface. Meat packed inside, I'm told. Quite different from our Holy Communion." He picked up one of the buns. Seras's breath caught. (*Ah—*) Alucard's eyes changed. The True Ancestor vampire who had lived five hundred years. The monster who had once fought Van Helsing and slaughtered countless enemies. He—had the eyes of someone serious. Crimson pupils burned. His vertically slit pupils opened with unprecedented sharpness. (*This is bad.*) Seras unconsciously started to rise, ready to go fetch the Harkonnen. But Walter's hand gently pressed her shoulder down. "[gentle]My dear Seras, that won't be necessary." "B-but!" Anderson took a bite of the meat bun. He chewed. His green eyes stared intently at the contents. Alucard said nothing. He simply watched. In that interval, the weight of five hundred years made the air heavier and heavier. (*Say something! Anything! Master Alucard!*) Seras felt like screaming. Anderson returned the remaining meat bun to the plate. "[gentle]...Hmm." He started to say something, then stopped. "[gentle]The rest, after I've had my tea. Sir Walter, might I have another cup?" "[gentl