I Revived My Maid, Now She Hungers for My Blood

The squad leader paused, then delivered the final and most critical point:

“Lastly, and most importantly—the anchor point for our train is located right here at this high school. Choosing this as our initial foothold provides maximum convenience for logistics and emergency fallback.”

Poppy nodded, satisfied, an expression of “obviously” settling on her face. “The reasoning is solid. Let’s do it.” She waved a hand, sealing the decision. “Begin execution.”

“Yes, Commander!”

The squad leader acknowledged the order and immediately turned toward the most unremarkable member standing at the back of the team. The guy’s presence was so muted that Pandora had barely registered him even existed until the leader singled him out.

But now, focusing her attention on him, she realized: his sheer “unremarkableness” was itself an Ability. Something that subtly interfered with the attention of everyone around him, passively lowering his perceived presence.

The squad member said nothing. He just nodded silently, straightened the collar of his worn jacket, and prepared to leave the gymnasium to execute the Identity Integration mission.

Right then, Ophelia spoke up, stopping him mid-step. “Hold on.”

She turned her head, her gaze falling squarely on Pandora. “Pandora, what are your plans moving forward?”

Her voice held its usual coolness, but there was an earnest weight behind it. This wasn’t empty politeness. “If you don’t mind, you could join us. Or at the very least, we could collaborate.”

Pandora raised an eyebrow but didn’t answer right away. She just tilted her head slightly, inviting Ophelia to continue.

“Our squad doesn’t have a potion-maker. Although we stockpiled a substantial supply of various potions before the mission, extended cleanup operations always have the potential for unforeseen complications. Potions can run low, degrade, or we might encounter an Anomaly requiring a specific, targeted formula. These are all possibilities.”

“Having a professional potion-maker on the team—or at least reliable potion support—would vastly improve the squad’s sustained combat capability and overall security.”

She paused, her gaze sweeping over Pandora and Elsa.

“Furthermore, Pandora, you and your companion both possess Rank-3 strength at minimum. We can cooperate during cleanup operations, watch each other’s backs. The Anomaly Ash harvested from kills can be fairly distributed based on contribution.”

“And in exchange, we will leverage our experience and resources to offer you certain conveniences within reason. For instance, more precise intel, more efficient identity cover, or specific materials you might require.”

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Ophelia let the offer hang for a beat before delivering the final invitation. “What do you say?”

Poppy listened, a slight frown creasing her brow. The idea of cooperating with an outsider whose identity still had some question marks—even sharing Anomaly Ash—clearly still rubbed her the wrong way, her fingers absently fiddling with the hookah’s hose.

But ultimately, she held her tongue and raised no objection. As a veteran, she too acknowledged the proposal’s logic.

Behind them, within the six-person squad, Betty watched the exchange carefully. Her gaze flickered between Ophelia, Pandora, Elsa, and the “Miss Anomaly” still clutching Pandora’s robes. Her expression was complicated.

Pandora felt the weight of all those stares.

She glanced down at the girl beside her, still clinging tight to her hem—likely not understanding a word of their conversation, just instinctively depending on her. Pandora had already made up her mind.

It was a mutually beneficial offer. And whether it was completing Amanda’s commission and cultivating those special seeds, diving into research on this peculiar Anomaly’s true nature, or her own growth requiring a relatively stable and secure rear environment for accumulation and study…

Having a professional cleanup squad as a partner would make things infinitely smoother.

This wasn’t the Ruined City. The main conflict here was external Anomalies, not the cutthroat internal politics. And her own strength had grown by leaps and bounds—more than enough to defend her interests in a collaboration. No need to lone-wolf it and shoulder everything herself.

Pandora let a light smile cross her lips. She nodded. “Acceptable.”

And with that, the cooperation between both parties was tentatively established.

………………

Time slipped by unnoticed.

A full month had passed since that steam locomotive first set down in this Fragment World and deposited them on the school’s rooftop.

The afternoon sun filtered through sparse clouds, carrying that lazy, late-summer warmth as it spilled across the streets. The air held the dry scent of dust and a faint coal-smoke tang drifting in from the distant industrial district.

An olive-green streetcar clattered to a gentle stop beside the curb, its bell chiming clear and crisp. The doors swung open with a soft pneumatic hiss.

Pandora stepped down, leading Miss Anomaly by the hand. Her movements were graceful, her skirt swaying gently with each step.

The girl still wore the same unassuming dress, now scrubbed clean, her hair neatly combed. She kept her head down, trailing Pandora step for step, her grip on Pandora’s hand borderline desperate.

Betty followed just behind them.

The three walked along the street for about five minutes before arriving once more at the high school’s main gate.

Ashford Heights Modern High School.

The gray stone walls loomed high and cold, crowned with jagged iron spikes along the top.

The heavy wrought-iron gates were firmly shut, leaving only a narrow side entrance just wide enough for a single person, guarded by a uniformed sentry.

The entire structure radiated a frigid, imposing authority that practically screamed “keep out.”

The guard was a burly, middle-aged man with a thick beard. Seeing the three figures approach, he instinctively raised a hand in a halting gesture.

“Hold up.” His voice came out rough, gravelly. “Identification.”

Pandora’s expression remained placid. She reached into the inner pocket of her coat and produced a cardboard card fitted with a delicate metal border, handing it over.

It was a student ID stamped with the school crest, her photograph, and the words: Ashford Heights Modern High School · International Exchange Student.

Betty and the girl each produced similar cards of their own.