The Crimson Intervention: a secret bloodline
David Samford - Joseph King
The sterile white walls of Inazuma General Hospital's private ward hummed with the quiet, oppressive weight of recovery. Sunlight filtered through the window blinds, casting fractured lines across the crisp bedsheets where Joseph King and David Samford lay. Both boys were battered, their bodies aching reminders of the brutal toll taken by the dark techniques of the Alius Academy's influence. Joseph stared blankly at the ceiling, his jaw clenched in frustration, while David shifted restlessly against his pillows, bandages wrapped tightly around his limbs.
The heavy silence of the room was shattered by the sharp, mocking click of footsteps echoing down the corridor.
The door swung open without a polite knock. Caleb Stonewall stood in the doorway, a cruel, predatory smirk plastered across his face. His sharp eyes scanned the broken forms of the former Royal Academy stars with an unmistakable sense of amusement. With a slow, deliberate swagger, Caleb stepped into the room, twirling an object between his fingers, ready to launch his provocation and lure them into the rogue Absolute Royal Academy with promises of forbidden power.
Caleb’s arm drew back, a malicious glint in his eye as he aimed to toss a banana peel straight at Joseph’s bed to humiliate him further.
Before the peel could even leave Caleb’s fingertips, it jerked forward a mere inch and abruptly froze in mid-air.
Caleb’s smirk faltered, his eyebrows knitting together in sudden confusion. He blinked, staring at the suspended fruit. It defied gravity, locked rigidly in space as if encased in invisible amber.
"What the—" Caleb muttered, his gaze snapping from the floating object toward the doorway.
Framed in the doorway stood a girl. Cascades of vibrant, long, curly red hair tumbled down past her shoulders, catching the light like liquid fire, framing a striking face with piercing eyes that glowed like polished rubies. A faint, ethereal red light flickered and danced around her delicate hands, pulsing with an unnatural, hypnotic rhythm.
"Come inside a hospital, in that way, it's forbidden. Do you know? I kindly invite you to go away, and never come back," she whispered, her voice carrying a chilling, melodic softness. She tilted her head slightly, studying Caleb with an unsettling, predatory calmness.
On the hospital beds, Joseph King froze, his eyes widening in utter disbelief as he stared at the glowing-eyed girl. The sheer authority radiating from her voice sent a sudden, electric shock through his system, temporarily overriding his physical pain. Beside him, David Samford propped himself up slightly on one elbow, his breath catching in his throat. He looked from the suspended object to the mysterious girl, his analytical mind racing to process the impossible display of kinetic anomaly standing right before them.
Caleb, recovering from his initial shock, let out a harsh, dry laugh. His bravado rushed back, fierce and defensive. Regaining his composure, his eyes narrowed into a glare.
"Tch. Some cheap parlor trick," Caleb sneered. With a sudden, lightning-fast motion, he snapped his foot forward, executing a sharp volley kick directed straight at the girl's chest as if launching a ferocious football strike.
The projectile hurtled toward her with lethal speed, but halfway across the room, it hit an invisible barrier of crimson energy. With a soft rustle, the flying object instantly disintegrated, transforming completely into a harmless cascade of fluttering paper confetti that drifted lazily down to the linoleum floor.
Caleb’s eyes widened in genuine shock, his foot lingering mid-air for a fraction of a second before he dropped it back to the ground. The playful mockery vanished from his face, replaced by a cold, hardened edge of caution.
The girl didn't flinch. The red light around her hands flared brighter, casting long, crimson shadows across the walls of the sterile room. She took one slow, deliberate step forward, her ruby gaze locking onto Caleb's soul.
"Would you like to end the same way?" she murmured softly, her tone dropping into a dangerous, frost-biting whisper. "Tell whoever had sent you, that the next time he will bother Joseph and David, he or she will end the same way. Understood?"
Joseph swallowed hard, his fists clenching over the hospital blankets. Though he hated feeling helpless, watching the arrogant strategist get completely outclassed brought a grim, silent satisfaction to his chest. David watched with wide-eyed apprehension, realizing that the shadows closing in around them went far deeper—and far stranger—than just Ray Dark or the Alius Academy.
Caleb’s teeth ground together. He wanted to retort, to spit out a scathing insult, but the oppressive, suffocating pressure weighing down on the air made the words stick in his throat. He cast one final, lingering look at the glowing red light dancing around the girl’s fingertips, then turned on his heel, retreating down the hallway in a silent, furious retreat.
The residual tension of Caleb Stonewall's abrupt and humiliating departure still clung to the sterile air of the hospital room like static electricity. Joseph King lay rigid against his pillows, his fists clenched over the white sheets as he replayed the sheer audacity of the intruder and the impossible, reality-bending display that had driven him away. Beside him, David Samford rubbed the bridge of his nose, his analytical mind spinning wildly as he tried to reconcile the laws of physics with a girl who could turn a flying projectile into a cascade of fluttering paper confetti with a mere flick of her wrist.
Before either boy could give voice to their tumbling thoughts, the heavy silence of the ward was gently punctured once more.
There was no aggressive stomp of boots this time, no malicious clatter. Instead, a soft, tentative rap echoed against the open doorframe.
Both boys snapped their heads toward the entrance, expecting another wave of harassment, perhaps an emissary from Ray Dark or some new psychological torment from the shadows of the Alius Academy.
Standing in the doorway was the exact same girl who had just rewritten reality in the hallway. The intimidating, razor-sharp aura of raw, crimson kinetic energy that had terrified Caleb moments ago was completely gone. Her long, cascading waves of vibrant red hair caught the afternoon light, tumbling in voluminous curls down past her shoulders, framing a face with striking, ruby-like eyes that now softened into a warm, gentle gaze.
She shifted her weight slightly, offering a small, reassuring smile that instantly transformed her terrifying presence into one of disarming, serene grace. From a simple canvas bag resting against her arm, she carefully pulled out a wrapped package and a modest, cheerful bunch of fresh flowers, holding them out with an innate, quiet hospitality.
"Sorry, guys... How are you?" she asked, her voice carrying a melodic, soothing cadence that seemed to instantly lower the blood pressure in the room. "I am Mark's aunt, you see. I hope you're feeling better. I had bring for you some blueberry lemon sugar butter cookies."
For a long moment, the room was dead silent save for the steady beep of the heart monitor.
Joseph’s jaw went slack. The formidable, unyielding goalkeeper of Royal Academy—a boy whose entire identity was built on stoic toughness, unwavering pride, and absolute intimidation—stared at the tray of homemade treats as if he had just been handed the nuclear launch codes. His eyes darted from the glistening, sugar-crusted cookies dotted with dark blueberries and vibrant flecks of lemon zest, back up to the girl's glowing ruby eyes. The sheer cognitive dissonance of the terrifying supernatural guardian turning out to be a domestic, sweet-natured relative of their earnest, hyperactive rival captain, Mark Evans, completely short-circuited his brain.
David blinked rapidly, adjusting his posture with a wince as his bandaged frame protested the sudden movement. His sharp tactical mind, usually so adept at dissecting formations and predicting opponent trajectories, flatlined entirely. Mark's aunt? The words echoed in his head with surreal absurdity. The same entity who had just casually threatened to dismantle anyone who dared bother them was now standing in a hospital doorway, offering citrus-scented baked goods and floral arrangements like a polite neighbor dropping by for tea.
"Ah..." Joseph managed to choke out, his usual booming voice dropping to a bewildered squeak. He cleared his throat harshly, trying to regain a shred of his dignity while his gaze remained glued to the buttery pastries. "I... we... that is..."
David fared only slightly better, offering a stiff, awkward nod of acknowledgment as he clutched his blankets tighter. "We are... recovering. Thank you. Truly."
The girl stepped just a fraction further into the room, her expression remaining entirely earnest and kind, as if she hadn't just unmade matter in the corridor five minutes prior. She placed the flowers gently on the bedside table, right next to the fragrant package of cookies, letting the sweet, citrusy aroma cut through the sterile scent of antiseptic and fear.
"Good," she whispered softly, tilting her head with a faint, knowing curve of her lips. "Make sure you eat them. You need your strength back. Boys your age always think you can just push through anything, but healing takes time."
With a final, gentle nod, she turned and slipped quietly down the hallway, leaving the two injured soccer players staring blankly at the door, entirely dumbfounded by the strange, beautiful storm that had just passed through their lives.
The training grounds of Raimon Junior High hummed with the familiar, high-intensity energy of the soccer team pushing through their paces. Weeks had passed since the hospital encounter—weeks filled with the looming, suffocating threat of the Alius Academy, the brutal defection of old comrades, and the heavy burden of trying to match an enemy whose strength seemed entirely otherworldly. Yet, for David Samford, the most baffling anomaly wasn't a dark tactic or a floating black soccer ball; it was a memory.
The lingering taste of lemon and sweet butter, coupled with the image of a terrifying red-eyed guardian who doubled as a pastry-bearing relative, had occupied far too much space in his tactical mind.
As the whistle blew for a water break, David spotted Mark Evans jogging toward the benches, wiping sweat from his forehead with a bright orange wristband. Beside Mark walked Jude Sharp, his sharp gaze fixed on a tactical notepad as he discussed defensive formations.
Stepping forward, his expression a tight mix of deep bewilderment and reluctant curiosity, David intercepted his former rival.
"Evans," David called out, his voice cutting through the chatter of the field.
Mark stopped, blinking in surprise as he turned to face him, a welcoming grin spreading across his face. "Oh, David! It's good to see you up and moving around. How's the recovery going? Did you need something?"
David crossed his arms over his chest, his eyes narrowing slightly as he tried to find the right words to approach a topic that defied every known law of logic. "Recovery is... progressing. But that's not why I'm here. I need to ask you something, Evans. And I want a straight answer."
Jude looked up from his notepad, his keen red eyes shifting between David and Mark, sensing the sudden, unusual tension in the air.
"Sure, what is it?" Mark asked, tilting his head with characteristic innocence, completely unaware of the mental vortex he was about to unleash.
"Your aunt," David began, his tone dropping into a grave, serious murmur. "The one with the crimson hair. The one who walked into our hospital room, froze a projectile in mid-air without touching it, dissolved Caleb’s kick into paper confetti, and threatened to dismantle anyone who dared bother us. That aunt. And... and the blueberry lemon sugar butter cookies she brought us."
Mark’s face lit up with immediate recognition, his smile widening into a proud, cheerful beam. "Oh... yes! She is my aunt Elena. She is my mum's sister."
Beside Mark, Jude Sharp froze mid-stride. The tactical genius of Royal Academy—a boy who prided himself on knowing every variable, every hidden alliance, and every secret string pulled by Ray Dark—dropped his jaw by a fraction of an inch. His pen hovered motionless over his notepad. Aunt Elena? Jude’s mind raced backward through every dossier he possessed on Mark Evans' family background. There was nothing. Absolutely nothing in any record about a relative with kinetic capabilities capable of breaking reality itself.
"Wait," Jude interrupted, his voice sharp and laced with profound disbelief as he turned his gaze to Mark. "What are you talking about, Evans? I know your family tree. I've studied Raimon's connections, the Raimon family, the neighborhood... Who on earth is Elena, and what do you mean by her abilities?"
Mark scratched the back of his head, chuckling good-naturedly, completely unfazed by Jude's sudden shock or David's tense posture.
"Ah, you didn't know, Jude? Well, not many people do," Mark explained easily, as if discussing a common household pet rather than a living supernatural phenomenon. "I know only that some mad scientist made some experiments on her when she was a baby, and she developed her power."
A heavy, stunned silence fell over the trio.
David stared blankly at Mark, the sheer casualness of the explanation hitting him like a physical blow. Some mad scientist made experiments on her when she was a baby? It sounded like the plot of a science-fiction comic book, yet David knew firsthand that the red light dancing around her fingers was terrifyingly real.
Jude stared at Mark with wide eyes, his tactical composure completely shattering. The idea of clandestine genetic or kinetic experimentation happening in the background of ordinary suburban life completely upended his worldview.
Unbothered by the existential crisis unfolding on his teammates' faces, Mark beamed warmly, crossing his arms behind his head with absolute fondness.
"She is a sweetheart, really," Mark assured them with a bright, earnest laugh, completely oblivious to the fact that his aunt had terrorized Caleb Stonewall into a state of mute panic just weeks prior. "She just gets a little protective of my friends, you know? Anyway, I'm glad you liked the cookies! She bakes them whenever she worries about me—or anyone I care about."
David let out a long, slow breath, pinching the bridge of his nose as a helpless, incredulous smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. Beside him, Jude slowly lowered his notepad, realizing with dawning clarity that the world was far stranger—and infinitely more dangerous.
