My Deck Is Made Up Of OP Anime Characters

Azrael stared out the train window, watching the countryside blur past as he lost himself in thought. This marked his first journey beyond Velkairos's borders since arriving in this world, a milestone that carried more weight than he'd expected.

At least Silverbrook High School had arranged proper train transportation instead of cramming them into buses for the long haul. The students would have suffered terribly otherwise, though they were still responsible for their own meals and lodging expenses.

Azrael could have easily flown to Pixar on Pidgeot, but the comfort of a climate-controlled train compartment far outweighed the convenience of aerial travel. Some luxuries were worth preserving, even for someone with his capabilities.

"The train is approaching its final destination, Pixar Station. Please gather your belongings and prepare to disembark."

The gentle female announcement echoed through the compartment, stirring Azrael from his contemplation.

"Finally," he murmured, shouldering his travel bag as students around him began collecting their scattered belongings.

The platform buzzed with activity as Azrael followed his classmates toward the departure hall. A middle-aged man in a crisp uniform held a sign reading "Silverbrook High School," scanning the emerging passengers with practiced efficiency.

Miss Victoria approached him first, presenting her teacher identification. "Hello, I'm Miss Victoria from Silverbrook High School."

The man examined her credentials briefly before nodding. "Victoria, excellent. Is your entire group present? Our transport is waiting outside."

Within minutes, Azrael found himself seated on a comfortable tour bus, watching Pixar's urban landscape unfold through tinted windows. The city possessed a distinctly different character from Velkairos—less frantic energy, more deliberate pacing. As a secondary capital, it maintained an air of importance without the overwhelming intensity of the coastal megapolis.

Their hotel, the Lecheng, occupied a prime location on Parkwood East Road. Azrael had specifically requested a single room with a king-size bed, unwilling to share accommodations when he could afford privacy. His classmates might view it as antisocial behavior, but maintaining his secrets required certain sacrifices.

Besides, he needed space to operate without curious observers.

Azrael was methodically unpacking his belongings when rapid knocking interrupted his organization. He paused, listening to the rhythm—too insistent for housekeeping, too casual for hotel management.

"Who is it?" he called, approaching the door cautiously.

The woman leaning against his doorframe could only be described as aggressively provocative. Her makeup applied with theatrical excess, her clothing designed to emphasize rather than conceal, and her smile carrying promises that made Azrael's skin crawl.

"Well, hello there, handsome," she purred, her voice dripping with practiced seduction. "Interested in some private entertainment? I guarantee you'll leave completely satisfied."

Azrael felt his expression freeze as he processed her proposition. The woman's appearance—gaudy makeup barely concealing harsh features, an overlarge frame squeezed into undersized clothing—would have been off-putting under any circumstances.

"Thank you, but no," he replied firmly. "And just so you know, I'm not eighteen yet. What you're suggesting is illegal."

Technically a lie, but a convenient excuse nonetheless.

The woman's face fell with genuine disappointment. "Oh, what a shame. I was prepared to offer you a significant discount too."

Azrael's eye twitched involuntarily. Even if you paid me, he thought grimly.

As he moved to close the door, she thrust a business card toward him with surprising persistence. "If you change your mind, you can find me at this address. Think about it, sweetie."

Azrael ignored the offered card and shut the door firmly, but the woman's muffled voice continued through the barrier, "I'll just leave this right here for you!"

A small white rectangle slid under his door.

Azrael bent to retrieve it, intending to dispose of the unwanted solicitation, when the text on the reverse side stopped him cold.

The front bore the name "Fredrika" in elegant script, but the back contained a single line of small print, "Tonight, 8 PM. 175 Melford Road, Maybaach District. Don't be late."

The message was signed with a bright red lipstick kiss.

Azrael's blood chilled as the implications sank in. This wasn't random prostitution—this was contact from the Crimson Oath Society.

Almost immediately, knocking resumed at the adjacent room. Azrael pressed his ear to the wall, straining to hear the conversation.

"Interested in some company tonight?" came Fredrika's voice.

"How much?" his neighbor responded eagerly.

"Oh, I'm sorry—I'm an artist, not that kind of worker. But if you're looking for companionship, you should visit Velvet Springhouse right next to the hotel. They'll take excellent care of you."

"Dammit, I specifically wanted the fat woman!" his neighbor shouted through the wall.

Azrael closed his eyes and sighed deeply. The timing couldn't be coincidental—less than an hour after arriving in Pixar, the Crimson Oath Society had already made contact. Either they maintained surveillance at transportation hubs, or something about their contract allowed them to track his movements.

He strongly suspected the former. If the contract permitted real-time tracking, they would have discovered his deception during his very first mission.

Pocketing the business card, Azrael resumed unpacking with forced calm. Leaving such evidence in his room would raise uncomfortable questions if discovered, but carrying it suggested nothing more than a teenage boy's curiosity about forbidden experiences.

As evening approached, Azrael prepared for what promised to be an interesting conversation.

The hotel restaurant buzzed with conversations from various school groups when Azrael approached Miss Victoria around six o'clock.

"Victoria, I'd like to explore the city a bit," he said, adopting his most innocent expression. "This is my first time traveling so far from home—I'm curious about how Pixar differs from Velkairos."

Miss Victoria barely looked up from organizing her students. "Of course, Azrael. Just don't stay out too late. We have three days before the provincial examination, so a little sightseeing won't hurt."

Pixar's reputation as a secondary capital meant relatively good public security, certainly better than the chaos plaguing coastal cities. She had no reason to worry about one of her most capable students.

"Azrael, can I come with you?" Yurek appeared beside Miss Victoria, his eyes bright with excitement.

Azrael's stomach dropped. He couldn't exactly explain that he had an appointment with Crimson Oath Society operatives, but he also couldn't allow Yurek to tag along.

After a moment's hesitation, Azrael pulled Yurek aside and lowered his voice conspiratorially. "Actually, I'm planning to visit... Velvet Springhouse. You know, the place next to our hotel."

Yurek's dark complexion flushed crimson as understanding dawned. His mouth opened and closed soundlessly before he managed to stammer, "Then... then you should definitely go alone, Azrael."

He leaned closer, whispering with admirable loyalty, "Don't worry—I won't tell anyone, even if they torture me!"

Azrael felt a pang of guilt at corrupting Yurek's innocent worldview, but the deception served its purpose. His classmate practically fled back to Miss Victoria, leaving Azrael free to operate.

Miss Victoria watched their exchange with growing confusion. Am I getting too old to understand teenage behavior? she wondered.

With his alibi established, Azrael left the hotel and began a circuitous route toward his actual destination. Arriving too directly might attract unwanted attention from any watchers.

Twenty minutes later, he stood before a large establishment whose neon sign proclaimed, "Velvet Springhouse - Melford Road Main Branch."

Azrael stared at the garish storefront, a mixture of apprehension and dark amusement washing over him. The Crimson Oath Society's sense of humor was apparently as twisted as their methods.

Taking a deep breath, he pushed through the entrance to begin his next dance with dangerous allies.