"Yukiko, I've got great news! I've been officially hired as a deductive consultant for Public Safety!"
That evening, inside the cramped one-bedroom apartment the Kudo family rented, Yusaku delivered the announcement with barely contained excitement.
"Is... is that so? That's... wonderful..."
Yukiko managed something that might have been a smile.
Yusaku's brow furrowed. "What's wrong? You look exhausted. Did something happen?"
"N-nothing happened."
She forced the corners of her mouth upward and changed the subject. "So does this mean Shinichi's medical bills will be..."
A faint spark of hope flickered in her eyes.
Yusaku's decision to seek work with Public Safety hadn't been purely about leveraging his deductive skills. The benefits package was extraordinary.
Working in Public Safety meant constant brushes with Devils, the ever-present risk of losing a limb or worse. To compensate, the pay and benefits for operatives were exceptional.
Now that Yusaku was officially on board, maybe she wouldn't have to go out and... work anymore?
The memory of what Makoto had put her through in the room next to her son's, all eighteen positions, sent a flush of heat burning across her cheeks.
Yusaku scratched the tip of his nose, looking guilty. "I'm sorry, Yukiko. Those benefits are only for frontline combat personnel. My current pay isn't nearly enough to cover Shinichi's bills."
Public Safety's compensation was generous, true. It had to be, or nobody would willingly spend their days fighting Devils. But that money went to the people risking their lives on the front lines. A consultant sitting safely in the rear? Not a chance.
Worse, Yusaku's vaunted deductive abilities weren't nearly as indispensable within Public Safety as he'd hoped. This was a world where superhuman powers ran rampant.
Most crimes were committed by Devils, whose behavior and methods defied the kind of logical deduction Yusaku excelled at.
He was limited to ordinary human cases. The pay reflected it.
And Public Safety already had Devil Hunters contracted with intelligence-type Devils. Makima alone could share the senses of rats, birds, and other small animals, blanketing all of Tokyo in surveillance. No criminal could lie in the presence of the Control Devil.
The deductive genius that had made Yusaku Kudo a legend in his home world was, in this one, worth next to nothing.
"So... I'll still need you to go out and 'work.' I'm sorry, Yukiko."
Guilt was etched across his face.
"It's... it's fine. You focus on your job. We'll get through this together, as a family."
"Thank you, Yukiko. I know it's hard."
He stepped forward, reaching to put his arm around her waist.
The instant his fingertips grazed her, Yukiko flinched backward like she'd been shocked.
Meeting his bewildered gaze, she forced another smile. "Sorry, Yusaku. I'm exhausted today. I want to rest. Could you grab dinner on your own tonight?"
The old Yusaku, who shared his son's obsessive need to chase every mystery to its conclusion, would have pressed the issue. But with the family's entire financial burden resting on his wife's shoulders, he couldn't bring himself to push. He pretended not to notice.
"Sure. Get some rest. Don't push yourself too hard."
"Mm."
Yukiko returned to the bedroom and closed the door behind her. Silence settled over her like a shroud.
Did she really have to keep doing... that? With the man who had a grudge against both her husband and her son...
Two days later, Shinichi drank his tea again. Sleep took him within seconds.
Yukiko watched her son's breathing slow, then drew the curtain around his bed and slipped out.
"Hey, slow down... at least let's go next door..."
"I have to admit, Mrs. Kudo, I never expected you to take the initiative. Are we making this a regular arrangement? Earning your son's medical bills the hard way?"
"Wh-what choice do I have? The yakuza are watching me now... ah! Don't tear it! I'll have to buy another one..."
"By the way, you didn't take out the Pikachu tail, right?"
"N-no..."
"Seriously? And your husband hasn't noticed?"
"No, he hasn't! I've been telling him I'm too tired, so we don't... ow! Don't just yank it out like that!"
"Wow, he's fine with that? Oh, and remember to call me Ash later..."
"I'm... I'm the one making the money right now, so he... he can't exactly complain..."
Tsk, tsk. Fair point.
It always came down to who brought home the paycheck. The one earning the money held the power.
All those men in his past life who'd been the sole breadwinners yet still lived like doormats for their partners... what were they even thinking?
You're the one making the money. Why are you the pushover?
Alice had been in excellent spirits lately. She'd discovered, to her amazement, that she could finally keep up with Makoto's pace.
Before, she'd barely lasted a few rounds before waving the white flag, begging him to stop before she passed out.
But to keep him away from Erina, she'd grit her teeth and endure, until by the end she'd be lying there motionless, limp as a ragdoll. Not exactly an enjoyable experience for either party.
Recently, though, she'd noticed she could match his rhythm. She was still exhausted afterward, but Makoto would be spent enough that he had no interest in seeking Erina out.
Have I really improved that much?!
Yukiko, had she been privy to Alice's internal celebration, would have had one thing to say: That's because I've been draining his stamina for you, you idiot!
Erina, meanwhile, was simply confused. Had Makoto lost interest entirely?
She'd heard Leonora mention once that men's drives declined sharply after twenty-five, that they'd avoid it if they could.
But Makoto wasn't even twenty-five yet. And it had been months since he'd been separated from Utaha Kasumigaoka and the others. How was he holding back?
Too thin-skinned to confront him about it, Erina spent her days tangled in knots of confusion. Time slipped past while she agonized.
Nine years, gone in a blink.
Pochita's recovery had been astonishingly fast. The original story never specified exactly how long it took from its near-death state to fusing with Denji, but judging by how much Denji aged, it was at least five years.
Five years to crawl back from the brink to low-tier Devil strength, sustained on half a slice of bread a day and whatever rat or lesser Devil blood it could scrounge.
Under Makoto's care, the four Nakiri women had taken turns preparing gourmet, nutrient-packed meals for it.
If Devils could get fat, Pochita would've been the size of a beach ball by now.
Makoto hadn't rushed to make a public appearance. He planned to develop in the shadows, like the protagonists of those mastermind-type novels, and only confront Makima once he'd fully mastered Pochita's power.
Osaka, Japan.
A chainsaw's roar split the air. A blade over thirty meters long swept down from above and cleaved the Devil with flamethrower arms clean in two.
The Flamethrower Devil stared in disbelief at the figure walking calmly toward it, its body bisected at the waist.
Makoto, now twenty-five after three years in this world, looked down at the dying Devil with a smirk. "One of the Weapon Humans, the Flamethrower Hybrid, and this is all you've got?"
He glanced sideways. "What do you think, Pochita?"
Pochita had already retracted its thirty-meter chainsaw. Held by its back-mounted grip in Makoto's hand, it squinted contentedly and barked twice.
The Flamethrower Devil, Barem, coughed blood and ground out: "The Chainsaw Devil... finally revived... and partnered with a human, no less... But don't celebrate. Every Devil alive will come for the Chainsaw Devil's heart. You won't stay on top for long!"
"Let them come."
Makoto's lip curled. The grey-black skeletal arm of his Susanoo lanced forward and punched through the Flamethrower Devil's chest, emerging a moment later with a heart that bore a demonic face.
Against the Susanoo's massive frame, the thing looked no bigger than a sunflower seed.
Makoto plucked the heart from the spectral hand. "Let's head home, Pochita."
"Woof woof!"
Not long ago, Makoto and Pochita had begun operating as freelance Devil Hunters. Every target was a high-tier Devil, the Flamethrower Devil's caliber or above.
Though in the hierarchy of high-tier Devils, the Flamethrower Devil was nothing more than a stray dog by the side of the road.
"Makoto! You're home!"
The moment they walked through the door, Alice rushed to greet him. At twenty-five now, her once-short hair had grown past her waist.
Combine that with years of... maturing under Makoto's influence, and if she'd once borne an eighty-percent resemblance to her mother Leonora, it was now ninety-nine.
Erina had matured too, though nowhere near as dramatically. Alice's every movement carried an effortless allure that left her cousin seething.
Right on cue, under Erina's increasingly frantic gaze, Alice rose on her tiptoes and planted a kiss on each of Makoto's cheeks.
Then she turned to Erina with a bright smile. "Don't get the wrong idea. It's just a European greeting. Though I suppose someone whose only experience with romance comes from shoujo manga wouldn't know that? Oh wait, sorry, I forgot. You're twenty-five in this world now, Erina. Not exactly a maiden anymore."
"Alice, are you looking for a fight?!"
Erina was shouting.
Nine years, and she still hadn't given herself to Makoto.
She couldn't understand it. Was his self-control really that iron? Was it true what they said about men? That the moment they hit twenty-five, their stamina plummets and they act like they're fifty-two?
From the living room, Leonora and Mana watched the entire spectacle with blank expressions.
"Your daughter really isn't the sharpest, is she?" Leonora said to her sister-in-law.
They'd figured out Alice and Makoto's relationship years ago. Erina was the only one still oblivious.
Leonora was starting to wonder if the girl was simply dim.
Mana sighed. She'd wanted to tell Erina the truth more than once, but feared what the shock would do to her. Every time, she'd talked herself out of it.
Mothers in the anime world were something else.
Nine years on, both women were pushing fifty, yet their appearances had barely changed. The same was true of Yukiko Kudo, who'd maintained her arrangement with Makoto for all nine of those years.
"Erina, take care of this."
Makoto handed her the Flamethrower Devil's heart.
She nodded and carried it off to wash and prepare. Ever since Makoto and Pochita had started hunting Devils, he'd bring back organs like this every so often for her to cook for Pochita.
She had no idea they were Devil hearts. She assumed they were ordinary pork or lamb.
While Erina cooked, Makoto walked over to the record player and put on "Free."
Before long, accompanied by the music, a plate of creamy mashed potatoes with sauce-glazed Devil heart was ready.
Pochita devoured it in seconds. And with that bite, the very concept of "flamethrower" ceased to exist in this world.
Watching Pochita eat, a thought struck Makoto: if Pochita consumed a person, would that person vanish from existence the same way a Devil's concept did?
"Makoto." Alice slipped her arm through his. "Dad got in touch."
"Oh?"
He raised an eyebrow. In nine years of separation from the other players, they'd avoided meeting in person to stay off Makima's radar. But Makoto had never banned phone calls. Her surveillance was mostly limited to Tokyo, carried out through small animals like rats and sparrows. Phone conversations should still be safe.
"He says it's been too long. He misses us. Wants to know if we can all get together."
Makoto considered for a moment, then nodded. "Sure."
The women had long been accustomed to living apart from their husbands in the real world, but nine years was pushing it.
"I can use the Flying Thunder God Technique to get there. The Control Devil shouldn't detect it, and my Chakra reserves are more than sufficient now."
Nine years ago, when the players had scattered, Makoto had told everyone to avoid meeting until the Control Devil was dealt with. But as his body matured and his training with Pochita deepened, his Chakra had grown exponentially.
Crossing the Pacific via Flying Thunder God was trivial now. Some nights before bed, he'd teleport across the ocean to visit Megumi Kato, the Akizuki sisters, and others, then slip back unnoticed.
This, incidentally, was the real reason he hadn't pursued Erina in recent years. His reserves were finite, and spread across so many partners, there simply wasn't enough to go around. Erina was last in the queue.
If he could travel to another world someday and further enhance his constitution... that would change everything. Ideally something like Saiyan biology.
Nobody was happier about the reunion than Leonora and Alice. Nine years apart from Soue Nakiri was a long time, even for women accustomed to distance.
"Mwah!"
Overcome with excitement, Alice grabbed Makoto's face and kissed him full on the lips.
This one was clearly beyond any European greeting.
"Alice! You... you...!"
Erina pointed at her cousin, finger trembling.
Alice caught herself. Oops.
She'd been hiding her relationship with Makoto from Erina for years. Honestly, she'd been dying to come clean, just to see the look on her cousin's face.
But she was afraid the revelation would push Erina past the breaking point and straight into Makoto's arms out of sheer spite.
Better to string her along. Watching Erina twist herself into knots every single day was entertainment Alice wasn't ready to give up.
"Oh, I was just so happy I wanted to thank him! It didn't mean anything." She smiled sweetly. "Why? Want a turn, Erina? Go ahead. Right here." She pointed to Makoto's other cheek.
"I... I am NOT kissing him!"
Erina's face was crimson. She stamped her foot hard enough to crack tile.
Even Mana couldn't help shaking her head at the sight of her daughter.
I can't even blame Alice for stringing you along. You're doing this to yourself.
Elsewhere. A rental unit in central Tokyo.
"Unit" was generous. It was more like a basement garage someone had jury-rigged into living space.
The door swung open. Inside, a man with absurdly long hair, a disheveled appearance, and not a single whisker on his face turned his hollow eyes toward the woman stepping through the doorway.
"Sekai! You're back! What's for dinner?"
Anyone else present would have jumped at his voice, pitched unnervingly high.
Sekai Saionji stared at Makoto Ito, her expression flat, her tone utterly devoid of warmth.
"Makoto. I've fed you for ten years. I've protected you for ten years. Don't you think it's time you returned the favor?"
"Wh-what do you mean?"
A cold dread crawled up his spine.
Sekai stepped aside. Through the doorway filed several heavily-muscled men.