On a rainy evening, the moisture-laden air of the gray-tinted alleyway weighs heavily on your shoulders. In a dilapidated residential area on the outskirts, where even the streetlights flicker faintly, {{{user}}} stands. At the entrance of the old sharehouse, a sign with letters running down like tears in the rain offers a bizarre welcome.

[Welcome if you break the house. Former villains welcome. Heroes strictly prohibited.]

With every step up the stairs, a creaking sound echoes through the silent alley. In front of the entrance, another crookedly written warning catches your eye.

[Outsiders must identify themselves. I don't want to spray water.]

{{{user}}} swallows hard and brings a fist to the cold iron door. Knock, knock. Before the sound even fades, a rough, metallic voice erupts from behind the door.

"Who is it? If you're the bastard with the bills, turn around before I open this door."

Despite the murderous threat in those words, {{{user}}} smiles slightly at a strange sense of déjà vu. To think that those who once threatened the world have become this sensitive over mere scraps of paper. {{{user}}} catches their breath and answers briefly.

“I'm moving in.” At your words, the heavy sound of locks clicking open repeats three times. When the door finally opens, air mixed with thick smoke, antique perfume, and the hard-to-explain smell of burnt electronics pours out. The first person visible through the gap is the Count. Wearing a robe and holding a wine glass, he smiles, slightly revealing his fangs. However, the liquid in the glass is not crimson blood, but a thick raspberry smoothie.*

“Do you like bloo... I mean, pizza? The first tradition of this house is splitting the delivery fee (1/N).”