Under the cover of the Invisibility Cloak, the trio held their breath.
A cloying musk, no doubt from Ms. Beatrice's perfume, filled the room. It had a sweet, almost dizzying quality that made Harry's ears burn.
"So innocent, huh…" Cohen whispered to Harry.
Under the cloak, Harry's face flushed crimson as he swallowed nervously.
Hermione had her hands over her face, trying not to look—but curiosity got the better of her. She peeked through the gaps between her fingers.
Ms. Beatrice, dressed in a black lace nightgown, lounged seductively near the bed canopy, casting a playful glance at Mr. Crow.
"You're three minutes late," she said. "But it's supposed to be your break now, isn't it? Why are you still wearing that bird mask?"
"For the sake of…" Mr. Crow adjusted his signature white gloves. Under the warm lighting, the obsidian sheen of his beak gave off an eerie glint. "...mood."
"Is that what you told my sister too?" Beatrice teased, her voice thick with implication. "Aren't you worried that beak might poke my face?"
"Well… maybe it's pointed somewhere else entirely." Mr. Crow slowly approached. His polished shoes made a soft rustling sound as he stepped onto the rug at the foot of her bed.
Huh? What? Seriously?
Cohen stared, wide-eyed—so this was how things went? No wonder… was this what people called "life insurance"? This had to be it.
Mr. Crow leaned down and pinned Ms. Beatrice to the bed.
"So direct?" she giggled, pretending to resist—but Mr. Crow's hand gently closed around her throat. The grip was light enough that she didn't cry out.
"You're quite experienced, aren't you?"
"Mmph—" Harry's face was now scarlet, and Hermione had to cover his mouth. The scene unfolding before them—Mr. Crow slowly undressing Beatrice while keeping a hand on her throat—was… well, shockingly intense and undeniably unsettling.
He used first his fingers… then his long, curved beak. Just as he'd hinted before, it never touched her face.
But even when it seemed like everything was over—it wasn't.
"Ah…" Ms. Beatrice collapsed on the bed, exhausted, surrounded by rumpled sheets and a heavy, lingering scent in the air. "That… that was more than enough…"
"The service lasts one hour," Mr. Crow replied calmly.
He began to remove his own clothes—shirt, trousers, undergarments. Physically, aside from a few odd details, he looked almost entirely human.
But Cohen noticed something strange where the bird head met the neck.
The head had been sewn on. This was a stitched-together corpse—a body without a soul.
Wait… could a corpse really still do all that?
"Mum… this is straight out of an anime."
Cohen's expression twisted with horror as he quickly clamped his hands over Harry and Hermione's eyes.
Ms. Beatrice, however, seemed oblivious.
After everything had finally ended, Mr. Crow put his clothes back on but didn't leave. He lay back against the bedframe beside her, as if he had something more to say.
"You're really…" Ms. Beatrice murmured, amazed.
"I'll admit it—he's incredibly strong," Cohen muttered. "Even Edward wouldn't stand a chance."
"We didn't even see anything!" Harry whispered in frustration.
"Trust me, you don't want to," Cohen said with a pitying look. "You'd just feel inadequate…"
"Shhh," Hermione cut in. "He hasn't made a move yet—we need to keep watching."
Mr. Crow didn't act aggressively again. Instead, he began talking to Ms. Beatrice.
He led the conversation carefully, steering it toward something more serious.
"Why do you work here?" she asked softly, lightly stroking his chest under the blanket. "You deserve better than this…"
She clearly wanted more than just one night with him.
"Because there's a marvelous… secret here," Mr. Crow said, letting her curl against him.
"A secret about immortality."
"You're joking," Beatrice laughed. "Only children believe in the Elixir of Life."
"It's not a joke," Mr. Crow said, his small glinting eyes locking onto hers. "I should've died long ago—but I was brought back. I now live on in this hotel."
He opened his shirt to show her a hideous scar over his heart.
"Oh my god…" she gasped.
"The wound healed in seconds," he said. "I can't die anymore."
"But that…" she said, her voice trembling. "That could just be…"
He held her gently, letting her drop her guard, then pulled a small knife from his pocket. She didn't even question why he carried one.
He stabbed himself in the heart.
Beatrice screamed and scrambled to stop the bleeding.
"There's no need to worry…" Mr. Crow pulled out the blade—blood gushed out, but within seconds, it reversed course, flowing back into the wound, which closed up completely, leaving only a faint scar.
"No… that's impossible…" she whispered.
"You can do it too—if you stay in this hotel."
He handed her a small scroll. "If you've made up your mind, bring me a part of another person's body. Don't let anyone see you."
She unrolled the parchment.
"One must die for another to be enlightened…" she read aloud.
"To gain immortality, a life must be taken," Mr. Crow said. "You can choose your own path. Compared to eternal life, a single fleeting soul is nothing. Perhaps the merchant father and son in Rooms One and Two, the other Beatrice in Room Four, the tour guide in Room Five, or…"
"I… I…" she stammered.
"I'm sorry," she said, her voice shaking. "I can't… I can't harm those men… or that child… and I definitely, definitely couldn't…"
"That's truly a shame," Mr. Crow said quietly.
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