I stood up slowly.
Araragi watched me like I was the more suspicious element in this scene—more than the blood, more than the dismembered vampire quietly dying behind us. His eyes were wild with panic and confusion. Understandable. I probably looked like some kind of cultist.
"You were here before me," he said, voice low and accusatory.
"Yeah."
"Did you do this?"
He gestured toward Kiss-shot. It hurt more than it should have, hearing him even think I had anything to do with it.
"No," I said. "I got here after. I didn't touch her."
He didn't believe me. Not fully. But then he looked at her again—really looked—and the weight of the situation started to sink in.
"She's missing her limbs," he said.
"She lost them. To people who wanted to kill her."
His face twisted. "What do you mean, people?"
I hesitated. I had to be careful. Say too much, and I'd rip the seams of the narrative. Say too little, and I'd be useless.
"You'll meet them soon," I said, which wasn't really a lie.
He stared at me like I was speaking in riddles.
"Who the hell are you?"
I looked down at my shoes. They were still wet with blood at the edges. The platform smelled like a butcher shop left in the sun.
"Someone who shouldn't be here," I finally said. "But someone who knows what happens if you don't help her."
He froze.
That was the moment—the moment that defined everything. That split-second before he made the choice. The one that turned him from an ordinary high school kid into something not quite human.
I'd always wondered what that moment felt like for him. In the anime, it passed in a flash, with dramatic music and fast cuts. In the novels, it was buried in internal monologue, buried in that classic Araragi overthinking spiral.
But being here?
It was quiet.
Tense.
The air was thick with the kind of indecision that either becomes regret or courage.
"She's a vampire," he said.
"Yeah."
"She probably killed people."
"Probably."
"Why should I help her?"
I didn't answer.
I wanted to. God, I wanted to give him the whole speech. Tell him that this would define his life. That this was the moment he starts a path filled with monsters, girls, pain, guilt, and beauty. That he saves people. That he loses pieces of himself doing it. That he falls in love.
But I didn't.
Because this wasn't my story.
And maybe he needed to choose without all that pressure.
"I can't tell you what to do," I said. "But she doesn't want to die. And you're the only one who showed up."
His mouth opened. Shut. He turned to look at her again. Kiss-shot. Shivering. Bleeding. Still alive.
"I don't know how to help her," he whispered.
"She'll tell you."
A beat passed.
Then another.
And then—
"Hey," he called softly. "Hey... can you hear me?"
Her eye twitched open again. Barely.
"I don't know who you are," Araragi said, "or what you've done, but... if you want to live, I'll help you."
The light in her eye flared.
And then—
She spoke one word.
"Blood."
And Araragi stepped forward.
He didn't look back at me.
He didn't need to.
This was his scene now.
And I? I was just the ripple.