She stared at me, and for a moment, neither of us moved.
I raised a hand in greeting, keeping my voice low. "Sorry. Did not mean to intrude."
She said nothing. Her eyes widened, just a fraction, and I saw her grip tighten on the book. Frost spread from her fingers, crawling across the cover, but she did not seem to notice. Her knuckles were white, the skin stretched taut over the bone.
"I am Tsukune," I said, taking a slow step closer. "Aono Tsukune. I am also the president of the Newspaper Club, if you are ever interested in joining a club. We are recruiting."
Still nothing. Her eyes tracked my movement, wary but not hostile. She reminded me of a deer, poised to bolt at the first sign of danger.
I took another step, keeping my posture relaxed, my hands visible. "Shizuka‑sensei mentioned you. She said you might be interested in reading the Gazette. We have a creative writing section. I am writing a serialized novel. It is not great, but some people seem to like it."
"You could also use the Gazette to publish your works if you are a writer."
For the first time, there was a reaction. Her lips parted, and her eyes lost some of their guardedness. Her voice was soft, barely above a whisper, and it carried a faint echo, like wind through snow. It was a gentle sound, almost fragile, and it made me want to lean closer to hear her better.
"You write?"
I nodded. "I do. It is called 'Lord of Mysteries.' It is about a man who gets transported to a world of gods and monsters, and he has to use his wits to survive. There are cults, conspiracies, and a lot of eldritch horrors. Think Sherlock Holmes meets Lovecraft, with a dash of supernatural politics."
I paused, realizing I was rambling. "Ah, my bad. I started this conversation by assuming you have read those human books."
She blinked and shook her head slowly, but there was no offense in the gesture. "That sounds… interesting."
"It is. Or at least, I hope it is." I gestured to the empty space on the bench across from her. "May I?"
She hesitated, then nodded.
I sat down, keeping a respectful distance. The frost on the window had stopped spreading, but the air remained cool. I could see my breath now, faint puffs of white that disappeared almost instantly. The cold was not unpleasant. My vampire physiology was actually made to resist this much cold, and as a night creature, being touched by some chill was only natural.
Mizore shifted slightly, pulling her knees closer to her chest. It was a subtle movement, but I noticed. She was creating more space between us, not out of hostility, but out of habit. She was not used to being this close to anyone.
'Somehow, it felt like I was a dog whisperer, but only for those stray beauties who had been lonely their whole lives.'
I looked at her. "You are Mizore, right? Shirayuki Mizore?"
She looked surprised that I knew her name, then glanced down at her book. "Yes."
"I heard you have not been to class since the year started." My voice was gentle, careful, as if I were asking about a wound that might still be tender. I kept my expression open, non‑judgmental.
Her jaw tightened. Her fingers curled into the pages of the book, and for a moment, I thought she might close herself off entirely. But then she let out a slow breath, and the frost on the window stopped spreading. "I do not like being surrounded by crowds," she said, her voice carrying a faint tremor. "Everyone stares. They whisper. They think I cannot hear, but I can. Cold. Freak. Monster."
She swallowed. "It is easier to stay away."
"Neither do I, sometimes. But what can I do about it? We have to live in a world full of idiots. Monsters can sometimes get dull, unlike the interest the Human World offers." I shrugged, trying to keep the mood light, though I could see the weight of her words pressing down on her. "I am not saying you should force yourself to attend every class. But hiding forever is not living. It is just surviving."
She glanced up at me, her blue eyes searching. "You are not… afraid of me?"
I met her gaze, letting a small, lopsided smile tug at my lips. "Should I be?"
"I am a Yuki‑onna." She said it like a confession, like she expected me to run or be scared of her. She might be an A‑tier threat, but compared to Inner, Chizuru, or Nonko, she was just an icy kitty.
"I can freeze things. People. If I lose control…"
I tilted my head, keeping my voice calm. "And? You do not seem the type to freeze anything moving in your sight. As for losing control, I have seen plenty of people lose control over their powers. You do not seem to be one of them."
"How do you know?"
I shrugged. "You are sitting here, reading a book. The only thing you have frozen is a window. That seems pretty controlled to me."
She was silent for a long moment. Then, slowly, a small smile tugged at her lips. It was fragile, uncertain, like the first crack in a dam. "You are a strange person, Tsukune‑kun," she said.
I chuckled a bit, and Mizore shot me a look. She tilted her head, as if trying to decide whether I was laughing at her or with her. I shook my head. "I get that a lot," I said. "Comes with the territory, I suppose."
We sat in silence for a while. The library was still, the only sound the soft rustle of pages from somewhere deeper in the stacks. Mizore's fingers relaxed on her book, and the frost on the cover began to recede, the ice melting back into nothing.
"What is your book about?" I asked.
She looked down at the cover, then back at me. "Poetry. A collection of haiku about winter."
"Do you write haiku?" I kept my voice light, curious.
She hesitated, then nodded. "Sometimes. When I was younger, I used to write them all the time. It was easier than talking." She glanced at the window, at the frost that was slowly melting. "Words are… hard. But haiku have rules. They fit into a shape. I like shapes, they are easier to understand than people."
"Maybe you could share one of your poems for the Gazette."
Her eyes widened, and deep down I could see that she was overwhelmed by the interaction. She had not expected kindness. She had not expected someone to sit with her, to talk to her like she was normal. Her lips parted, and for a heartbeat, I thought she might refuse. But then she looked down at her hands, at the book in her lap, and her voice came out barely audible.
"You would publish my poem?"
"If it passes our editor's check. And if you want." I leaned back, giving her space. "Of course, there's no pressure. You can also post it under anonymity. It's a fair offer if you ask me."
She was quiet for a moment, considering. Then she nodded, just once. "I will think about it."
"That is all I ask."
I stayed longer than I had intended. We talked about books, about the stories we loved and the ones we hated. She was shy at first, her answers short and guarded, but as the minutes passed, she began to open up. She liked poetry, but she also enjoyed mysteries, the kind where the solution was hiding in plain sight.
She had read every Agatha Christie novel in the library, and she had strong opinions about the Hercule Poirot adaptations.
"The David Suchet version is the only true Poirot," she said, her voice warming. "The mustache is wrong in the others."
I laughed. "I will take your word for it. I have only seen the movies."
"The movies are… acceptable. But the television series captures the essence." She paused, then added, almost shyly, "The way he solves crimes, it is like watching a puzzle come together. I like puzzles."
"So do I." I smiled. "That is why I write mysteries."
She looked at me then, really looked at me, as if seeing me for the first time. Her winter‑sky eyes were soft, and the frost that had been creeping along the windowsill began to retreat.
"Tell me about your novel," she said. "The 'Lord of Mysteries.' What is it about?"
I spent the next few minutes describing the world of the novel, the cults, the conspiracies, the eldritch horrors that lurked beneath the surface of a seemingly normal city. She listened without interrupting, her eyes never leaving my face. When I finished, she let out a slow breath.
"It sounds… dark," she said.
"It is. But there is hope in it too. The protagonist keeps fighting, even when the odds are against him. He does not give up."
She nodded slowly, as if that meant something to her.
I listened, asking questions, drawing her out. I did not push or breach the invisible walls she had built around herself. Instead, I kept a respectful distance, both physically and emotionally, letting her set the pace of the conversation. It was a delicate balance, one I had learned through trial and error with Outer, with Kurumu, with Inner, with Yukari, and yeah, with every lost soul I had encountered in this chaotic Academy.
She told me about the snow sculptures she used to make as a child, before she had come to the Academy, about the way the ice would form beneath her fingers, responding to her thoughts like an extension of her own body. She had not made any since arriving. There was no point, she said, when there was no one to share them with.
"Maybe you could make one for the club," I said. "We could display it in the room. It would be a conversation starter."
She looked at me, her winter‑sky eyes unreadable. "You would want that?"
"I would not have offered if I did not."
For her part, Mizore tried not to stare too much at me, but I could see her sneaking glances when she thought I was not looking. Her gaze kept drifting to my eyes, lingering on the faint crimson that still lingered from my vampire gaze. She was mesmerized, unable to look away, and every time she caught herself, she would flush and turn back to her book.
For this, I could only take my hat off to the Vampires from all those soapy series. Vampires had an unquestionable advantage when it came to charming the fair opposite gender. I guess any woman liked a mystery they wanted to conquer, and us Vampire chads offered them just that type of challenge to take on.
She was unlike anything she had expected. Talking with me, she felt as if she was talking to someone who knew what she felt. Someone who understood loneliness, who had felt the weight of being different.
I stood, brushing off my uniform. "I have to go. Class starts soon. But if you ever want to talk, or just sit somewhere that is not a library corner, the Newspaper Club room is open. No pressure. Just… an offer."
She looked up at me, her winter‑sky eyes unreadable. "I will think about that too."
"Take your time."
I offered her my hand. "It was a pleasure meeting you, Mizore‑san."
Something broke in her expression. She stared at my extended hand as if it were a foreign object, something she had seen in pictures but never encountered in real life. Her lips parted, and I saw confusion flicker across her face, then uncertainty, then a dawning realization that I was not trying to trick her.
In the end, I was the one who reached down and gently took her limp hand from her side. I gave it a small, firm shake, my fingers warm against her cool skin.
'Smooth one, Tsukune. My agility is something I would only dream of in my first life.'
Mizore blinked, then flushed. A delicate pink spread across her pale cheeks, and she seemed to snap back to the present. She pulled her hand back, tucking it against her chest, and for a moment, I thought she might retreat entirely. But then she met my eyes, and her voice, though still soft, carried a warmth that had not been there before.
"I… I had a nice time. With your company."
I smiled. "Me too."
I walked away, my footsteps echoing on the polished floor. When I reached the end of the aisle, I glanced back. She was watching me, her book forgotten in her lap, a single snowflake drifting down from nowhere to land on her open palm.
She did not look away, but I caught her fighting a blush, her hand reaching for her heart.
Seeing that reaction of hers, I gave a small smirk while thinking to myself.
'All according to the plan.'
'And this went better than I expected. She's also so cute when she gets flustered and nervous.'
'Poor girl, she is deep into her social anxiety problems. But at least she is not running away. That is a great start.'