Victor opened the door to his quarters and, at that very moment, wrinkled his nose at a strange smell coming from inside.
First of all, it's worth clarifying what exactly "quarters" meant in that place. By the usual standards of the training center, it was already bordering on excessive. In modern terms, it could easily be compared to a small private house: two floors, four well-distributed rooms, quality furniture, and more than enough space to live comfortably.
Nothing like the communal dormitories where most recruits were crammed in.
But there was a simple reason for that.
Victor Valentine was the son of General Scarlet.
And when someone like Serafall Valentine had influence—a lot of influence—certain conveniences simply… appeared. A comfortable place. Privacy. A little luxury in the middle of a military installation.
Nothing officially declared as a privilege.
But also nothing that anyone would be stupid enough to question.
Still, luxury or not, Victor paused at the door for a second, narrowing his eyes. Because that smell definitely didn't belong in the decor.
"Mom?" he called, entering.
And then he stopped.
The scene before him was… unexpected.
Serafall stood with her back to the door, facing the stove. Her long black hair was tied in a simple bun on top of her head, a few strands escaping and falling down her neck as she moved.
She was wearing only a kitchen apron.
A light-colored apron, with soft edges and a small pink bow tied across her chest, exactly the delicate kind you'd expect from someone trying to look like a dedicated homemaker.
The problem… was that was all she was wearing.
The fabric covered the essentials from the front, following the generous curves of her body, but left her sides and practically all of her back exposed. Every movement she made at the stove made the apron sway slightly as she stirred something in the pan.
She seemed completely at ease.
Stirring the contents with a wooden spoon… and swaying her hips distractedly to the rhythm of a song that only existed in her head.
As if cooking like that were the most normal thing in the world.
Victor blinked once.
Then again.
"...Mom?" he repeated, now with much more doubt in his voice.
Serafall turned her head slightly when she heard his voice, as if only then had she noticed his presence there.
Her red eyes gleamed with amusement.
"Ah~ you're here." Her voice came out softly, almost hummed, as she continued stirring the pot.
Victor remained standing in the kitchen doorway, his brain still trying to process exactly what he was seeing.
"Mom…" he began slowly. "...what exactly are you wearing?"
She looked down, as if analyzing her own clothes for the first time.
"Hmm?" she tilted her head, too innocent to be true. "An apron."
Victor ran a hand over his face.
"Just… an apron."
"Yes." She turned her body slightly, as if showing off the design. The light fabric moved with her, following the generous curves of her body while the pink bow at the front of her chest swayed gently.
She seemed absurdly pleased with herself.
"I wanted to surprise you," she said, stirring the pot again.
A stronger aroma rose from the hot steam.
Victor blinked a few times. "A… culinary surprise?"
"Of course." She raised the wooden spoon, blowing away some of the steam before tasting it. Her eyes shone with satisfaction. "Bloody beef stew with honey sauce."
She pointed the spoon at the pot proudly.
"Special recipe."
Victor was still preoccupied with another detail.
"Mom."
"Hmm?"
"You… know that apron doesn't cover much, right?"
She blinked slowly at him.
"It covers enough."
Victor opened his mouth to reply… but the words simply caught in his throat.
Because now he was closer.
And from where he was, he could see… absolutely everything the apron didn't cover.
Serafall then turned her face back to him.
And made a small pout.
"You weren't home when I woke up," she complained, crossing her arms slightly under her chest as she spoke. "I prepared everything thinking of surprising you."
She looked at him with feigned sadness.
"I was upset."
Victor finally managed to speak.
"I was training—"
"Training." She repeated, looking him up and down now. Her gaze lingered a second longer on his chest before rising again.
A slow smile appeared on her face.
"I noticed."
Victor remained silent.
She then moved a little closer to the counter, leaning over to stir the stew better.
Her apron adjusted with the movement.
Victor immediately turned his face away.
"...Mom."
"Hm?"]
"You're doing this on purpose."
She chuckled softly.
A gentle laugh… utterly guilty.
"Maybe," she said, tasting the sauce again. "But you're not complaining much."
Victor opened his mouth to retort. He stopped. He thought for two seconds. "...I'm trying," he finally said.
Serafall tasted the stew once more, thoughtfully... then dropped the wooden spoon on the counter.
Victor was still trying to avoid looking too much at... certain areas.
That's when she simply approached.
Without warning.
Two short steps.
Now they were almost touching.
"Mom—"
Tear.
The movement was so quick that Victor only realized it afterward.
The wooden spoon slid across his shirt with a dry crack, tearing the fabric from the collar to the base as if it were wet paper.
The shirt fell open.
Victor blinked.
"...Why are you—"
Serafall didn't answer.
She was looking.
Very closely.
Very close.
Her red eyes slowly traveled down his chest, analyzing every detail like a scientist examining a rare specimen. Her fingers lightly touched his firm chest, pressing gently, then sliding down to his defined abdomen.
She tilted her head.
Observing.
Measuring.
Feeling the density of the muscles, the structure, the flow of energy beneath the skin.
Victor began to feel a strange chill.
It wasn't the kind of look he expected from his own mother.
It was… analytical.
Predatory.
And then it happened.
Her gaze darkened.
The gentle smile vanished.
In its place, something far more dangerous emerged.
Her lips curved into a small, closed smile… too polite.
But her eyes.
Her eyes were icy.
The whole kitchen grew colder.
Serafall slowly raised her gaze until it met his.
Her hand was still resting on his abdomen.
"Victor." Her voice was calm. Soft.
Dangerously soft.
"You left home in the early morning… weak as always." She tilted her head slightly. "And came back… like this." Her fingers pressed against his chest muscle again.
"Your muscles are denser, so it wasn't from drugs or anything like that." She touched more, "It's very stable, as if you really trained." She then looked beyond his chest. "The core… completely different."
The smile didn't change. But her eyes were beginning to shine.
"Interesting. You went through body reconstruction so early in life? How surprising."
Victor swallowed hard. How did she know what happened just by looking? Or rather, how could she have an almost certain deduction about what happened?
She took an even closer step. Now her face was just inches from his neck.
She inhaled slowly. Once. Twice. Then she stopped.
Her smile widened even further. "...Curious."
Her voice was low.
Almost a whisper.
"Because besides all that..."
Her eyes rose to meet his again.
Now there was something dangerous there.
Very dangerous.
"...I'm smelling a woman on you."
Silence.
She tilted her face a little closer to his neck, as if confirming the scent.
Then she pulled back just enough to look directly into his eyes.
Her smile remained polite.
But the pressure of her presence was now overwhelming.
"So…" she said calmly.
"You want to explain to me…" A pause. "…how exactly you got so strong in a single day." Another pause. Her eyes narrowed slightly. "…and why my son came home smelling of another woman who isn't me?"
Victor's whole body began to tremble.
It wasn't nervousness. It wasn't discomfort.
It was fear.
A primal fear that ran down his spine like ice, making every hair on his body stand on end. The presence before him was overwhelming—not just physically, but spiritually.
The possession he shared with Carmilla was intense, overwhelming even… but this?
That was another scale of existence.
Comparing the two would be almost blasphemous.
If the connection between him and Carmilla was like living inside a luxurious, gated, and powerful condominium…
Then Serafall's presence was an entire city.
A living city.
Breathing.
Watching his every move.
And at that moment… that entire city was looking directly at him.
'Think, Victor!! Think!!!' Victor blinked a few times, still feeling the crushing weight of her gaze. Then, almost instinctively, he discreetly raised his arm and smelled his own torn shirt.
Serafall observed the gesture in silence.
He nodded to himself, as if he had confirmed something important.
"Ah, yes." The answer came out surprisingly calmly, despite the cold sweat running down his back.
"It turns out I passed out after I almost blew my core during training." He shrugged, trying to sound casual. "One of the instructors found me. She was probably the one who carried me to the medical wing." Victor pointed slightly to himself. "Her name was Calindra. You can ask her."
The silence that followed lasted a few seconds that were far too long.
Serafall didn't answer immediately.
She just stood there… holding the wooden spoon, her red eyes analyzing his face, then his exposed chest, his shoulders, his newly formed abdomen.
Every detail.
As if she were dismantling his explanation piece by piece. The small smile was still there. But her eyes… weren't smiling. "Calindra… Winters," she repeated slowly.
The spoon twirled distractedly between her fingers.
"So… you almost destroyed your own core…" another pause "…fainted…" another pause "…and an instructor decided to carry you to the infirmary."
Her eyes returned to his face. Silence. Two more seconds.
Then Serafall sighed. The overwhelming tension gradually lessened, not disappeared, but receded enough for Victor to breathe normally again.
"...Haaah." She turned her back and resumed stirring the stew in the pot. "You've always been reckless."
The spoon lightly tapped the edge of the pot. "But at least you chose someone competent to find you."
The smell of the sweet, metallic stew filled the kitchen again.
Serafall stirred the broth slowly, as if the matter had lost importance.
"Anyway..." She tilted her head slightly, speaking over her shoulder.
"You stink." Another stir of the pot.
"Go take a bath." Her tone changed almost instantly, less threatening and more domestic.
"And quickly." She tasted some of the broth with her spoon, wrinkling her nose slightly as she assessed the flavor.
"My bloody beef stew with honey will be ready in fifteen minutes." Then she added, almost distractedly: "If it gets cold because you decided to faint in the bathroom again…" She glanced at him sideways, with a smile that was too small.
"...I'll drag you back to the table myself." The spoon pointed to the hallway. "Bath." Pause. "Now."
Victor decided not to test his mother's patience any further.
Without saying anything, he simply nodded and left the kitchen, still feeling the weight of that red gaze that seemed to pierce through walls on his back. He crossed the hallway and began to climb the stairs to the second floor.
Only when he turned the corner onto the upper floor did a small movement appear behind him.
The back pocket of his pants moved.
A crimson little bat emerged from there, slightly crumpled, flapping its wings with a certain indignation before flying beside his head.
"Finally some fresh air…" Carmilla grumbled, inflating its small wings as she regained her composure. "I swear if I'd stayed in that pocket for another minute I would have died again."
Victor let out a low sigh as he continued walking down the hallway toward the bathroom.
"You chose to hide there."
"I chose to survive," the little bat corrected.
She flew a few inches ahead of him, then turned in mid-air to face him.
"...But seriously."
Her red eyes narrowed.
"Your mother..."
She tilted her head thoughtfully.
"...she reminds me of someone."
Victor raised an eyebrow.
"Reminds you?"
"Yes." Carmilla spun slowly in the air. "That presence...that way of looking...that feeling that she could crush half the world before finishing breakfast..."
She was silent for a few seconds, trying to recall some distant memory.
"...But I can't remember who."
Victor opened the bathroom door and went in.
"Well," he said, running a hand over his face. "Whoever it is, almost found you."
Carmilla made a small noise of agreement as she landed on the towel rack.
"Almost."
Her wings closed behind her.
"I should have used magic to cleanse the smell sooner."
Victor picked up the torn shirt and threw it in the basket.
"You should have."
"Next time I'll do it," she replied. "A simple purification spell and that's it. No vampire tracks any scent."
She glanced towards the bathroom door, as if she could see Serafall through the floor.
"Thankfully…"
A short pause.
"...she didn't seem too suspicious."
Victor was silent for a few seconds.
Then he let out a nervous laugh.
"You have a very optimistic definition of 'not suspicious'."
Carmilla tilted her head.
"...She was suspicious?"
Victor turned on the shower.
The water began to fall.
"Carmilla."
"Yes?"
He sighed.
"She literally asked why I smelled like another woman."
The little bat remained completely still for two seconds.
"...Ah." A pause. "...Maybe she suspected a little."