Chapter Text
The classroom always smelled like metal and lemon.
The floors were polished concrete, scuffed with old marks from chairs dragging and shoes squeaking. The walls were pale grey, except for one section near the front where a peeling mural showed happy cartoon children holding up red droplets like prizes. Beneath it hung a massive banner with gold-stamped letters:
Your Blood, Your Duty.
Jisung didn't know what "duty" meant yet, not really. But he knew he had to sit still when Miss Hara said so, and he knew to fold his hands flat on the desk when the bell chimed.
It chimed now, three short tones, too loud for the small room. All twenty children froze in their plastic chairs.
Miss Hara stood at the front, spine straight, hands clasped tight behind her back like the Royal Monitors on the posters. She wore the government blue, her shoulder pin shaped like a drop of blood, rimmed in silver.
"Begin," she said.
The music came next, soft and strange, crackling from the wall speaker like it was underwater. The kids started to sing. Some louder than others. Jisung's mouth moved, but his voice stayed small.
D is for Duty, given in need.
Low of the low, but still you bleed.
C is for Common, sturdy and plain,
Keep your head down, don't complain.
B is for Better, not quite elite,
But clean and loyal, strong and sweet.
A is for Acclaimed, the chosen few,
Steady of pulse, tried and true.
S is for Sacred, rarest of all,
One drop enough to make Kings fall.
They clapped once between each line. The sound was hollow in the room, like someone knocking on a coffin lid.
Jisung tried not to look confused. He always messed up the clapping part. Last time, Miss Hara had tapped his desk with the pointer stick.
"Louder, Jisung," she had said. "D-Class doesn't mean dumb."
He didn't like the way she smiled when she said it.
Now, as the song faded and the clapping stopped, Miss Hara walked slowly across the room, heels clicking like teeth on the tile. She stopped near the front wall, pointing to the colour-coded chart of blood tiers. Black, red, blue, silver, and at the very top, gold.
"S-Class," she said, tapping the golden droplet. "What do we remember about this tier?"
Hands shot up. Jisung kept his down. He never got picked anyway.
A girl named Jiwoo answered, voice high and practiced. "S-Class is sacred. They're the rarest blood. Sought after by the Royal Line."
Miss Hara nodded. "Correct. What happens if someone's blood screens as S-Class?"
"They can live at the palace," a boy said. "Forever."
"Is that a good thing?"
Silence. A few uncertain nods. Miss Hara smiled like she'd asked a trick question. Jisung glanced at the big red list near the door, the Donor Wall. It had names carved into it from over 250 years ago, back when the school was newer. Some names had stars. Some were crossed out.
He wondered why.
Miss Hara continued. "Most of you will test D or C, like your families. And that's just fine. We all serve. We all contribute. That's what makes our society strong."
She pointed again to the banner above her.
Your Blood, Your Duty.
The class recited it in unison.
Jisung whispered it last.
He didn't understand what any of it really meant. Only that blood was important, and his wasn't.
________________
Jisung blinked hard.
The echo of the rhyme faded from his mind like dust shaken off a curtain. That song still haunted the corners of his memory, too sweet, too sharp. Like sugar laced with iron.
He blinked again, slower this time, eyes adjusting to the cold, pale lights of the clinic's lobby.
Everything smelled like antiseptic.
He rubbed his thumb against the side of his palm, grounding himself in the present. Twenty-one years old today. Legal. Accountable. Classifiable.
Screening time.
He glanced around the waiting room. It was crowded, silent. Rows of metal chairs bolted to the ground, each filled with someone staring straight ahead or down at their knees. No one spoke. The air buzzed with quiet, clinical tension, the kind that always lingered when the government was involved.
Overhead, a monitor ticked forward a single number every few minutes. Jisung's ticket read: #1137. The screen displayed #1131. Almost there.
He exhaled and let his mind drift.
Hundreds of years ago, vampires were myth. Stories whispered by candlelight, monsters lurking just out of reach. Then came the rumours, strange deaths, bloodless corpses, men in government buildings with no reflections.
But they didn't stay rumours for long.
Over centuries, the vampires moved like smoke through the cracks of society. First in shadows, then in plain sight. They amassed power, acquired land, rewrote laws. When the humans realised what had happened, it was too late.
Now, they ruled everything.
They couldn't be voted out. Couldn't be assassinated. Couldn't be stopped.
They were almost entirely unkillable, save for one weakness. A broken heart. An archaic, poetic flaw. But they mated for life, so the risk of death by heart break was essentially impossible. Most vampires lived with precise detachment, emotional control. Power didn't require affection, just loyalty, blood, and order.
So the system was built. And everyone played their part.
Jisung shifted in his seat as the monitor ticked to #1135. Almost.
At twenty-one, every citizen, rich or poor, underwent their mandatory Blood Classification Screening. It was the one ritual the government hadn't made optional.
You were tested. Your blood was ranked.
D, C, B, A... Or, in the rarest of cases, S.
And that result defined the rest of your life.
He already knew what his result would be. D-Class. Just like his parents. Just like their parents before them, and their parents before them. His entire block was built on D-Class labour, mining, building, hauling, cleaning, lifting, burning. The blood wasn't bad. Just... Low. Thin. Like watered down wine.
Sure, mutations happened. That's what the pamphlets said. "Blood doesn't define you." But everyone knew it did.
Only 0.1% of the population had B-Class or above.
Only 0.001% had S-Class blood.
That number was basically zero.
Jisung's future was already written. The screening was a formality, a box to check, a stamp on a file.
He thought of the rhyme again.
D is for Duty.
The monitor beeped, signifying the next person to be screened.
The queue shuffled forward like dominoes falling one by one.
The man ahead of him turned, offering a crooked smile. He was tall and lanky, with dyed blond hair peeking out beneath the hood of his jacket.
"You too?" the man asked.
Jisung blinked, startled slightly. "Yeah. Birthday today."
"Happy birthday," the man said with a grin. "Mine was earlier this year, so here we are."
"Right," Jisung said. "Lucky me. Born on screening day."
The legislation had been signed into law decades ago. And every September 14th since, all citizens who had turned 21 in the previous 12 months were required to attend.
The other man snorted. "Well, here's to being living, breathing data points."
They stood together for a moment in the silence of fluorescent lights and shuffling feet.
"I'm Hyunjin," the man said, offering a hand.
"Jisung."
Hyunjin grinned. "Fair enough. Any guesses on your class?"
"Oh, I already know what I'll get," Jisung said. "D-Class. Like my parents, and their parents. Honestly, I might just tell them to skip the scan and go ahead and stamp it on the file. Save everyone a bit of time."
Hyunjin laughed. "At least you're honest. My mum's B-Class, my dad's D, so... Could go either way."
Jisung raised an eyebrow. "That's a rare mix, isn't it?"
"Don't remind me," Hyunjin said. "Still not sure how my dad managed to convince her. Must've been ridiculously charming."
Jisung shrugged. "Well, it's love, isn't it?"
Hyunjin looked thoughtful for a second. "I suppose," he said. "But you don't really see it happen much. Not anymore. People stick to their own. Makes everything... Easier."
Jisung knew he was right. Blood determined more than your class. It dictated where you lived, who you could marry, what schools your children would go to, and whether or not you were allowed to "donate" blood to the vampire elite.
It wasn't written into law, not officially, but the division was clear. People generally didn't even date below their blood class, let alone marry. The risk of dilution, of shame, of disapproval... It wasn't worth it.
Of course, for someone like Jisung, that kind of thing wasn't even on the radar. His family had long accepted their place in the world. They worked, they ate, they kept their heads down. Love didn't need to rebel to be real, sometimes it just needed to survive.
A chime sounded, and Hyunjin's number flashed on the wall.
"That's me," he said. "Good luck, Jisung."
"You too."
Hyunjin disappeared through the sliding door of Room Three, and Jisung was left alone again. The queue moved up behind him, but he barely noticed. His thoughts wandered, drifting through the same worn dream he'd had a dozen times before.
What if, just what if, he wasn't D-Class?
A ridiculous thought. Absurd, really. But still, he let himself imagine.
C-Class would be enough. That alone would mean a government stipend for blood draws when called on through the lottery. Nothing extravagant, but enough to ease the constant stretch of trying to make ends meet.
B-Class, though, that would be something. More regular payments, steady work. no more mending worn jackets, no more skipping dinners just to make it to payday. They could even afford meat. Real meat. Not the reconstituted vegetable protein from the discount freezer.
And A-Class? That was where life could change completely. New clothes, new housing assignments, education opportunities for his younger brother...
His breath caught a little at the thought.
But S-Class...
He shook his head. It wasn't even worth imagining. People like him didn't become legends. They became background.
The thought hadn't even faded before a tap on his shoulder brought him back to earth.
He turned.
The clinic attendant gestured. "You're up."
He blinked, startled. His name was glowing red on the monitor. #1137 - Han, Jisung.
A technician met him at the threshold. She was young, maybe mid-twenties, dressed in slate-grey scrubs and a lanyard that read CIVIC HEALTH AUTHORITY - BLOOD REGISTRY DIVISION. She didn't smile.
"Name?" she asked.
"Han Jisung."
She checked her clipboard, nodded once, and gestured for him to follow.
Inside, the room was surprisingly small. Just a white recliner, a table stacked with syringes, tubing, and a portable scanner that pulsed with a soft blue light. Everything gleamed with the kind of sanitised order that made Jisung's skin itch.
"Have a seat."
He obeyed, sinking into the recliner. The vinyl squeaked under his weight.
"You'll feel a small prick," the technician said, already prepping the needle.
D-Class, he thought.
That's me. That's all I am.
No point wasting time on ridiculous fantasies.
He sucked in a sharp breath as the needle pierced his skin, a sudden, efficient sting that bloomed into a dull ache.
The technician didn't flinch. She kept her eyes on the tubing as a few millilitres of deep red blood flowed down into the glass vial.
"Keep your arm still," she said, already sliding the vial into the synthesiser unit beside the recliner.
Nowadays, the screening process was fairly simple. They only needed a small sample, no more than a teaspoon. The machine would synthesise the blood's molecular structure and simulate a full feed, analysing nutrient concentration, blood cell ratios, and genetic compatibility markers, all within a matter of minutes.
But Jisung remembered the stories. Everyone did.
Back when the screenings were first introduced, it had been brutal. Crude, even. Litres of blood drawn by hand, analysed manually, rerun multiple times to confirm the results. Some people hadn't made it through. Too much blood loss. Too slow a system. Too little care.
It had been deemed a necessary sacrifice. A step forward. An "adjustment period."
He stared at the scanner as it hummed to life, the light inside deepening from blue to violet.
His arm throbbed where the needle had pierced the skin.
D-Class, he told himself again. Stamp it and go.
The technician tapped her screen, entering something. A bar began to fill. The machine clicked quietly as it started to process the sample.
Jisung stared at the vial. His blood looked no different from anyone else's, thick, red, swirling under artificial light.
Just blood.
The technician checked her watch. "Processing takes about ninety seconds," she said. "You'll be given a printout. If your results meet donor registry standards, you'll be contacted directly. Otherwise, you're free to go."
He nodded absently.
The scanner gave a low whine, mechanical, soft. Jisung didn't even glance at it.
But the technician did.
She frowned, eyes narrowing, and leaned forward slightly to read the screen.
Jisung watched her face shift, a small crease forming between her brows, her lips pressing together. She reached for the scanner, tapped something on the touchpad, then looked again.
The machine let out a chirp.
Another vial popped into place. The blue light inside now glowed a strange, pulsating red.
Jisung sat up straighter. "Is something wrong?"
She didn't answer. Her eyes darted to the wall panel, and she pressed a hidden button beneath the counter.
The door behind her slid shut with a soft hiss.
That didn't seem normal.
"Wait," Jisung said slowly. "What's going on?"
The technician turned to face him, voice suddenly clipped and formal.
"Please remain in the chair, Mr Han."
She didn't meet his eyes.
The scanner gave another beep, louder this time, and the screen flashed CODE: GOLD – PRIORITY SEVEN across the top.
S-Class.
Jisung stared at it, not understanding. Not fully.
The red light from the machine pulsed faster now, reflecting off the sterile walls, off the chrome tubing, off the surface of his own skin.
"No..." he whispered. "No, that can't be right."
The technician didn't respond. She was already typing something into her terminal, her hands moving fast and tight.
Jisung's heart slammed against his ribs. His breath caught.
S-Class.
His blood.
It wasn't possible. It wasn't him.
The door unlocked again, this time with the heavy thunk of security. Not a hiss. Not soft. Heavy boots echoed down the corridor outside.
And then the voice came through the speaker above the door.
"Remain where you are. Do not move. Registry officials are en-route."
Jisung's throat went dry.
"No," he said again, louder this time. "There's... There's been a mistake. Run it again."
The technician didn't look up from her terminal. Her hands were still moving, inputting protocols he couldn't see. The scanner continued to pulse, the red light now steady, almost like it was watching him.
"I'll give more blood," Jisung insisted, half-rising from the chair, heart pounding. "Just... Just do it again. There's no way that's right."
"You need to remain seated, Mr Han," she said, still not meeting his eyes.
"I'm D-Class," he snapped, trying to get some kind of reaction. "My parents are D-Class. My whole family, we don't have money, we don't have special genes, we-"
"There is no mistake," she interrupted, and this time, her voice wavered. Barely. Just enough for him to hear it.
Jisung shook his head hard, willing the scanner to reverse itself, to take it back, to correct the number on the screen. But it stayed. Blazing.
S-CLASS BLOOD TYPE DETECTED.
IMMEDIATE INTERVENTION REQUIRED.
"This doesn't make any sense," he said, almost to himself. "It's just blood. It's just-"
The door slid open with a pressurised hiss, and two figures entered the room.
They weren't dressed like health officials. No scrubs. No gloves. Instead, they wore matte-black uniforms with the silver insignia of the Royal Blood Authority on their chests, a set of intimidating silver teeth with sharp fangs.
The taller of the two, a woman with severe features and pale eyes, stepped forward. She held a datapad in one hand, and a black case in the other.
"Han Jisung," she said, voice like glass. "You are to come with us."
He didn't move.
"There's-this is wrong," he said, forcing the words through a tightening chest. "You have to test it again. It's not right. It's not right!."
"We don't rerun screenings," the second officer said. "They are always accurate. You've been flagged and confirmed. The result is final."
"I didn't ask to be flagged," he said, too quickly. "I didn't ask for any of this. I just want to go home."
They both looked at him like he was already gone.
"You'll be briefed en-route," the woman said. "Packaged blood from your sample will be forwarded to the Royal Donor Registry. You will be placed under immediate protective transfer."
Jisung's heart thundered in his chest. His fingers were cold.
"I don't want to go," he said. "I didn't agree to anything-"
"You don't need to," she replied simply.
The technician unplugged the vial from the machine with a soft click, sealed it in a container, and stepped back.
The male officer approached, pulling a sleek black band from the case and holding it out.
"Left wrist."
"What is that?"
"A compliance band. Temporary."
"No-"
"If you don't put it on, we will."
Jisung stared at the thing, cold, magnetic, unmarked. His mind raced, still trying to find some crack in the process, some explanation. Maybe they'd switched vials. Maybe someone else's blood had gotten into the machine. Maybe it was a mutation, some anomaly, and not enough to...
But deep down, he knew. His life as he knew it, was over.
He'd never stood out in his life. Never been seen. Not really.
Now, the world was staring.
Slowly, he extended his arm.
The officer snapped the band into place.
It locked with a final click.
______________
The van ride was short.
Two officials sat on either side of Jisung, silent and still, like statues. No one spoke. The windows were tinted, but he recognised the turns, the rhythm of the roads. They were heading home.
The compliance band on his wrist pulsed gently. Not painful, just present. Reminding him of what had happened. What was happening.
By the time the van slowed outside the familiar grey-brick building, his stomach had curled into itself. The world outside continued like nothing had changed. A neighbour sweeping the front step, a child dragging a broken trike down the street.
And then he saw the balloons.
A few sagged, half-inflated. One had already deflated entirely, dragging against the pavement. A hand-painted banner hung from the stair railing above their front door:
"Happy Birthday, Jisung!"
He stared at it. The handwriting was unmistakably his mother's.
When the door opened, the sound of laughter and clinking dishes reached his ears , muffled, warm, familiar. His brother's voice. A pan clattering. His mother humming off-key.
But then the boots stepped onto the walkway. Black-clad. Out of place.
The laughter stopped.
The front door swung open and his mother appeared in the doorway, apron dusted with flour, her expression bright, until she saw the uniformed figures beside him.
Her smile died on her lips.
"Jisung?" she said, stepping forward. "What's... What is this?"
His father appeared behind her, face drawn with confusion. Jun peeked out from around his leg, eyes wide.
The officer beside him spoke. "He tested S-Class."
A long silence fell.
"No," his mother said. It wasn't disbelief, it was fear. "That can't be right. That... We're D-Class. We've always been D-Class."
Jisung couldn't bring himself to speak. His tongue felt like paper in his mouth.
"We'd like to enter, if that's permitted," the officer said smoothly. "There are options to discuss."
His father stepped aside without a word, hand on his wife's shoulder. She didn't move at first. Her eyes were locked on Jisung's wrist, on the black compliance band. Her throat bobbed as she swallowed.
Inside, the house smelled like rice and stewed greens. Something had been baking. The "good plates" were out on the table. A makeshift paper crown sat at the centre, folded from a supermarket flyer.
Jisung's chair was empty.
He lowered himself into it slowly, hands folded in his lap.
The officials remained standing.
"There are two pathways available to you now," the taller one said. "Due to your classification, the Royal Registry has automatically flagged your results for priority use."
Jisung nodded numbly.
"Option one: You may register under the Standard Rotation Donor System. This will place you in the national pool. When a lower-tier vampire, most often C- or B-rank, requests blood, you may be called upon at random. You will receive modest compensation per draw, and remain here with your family in the meantime."
He already knew where this was going.
"Option two," the other officer continued, "is to accept permanent placement at the Royal Palace. This role is exclusive. You would become the dedicated blood donor for a matched member of the upper nobility. Your living arrangements would be relocated to palace grounds. Compensation is significantly higher."
Jisung glanced at his family.
His mother stood at the back of the room, one hand pressed tightly over her mouth, her shoulders rigid with unshed panic. The apron around her waist was stained and threadbare, the same one she'd worn for years. Her hair, once thick and black, had thinned at the crown, streaked heavily with grey far beyond her age. Her eyes, usually soft, tired, now looked hollowed out by fear.
His father leaned against the wall, as if the weight of everything had finally bent his spine. The creases in his face were deep, not just from age, but from long days under sun and metal and smoke. His hands, calloused and cracked, hung limp at his sides, fingers that had lifted too much for too long, without ever lifting the burden that really mattered.
And Jun. Only ten years old, standing beside them in a shirt that had once been Jisung's, still too big at the shoulders and fraying at the sleeves. He still wore the same patched trousers he'd had the year before, knees sagging, one hem uneven from where it had been hand-stitched too hastily. Jun had even started missing school already to work and help bring money in. The slow, inevitable slide. Another year or two, and he'd be sent to one of the factory co-ops just like the rest of them. Childhood, traded for coin.
He stood there, wide-eyed and quiet, still too young to understand what this moment really meant, but old enough to feel the shift in the air.
Jisung spoke at last, voice rough. "If I go to the palace... They'll be taken care of?"
The officer nodded. "Your salary will be transferred directly to your listed family account. It will be enough for your brother's school fees. Luxury rations. Relocation, if desired."
His mother finally found her voice. "You don't have to do this," she said, stepping forward. "It's not necessary. We manage, Jisung. We always have. Just take the lottery option. You can stay home."
Jisung shook his head. "Managing isn't living, Mum."
She started to speak again, but his father raised a hand gently and placed it on her shoulder. "Let him choose."
"I am choosing," Jisung said, looking between them. "I'm doing this for you. For Jun."
His little brother stepped forward then, eyes glossy but dry. "Are you gonna be a prince now?" he asked softly.
Jisung smiled, a strange, aching thing. "Not exactly."
Jun's brow furrowed. "Will you come back?"
"I don't know," Jisung admitted. "But I'll write. And I'll make sure Mum and Dad can finally rest. And you..." he knelt, placing his hands on Jun's shoulders "you'll go to school. Every day. No more work. Promise me."
Jun nodded. "Promise."
Jisung pulled him into a hug and held on a moment longer than he meant to. The warmth of his brother's small frame, the smell of smoke and rice and home. He buried it in his chest.
When he stood, the officer was already holding out the case.
"Sign here."
Jisung didn't hesitate. He pressed his thumb to the pad, watched the scanner blink green.
It was done.
He turned back one last time. His mother was crying silently. His father had his arm around her now, holding her up. Jun waved.
Jisung didn't wave back.
He walked out the door, and into the rest of his life.