The alley faded behind me as I stepped onto the bustling Tokyo street. The evening crowd moved like a slow river—salarymen in rumpled suits, students in uniforms. People shot glances my way, some curious, some dismissive. I kept my head high, Naoya's natural arrogance settling over me like a second skin. It helped mask the pounding in my chest.
I needed information. Shelter. A way to survive this world without ending up as devil chow or homeless on the streets. Public Safety Devil Hunters—that was the organization. The government-backed ones who dealt with devils officially. If anyone could take in a guy with freakish speed and the ability to conjure stuff from thin air, it was them.
I stopped the first person who looked approachable: an older woman carrying groceries. "Excuse me," I said, keeping my tone polite but firm. Naoya's voice came out smooth, confident. "Where's the Tokyo Public Safety building? The Devil Hunter headquarters."
She blinked at my outfit, then pointed down the street. "That way, three blocks past the train station. Big gray building it's the biggest one. You can't miss it. You... applying?"
"Yeah," I replied with a small smile. "Thanks."
She nodded and hurried off. I followed her directions, weaving through the crowd with Projection Sorcery humming lightly under my skin—just enough to move with unnatural grace, dodging elbows and briefcases without bumping anyone. It felt good. Empowering.
The building loomed ahead after about fifteen minutes. Concrete and glass, institutional-looking . A few uniformed officers stood outside smoking, eyeing me as I approached. I ignored them and pushed through.
Inside, the lobby was stark: white walls, fluorescent lights, a long reception desk manned by a bored-looking woman in her thirties. She glanced up as I walked in, eyebrows rising at my traditional attire.
"Welcome to Tokyo Public Safety Devil Extermination Division," she said automatically. "How can I help you?"
I stepped up to the counter, leaning casually. "I'm here to join. As a Devil Hunter."
she reached under the desk and pulled out a clipboard with a form attached. "Fill this out. Name, date of birth, contact info if you have any, whether you'll need housing provided, devil insurance status, any existing contracts emergency contacts. Sign at the bottom."
I took the pen she offered. The form was straightforward, almost mundane. Like applying for a job at a call center, except one line asked: *Do you possess any devil contracts? If yes, specify.*
I hesitated only a second. I couldn't exactly write "transmigrated with Projection Sorcery and Construction." But I needed an edge. Something to make them take me seriously without sounding insane.
I wrote:
**Name:** Naoya Zenin
**Date of Birth:** [I did quick math—18 years old now, so] March 15, 1978
**Housing Needed:** Yes
**Devil Insurance:** No
**Existing Contracts:** Yes – Two devils (Speed-type and Creation-type). Details available upon request.
I signed the bottom with a flourish.
The woman took the form back, scanned it quickly. "Zenin, huh? Foreign-sounding name, but okay. No address listed?"
"Just got into town," I said smoothly. "No place yet."
She nodded. "Housing's common for new recruits. Sit over there." She gestured to a row of plastic chairs. "We'll call you for an interview in a few minutes. Someone senior will handle it."
I sat, forcing myself to look relaxed. My heart hammered. This was real. I was about to walk into the belly of the beast
A few other people waited: a nervous teenage boy fidgeting, an older man with scars on his hands. Devil Hunter hopefuls, probably.
After about ten minutes a door opened. A man in a black suit called out, "Naoya Zenin?"
I stood, smoothed my kimono, and followed him down a hallway lined with framed photos of squads and devils pinned like hunting trophies. He opened a door to a small conference room.
"Wait here."
The door closed behind me.
And there she was.
Makima.
She sat at the head of a plain wooden table, legs crossed, hands folded neatly. Long light red/auburn hair in a loose braid over one shoulder, golden ring eyes calm and unblinking. Black Public Safety uniform—tie, slacks, the works. She looked exactly like the manga panels, but real. Smiling softly.
My stomach flipped. Tense didn't cover it. This woman could control minds, turn people into pretty much slaves, orchestrate massacres with a smile. And here I was, alone in a room with her.(I'm fucking cooked)
"Naoya Zenin," she said, voice gentle, almost warm. "Please, sit."
I did, forcing Naoya's smirk onto my face. "Makima, right? Heard you're the one who handles interesting cases."
Her smile widened just a fraction. "Flattery already? How refreshing." She slid the form across the table. "You claim two devil contracts. Speed and creation. Care to elaborate?"
I leaned back, projecting confidence. "The speed one lets me move faster than normal—untrackable in short bursts. The creation one... I can make things. Weapons, tools. Nothing too big yet, but useful."
She tilted her head. "Show me."
I held out my palm. Focused on something simple: a single red apple. Cursed energy flowed, a faint glow, and the fruit appeared—perfect, shiny, stem and leaf intact. I set it on the table between us.
Makima's eyes flicked to it, then back to me. No surprise, just mild curiosity. "Impressive. And the speed?"
I considered demonstrating fully but decided against it in a small room. Instead, I activated a light trace: one second divided, a simple motion locked in. I stood, walked behind her chair in a blink—too fast for normal eyes—then back to my seat before she could turn fully.
She didn't flinch. "Very fast. Almost like teleportation, but not quite."
"Close enough," I said, sitting again. "I can fight. I've handled a low-grade devil already i lied
"Where are you from, Naoya?" she asked, shifting topics smoothly.
"Abroad," I lied easily. "Family business fell apart. Came here looking for work. Devil hunting seemed... Good."
She nodded. "Do you have any family left?"
" All dead or want nothing to do with me True enough.
"And your contracts—how did you acquire them?"
"Long story. They were the same contracts my a parents had for every time I increase my speed it takes 2 hours of my lifespan and for the construction contract i killed the last person with a contract that person so happened to be my father he was a dick anyway
Makima studied me for a long moment. Those golden eyes felt like they were peeling back layers. I kept my expression neutral, a touch arrogant—Naoya's default—but inside I was screaming *don't control me, please don't control me.*
Finally, she smiled again. "You seem capable. Confident. We value that." She stood, smoothing her uniform. "We'll take you on provisionally. Come back tomorrow morning—8 a.m. sharp. You'll receive apartment keys, a uniform, and assignment to a division. Likely one of the standard Tokyo squads to start. Prove yourself, and we can discuss advancement."
I stood too. "Thank you."
"One more thing," she added as I reached the door. "We expect loyalty. Absolute loyalty. Do you understand?"
I met her gaze. "I yes ma'am"
Her smile was serene. "Good."
The door closed behind me. The hallway felt colder.
The escort led me back to the lobby. The receptionist handed me a temporary pass. "Come back tomorrow. Don't be late."
I nodded, stepped outside into the night air. Tokyo lights glittered. My hands were steady, but my pulse raced.
I'd just lied to Makima's face. Convinced her—maybe—to take me in. Got housing, a job, a uniform coming.
And I was still alive.
I walked away from the building, blending into the crowd again. Projection Sorcery let me move smoothly, almost gliding. I conjured a simple wallet in my hand. Something to hold future cash.
Tomorrow I'd start. Train. Hunt. Survive.
I headed toward a cheap ramen stand I'd spotted earlier. Time to eat. Rest. Prepare.
The streets were quieter now, neon signs reflecting off wet pavement from earlier rain. I found a small ramen shop tucked between a konbini and a laundromat. The bell jingled as I pushed the door open.
The old man behind the counter looked up. "Irasshaimase. What'll it be?"
I slid onto a stool. "Tonkotsu ramen. Extra chashu."
He nodded and got to work. The steam rose, carrying that rich, porky smell. My stomach growled—first real hunger since waking up here.
As I waited, I let my mind wander. The interview replayed: Makima's calm questions, the way she never blinked when I conjured the apple. She hadn't asked to see more proof. Maybe she didn't need to. Maybe she already knew more than she let on.
The ramen arrived. I ate slowly, savoring it. Simple pleasures felt grounding. I was 18 in this body—young, strong, full of potential. Tim had been 25, tired, directionless. This felt... fresh.
I paid with a conjured bill—simple yen note, and left a tip. The old man grunted thanks.
Outside, I walked toward what looked like a park. Benches under cherry trees, bare in winter. I sat, staring at the sky.
No stars visible through city glow. Just endless black.
Tomorrow: keys, uniform, division assignment.
I flexed my hand.
I'd play along. Learn the ropes. Get stronger.
For now, though, I was just a new recruit. Hungry. Tired. Ready.
I stood, heading toward the nearest cheap capsule hotel I'd spotted earlier. A night's sleep in this world.
Then tomorrow.
The real start.