I Revived My Maid, Now She Hungers for My Blood
Chapter 308: Sweet Cherry Juice~

“Eek!” The girl yanked her hand back as if she’d been scalded or shocked.

“What happened?!” Her boyfriend immediately asked, concern and a faint, hard-to-detect tension in his voice.

“S-So cold!” The girl’s voice trembled. She stared at her own fingertips.

“That fork… it was freezing! Like it just came out of the deepest ice cellar!”

Elliot instantly raised his vintage camera, aiming it at the silver fork.

Through the viewfinder, he scrutinized it. The fork lay quietly on the tablecloth, coated in dust. Entirely ordinary.

The light was dim, but nothing looked off.

“Could just be the metal conducting heat quickly, plus the low temperature in here…” He tried to offer a scientific explanation.

As he lowered the camera, his gaze habitually swept across the entire dining table.

Then his eyes widened.

At the corner of the table—where a crystal goblet should have been sitting empty, inverted like the others—there now stood a glass, upright.

And inside it… half a glass of liquid.

Crimson. Viscous.

Gleaming with a deeply unsettling sheen in the murky light.

It looked exactly like… blood.

He was one hundred percent certain. Just seconds ago, before he’d raised his camera, that spot had been absolutely empty.

“Look! Over there!” he blurted out, his voice cracking with tension.

Everyone’s eyes snapped to where he was pointing. At that glass.

Milo, the veteran, moved first. He strode over, brow deeply furrowed.

He leaned in close to examine the goblet, meticulous.

He didn’t touch it. He just extended a knuckle and rapped lightly against its side.

Clink…

The clear, crystalline sound rang unnervingly loud in the silence of the hall.

“This doesn’t look like blood,” Milo said, his voice low and steady.

“Blood left sitting for any time separates into layers. Coagulates.

This… the consistency is far too uniform. More like some prank left behind by a previous visitor.”

“I’ll test it!” The silver-haired young man stepped forward again, eagerness written all over his face.

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He walked up to the glass, and under the nervous, worried stares of the others, he simply dipped his index finger into that crimson liquid.

Then, right before everyone’s eyes—he put that finger into his mouth.

“Hm...” He smacked his lips, tasting it. “Sweet.”

A look of smug vindication spread across his face. His tone was flippant.

“Cherry juice. Trying way too hard. Who do they think they’re scaring?”

Hearing this, everyone—save for Elsa—let out a breath of relief.

Elsa didn’t partake in their discussion. She simply wrote in her leather-bound notebook with that Parker pen, in neat, orderly strokes:

【Subject: Crimson liquid. Manifestation: abnormal (instantaneous).】

【Physical properties: Viscosity close to water. No sedimentation. No signs of coagulation.】

【Sensory properties: Distinct sweetness and cherry aroma (as reported by tester).】

【Preliminary assessment: No indication of acute contact toxicity (skin, oral contact).】

Then, at the end of her entry, she drew a unique triangular symbol. It appeared to be her personal mark.

Out of the corner of his eye, Elliot caught a glimpse of that mark, and the final words she’d written.

“Safe to test”? What did “safe to test” mean? Was that some kind of asset appraiser jargon?

Something felt… wrong. That nagging sense of unease in Elliot’s gut grew sharper.

He discreetly averted his prying eyes and raised his camera again.

This time, almost on instinct, he trained the viewfinder on that glass full of “cherry juice” and the space around it.

Through the viewfinder, he saw—the vast, dust-choked hall. The dim, fading light.

And then… Every drop of blood in his body seemed to freeze solid.

Inside the viewfinder, that vast, empty hall which had held only the five of them… was now packed with people.

Thirteen blurry figures clad in archaic formal wear, seated around that long dining table.

They sat rigid, utterly motionless, as if locked in a silent, eternal dinner party.

And at the very center of his viewfinder—was Elsa.

The Elsa in his viewfinder was dressed in a stark, old-fashioned black-and-white maid uniform.

Her hair was pinned neatly behind her head beneath a small white cap.

She was bowed slightly, holding a silver decanter, pouring wine for a shadowy figure seated at the head of the table.

“M-Miss Elsa…” Elliot’s voice shuddered uncontrollably. He could barely hold the camera steady.

At the strangeness of his voice, everyone turned to look. Elsa lifted her head, regarding him with utter calm.

His face pale as death, his lips quivering, Elliot stammered out the horrifying vision he’d just seen through the viewfinder.

When he finished, dead silence blanketed the hall.

Everyone’s eyes, driven by pure instinct, were locked onto Elsa.

Fear. Suspicion. Disbelief…

Elsa herself, however, displayed no trace of any excessive emotion.

She merely shook her head calmly.

Her tone carried a thread of undisguised contempt. “Impossible.” She said it evenly.

“Even as a maid… they are not qualified to be served by me.”

That cryptic, nonsensical statement left everyone present with a deeply unsettled feeling. Elliot most of all.

He always felt this “benefactor” was incredibly strange, but he could never quite put his finger on why.

Taking advantage of Elsa’s attention returning to her notebook, Elliot quietly edged over to Milo, the veteran.

He quickly whispered his misgivings.

Milo, conservative and taciturn by nature, just listened in silence. Then he shook his head.

He replied in an equally low voice, “Take the money, do the job. Quit overthinking. Focus on what we came to do.”

And yet, his eyes remained sharply vigilant, scanning their surroundings.

His hand never strayed far from the bulge at his waist. A spot that seemed to be concealing something.

Nearby, the young couple was also murmuring. “See? I told you!”

The silver-haired young man draped his arm around his girlfriend, still radiating that dismissive nonchalance.

“Those shadows. Miss Elsa’s strange remarks… just actors they hired.

A setup to scare us off, make us quit. Or for creating a juicy news effect!”

He squeezed her arm. “Don’t be scared. I’m right here.

This stuff’s just cheap tricks to spook little kids.”

In that young man’s mind—young and brimming with inexplicable self-assurance—he was the protagonist of this world.

These strange phenomena before him were nothing but boring set pieces. Amateurish pranks.