Narrator POV.
Isagi listened to the exchange of blows. He could clearly hear the argument between Aki and Denji—the former scolding him for having no goal beyond a paycheck and a comfortable life, and the blond complaining about how uptight Aki was. A clash of polar opposites.
(What a stupid thing. I've never understood people who fight over a woman, like there aren't millions out there.) —Isagi sighed inwardly. Maybe he thought that way because he had never had a girlfriend.
So the idea of chasing after a woman felt foreign and ridiculous to him—just as ridiculous as the two people fighting inside that alley, all because one was attracted to a redhead and the other didn't think he was worthy of her.
(Should I be grateful for having this mindset? I think so.) —Isagi stepped away from the wall and looked across the street.
People kept coming and going, unaware of the small fight happening inside the alley. Isagi glanced back over his shoulder just in time to see Denji land a direct kick to Aki's balls after the latter had turned his back.
Isagi grimaced in sympathy. Even though he wasn't the one who took the hit, he could easily imagine the pain Aki must be feeling—and the way his face twisted in agony confirmed it.
(Dirty move… but effective.) —he thought, turning his gaze forward again, not wanting to watch the rest of the street brawl.
His eyes landed on a candy shop, and he smiled. He knew those two would take a few minutes in there to beat the hell out of each other, so calmly—after checking both sides of the street before crossing—Isagi headed forward.
His destination: the candy store.
He needed some sugar. And besides, he wanted to see what Japanese sweets were like.
.
.
.
.
Some time later…
The city was bathed in orange hues. People poured out of their workplaces, and the streets filled with crowds heading home as the sun slowly sank behind the buildings. The warm light of sunset wrapped around every structure, painting Tokyo in a nearly melancholic glow.
Location: Public Safety Devil Hunters Headquarters — Makima's Office.
Makima blinked several times, as if she needed to confirm what she was seeing: Aki, barely able to stand, leaning against Denji's shoulder.
Both of them were covered in scratches, their clothes disheveled, with clear signs that they had been involved in something chaotic. Denji even had small splatters of blood on his shirt—though he looked more proud than hurt.
—And then the ball devil attacked Aki! —Denji finished his story dramatically, as if he were narrating an action movie.
In short, his version was basically: "The male-balls devil came out of an alley and attacked Aki because it wanted his balls."
That immediately sent Isagi into thought, slipping into full cosmic philosopher mode, his gaze lost somewhere in the distance… or maybe on the ceiling.
(Okay… if there's a Chicken Devil and a Tomato Devil… why wouldn't there be a Balls Devil?) —Isagi reasoned, feeling oddly enlightened by his own logic—. (Could there be a Lust Devil? A Bread Devil? Or even a Sex Devil?)
While Isagi sank deeper into the most absurd yet profound reflection of his day, Makima's gentle voice snapped him out of his demonic philosophy.
—Isagi, Denji's story… is it true? —she asked calmly. She didn't really need to ask; she already knew exactly what had happened. Still, she preferred hearing the confirmation from him.
—Nope. Straight up bullshit. —Isagi replied with a slight smile, not hesitating for even a second.
—Traitor! —Denji spat, sounding like someone who had just been stabbed in the back.
In response, Isagi simply raised his middle finger, his smile growing even more relaxed.
Makima smiled faintly at the interaction between the three. Then she leaned forward slightly, resting her elbows on the desk with calculated elegance.
—So… do you think you can get along? —she asked with a small smile, waiting for their answer.
Denji responded with a low growl, his expression full of pure annoyance, with zero interest in getting along with either Aki or Isagi. Though honestly, Isagi couldn't give less of a damn. He was only there to farm skills, money, and—of course—carry out his plan. He never forgot his plan.
—Nope, not at all. I'm not getting along with these assholes. —Denji answered with absolute apathy, not a shred of motivation in his voice.
—Of course not. I'd never get along with this monkey. —Isagi pointed his thumb at Denji. A vein popped on the blond's forehead at the insult.
—He's trash! —Aki snapped, pushing himself away from Denji now that he no longer needed support. He pointed at him with disgust, as if staring at a repulsive insect.— He's a stray dog. He's not here because he has ambition; he's here because he wants a comfortable life.
—Screw you. Like I'd ever want to get along with you. —Denji put his hands behind his head, completely unfazed by Aki's words.
For someone who had literally grown up in the trash, Denji was already used to that kind of comment. He didn't care much about what people thought of him… and besides, it wasn't like what Aki said was completely false.
As for Isagi, he just shrugged. He didn't have anything against the blond, but he had zero intention of becoming his friend either. It would be too annoying… a job with no payoff.
And Isagi didn't do jobs that gave nothing in return.
Makima didn't react to the trio's comments. She simply let them pass, as if they were meaningless background noise. In truth, she had already made her decision long ago, and nothing they said was going to change it.
Even if at that moment the three—more specifically Aki and Isagi—couldn't stand Denji, she knew that sooner or later they would end up working well together. Functional relationships could be forced… if one knew how to mold the right people.
With that almost inhuman calm, Makima narrowed her eyes slightly and leaned forward.
—I'm glad you're already getting along so well. —she said with a smile so gentle it was impossible to tell whether it was sincere or just another layer of her usual manipulation.— Denji, Isagi… I'll be assigning you to Hayakawa's unit.
The words fell like a stone onto still water.
—Unit? —Denji tilted his head, confused, as if he had to repeat the word several times in his mind to understand it.
Aki let out a long, resigned sigh—the kind that only comes when life punches you for no reason.
—With this idiot? —he looked at Denji as if the very idea caused him physical pain.— I can accept him. —He pointed at Isagi without relaxing his frown. The boy stood straight, expression neutral, his calm almost provocative.— But not the other one. We already have enough problematic elements without adding this freak.
Denji answered with a crooked smile—proud and annoyed at the same time—like the insult had slid right off… and still managed to sting.
Makima nodded softly, as if acknowledging a fair point.
—I understand your concern, Aki. Dealing with Denji will take time. —Her tone was calm, maternal, almost comforting.— But I told you when I formed the unit, didn't I? We were going to experiment with a somewhat unorthodox formation. I want results that traditional methods couldn't achieve.
Aki stared at her, frowning, as if trying to figure out what kind of game she was playing.
—What the hell is this guy? —he asked, pointing at Denji, as if expecting Makima to admit he was some creature pulled straight out of a cursed dumpster.
Makima folded her hands on the desk. The warm light of the office illuminated her eyes, giving them an enigmatic shine.
—Well… Denji is unique. —she said calmly.— Denji is a human who can transform into a devil.
The words hung in the air.
Aki's eyes widened slightly, surprised despite his effort to stay composed. He looked at Denji, as if searching his face for any sign that it might be true. Denji only grinned, proud—like he'd won a prize without even trying.
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End of the chapter.