The red light of the alarm stained the corridor in mottled patches. The extremist leader pressed the muzzle against Seras's temple and smiled. A thin smile. The cold smile of a man simply carrying out his mission. "[cold]Choose, vampire. Use your weapon, or abandon the girl." Alucard did not move. The meat bun that had fallen to the floor was still rolling. That white, round thing came to a stop at Anderson's feet. Seras watched. Alucard's crimson eyes were different from usual. Neither bored nor amused. He was simply—desperately searching for something. (Alucard...) That was when it happened. CRASH!! Suddenly, a tremendous noise echoed through the corridor. The leader spun around. At the end of the hallway, Anderson stood with his arms spread wide in an exaggerated pose. At his feet, an overturned tin of cookies. The scent of baked butter mingled softly with the smell of blood. "[excited]Oh my! Good heavens, how clumsy of me!" A deliberately theatrical cry. The tin clattered down the corridor, cookies scattering across the floor. "[cold]What are you—" The leader's gaze turned toward Anderson for just an instant. That single instant. Alucard moved. He kicked the meat bun up from the floor with the tip of his shoe. The white lump sailed through the air—and exploded against the leader's face. Scalding meat juice splashed into his eyes. "Gwah!" The gun barrel wavered. Seras did not miss that opening. She twisted her entire body and wrenched her arm free with all her strength. The hand gripping her slipped, and she was free. "[angry]You—" The reflexes of a former police officer. She grabbed the man's wrist in return and locked the joint in reverse. The extremist leader screamed. The gun clattered to the floor. "[laughing]Well done." Alucard was already moving on to his next action. On the opposite side of the corridor, the remaining two extremists raised their guns. But it was already too late. Alucard closed in on one with his bare hands. His long coat billowed. He seized the man's gun-hand by the wrist and slammed him against the wall. THUD. The wall caved in. "Gah—" The man's face twisted in terror. Because the vampire before him was looking down at him with a bored expression. "[cold]Not even worth the distraction." The other man tried to take Alucard from behind. That was when— "[gentle]In the name of God—" Anderson's large hand seized the man by the scruff of the neck, without the slightest effort. "[gentle]—attacking a man from behind is not, I must say, particularly virtuous conduct." He slammed the man down onto the corridor floor. WHAM. The man hit the ground without so much as a sound. Seras stared at the scene in stunned silence. Alucard and Anderson. The two of them had not once made eye contact. And yet, they naturally covered each other's blind spots. When Alucard advanced, Anderson guarded the rear. When Anderson moved right, Alucard suppressed the enemy on the left. Perfectly in sync. "[surprised]Are those two really mortal enemies?" Walter, who had at some point come to stand beside her, answered quietly. He held rope in his hands. "[gentle]Perhaps, for those two gentlemen, the enemy is no longer each other." Mop in one hand, he had already begun wiping up the cookie crumbs from the floor. Even with the alarm blaring all around them, his movements were elegant. "[gentle]Miss Seras, you have a scrape on your left arm." "Huh? Oh, you're right." Blood was seeping out. A wound from when she had wrenched her arm free moments ago. But her vampire regeneration was already at work. The wound was closing before her eyes. That was when— The leader, sprawled on the floor, clung to Anderson's leg. "[angry]Heathen...! Those who defile God must be destroyed...!" Anderson's movements stopped. He looked down at the man clinging to him. Those green eyes—slowly, they went hollow. "[whispers]Do not speak the name of God with your filthy mouth." The air changed. Something heavy and cold began to fill the corridor. Seras's skin prickled. (What... is this feeling...) Anderson's hand reached inside his suit. From within the cookie tin, a consecrated bayonet began to rise of its own accord. The silver blade gleamed eerily, reflecting the red light of the alarm. "[cold]Anderson." Alucard took a step forward. But Anderson's eyes no longer reflected anything. Only the instinct of a regenerator—the pure impulse to annihilate the enemy—remained there. Plop. A stupid sound rang out. Something white was stuck to the back of Anderson's head. A fresh meat bun, still steaming. Anderson slowly turned around. Focus gradually returned to his hollow eyes. Alucard was already walking down the corridor. He had no more of the spare meat buns he had pulled from his pocket—the one he had just thrown. "[cold]My tea is getting cold." Saying only that, he vanished in the direction of the drawing room. His long black hair swayed, bathed in the red of the alarm. "...Hm." Anderson gently peeled the meat bun from the back of his head. He stared at it for a moment, then took a bite. "[gentle]...Not bad." Seras nearly burst out laughing. (Oh, what is WITH these people?!) Walter quietly handed over the rope. "[gentle]Now then, shall we begin tidying up?" --- The stairs to the basement. Alucard carried one extremist down. Anderson carried another. And Seras—she rolled the last one to the end of the corridor. "[gentle]Here you go, Walter-jiya. He's all yours." "[sigh]Miss Seras, please do not treat people like garbage." Even as he sighed, Walter's hands worked efficiently, tightening the ropes. His movements were those of a master. The fingers of the man once called the Angel of Death moved without waste. Alucard was looking down at the meat buns scattered across the corridor. He gently picked up the ones that had fallen to the floor and been squashed flat. Three of them. "[sad]...Three. Wasted." His voice sounded genuinely heartbroken. A five-hundred-year-old vampire, sincerely lamenting the loss of three meat buns. Seras rushed over to him. "[gentle]Alucard, thank you. For saving me." Alucard turned away. "[cold]You're mistaken. I simply lost some meat buns." "But you used your meat buns for my sake—" "[cold]This is your fault. Three of them. Three." Dismissing her brusquely, Alucard headed back toward the drawing room. "[cold]You'll make up for it. With your cake." Seras gazed at his retreating back. (Alucard...) A smile spilled across her face. Losing meat buns was surely a serious blow to him. This was a man whose mood genuinely soured when anyone laid a hand on his meat buns. And he had used those meat buns for her sake. Without using his weapons—just with meat buns... "[gentle]Miss Seras." Walter held out a fresh meat bun. A piping-hot one, just taken from the steamer. "[gentle]A spare from the refrigerator. Please keep it a secret from Alucard." "...Walter." "[gentle]Now, the tea will get cold. Let us return to the drawing room." --- The drawing room. The alarm had finally stopped. The fireplace still burned red. Shards of broken teacups lay scattered beneath the table. The cookie tin was dented, and most of the cookies inside were crushed. Anderson sat down quietly in his chair. A fragment of meat bun still clung to the back of his head. "[gentle]Alucard." "[cold]What." "[gentle]May I ask you one thing?" Alucard bit into a meat bun without answering. Chewing. "[gentle]That meat bun throw earlier—the one that struck the back of my head. Did you do that to bring me back to my senses?" "[cold]You're mistaken. A meat bun simply happened to hit you." "[laughing]Hm. So it just happened to strike my head, then." "[cold]That is correct." "[laughing]I see. I see indeed." Anderson laughed aloud. A cheerful, priestly laugh. As she set out fresh cups on the table, Seras listened to that laughter. (These two are definitely becoming friends.) Walter poured the tea with elegance. The fragrance of Earl Grey mingled with the shards of broken teacups, the crushed cookies, and the steam of meat buns. "[gentle]Now then, everyone. The tea is ready." The broken cups still lay on the floor. But Walter had made the tea first. That was his way. No matter how much of a mess there was, first, tea. Tidying up came after. Alucard ate his meat buns in silence. Anderson picked at the crushed cookies. Seras accepted her cup with a smile. In the corner of the corridor, the three bound extremists slept in the basement. The battle was over. —But the real battle might be just beginning. The broken teacups. The scattered cookies. The diminished meat buns. And, above all—the fact that two mortal enemies were no longer simply enemies. The fireplace in the drawing room let out a soft crackle.