The "shared apartment" was located in a part of Minato that didn't smell like a decomposing sewer, which was already a massive upgrade for Kobayashi Masaru. It was a sleek, modern complex with a glass lobby and a concierge who looked at Masaru's blood-crusted boots like they were a personal insult to his ancestors.
"This is the team," Sakura said, her voice smooth as she pushed open the door to Unit 402.
The living room was spacious, filled with high-end furniture and the crushing weight of professional cynicism.
Two people were already there, looking like they were waiting for a funeral.
"Yuki Tanaka," Sakura gestured to a girl who looked like she'd been carved out of moonlight and social anxiety. She was nineteen, with long, ink-black hair and eyes that darted toward the floor the moment Masaru made contact. She was a 3rd Deviation—higher spec than Masaru, which meant her demonic energy actually had some bite to it.
"And Daiki Yoshida," Sakura continued.
Daiki was twenty-six, sporting long black hair tied back in a loose, messy knot. He was slumped on a designer sofa, nursing a glass of amber liquid that definitely wasn't apple juice. As a 5th Deviation, he was the "heavy hitter" of the trio, though he looked like he'd rather be hit by a bus.
"Great. A 2nd Deviation," Daiki muttered, his voice dripping with elitist boredom. "Sakura, are we a demon hunting unit or a fucking daycare for the underprivileged?"
"Masaru is staying here," Sakura ignored the jab, her tone final. "He won't be paying rent. Consider it a signing bonus. Get settled. Your first group assignment starts in three hours."
The moment the door clicked shut behind Sakura, Masaru didn't say a word. He didn't introduce himself. He didn't shake hands. He walked straight past the "elites," found the bathroom, and locked the door.
The shower was a religious experience. The hot water blasted the layers of dried ichor, gunpowder, and three weeks of Shinjuku grime off his skin. He watched the water turn a muddy, violent red before finally running clear. He emerged fifteen minutes later, steam rolling off his shoulders, wearing a clean pair of sweats he'd scavenged from his duffel bag.
He marched into the kitchen, ignored Daiki's judging stare, and raided the fridge. He found a plastic container of leftover yakisoba and started shoveling it into his mouth with his bare hands.
"You really are a peasant, aren't you?" Daiki remarked from the couch. "That's Yuki's dinner you're inhaling, you feral animal."
Masaru swallowed a massive clump of noodles and looked Daiki dead in the eye. "Mind your own fucking business, hair-tie. If she wanted it, she should've eaten it. I haven't had a meal that wasn't dehydrated in a month."
Yuki squeaked, shaking her head frantically. "I-it's okay! Please, eat! I wasn't... I wasn't that hungry anyway."
Masaru grunted, finished the noodles, and licked his fingers. "Thanks, kid. Now, let's go kill something so I can afford a pizza."
The "something" was located in an abandoned medical research facility on the outskirts of the city. The building was a concrete tomb, covered in rusted rebar and the lingering, sour stench of high-level demonic activity.
As they climbed the stairs to the fourth floor, the atmosphere shifted. The air became thick, vibrating with a low-frequency hum that made Masaru's teeth ache.
"Stay sharp," Daiki commanded, his hand on the hilt of a ritualistic blade. "This is a Grade 4 haunting. We move as a unit. Yuki, provide cover. 2nd Deviation, stay in the back and try not to get stepped on."
"Eat shit," Masaru whispered, his fingers twitching over his dual Berettas.
Suddenly, a sound echoed through the sterile, tiled hallway.
Hic... hic... waaaaaah.
It was the high-pitched, ragged sobbing of a child.
They rounded a corner into a large surgical theater. In the center of the room, hiding behind a cracked marble statue of some forgotten founder, was a small boy. He couldn't have been more than six, his clothes tattered, his face buried in his hands as he wept.
"A survivor?" Yuki gasped, her hand over her heart.
"Wait," Masaru said, his eyes narrowing. "Something's wrong. Look at the shadows."
But Daiki was already moving. Maybe he wanted to prove he wasn't a total cynical prick, or maybe the 5th Deviation status had gone to his head. He stepped toward the statue, his voice uncharacteristically soft.
"Hey, kid. It's okay. We're here to help. You're safe now."
Daiki reached out a hand to touch the boy's shoulder.
The sobbing stopped instantly.
The boy turned around. His face didn't have eyes or a nose. Just a mouth. A mouth that unhinged, stretching until it was wider than his entire body, rows of needle-like teeth glistening with a black, viscous bile.
CRUNCH.
In a single, fluid motion, the "kid" lunged upward. The sound was like a dry branch snapping. Daiki's head was gone. Just... gone. One second he was a 5th Deviation hunter with a bright future and an ego, the next he was a headless fountain of arterial spray, collapsing onto the tiles like a sack of laundry.
Yuki let out a scream that tore through the room, her knees buckling as Daiki's blood painted her white boots.
Masaru didn't scream. He didn't even flinch. He just raised both pistols.
"Seriously?" Masaru sighed, his voice flat. "The 'crying kid' bit? That's the oldest trick in the fucking book. Who the hell graded that idiot as a 5th Deviation? He had the survival instincts of a suicidal lemming."
The demon—now a twisted, multi-limbed mass of pale flesh—spat out Daiki's scalp and hissed, its body rippling as it scrambled up the wall. It moved with sickening speed, its limbs clicking against the concrete as it scurried onto the ceiling.
"Yuki! Move your ass or you're next!" Masaru barked.
Yuki snapped out of her trance, her face pale. She slammed her hands together, her 3rd Deviation energy flaring into a bright, frosty blue. "I-I'm trying!"
A dozen jagged icicles, imbued with purifying demonic energy, manifested in the air around her and shot upward. They pierced the demon's flank, pinning one of its many legs to the ceiling. It shrieked—a sound like metal grinding on metal.
"My turn," Masaru growled.
He didn't have fancy ice magic. He just had caffeine and a complete lack of self-preservation. He sprinted toward the wall, used a discarded gurney as a springboard, and launched himself into the air.
The demon lunged for him, its massive maw open wide.
Masaru met it mid-air. He jammed his right pistol deep into the creature's throat and the left one into the joint of its hind leg.
"Open wide, asshole," he snarled.
BOOM. BOOM. BOOM.
He emptied both clips. The point-blank demonic rounds detonated inside the creature's soft tissue. The demon's head exploded in a cloud of black mist and gristle.
Masaru slammed into the floor, rolling to a stop as the shredded remains of the monster fell like wet rain around him.
He stood up, shaking the gore off his sweats. He walked over to Daiki's headless body, grabbed it by the collar, and then grabbed the demon's carcass with his other hand.
Yuki was still staring at the spot where Daiki's head used to be, her body shaking.
"Come on," Masaru said, jerking his head toward the exit. "We're losing daylight, and I'm still hungry."
Back at the office, the atmosphere was clinical. Sakura looked at the headless corpse of her lead hunter, then at the demon carcass, then at Masaru.
"Good work on the kill," she said, her expression unreadable. "A shame about Yoshida. He was... expensive to train."
"He was an idiot," Masaru corrected. "He died trying to pet a tooth-factory. Hope you didn't pay him in advance."
Sakura tilted her head. "I will recruit a new member to the team as soon as possible. A replacement for Daiki is necessary for the higher-grade contracts. For now, go back to the apartment and rest."
As they walked down the hallway toward the elevator, Masaru glanced at Yuki. She was still silent, her eyes red-rimmed.
"Hey," Masaru said. "How long were you on the team with that guy?"
Yuki swallowed hard, her voice a fragile whisper. "I... I joined last month. Before Daiki, there was a woman named Sato. She died on my second day."
Masaru stopped walking. He looked at the sleek, expensive walls of the office, then back at the beautiful, "kind" woman who had just handed him a 600k contract without a second thought.
"Last month, huh?" Masaru muttered, a dark, cynical grin twitching at the corner of his mouth. "So the turnover rate is about three weeks. Guess that explains the free rent."
He looked at his hands. They were still stained with a mix of Daiki's blood and the demon's.
"Well," he shrugged, stepping into the elevator. "At least I'll get to eat that pizza before the next 'kid' finds me."