And then they showed up.
Haruka—grinning like she'd just won the lottery.
Suzuka—blinking, like her brain hadn't caught up yet.
Koneko—eyes wide, tail probably stiff if it was visible.
And Grandpa… yeah. He was looking at me like I'd just turned into his favorite research project.
Great.
Took you long enough, ladies.
Third time I switched races in three months. Give me a break.
…And some blood. God, I needed blood.
My tongue pressed against my teeth, a dull ache building in my throat. The thirst coiled tighter with every second, sharp and insistent.
I looked them over.
"Hey, girls," I said casually, like I wasn't on the edge of losing it, "purely hypothetical—if I happened to be a vampire… would you let me drink your blood?"
I tried to pass it off as a joke.
Didn't work.
Azazel burst out laughing, loud and unrestrained, like he was watching the best comedy show of his life.
"So," he said, wiping the corner of his eye, "Elmenhilde Karnstein turned you, huh? I go out of my way to negotiate with King Tepes to get you released, and you solve the problem yourself."
I shrugged, leaning back like this was just another inconvenience.
"I think she wants to use me against Marius. Guy's basically running the High Council like a puppet master. Elmenhilde probably wants to flip the board."
A pause.
Then I sighed.
"Honestly? I don't even know who'd be worse."
I glanced at them again, the thirst lingering in the back of my mind.
"We Romanians have a habit of voting for the lesser evil, right?" I muttered. "So… yeah. Elmenhilde, I guess."
Azazel's grin didn't fade this time—but it changed. Less amused. More… interested.
"Huh," he muttered, scratching the back of his head as he looked past me for a second, like he was already connecting ten different dots. "Yeah… that tracks."
His eyes sharpened.
"Marius isn't just playing politics," he went on. "He's consolidating power. Fast. The Council's supposed to be a balance between Tepes and Carmilla, but if he's pushing executions without waiting for the King's final word…"
A pause.
"…then he's testing the limits of that authority."
He let out a low whistle.
"Kid's not acting like an heir anymore. That's someone trying to sit on the throne before it's empty."
Azazel glanced back toward me, expression turning more serious.
"And if that's the case, then King Tepes? He's already losing his grip. Maybe he knows it too."
Great.
So I didn't just get turned into a vampire. I got dropped right into a succession crisis.
Fantastic.
Before I could even process that, something slammed into me.
"TAKKUN~!"
Haruka.
She threw herself straight into my arms, wrapping around me like she hadn't seen me in years instead of… what, a few hours?
Warm.
Way too warm.
And my body noticed immediately.
She pulled back just enough to look at me, her grin playful—but her eyes? Yeah. Not joking. Not even a little.
"So~," she hummed, tilting her head, light blue hair brushing against my shoulder, "you're a vampire now, huh?"
Her finger tapped lightly against her lips, pretending to think.
"Guess that means you'll need a proper first meal."
Before I could react, she leaned in closer—close enough that I could feel her pulse.
"Go on," she whispered, teasing… but soft underneath it. "I'll allow it. Just this once."
My throat tightened.
Yeah.
This was a problem.
"Thanks, Haruka, you're a life saver." I said, digging my fangs in her neck.
Blood filled my mouth like cold tomato juice—just way colder, like it'd been sitting in Siberia. Haruka being a Yuki-onna didn't help.
She then spun around, doing a pirouette like some washed up J pop idol.
"You welcome, Kokonoe-kun!," she said dramatically.
And just like that… I felt normal again.
Well. Whatever normal was supposed to mean now.
The world sharpened. Colors cut deeper, more vivid. Sounds layered over each other in ways that made too much sense—too clear.
Heartbeats.
I could hear all of them.
And beneath that… the flow of blood.
Rivers under skin.
Like the Danube back in Galați—broad, constant, impossible to ignore once you noticed it.
My enhanced hearing from when I was a devil, it's now back in place.
"It feels like Romania itself is telling me n-am terminat cu tine, coaie," I muttered. "Like—what, you thought you could just run off and be Japanese now?"
I let out a quiet breath.
"Yeah. Think again."
I wasn't planning on coming back. Not really.
Not until the SFF decided to light a match under and turn it into a battlefield.
But now…
Now?
Yeah. I'll stay. Summer break at home doesn't sound so bad.
I'll show the girls around Brașov.
"Well…" Suzuka's voice came softly, almost like she was choosing her words one by one. She tilted her head slightly, a faint, amused smile on her lips.
"I suppose I am still… rather French at heart," she said gently. "But you, Kokonoe-kun…"
Her eyes lingered on me—warm, but a little incredulous.
"You sound très devoted. Almost like one of those politicians who love their country a bit too loudly."
A small pause.
"…It is not a bad thing," she added quietly, softer now. "Just… intense."
Azazel let out a quiet hum, but there was no humor in it this time.
"Yeah, well," he said, glancing toward the exit of the dungeon, "devotion's great and all—until it gets you killed."
His gaze shifted back to me, sharper now.
"Marius isn't done. Not even close. If anything, this just made you more valuable—and more dangerous—to him."
A beat.
"And if you stick around Romania right now…"
He shrugged lightly.
"…you're basically painting a target on your back."
I didn't answer.
Didn't really care.
I was a vampire now. What excuse did they have to kill one of their own?
And it's not like I was alone. Suzuka and Haruka were here. We'd slip by if we had to. Koneko too.
Worst case? We force our way out.
And then… he appeared.
His face was unmistakable. Black, shoulder-length hair. That long moustache. And those eyes…
That murderous glint.
Yeah. There was no mistaking it.
Vlad the Impaler.
One of the most important figures in Romanian history. The man who kept Wallachia free when it had no right to be.
The guy who answered everything—Ottomans, corrupt boyars, traitors, thieves—with the same solution: a stake through the body.
And then there's the version the Communist history books fed our parents in school.
The "psycho." The lunatic who supposedly lost it in a Hungarian dungeon and started impaling rats after Matthias locked him up.
…Yeah. Sure.
I looked at him now, standing right in front of me.
And honestly?
The truth felt worse.
Because he didn't look insane.
He looked… done with life.
And yet, when his gaze caught mine, he studied me—measured, precise—like I was something newly placed within his reach.
"You are one of us now," he said, voice low, firm. "State your name, boy. Your true name—the one you bore before that reincarnation."
Wait—how did he—
I glanced at Azazel.
He just shrugged.
Right. Thanks, Gramps. Now the factions are gonna treat me like that Romanian kid who suddenly got lucky enough to stand on the same stage as them.
Each of them wanting the full piece. Each ready to lure me in with sweet promises like some PSD or PNL politician.
"Mihai. Mihai Grădinaru," I replied, flatly.
He looked at me, and for a moment, his expression softened—like a ruler regarding a lost subject returned to his domain.
"The first time you set foot on this land," he said, voice low, controlled, "it was felt across Transylvania. You were still a devil… yet your aura did not belong to them."
A slight pause.
"It resonated with this soil."
Then his tone shifted—firmer, almost ceremonial.
"Now you stand among us. That is no coincidence."
His gaze held mine, unyielding.
"The land does not forget its own. It calls them back."
Another step closer.
"You may answer that call… and stand for your home."
A beat.
"Or you may turn away—" his voice cooled, "—and watch it fracture without you."
Your vampire kingdom is not my home. Romania is. And for this Romania, a cooperation between humans and vampires would be a necessary step forward.
I studied him carefully, trying to read the centuries etched into his face, the weight of a crown and bloodline in his posture. My voice came out quieter than I expected, almost reluctant, but the truth had to be said.
"I grew up in Săcele. My family couldn't afford rent in Brașov. I went to school there, and I… I was obsessed with history. Ștefan cel Mare, Mihai Viteazul… Vlad Tepeș... they weren't just names to me. They were heroes," I said, each word carrying the echo of admiration and frustration I'd held for years.
I blinked, swallowing the lump in my throat. "So what am I supposed to tell that kid when he asks me why the same man who defended Wallachia like a champion… has let his kingdom crumble into civil war?"
The silence that followed felt like it could split stone. I didn't look away. I couldn't.
"You speak boldly for a newborn. Perhaps too boldly. And perhaps you are right."
Hot, stupid tears pricked at the edge of my cheeks.
"Whenever I went to vote in elections, I used to think… god, if we had another leader like you to get rid of the trash in the establishment," I said, voice thick with a lump in my throat.
Vlad just watched me, his eyes empty, cold as the Carpathian snow.
"However… you speak as a Romanian," he said, voice low, each syllable deliberate. "The nation you cling to so fiercely… it backstabs those who would act for its good."
He narrowed his eyes, sharp and unforgiving.
"Like I did. And what did it earn me? A cell in Hungary. A death after begging Mattyas to restore me. A vampire bite turning me into this… undead corpse I am now."
His gaze cut through me like iron.
"Romania collapses under its own weight. The nation was never united."
I nodded. He was speaking the truth. However…
"Yeah, we are pielea pulii and we bite each other's asses for sport," I said, voice low but steady, "but we survived. We survived Hungary, Turkey, Russia. We preserved our language. We preserved our faith. Ask a Kurd or a Palestinian about their country—see what they tell you."
Vlad's eyes narrowed, the centuries of blood and betrayal pressing into his gaze. He leaned back slightly, as if weighing my words against lifetimes of history.
"You speak with fire, boy," he said, voice low, almost a growl. "Yet fire alone does not save a nation. We survive, yes… but survival is not victory. Survival is endurance. And endurance often demands betrayal, compromise, sacrifice that the living cannot understand."
He paused, letting the weight of his words hang. "You speak of language, faith, borders… but you do not see the rot beneath the surface. Romania has always eaten its children first. Your fire… your pride… it is admirable. Foolish, yes, but admirable."
I clenched my fists, not stepping back. "Maybe. But at least we keep trying. We don't let ourselves be buried under our own shame. Unlike you, apparently—turning into… whatever this is, letting centuries of blood and struggle rot away while you brood in a castle."
Vlad's mouth twitched, almost a smirk, but it didn't reach his eyes. "You dare lecture me? A man who impaled his enemies, a man who fought for the land you claim to love?"
"Yeah," I said, voice steady, almost calm. "And I'd do it again. For Romania. Not for a throne, not for a crown. For the people who are still here, breathing and fighting and bleeding. That's why I'm standing here, not curled in some cell waiting for a bite or a council's whim."
The silence stretched again, but this time I could feel it shift—like the old king was measuring whether my words could burn through more than his patience.
Finally, he spoke, voice quieter now, almost reflective. "You… are not wrong. Perhaps the land itself has chosen to speak through you. But remember, boy… survival is a cruel teacher. And Romania… Romania will always demand blood, one way or another."
I sighed quietly.
"My blood's already spilled because of this country once. What difference does it make? I'd die happy knowing I tried, I used to think when I was small, powerless. Now that I can, should I simply abandon it? I hate this nation too. But I love our country. It's part of who I am."
Vlad's lips curved into a thin, knowing smile.
"We bear the curse of Romanian blood until the very end. Your destiny is intertwined with this land, what you choose to do with it… that's up to you.
But one piece of advice—see your hometown before you go pretending you're a Japanese kid. There's truth in the soil you can't escape."
Yeah.
"I was planning to," I said, shrugging.
"Pe curând, tinere," he replied, and the echo of his footsteps bounced down the narrow citadel corridors. See you around.
Yeah. That was… bleak. Time to get out of here.
"You're awfully popular for a newborn vampire," Azazel remarked dryly as we stepped into the open air. "So, what's the plan? Become a pawn in their little Game of Thrones?"
I sighed, boots clicking against the worn brick pavement.
Bistrița spread out before us, a city straddling centuries. Saxon-style houses and Lutheran church spires peeked between newer communist blocks, the whole old-and-new divide bridged by the small, sluggish Bistrița River.
The water gave the streets a damp chill, heavier than the average Transylvanian town.
"As if," I muttered, letting my eyes sweep across the cobbled streets. "Whether human or supernatural, Romania has a shortage of leaders worth following. I'm done picking the lesser evil."
Azazel smirked, silent but calculating.
Then I caught sight of her—Elmenhilde, leaning against the stone wall near the citadel's entrance, her expression calm but with that subtle, sharp glint that said she was always plotting.
"Mihai," she said smoothly, voice low, precise. "Her Majesty the Queen would like a word with you."
I arched an eyebrow. Yeah, this was going to be interesting.
"Ok, hai să mergem," I said, bored.
Azazel nudged me with his elbow.
"You two getting along yet?" he smirked.
I didn't answer.
Elmenhilde raised her hand, a magic circle forming beneath us.
And just like that, the world twisted.
Next thing I knew, we were inside another castle.
"Where exactly are we now?" I asked, glancing around. "Like, what city?"
"Still Bistrița," Elmenhilde replied, tone even. "For us, it holds as much weight as București does for human Romania. Only Vlad Țepeș insists on pretending he still rules from Sighișoara, issuing orders from afar."
Right.
At least Vlad bled for an ungrateful nation.
The Carmillas? From what I'd seen, just spoiled aristocrats clinging to old Saxon prestige.
The Saxons started out backing Hungary, part of the whole "Three Nations" setup, then switched sides when Budapest started squeezing them too.
Then the communists showed up, and they all dipped.
Fair enough. West Germany versus Romania? Not exactly a hard choice.
Still…
I glanced at Elmenhilde.
Yeah. I could absolutely see it. The queen is probably a Saxon princess refusing to kneel to a fallen Wallachian voivode, crowning herself instead.
Same pyramid. Different layer.
And every level spins the same way—grinding down whoever's beneath it.
Funny how the food chain never changes.
The doors to the throne room opened before Elmenhilde.
We stepped inside.
Big. Too big. Marble columns, gold lining the ceiling, velvet everywhere—trying way too hard to look regal while missing the point entirely.
It looked too modern for someone rejecting modernity.
Queen Anna von Carmilla sat at the center of it all—and yeah, she was the complete opposite of Țepeș. Not just because she was a woman.
Auburn hair spilling over her shoulders like she made sure it did.
A crown engraved with "Durch Recht und Macht." Subtle.
Black gothic dress, heavy makeup—full emo aesthetic, except she looked like she was in her 30s and still committing to it like it was a lifestyle, not a phase.
Honestly?
Like a vampire version of Elena Udrea crossed with Nana.
…Yikes.
"Greetings, Mihai. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance," she said, her voice smooth, practiced—every word placed exactly where it needed to be.
Yeah. Save me the pleasantries.
"It has come to our attention for some time that your resonance with this land exceeds what your nature should permit," she continued, fingers resting lightly against the arm of her throne.
"An irregularity… one that required careful consideration."
A faint smile touched her lips—measured, diplomatic.
"However, following Elmenhilde's report regarding your origins, the matter has… clarified itself. Her decision to make you one of us has been received most favorably within our faction."
She locked eyes with me, her polite mask never slipping.
"Our kingdom—and human Romania—stand at the edge of a crisis," she said, voice calm, authoritative. "In such times, we cannot afford division. We require every capable hand if we are to endure."
A slight pause, measured.
"A fallen Wallachian voivode cannot provide the stability we need—particularly when a relative of Anton LaVey commands a militia of reincarnated devils just beyond our borders, in Hungary."
And you can?
I didn't say it out loud.
At least she bothered to sound like she cared about something beyond her crown.
Vlad?
He was even more jaded than me.
And that's saying something.
"With all due respect, Your Majesty," I said evenly, "I'm the only reason Miercurea Ciuc didn't fall to the SFF. Me—a half-Hungarian—and a handful of under-equipped Romanian gendarmes."
Carmilla's expression shifted. Just for a second.
Yeah. Message received.
What exactly was your faction doing in the meantime?
Your tricks might've worked… if I were some complete simp like Hyoudou.
But I grew up in a country where a pretty face could win votes—and once in office, some of those same women screwed the population harder than half the men ever could.
Funny thing is…
I still don't get how vampires and Romanian humans never realized how similar they are.
Carmilla went still for a fraction of a second.
Not a full reaction—just a pause.
Then she smiled.
A touch colder now.
"How… refreshing," she said lightly, fingers brushing against the armrest of her throne. "It has been quite some time since anyone addressed me with such… candor."
Her gaze didn't leave mine. If anything, it sharpened.
"You mistake restraint for inaction," she continued, voice smooth, but the softness was gone—replaced by something firmer, more deliberate. "While you were improvising on the streets of Miercurea Ciuc, we were ensuring that this conflict did not spiral beyond containment."
A slight tilt of her head.
"Victory in a single city, while commendable, does not equate to control of a country. Nor does it guarantee its survival."
The smile lingered—but it no longer reached her eyes.
"Still… your contribution is noted. And appreciated."
A pause.
"Though I would advise you, Mihai—do not confuse defiance with authority. One earns the right to challenge a throne."
Her fingers tapped once against the armrest.
"And one does not keep it for long without understanding the weight it carries."
Gaslighting bitch.
Between Vlad and Carmilla, I felt like an American stuck choosing between Donald Trump and Hillary Clinton in 2016. At least Vlad was Romanian. His entourage, though? As much a bunch of leeches as the boyars of the Principalities.
Romania had a Saxon president in Klaus Iohannis, and so far he'd earned the title of "worst president."
A vampire kingdom with a Germanic queen and Romanian nobles? That's a disaster waiting to happen.
Then, as if she realized she'd gone too far, Carmilla's voice softened—calculated, like she practiced it in front of a mirror.
"Then again," she said, tilting her head with that queenly composure, "I must congratulate you. Your result in Miercurea Ciuc… it is commendable. It shows that, yes, Romania can unite against external threats."
I arched an eyebrow. Sure. Sweet words wrapped in the bare steel of a knife hold backwards.
Before I could respond, Elmenhilde stepped in, her tone gentle but firm.
"Your Majesty, Mihai speaks only from experience. His actions in Ciuc prove his loyalty to the Romanian cause."
I sighed.
"And yet, I'm treated like a criminal the moment I come home. How do you want me to react?" I asked, voice flat, eyes on her.
Carmilla let out a soft, controlled laugh—deliberate, like she was enjoying this way too much.
"Yes, the Tepes faction's… preferential treatment," she said, tilting her head with regal composure. "In these perilous times, disunion is a luxury we cannot indulge. Allow me, then, to extend my personal apologies, in the name of our entire race, and to formally welcome you among our ranks as a newborn vampire."
She winked.
Actually winked.
"Indeed, loyalty—and the merit it reveals—may yet secure one a distinguished position within our hierarchy."
Yeah. You and your hierarchies.
"Sounds tempting," I said, letting a smirk curl at the corner of my mouth, "I'll think it over… once I can walk through this country without vampires trying to kill me."
Carmilla smiled, composed and deliberate.
"You are one of us now, Mihai. A son of this land. The moment you first set foot on Romanian soil in this life, the land itself reclaimed you.
If you wish to pursue your… human cultural reclamation, it must be done in loyalty to us. For we have no reason to harm one of our own."
I looked her dead in the eye.
"I am one of you now—you said it yourself. I am also a Romanian reincarnate, with the life experience of an adult trapped in a high schooler's body. I am still a Japanese student, on the front.
All I want, before I decide anything, is to be allowed to return to Brașov."
Carmilla tilted her head slightly, the faintest arch of a brow betraying her surprise. She let the words hang in the air a moment, the faintest curve of a smile touching her lips.
"Brașov," she repeated softly, as if savoring the name. "Very well. A return to your homeland shall not be denied. You may go—but remember, Mihai… your choices carry weight far beyond the borders of that city."
Her tone was smooth, but the subtle edge beneath it was meant to remind me that she held the power here.
I bowed politely.
"Thank you, Your Grace. I hope we can achieve the best outcome. For everyone involved."
Carmilla inclined her head with a faint, calculated smile.
"Indeed. Until our paths cross again, Mihai… may your steps remain as deliberate as your convictions."
Elmenhilde bowed gracefully before Carmilla, her posture perfect, rehearsed.
Azazel, leaning slightly back, could barely hide a smirk as we stepped away from the throne room.
"You're being dragged into a power struggle, kid," he said, voice low. "Hope you understand what that actually means."
Haruka laughed, the sound light and teasing, bouncing on the tension like a feather.
"If it's Kokonoe-kun? Pfft… he'll survive somehow," she said between giggles, nudging Suzuka with her elbow.
Elmenhilde's gaze caught mine, calm but precise, the corner of her eyes measuring me like a specimen.
"You sought to lecture us on morals, Mihai," she said, her voice smooth, deliberate. "Tell me… what does the world look like through your lens now?"
I tilted my head, unimpressed. "Great," I said flatly. "Feels like A Lost Letter, vampire edition… and I'm the tormented citizen."
Her lips curved in the faintest trace of a smile—like she understood the reference and the comparison amused her.
"O scrisoare pierdută," she said, voice smooth. "A satire of political farce and moral contradiction… and the absurdity of those who believe themselves righteous simply because they shout the loudest."
A slight pause—just enough to make the silence feel intentional.
"You invoke it as if you stand outside that comedy," she continued, eyes fixed on mine, "but perhaps the joke is not on us."
She stepped a fraction closer, voice smooth, measured. "Unlike that poor soul in the tale, you are not merely a character on a page. You breathe, you act, and you carry the weight of this land with you."
Her gaze lingered, sharp, assessing. "Do not forget, Mihai… in a world of vampires, even a tormented citizen can become a player. The question is whether you will act as one… or remain a footnote."
Elmenhilde smirked once more, before melting into the shadows of the distant corridor.
"Enjoy your freedom of movement, hero," she said, her voice sharp enough to leave a trace, "it is not a gift we bestow lightly."
Koneko, who's been quiet until now, finally muttered,
"…The vampires are the worst."
I couldn't help it—I laughed. Suzuka gave a soft, amused chuckle, and Haruka practically bounced with giggles.
Azazel turned to us, eyebrow raised.
"Aight, I'll have to get back to training Ojou-chan's family tomorrow, and Koneko—you got your own regimen to handle, right?"
She nodded silently.
"What do you wanna do, Kokonoe?" he asked, casual but sharp.
"Like I said," I replied, stretching a bit, "I was planning to go home."
Then I glanced at the girls. "And… would you two like to come with me?"
Suzuka nodded gently, that soft smile warming my chest. Haruka, on the other hand, practically bounced in place, full of energy.
"Hell yeah!" she chirped, practically vibrating with enthusiasm.
Then it was settled.
"I'd have preferred dragging you back with us, you know—less paperwork on my end," Azazel said with a lazy smirk. "But hey, looks like you've got some unfinished business here."
He reached into his pocket and tossed me a set of keys.
I caught them.
Barely.
"I've got an apartment in Bucharest," he said. "Big enough for three. I'll send you the address on LINE."
I turned the keys in my hand, eyebrow twitching. Of course he did.
He gave me one last look before stepping into the teleportation circle with Koneko.
"Oh—and Kokonoe?" he added, grinning.
I glanced up.
"Try not to get caught next time, yeah?"
They vanished into the air before I could reply.
"Fucking Governor… he could've just teleported us there," I muttered, irritation slipping through.
Suzuka covered her mouth, trying to hide a small smile.
Haruka, on the other hand, burst out laughing like a volcano.
"The Governor can be quite… childish at times," Suzuka said gently. "Un petit garçon."
Then, all of a sudden, Haruka stopped laughing and threw her arms around my waist, clinging to me like I might disappear if she let go.
"Seriously though…" she mumbled against me, voice softer now, almost sulking, "try not to scare us like that again, idiot."
I sighed, resting a hand on her head. "I'm trying."
Suzuka stepped closer, her presence gentle, almost careful as she joined the hug.
"Haruka-chan is right…," she said quietly, her voice warm but steady. "You don't have to carry everything by yourself anymore, Kokonoe-kun."
Yeah. I didn't.
For a moment, that was enough.
Then my phone buzzed.
Azazel sent the coordinates.
I exhaled and summoned Nelu—the Archaeopteryx spreading its wings as we climbed onto his back.
A moment later, we were cutting through the cold night air of Bistrița, heading straight for București.
_________
[Somewhere in Budapest…]
Gabor LaVey lounged in his chair when a sharp knock cut through the room.
His office was messy—stacks of papers piled unevenly, a pentagram etched into the wall, and a map of Greater Hungary pinned in the corner.
The news of Kokonoe Takashi's intervention in Miercurea Ciuc irritated LaVey far more than he cared to admit.
The Supreme Leader of the Oblivion Syndicate had expected Csikszereda to fall with barely a thousand men. That self-proclaimed half-Székely stepping in had… complicated the timetable.
But it wouldn't matter.
LaVey already made the necessary arrangements.
The boy would die soon.
A knock on the door.
"Come in," he said.
Marius Țepeș entered without hesitation, making his way straight across the room. He spoke briefly, outlining the outcome of the High Council meeting.
As well as the rumors surrounding the boy's Romanian origin.
"So," LaVey said at last, voice even, almost indifferent, "not only did he escape… he is now a vampire."
He leaned back slightly, a faint smirk forming.
"Very well. Kokonoe—no… Mihai Grădinaru."
A pause.
"We'll strike where it matters."