I Revived My Maid, Now She Hungers for My Blood

The air split as if sliced by an invisible blade. The cold gleam flashed and vanished before the eye could track it, leaving only a crimson afterimage seared onto the retina.

The Gunman—freshly reborn from a pile of leather scraps—didn’t even get the chance to squeeze the trigger. Its entire body was carved apart in an instant, crumbling alongside its hollow mockery of a rifle. The pieces clattered to the gym floor.

No blood spray. No viscera. Scattered across the aged wooden planks were a few jagged-edged, dull-hued leather scraps and fragments of the same material.

“Do you see it now?”

Only then did Pandora speak, her voice echoing through the cavernous gym. Her gaze swept over Poppy and Ophelia before settling on the scattered leather remnants.

“This is the truth.”

The surprise hadn’t fully faded from Poppy’s face. She strode over to the pile of scraps, bent down, and gingerly flipped through them. It took her all of two seconds to confirm: the so-called “rifle” had no firing mechanism—no firing pin, no magazine. It was an empty shell. A thing shaped like a gun by brute force.

The reason it could fire, could spit those lethal bullets, was entirely driven by some anomalous power. No chemical reaction, no mechanical operation. Just… wrongness.

“So…” Poppy straightened up, her gaze snapping toward the girl on the bleachers. Her expression shifted into something unreadable. “This girl is the Anomaly’s true body? Those Gunmen… they’re projections of her fear? Things she’s creating?”

“Correct.”

Pandora nodded, confirming it.

Now that the true core of the Anomaly was identified, the next steps should’ve been simple. In the standard cleanup crew playbook, it was supposed to be simple.

Poppy’s eyes sharpened the instant the answer landed. The way she looked at the girl now—no more curiosity. No more confusion. Just the cold, clinical gaze you’d reserve for a monster that needed putting down, or a bomb that needed defusing.

“So that’s how it is…” Poppy muttered to herself, then exhaled a long, heavy breath. “If the main body’s right here, it simplifies things.”

With a flick of her wrist, she brought the hookah’s slender hose to her lips again. She took a deep drag, chest swelling, then let it out slow. The dense, pale-blue smoke churned and boiled in front of her, thrashing like something alive.

The massive spectral Smoke Fox began to coalesce at a terrifying speed. Its glowing eyes locked dead onto the girl in the bleachers. The beast lowered its hulking frame, its bushy tail raised high, a menacing growl rumbling from deep within its throat. Its colossal jaws slowly cranked open, aimed squarely at the girl—who was now shaking violently again, her face drained to a ghastly, paper-white pallor.

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But a figure moved faster than the coiled beast.

Elsa materialized soundlessly between the girl and the monstrous fox. She gripped the crimson two-handed sword, its tip angled toward the floor. Her stance wasn’t flashy, but it radiated an immovable, absolute resolve.

The pressure radiating off Poppy’s Smoke Fox—a seasoned Rank-3’s creation—was enough to suffocate your average Rank-2 extraordinary. In raw power, Elsa was still a shade behind Poppy. But her eyes held no flinch. No hesitation. Just unwavering conviction.

“What’s the meaning of this?”

Poppy’s brow furrowed deep, confusion and a flicker of irritation bleeding into her voice. “The situation’s clear now, isn’t it? This girl is the Anomaly’s core. She’s the monster. She needs to be eliminated.”

She stared at the roadblock Elsa presented, then shot a glance at Pandora, still seated comfortably on the bleachers. “Why are you stopping me? Don’t tell me…” Poppy paused, a thought clicking into place. Her tone shifted, part exasperation, part dismissiveness. “Are you two still hung up on who won the match?”

She waved a hand flippantly. “Fine, fine. I lost. You won. I’ll concede the match. But there’s no reason to keep her around anymore, right? Our mission is to clean up Anomalies.”

The girl flinched violently at those words. What little color remained in her face drained away entirely. But she only lowered her head further, teeth sinking into her lower lip hard enough to nearly draw blood. Not a sound escaped her.

It was then that Pandora slowly rose to her feet.

Her movement was unhurried. Measured. As if the tension crackling through the gym was of no consequence to her whatsoever.

“Matches and contests don’t matter.”

“If we have to call a winner, you were the first to kill a Gunman in the academic building. Fine, you can have it.” As she spoke, she gently guided the rigid, trembling girl in front of her. Then, with one hand, she began softly stroking the girl’s hair—stiff and brittle from sheer terror—like she was soothing a spooked kitten.

Pandora’s gaze drifted downward, locking onto Poppy below. “As for this child—the Anomaly’s true core. I found her. I identified her. I brought her here. In a sense…” Her eyes flicked to the girl’s pale face, then back to Poppy and Ophelia. Her voice was crisp and absolute. “…she is, by all rights, my property now.”

Poppy blinked, visibly thrown. The confusion on her face was plain. “Why?” Her voice pitched up involuntarily. “She’s an Anomaly. She’s something that has to be purged! What do you even want with an Anomaly? This isn’t protocol…”

“There is no issue.”

Ophelia Sterling, who had been watching in silence like a carved ice statue, finally spoke. “Clearing Anomalies is for the sake of establishing an Orchard. To eliminate destabilizing factors that could impede the Orchard’s construction. Killing is not the only method.”

She first met Poppy’s skeptical gaze, exchanging a look that seemed to convey reassurance—or confirmation. Then her attention returned to the girl sheltered behind Pandora. Her stare was still razor-sharp, still assessing, but now it held a new dimension of evaluation.

“If Pandora can control her—prevent her from roaming freely, ensure her ‘Gunmen’ don’t interfere with the Orchard’s development… in other words…” Ophelia’s gaze shifted to Pandora. “…take full responsibility for this Anomaly. Then we have no objection.”

She paused briefly, giving Poppy—and Pandora—time to digest her words. “Understand this, Poppy. Clearing Anomalies is not our goal. It is merely one method to achieve our goal: a stable Orchard.”

“If someone is willing, and capable, of taking full responsibility for this ‘Anomaly’—guaranteeing she won’t become a new problem… then the methods can, naturally, be flexible. Correct?”

She lifted her head, her gaze meeting Pandora’s directly.