With a full stomach and a happy dog, Makoto Nishikado set off with Pochita toward Okinawa, on Japan's western coast.
He'd planned to teleport straight back to Erina and the others, but the Chakra drain was too severe. The best he could manage was a jump to the city in Japan closest to England.
The Flying Thunder God Technique's cost scaled with distance. Everyone knew that. Vaulting across the Pacific to reach England and then bouncing back had pushed him well past his limits.
Arf?
Pochita noticed the fatigue and burrowed deeper into Makoto's arms, pressing close in the only way a dog knows how to say hang in there.
Looking down at the little devil curled against his chest, Makoto felt a pang of something old.
A memory of another dog, from another life. "I figured you'd be more surprised by all this," he said quietly. "The teleportation. The abilities."
Arf~~
Pochita tilted his head, considered, and gave a tiny nod.
Honestly? He had been a little surprised. He could sense that his contractor hadn't signed deals with any other devils, yet wielded power like this. Still, it wasn't enough to truly shock him. Once Pochita recovered his full strength, abilities at this level wouldn't even register.
Makoto smiled. "I'll explain everything eventually. But no matter what, we're family now. Right?"
"Arf arf!"
Pochita's tail spun like a propeller.
They rested a while longer. Once the Chakra trickling back into his reserves felt sufficient, Makoto stood and spoke to Pochita.
"Arf!"
Rather than burning more energy on the Flying Thunder God, he took Pochita by the leash and walked. A leisurely stroll back toward Tokyo. The kind of post-meal amble that reminded him of his past life, back when he'd been a programmer killing time after late-night convenience store runs.
Okinawa to Tokyo. Hundreds of kilometers.
The walk became a jog. The jog became a run.
Makoto wanted to see how much power Pochita retained in this diminished dog form. The answer was sobering.
Pochita's stamina was essentially infinite, a perpetual engine that could recharge with a sip of blood, but his combat strength? Forget one percent of his peak. It wasn't even a ten-thousandth.
No surprise there. Months ago, Pochita had fought the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse and the Gun Devil back to back. Surviving at all had been a miracle.
It wouldn't be until years later, bonded with Denji, that he'd claw his way back to low-tier devil levels. And even that recovery had been brutal, sustained on half a slice of bread, rats, and stray dog blood.
Even so, low-tier devil at full capacity was nothing to scoff at.
But with Makoto? Pochita would never have to live like that again.
They ran faster. By late afternoon, the Okinawa coastline was long behind them and Tokyo's outskirts sprawled ahead.
Makoto grinned at Pochita, who was panting lightly from the sprint, and scooped him up again. "Let's go home. I've got a whole house full of people for you to meet."
Arf arf arf!
Pochita really was a dog at heart. Once he chose his person, that was it. Total devotion, no reservations, up to and including his own life.
In the original story, his wounds had healed long ago. He could've left Denji at any time and lived better on his own. The thought never crossed his mind.
"Oh, right. I haven't fed Denji today." Makoto paused mid-step. "After dinner, I'll bring him something."
Whine~
Pochita nodded obediently. He didn't know who Denji was, but his contractor was clearly a kind person, the type who went out of his way to help others.
"Help! Hel..."
A woman's scream shattered the quiet. It cut off mid-word, as though someone had clamped a hand over her mouth.
Both of them turned. On the road beside them, a van was tearing past at speed.
Pochita let out a soft, questioning bark.
That voice. I've heard it before.
Makoto watched the van shrink into the distance, then looked down. "Want to check it out?"
"Arf!"
Pochita nodded hard. Kindness was baked into his nature, or at least a compulsion to help any devil who asked. Back in Hell, whenever a devil came begging for rescue, Pochita would charge in without hesitation.
The problem was that he'd often lose control of his overwhelming power and accidentally obliterate the hostage along with the threat.
Yes, his rescue missions had a one hundred percent casualty rate among the rescued. He was still a good dog.
Inside the van.
A girl who looked barely old enough for middle school, but carried herself with the ferocity of a seasoned killer, backhanded the woman across the face. "Shut up! You weren't screaming for help when you were stealing, were you?"
The woman clutched her stinging cheek, tears streaming. "Please, let me go. My son needs surgery. Without the money, he'll die."
Any player would have recognized her on sight.
Yukiko Fujimine. Better known as Yukiko Kudo. World-famous actress. Mother of Shinichi Kudo.
Months had passed since the players crossed into the Chainsaw Man world. Most had followed Makoto's instructions to the letter: leave Japan, settle abroad, keep a low profile.
Money was rarely an issue for these groups. Someone in every squad had useful abilities.
The Kudo family was the exception. They hadn't left.
Funds had already been tight, and Shinichi's condition made long-distance travel impossible. They'd had no choice but to stay.
Real-world identities meant nothing here. Shinichi's medical bills were astronomical. The entire financial burden fell on Yukiko's shoulders.
And the fastest way to make money? Let Yukiko put her disguise artistry to work as a thief.
Credit where it was due: even as a diluted version of the Transformation Technique, her skill was devastatingly effective. There was a reason Inspector Nakamori and his men kept getting played by Kaito Kid back in their home world.
But this world had its own brand of dangerous people.
As Yukiko's heists multiplied, her reputation in the underworld grew. And on her most recent job, she'd finally slipped up, lifting a wallet from the wrong pocket. A yakuza pocket.
The gang couldn't catch her themselves, but they could pay someone who could.
They'd hired an elite freelance devil hunter and set the trap. Yukiko walked right into it.
Akane Sawatari.
Contractor of the Snake Devil. Her relationship with the devil was unusually amicable; each summoning cost her nothing more than a few fingernail clippings. Compared to the flesh-and-blood prices other contractors paid, it was practically free.
Nobody understood why the Snake Devil had such a peculiar appetite for nails.
Yukiko Kudo's tear-streaked, heartrending plea bounced off Akane without leaving a mark.
The girl sneered. "Not my problem. I'm delivering you to the gang for the bounty. They're paying top dollar."
The word gang drained every drop of color from Yukiko's face. She'd spent years living in the States back in her original world. She knew exactly what men like that did.
Before she could react, the man behind the wheel let out a greasy laugh. "Hey, Big Sis, we've already got her. How about you let me... you know..."
He trailed off with a slow, deliberate lick of his lips, his eyes crawling over Yukiko like hands.
He'd never seen a woman this stunning. A mother, supposedly, yet she looked barely older than a college girl.
The man was nearly three times Akane's age, but in the Private Devil Hunter world, strength was the only hierarchy that mattered. Calling a teenager "Big Sis" was standard practice.
"Help me! Someone, please!"
Yukiko's voice broke into a ragged, desperate scream.
THUNK.
Something punched through the roof of the van. A blade edge screamed past Yukiko and Akane's faces, close enough to stir the hair against their cheeks.
Both women went rigid.
A chainsaw, buzzing and shrieking, jutted down through the torn metal above them.