It had always been this way.
Humans were humans, devils were devils, and the same applied to Denji and Pochita. They belonged to each other, and they saved each other.
A long, long time ago, Pochita's wish had already been granted. It was a simple wish—the yearning to be held.
In return, the wish Pochita wanted to fulfill was Denji's, no matter what kind of price it would demand.
The next day.
Inside the café.
Denji looked noticeably nervous.
Makima had told him that assassins from other nations had already made landfall in Tokyo. It could be today, or it could be tomorrow; sooner or later, they would track him down.
Yet, Denji had unexpectedly refused any close protection from the Public Safety Devil Hunters.
He arrived at the café's entrance incredibly early, waiting for the morning shift staff to open the doors. He ordered a single drink and sat down on the sofa behind one of the tables.
Resting on the sofa beside him was a bouquet of flowers. It was also something he had purchased by waiting outside a flower shop first thing in the morning.
Denji didn't know if Reze would like flowers, let alone what kind she would prefer. But girls were supposed to like flowers, right?
Because he didn't know her favorite type, he had picked out a single stem of every variety available and had the florist bundle them into a massive arrangement. It was multicolored, bound together with a gentle ribbon, and absolutely beautiful.
The barista watched the strange boy waiting by himself from across the counter. She let out a yawn, thinking to herself that he had arrived ridiculously early.
No matter how one looked at it, he was just a boy eagerly anticipating a confession. He had bundled a rather tacky bouquet, and he looked quite tacky himself. Sitting on the sofa, his leg wouldn't stop shaking, as if he were terrified people wouldn't notice how nervous he was.
She had seen this exact scenario play out far too many times in this café. It was always a guy waiting to meet up with a girl he had a date with. It usually followed the traditional routine: they would agree on a meeting place over their phones, relying strictly on the designated time. If the other person showed up, it meant yes; if they didn't, it meant rejection.
Because she had witnessed it so often, she could tell with a single glance most of the time whether the person would succeed or fail.
She evaluated Denji.
He had a casual, sloppy appearance. For a confession scene, he had only prepared a rather sparse bouquet, without so much as a proper gift box. Boys who came prepared like this almost always ended up failing to meet their desired match. After all, most girls living in Tokyo were quite realistic creatures.
The sun gradually climbed toward the center of the sky, its scattered rays bleeding across the café's glass exterior, silhouetting Denji's back.
If one paid close enough attention from the mouth of a nearby dark alleyway, they could just barely make out the boy's slightly scrawny shoulders and back framed against the sunlight.
Light footsteps suddenly echoed from within the alley, carrying a trace of a cheerful rhythm.
Reze had come to keep her appointment.
Fleeing, or rather, eloping, was naturally something worth agonizing over; it was an internal war within oneself. But during that lonely hours of the previous night, Reze had finally triumphed over the Bomb Devil.
She was running a tiny bit late, but arriving now still wouldn't count as missing her window.
A girl was ultimately still a girl.
She had meticulously tied her hair back, ironed the clothes that had been soaked the previous night until they were perfectly neat, and arranged every single strand of her hair to look well-behaved and proper.
Peering through the gloom of the alleyway, she caught a glimpse of the faint silhouette inside the café.
Reze paused.
A spark of pure joy amplified infinitely within her heart.
Eloping was a massive gamble. It was a gamble on whether the other party would show up, a gamble on whether they would abandon everything to flee to an entirely unknown destination.
But at this exact moment, it was blindingly obvious that both of them had won the bet.
She lifted her feet once more, sprinting quickly toward the café.
Suddenly, a chorus of sharp chattering broke the silence of the dark alley.
Swarming along both sides of the alley floor, packs of rats rushed past Reze, congregating right at the exit where the line between sunlight and shadow divided the world.
Reze ground to a halt.
More and more rats swarmed together, scrambling over one another until they finally coalesced into the silhouette of a person's back.
Makima stood with her hands resting casually behind her, turning her head slightly to look back at the girl. Her eyes remained completely tranquil, devoid of any ripples.
Nothing that transpired within the borders of Tokyo could ever escape her eyes and ears. Especially anything concerning the Chainsaw Devil.
That boy, Denji, really did fall in love, she mused internally.
Yet, this was precisely the outcome she required. To slaughter Reze, to slaughter every single companion who grew close to Denji, and plunge him into absolute despair.
This two-day romance had more than one set of eyes tracking its progress; Makima was one of them.
Her aura began to mount steadily within the confines of the alleyway as she stepped unhurriedly toward Reze.
The sensation of death crept onto Reze's cheeks like the cold, slimy grip of an octopus's tentacle in freezing waters. Panic suddenly gripped her. She parted her lips, but no sound could escape her throat. Locked in pure terror, she instinctively reached her fingers toward the pin on her neck.
"I happen to like country mice too," Makima said, extending her hand.
An invisible strike sliced through the darkness, tearing straight toward Reze's wrist.
Too fast! Reze screamed internally.
A freezing sensation had already brushed against her skin. Within half a second, her hand would be completely severed. She was no match for Makima. Absolutely not!
The alley fell into a dead, suffocating silence. From the moment Makima, the Control Devil, had manifested, everything had fallen entirely within her grasp.
Reze closed her eyes.
Tomorrow... it has clearly arrived, yet it still feels so far away, Denji.
But a low murmur suddenly shattered the absolute stillness.
Makima couldn't help but arch an eyebrow.
The slicing strike seemed to be swallowed whole by something, dissolving into nothing more than a gentle breeze that merely lifted the bangs from Reze's forehead.
"Is that so? Country mice... I happen to be quite fond of them myself." The voice smoothly picked up the thread of the conversation.
The sound resonated from directly overhead. Makima cast her gaze upward.
The Angel Devil, who was supposed to be standing guard on the rooftop, had vanished without a trace.
An immediate, visceral jolt of horror rippled through her entire body.
It was clearly the middle of the day. Yet, the sun had vanished.
A colossal, pale purple moon spanning the entire horizon now straddled the heavens.
Makima whipped her head back to look toward the café. The pale golden sunlight that had been reflecting off the glass facade had, at some unknown point, also transformed into a dim, pale purple hue.
"Did the darkness of the alley prevent me from noticing it sooner?" she whispered to herself.
The moon above was simply too conspicuous, radiating an oppressive weight that could trigger an immediate bout of megalophobia.
The stagnant air within the alleyway suddenly grew light and unrestricted.
Reze stared blankly ahead.
A single, skeletal hand had manifested completely out of thin air, abruptly forming a barrier directly in front of her. It was this exact hand that had intercepted the slicing strike just moments ago.
Flesh and bone seemed to grow in reverse, extending outward from the palm as purple-crimson sleeves and a massive physical form materialized against the flow of space.
In the blink of an eye, a majestic devil hung suspended right between the two women.
Tso Lan.
A faint smile played at the corners of his lips. His gaze drifted casually toward the silhouette waiting inside the café just a short distance away, and he let out a soft chuckle:
"The town mouse has paid quite a steep price just to run away to the countryside, you know."
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