A teahouse in Tokyo. Neon-lit and tucked away.
This was where the city's freelance devil hunters congregated. Every shade of lowlife drifted through its doors, picking up jobs from the board, swapping intel, nursing cheap drinks.
The crowd kept the place safe by sheer numbers alone. Even the most brazen devil wouldn't start trouble in a room full of hunters, which made the teahouse one of the few places in this godforsaken city where you could let your guard down a fraction.
In the far corner, two young men sat across from each other.
"Last time we met, it must've been close to ten years ago, Ishigami."
Makoto Nishikado smiled faintly at the young man opposite him, whose hairstyle bore an uncanny resemblance to a grown-up Sasuke.
"I heard what you've been up to. No devil contracts, no borrowed power. Cutting down devils with nothing but hand-to-hand combat and field experience."
"You give me too much credit." Ishigami dipped his head, the same mixture of reverence and admiration he'd always worn. "I owe everything to those taijutsu scrolls you gave me."
"So why the sudden invitation?" Makoto asked.
He'd only come to this hunter den because Ishigami had called him here.
"I'm sorry. I shouldn't be questioning your decisions, but I can't help worrying." Ishigami's gaze drifted to the small creature dozing on the table beside them, and his eyes hardened with suspicion. "This devil. What were the terms of your contract?"
Pochita's eyes snapped open. The little chainsaw dog fixed Ishigami with a sidelong glare eerily reminiscent of that judgmental side-eye cat meme, as if to say: The hell are you implying?
Makoto reached over and scratched Pochita's head, chuckling. "You're worried Pochita demanded something outrageous?"
Ishigami nodded so hard it looked like his neck might snap.
"You always warned us never to make contracts with devils lightly. Over the years, I've watched too many hunters survive every demon in the field only to be destroyed by the fine print in their own contracts."
When he'd first been transported to this world, Makoto had told him all about the price of devil pacts. But witnessing those consequences firsthand had driven the lesson home in ways no warning ever could. Ishigami had seen hunters sacrifice their families for power. He'd seen worse.
Ever since that broadcast of Makoto forging a contract with a devil, he'd barely slept. Night after night, he'd lain awake, terrified that some devil had sweet-talked the one person who should've known better.
Someone that strong had no business entangling himself with a devil in the first place.
"Relax." Makoto's voice was easy, unbothered. "Pochita is my partner. Same as you. There's no transaction between us."
Pochita, sensing the genuine concern behind Ishigami's hostility, couldn't be bothered to hold a grudge. The little creature curled back up on the table and closed its eyes.
"I see... if you say so, then I won't press it."
Ishigami couldn't quite wrap his head around the idea of a devil forming a contract without demanding a single thing in return. But then again, Makoto had never been ordinary.
The teahouse door slid open. A woman's voice carried across the room.
"Excuse me. Is Chainsaw Man Makoto Nishikado here?"
Every head turned.
A woman stepped inside, wine-red hair woven into a long braid, dressed in a sharp office suit that left no doubt she meant business.
Her face and figure were flawless, but the air around her pressed down on the room like a physical weight, something suffocating that made the lungs forget their job.
Behind her trailed several middle-aged men in Public Safety uniforms, their presence equally imposing.
Makoto's expression shifted.
Makima.
He'd known from the moment he returned to Japan that she'd come knocking. He just hadn't expected it this soon.
While Makoto kept his eyes locked on Makima, Ishigami's attention had snagged on the man behind her right shoulder.
Yusaku Kudo.
As a freelance hunter, Ishigami had heard the rumors. Public Safety had recently brought on some kind of detective consultant. He hadn't expected to run into the man here.
The teahouse owner pointed a thumb toward the corner.
Makima led her entourage straight to Makoto's table and stopped.
"A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Nishikado. I'm Makima, Captain of Tokyo Public Safety's Special Division 4."
She produced her credentials with practiced ease.
Her composure was impeccable. She wanted the Chainsaw Devil so badly it bordered on obsession, yet she hadn't spared Pochita so much as a glance.
Tap, tap.
Makoto's fingertips rapped the tabletop. Pochita's eyes flew open. The little creature trotted over on stubby legs, pressed itself against Makoto's chest, and melted into him, its body dissolving until it vanished entirely beneath his skin.
For the first time, something rippled behind Makima's eyes, those strange concentric rings barely flickering before going still again.
Only after the fusion was complete did Makoto turn to face her. "What does Public Safety want with me?"
She recovered in an instant. "We'd like to invite you to join us, Mr. Nishikado. In the aftermath of the Gun Devil's rampage, devil activity across the country has escalated dramatically. Public Safety is in urgent need of someone with your abilities."
He understood the play. Now that his identity as Chainsaw Man was public knowledge, Makima would stop at nothing to get close to him. The recruitment pitch was a leash disguised as an offer, a way to keep him under her thumb while she schemed to take the Chainsaw Devil's power for herself.
Whether to play along was another question. He hadn't decided yet.
The spectacle he'd made in North America hadn't been purely for the satisfaction of crushing every fool who'd dared provoke him. It served a second purpose: deepening the world's fear of Chainsaw Man.
Devils in this world drew their strength from human terror. The deeper the fear, the greater the power. The logic was like a faith system from some isekai novel, only inverted.
"Join?" A voice cut in before Makoto could respond. "You're joking."
Ishigami had risen to his feet.
"With his strength, 'joining' is the wrong word. Every last one of you in Public Safety should be bowing at his feet."
The color drained from the faces of every officer behind Makima. The audacity of this kid.
"Watch your mouth, boy. Do you have any idea what you're saying?" barked a hunter standing to Makima's left.
"I'm stating a fact," Ishigami said, unmoved.
Makima didn't share her subordinates' outrage, though her gaze lingered on Ishigami with fresh curiosity.
The blind devotion. The loyalty. It reminded her of the people she herself controlled with her ability.
And he achieved this without the power of Control? Earned this kind of following through sheer force of personality?
The Chainsaw Devil's contractor was even more interesting than she'd anticipated.
Makoto raised a hand, gesturing for Ishigami to stand down, then turned back to Makima. "What's in it for me?"
"Compared to freelance hunting, Public Safety offers far superior compensation and protection. If you agree to join, I can personally arrange the highest tier of benefits. Additionally..."
"Yeah, yeah, yeah." Makoto waved her off. "I don't need anyone protecting me, and I'm not broke like him over there." He jerked a thumb toward Yusaku Kudo. "None of that does anything for me."
Makima glanced at the detective, mildly surprised. "You two know each other?"
Yusaku gave an awkward nod.
He'd heard of Makima back during his probation period. After being formally assigned under her, he'd experienced her terror firsthand.
She looked barely past twenty, but the pressure she exuded was something primal, something that crushed the air from your chest.
And as a devil hunter reporting directly to the Cabinet, everyone under her command was strictly forbidden from looking at her devil form.
Whenever she unleashed her ability, her people had to cover their eyes. By the time they looked again, every target was dead. No exceptions.
He hadn't exactly volunteered for this posting, but Special Division pay was better, and a family didn't feed itself.
Now those spiraling eyes were fixed directly on him. Within seconds, cold sweat was rolling down his forehead.
"Ma... Miss Makima..."
Before he could finish, she'd already turned back to Makoto. "If you have other conditions, I can submit a request to my superiors."
Makoto mimicked Yusaku's signature chin-pinch pose, openly appraising the woman in front of him. After a moment, a grin spread across his face.
"You know what? I just realized Miss Makima is quite beautiful."
Every officer present, Yusaku included, went pale.
The kid from before was merely reckless. This man was certifiably insane.
Makima blinked, then offered a small smile. "Is that so? Thank you."
"If Miss Makima would be willing to go out with me," Makoto continued, "I might consider joining."
Yusaku and the other officers' pupils contracted to pinpoints. One collective thought ran through every brain in the room.
This guy actually said it.
Makima's beauty was well-known within the organization, but no one had ever dared look at her with desire.
Even people meeting her for the first time could sense it: she might wear the shape of a stunning woman, but underneath was something unknowable, something words couldn't begin to describe.
Yusaku had long known about Makoto's romantic streak, but watching him lay down this particular condition left even him marveling. Unbelievable.
Makima tilted her head, considering.
The gesture had an almost girlish charm to it, but to everyone watching, it landed somewhere deep in the uncanny valley.
"Hmm... alright. I've never dated anyone before. Please treat me well."
Makoto's grin widened. "Well, if we're dating now, just call me by my first name. How about... Makima, darling?"
The casual endearment sent a visible shudder through her subordinates. Not one of them could have imagined, even in their wildest dreams, that someone would speak to Makima in that tone.
Ring, ring, ring...
Makima's lips had just begun to part when Yusaku's phone erupted.
"Excuse me."
He turned aside and answered, voice low. "This is Yusaku Kudo."
"Mr. Kudo, it's urgent! Block XX, number 208! A severe sexual assault!"
His brow furrowed. "That's Search Division territory. Why call me?"
He was assigned to Special Division. Devil-related cases. A mundane assault had nothing to do with him.
"We're not calling you for the investigation, sir. You're the victim's family!"
"Victim's family?"
The words hit like a fist to the sternum. His mind flashed to his wife, and for one terrible second, his lungs forgot how to work.
"Your son, Shinichi Kudo, was violently violated!"
His pupils shrank to needlepoints.
The voice on the phone wasn't quiet. Even without speaker mode, Makima and everyone nearby heard every word.
"It sounds like something serious has happened." Makima's tone was gentle, laced with concern that had clearly been copied from a manual rather than felt. "Kudo, you should head over."
"No need. We'll all go." Makoto stood, then glanced at Ishigami. "You coming?"
"I'm joining Public Safety too." Ishigami made the decision on the spot.
He'd been turning down their recruitment offers for years, but if Makoto was in, he had no reason to refuse. Besides, he was dying to see this with his own eyes. Shinichi Kudo, sexually assaulted?
Block XX.
Half the street had been cordoned off by Tokyo Public Safety. The area housed employee dormitories for active-duty officers, and the Kudo family had lived here for years.
Bystanders crowded the mouth of the alley, craning their necks past the police tape.
The officers on perimeter duty didn't lower the tape until Yusaku's group arrived, snapping off salutes as they passed.
"Shinichi!"
Yusaku charged ahead, leading the pack.
Makoto and Ishigami followed close behind, which left Makima puzzled. What's so interesting about this?
The concept of rubbernecking was, apparently, lost on her. Her earlier show of girlish interest in dating Makoto, the concern she'd expressed for Yusaku, all of it had been mimicry. Learned behaviors copied from observation, executed with just enough uncanniness to set teeth on edge.
They found him quickly. A figure sprawled on the ground, facedown, legs gone from the knees, clothing shredded. The scene was grotesque.
Click. Click. Click.
Yusaku was halfway to his son when the rapid-fire shutter sounds erupted behind him.
He whipped around. Makoto and Ishigami had produced cameras from God-knows-where and were photographing Shinichi's prone form with gleeful abandon.
Makima blinked. So that's why Makoto had asked her to have cameras sent over from Public Safety on the way here.
Yusaku shook with fury, but his son's condition took priority. He swallowed his rage, rushed forward, and carefully turned the boy over.
"Shinichi! Shinichi, are you alright?!"
"Dad... Pop..." Shinichi's eyes cracked open. The sight of his father's worried face got two words out of him before a searing bolt of pain from below ripped through his body. "Dad, I... I... waaaaah!"
The so-called savior of Japan's police force couldn't hold back tears of bitter frustration.
If I'd known coming home alone would end like this...
Before long, Shinichi was rushed to Tokyo General Hospital.
By some cosmic joke, the kid had been in that morning for his leg injuries, and now he was back the same afternoon for a torn backside.
Yusaku paced outside the examination room. Makima turned to Makoto. "There's nothing more for us to do here. Let's head back to headquarters, Makoto. I still need to process your onboarding paperwork."
"Hold on. I want to see how this plays out." His grin hadn't faded an inch.
He held up the Nikon camera and sighed with theatrical regret. "Shame cameras in this era can't show you the pictures right away. Gotta get the film developed."
"Leave that to me!" Ishigami volunteered instantly.
"Good. Once they're printed, bring them back and deliver them to the Metropolitan Police Department. Let them get a good look at their savior."
Ishigami snickered.
Makima frowned. "Why would you send them to the police?"
She had no way of knowing that the "Metropolitan Police Department" Makoto and Ishigami meant had nothing to do with this world's institution.
Yusaku, overhearing every word, trembled with barely contained rage. But there was nothing he could do.
The sharp click of heels echoed down the corridor.
Everyone turned. A woman approached with quick, purposeful strides, brown curls bouncing, her bearing an elegant fusion of mature composure and youthful playfulness. Yukiko Kudo.
She spotted Makoto sitting off to the side, and her step faltered for just a beat before she swept past him to Yusaku. The worry etched into her face spoke volumes.
"Yukiko, let me explain..."
Crack.
The slap landed before he could finish. Full palm, no hesitation.
"How could you let Shinichi walk home alone?!"
He had no defense. His mouth opened and closed, and all he could do was lower his head and absorb the storm.
Yukiko berated him for a solid minute before the examination room door finally opened and a doctor leaned out. "Please keep the noise down. This is a hospital."
She apologized hastily, then gripped the doctor's arm. "How is he? How's Shinichi?"
The middle-aged doctor adjusted his glasses, his expression grim. "Rectal perforation. Peritoneal hemorrhage. Intestinal contents leaked into the abdominal cavity, causing severe peritonitis. In addition..."
He paused, and something unreadable crossed his face. "The foreign matter we extracted from his body has been confirmed as... not of human origin."
"Not... human?" Yukiko went white. "What does that mean?"
She and Yusaku stared at each other for several frozen seconds before the implication hit them both at once.
The thing that had done this to their son was...
"AHAHAHAHA!"
Behind them, Makoto and Ishigami finally lost it. They doubled over, slapping the chairs, howling with laughter, tears streaming down their faces.
Makima watched them blankly for a few seconds, then offered two flat "ha ha"s of her own.
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