Reincarnated as Dracula’s Son

"Well, stop trying", she replied sharply, in the same curt voice.

The girl's voice, like the ring of a hammer on an anvil, reverberated through the stillness of the cafeteria with a harsh, unwavering finality.

Each word was a calculated strike, its meaning clear as crystal: she would not suffer the advances of a stranger, no matter how charming or handsome he might be.

The air around them seemed to grow heavier, the silence between them stretched taut as a bowstring, as she fixed him with a gaze that was a perfect storm of icy disdain and smoldering contempt.

Damian was caught in a tempest of confusion and disbelief, his thoughts churning like a roiling sea as he desperately searched for some sort of explanation for the girl's hostility.

Could they have met before, he pondered, his memory a blur of past encounters and fleeting faces? Had he crossed paths with her without even realizing it, his own self-absorption blinding him to the potential impact of his actions?

Had he inadvertently insulted her in the past, his carelessness leaving a wound that had never healed?

He stared into her eyes, searching for a glimmer of recognition, some hint of familiarity that might offer a clue as to why she seemed to despise him so.

And then, a revelation struck him like a lightning bolt, illuminating the shadows that had been clouding his thoughts. Perhaps, he realized with a dawning horror, this strange and volatile girl was not a stranger after all, but an enemy from a past he had no memory of.

His mind spun with possibilities, his thoughts whirling like a dervish as he tried to puzzle out the conundrum before him. Had his former self, before his transformation, crossed paths with this girl, leaving behind a wake of destruction and betrayal?

As Damian's mind teemed with questions and his heart hammered with a mix of apprehension and uncertainty, he found himself reluctant to provoke the girl's already volatile temper.

He could feel her ire simmering beneath the surface, her contemptuous gaze fixed upon him like the sharpened point of a dagger. Her lips were drawn into a tight, angry line, her hands clenched into fists at her sides as she awaited his next move.

And so, with a sense of resignation, Damian decided to swallow his questions and his pride, choosing instead to let the mystery lie for now.

With a slow, deliberate movement, he took his drink which he no longer craved, turned away from the vending machine, his steps measured and calm as he walked back towards the table where Tyrion was waiting.

As Damian returned to the table, the quiet clatter of his footsteps signaling his arrival, Tyrion turned towards him with a curious, slightly impatient look on his face.

"What took you so long?" Tyrion asked, plucking the drink from Damian's hand with a quick, dexterous movement. "Were you admiring the architecture or something?"

He took a long, refreshing sip, his eyes never leaving Damian's face as he awaited a response, unaware of the turmoil that had unfolded just moments before.

Damian ignored him. He no longer wanted the drink anyway.

Damian, his expression a mix of bemusement and surprise, shook his head as he settled back into his seat.

"No, no, it was different this time," he said, his voice a bit bewildered. "I met someone there...but I think she hated me. She was really pretty, but she was like ice, dude."

Tyrion let out a low, exaggerated groan, rolling his eyes so far back in his head they nearly disappeared into his skull. "Oh no, dude, don't tell me...", Tyrion whined.

Damian shook his head vigorously, a look of genuine confusion and bewilderment etched across his features.

"No, no, it was different this time, man," he protested, the bewilderment in his voice unmistakable. "I think she hated me. Like, seriously, she looked at me like I'd just murdered her dog or something. I'm telling you, this one was an ice queen. No amount of charm was going to melt that glacier."

Tyrion's face was a portrait of disbelief, his features contorted in a twisted knot of confusion.

"Hated you?" he repeated, his voice a mixture of incredulity and confusion.

"Yeah man, I was trying to be nice with her," he said, his voice heavy with bemusement. "But she was totally hostile to me. Like, crazy, next-level hostile. It was like I'd just killed her goldfish or something. I'm telling you, it was wild."

Tyrion leaned back in his chair, taking a long, thoughtful swig of his drink as he pondered Damian's predicament.

"Yikes!", Tyrion said.

"I know," Danian said, his voice growing more thoughtful by the second. "It got me wondering, perhaps I met her before and pissed her off, you know? Before the memory loss. I mean, what if I did something to her, or said something that made her hate me? And now she's just getting revenge or something?"

Tyrion's eyes widened, the corners of his mouth turning upwards into a smirk as he considered the possibilities.

Tyrion turned in his seat, his gaze zeroing on no one in particular.

"Point her to me," Tyrion said, his voice a whisper, though the mischief in his eyes was impossible to hide. "Let me get a look at this ice queen."

Damian's finger traced an invisible line towards the girl who was now conversing with the cook, her words hidden behind the bubbling cacophony of the lunch hall. His shoulders tensing as he braced himself for the fallout of his friend's curiosity.

Tyrion's gaze lingered on the girl for a moment longer, his eyes narrowing in thought as he tried to place her in the grand tapestry of his memories.

"Hmm," he murmured, his brow furrowing as he shook his head, a disappointed sigh escaping his lips. "She doesn't ring a bell", he said, turning again to his friend.

"Why does she hate me so much?", Damian thought aloud, in frustration.

Tyrion's voice carried a hint of teasing, his lips curving into a mischievous smirk as he leaned back in his seat, his eyes dancing with amusement.

"Hey man," he said, his voice a low, playful rumble. "We can't have it all, you know. It's just as well that there's someone who hates you. Otherwise, you'd be unstoppable, like some sort of...golden god, or something."

Damian rolled his eyes, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth despite his attempt to feign annoyance.

*****