Chainsaw Man Gaiden: Shadow Man — A Tale from the Sidelines - The Smell of Blood and a Smile — A Night in the Devil-Hunting City

The rooftop of the abandoned building was thick with the smell of blood. His own blood. It flowed from his left arm, spreading dark across the rain-soaked concrete. The rain was cold, the wind rank with the stench of gore. Heavy clouds hung low over the sky, blurring the city lights into a hazy glow. Arai Hayato was on his knees, breathing in ragged gasps. His black turtleneck clung to his body, soaked with sweat and blood, and red droplets fell in a steady drip from the cuff of his dark gray jacket. His deep brown eyes barely managed to face forward through the rain-blurred haze. The small scar on his left cheek caught the distant neon light for a single instant, flashing white. (...I can still move.) He thought it. He tried to think it. But the anti-demon weapon gripped in his right hand was heavy, and the feeling in his fingertips was already gone. The swarm of bat demons stirred restlessly in the darkness of the rooftop, their grating screeches echoing from every direction. There were twenty of them. No — thirty. Counting was pointless. Hayato bit his lip. He tasted blood. This was Tokyo Scepter. A sprawling metropolis of roughly fourteen million people. By day, the city bustled with tourists; by night, it showed another face entirely. From the Nightmare Hollow — the demon realm that spread beneath the earth — creatures born from condensed negative emotion came crawling up. About three thousand incidents a year. That was the number of demon-related cases in this city. The general public knew nothing. By government decree — the Demon Information Concealment Act — such incidents were processed as "terrorist attacks" or "unexplained deaths." On the surface, it was a peaceful economic hub. Behind the scenes, someone died nearly every night. To keep from becoming one of those someones, the Devil Hunters of Public Safety's Special Anti-Demon Division 4 fought. Hayato was one of them. Twenty years old. A Devil Hunter attached to Public Safety's Special Anti-Demon Division 4. Slim but muscular, his body tempered by combat. His short black hair was slightly spiky, plastered to his forehead by the rain. An old pendant hung at his neck — a faded piece of metal, filled with childhood memories. His face was always blank, his smiles few. He spoke little. Suppressing his emotions had become a habit. (I'm glad I didn't contact Aki.) Hayato thought of his rain-soaked smartphone. Before the mission, he'd sent only one message: "I'm going alone." There had been no reply. That was fine. Normally, this bat demon extermination would have been a paired mission. His partner was Hayakawa Aki. They'd grown up together in the same orphanage — Aki was, to Hayato, an irreplaceable existence. Aki was a capable hunter, but lately his missions had piled up, and exhaustion had settled into him. Hayato had noticed the shadows deepening under his eyes. So he'd come alone. He'd wanted to lighten Aki's burden. That was the only reason. (...I'm such an idiot.) He muttered it inwardly. But there was no regret. Aki wasn't here — and that alone was enough. The grating screech suddenly grew louder. The bat demons took flight all at once. Black wings sliced through the rain, and countless red eyes turned toward Hayato. The air on the rooftop trembled. Hayato stood. His legs wouldn't hold. The edges of his vision bled white. Even so, he raised his anti-demon weapon. (I can't die here.) The instant he thought it, the swarm descended. Sharp fangs tore into his shoulder. Claws gouged his back. Hayato swung them off, cut one down — but another attacked immediately. He kicked, punched, fired — and still the numbers didn't drop. Blood sprayed, mixed with rain, dyeing his vision red. His knees buckled. He collapsed onto the concrete, landing on his back. He could see the sky. Through a gap in the clouds, the moon peered down. (Ah... the moon...) He thought it dimly. The next instant, one of the bat demons bared its sharp fangs and lunged for Hayato's throat. —That was when it happened. The air changed. The demon that had lunged burst apart midair. Chunks of flesh and blood rained down. Two more, then three — crushed by some invisible force, bursting one after another. The grating screeches turned to screams. The remaining demons tried to flee at once. But they were too slow. As if crushed by an unseen giant hand, the entire swarm was obliterated in an instant. Silence returned to the rooftop. Only the sound of rain remained. Hayato lay on his back, staring vaguely at the sky. He had no room left to understand what had happened. But within the smell of blood, another scent drifted in, soft and faint. It was sweet. Like the scent of flowers, yet not flowers — something deeper, more dangerous. Footsteps. The sound of heels. On the rain-soaked rooftop, that sound alone rang out with strange clarity. A shadow fell at the edge of his vision. "Arai-kun." A voice. Gentle, soft — and yet, the kind of voice that seeped down to the very bottom of your heart. Hayato slowly turned his head. Standing there was Makima. The captain of Public Safety's Special Anti-Demon Division 4. Hayato's superior — the one to whom he had sworn his loyalty. Her straight, chestnut-brown hair, long enough to reach her waist, gleamed wet in the rain, and her amber eyes, nearly gold, looked quietly down at the fallen Hayato. A black coat wrapped her well-proportioned figure. Those eyes were deep enough to drown in. When she looked at you, it felt as though everything about you had been seen through. There were moments when her pupils seemed to split vertically — he wanted to believe it was an illusion. Makima was the perfect superior. Kind, considerate, and she remembered every one of her subordinates' names. She treated everyone equally, and if someone was in trouble, she extended a hand. No one in Public Safety, no civilian hunter, ever spoke ill of her. But Hayato knew. That something was hidden behind her smile. What it was, he still didn't know. But her too-perfect kindness sometimes struck Hayato as something imitating human emotion. "Are you all right?" Makima said it and crouched down. With white fingertips, she gently brushed the rain-soaked hair from Hayato's face. Her fingertips were cold. "...Makima-san." He forced the words out. His throat stuck; the words wouldn't form properly. "You came alone. Keeping it a secret from Hayakawa-kun?" Hayato didn't answer. He couldn't. Makima's eyes were close. In those amber irises, his blood-soaked face was reflected. "You mustn't push yourself." She smiled. It was a perfect smile. But her eyes weren't smiling. She gazed at the wound on his left arm, then at his face. Her gaze moved as if appraising him. (What is this person thinking right now?) Hayato wondered. But he had no strength left to think. His consciousness was fading. The rain was cold. A chill that seemed to freeze him from the core wrapped around him. Then Makima's arm slid around his back. She lifted him up. With surprising strength — and surprising gentleness. Hayato's head touched her chest, and he could hear her heartbeat. Steady, calm. "I can't have you dying on me yet." She whispered it against his ear. Her breath brushed his skin. The sweet scent overwhelmed the smell of blood. In that instant, something cold ran down Hayato's spine. It was fear. Deeper and darker than what he'd felt when he thought he might die. Being in this person's arms seemed more dangerous than anything. He wanted to run. But his body wouldn't move. At the same time, something deep in his chest grew warm. He was needed. "I can't have you dying" — those words pierced deep into Hayato's heart. He was needed. By this person. By Makima. Fear and joy. Contradictory emotions warred within him. "...Was I just someone who wanted to be needed by someone?" The words that slipped from his mouth were drowned out by the rain. Makima, still smiling, touched his cheek. "Yes. But that's all right." She said. "You belong to me. So don't go dying on your own." Hayato's consciousness cut out there. —. He was dreaming. It was a stormy night. The windowpanes rattled, and the sound of rain beating on the roof echoed through the building. The old dormitory of the orphanage. Hayato was six, trembling under his blanket. (I'm scared.) Every time lightning flashed, his body jerked. The sound of the wind seemed like the growl of a monster. Then a hand reached out from the next futon. It was a small hand. A boy one year younger than Hayato — five years old. Hayakawa Aki. "Hayato... I'm scared." Aki's voice was trembling. Tears pooled in his eyes. Hayato took his hand. Cold, small. Smaller than him, and yet — Hayato had always thought Aki was so much stronger. But on this night, Aki was just a crybaby five-year-old. "It's okay." Hayato said. He was scared too. But more than that, he thought he had to protect Aki. "I'll protect you." He said it and squeezed Aki's hand tight. That promise decided Hayato's life. To support Aki. To stay by Aki's side. That became the reason Hayato lived. —. He woke. A white ceiling. The smell of antiseptic. A steady electronic beep. He was in a hospital. Hayato stared vaguely at the ceiling. His body was heavy. His left arm was wrapped in bandages, an IV drip connected. Outside the window it was dark, and the rain was still falling. (I'm alive.) He thought. And then he remembered. Makima's face. "I can't have you dying on me yet." That voice lingered deep in his ears. "You belong to me." Those words were lodged deep in his heart. (I've lived to protect Aki.) Hayato thought, staring at the ceiling. (And yet, now, I...) What surfaced in his mind wasn't Aki's face. It was Makima's smile. That perfect smile. Those bottomless eyes. That sweet scent. (Who should I fight for?) No answer came. Hayato closed his eyes. The sound of rain was distant. —. A few days later. From the hospital window, Hayato gazed out at the cityscape of Tokyo Scepter. He hadn't been cleared for discharge yet. But his body was moving much better now. The wound on his left arm had been deep, but for a demon-inflicted injury, it was healing fast. Devil Hunters often had their bodies enhanced through demon contracts, and Hayato was no exception. Outside the window, countless buildings glittered under the setting sun. Car horns. Laughter. Music drifting from some shop. It was a peaceful scene. But Hayato knew. Beneath this city spread the Nightmare Hollow. Even now, at this very moment, someone somewhere was being attacked by a demon. And that fact would never be made known to the general public. (Am I protecting this city?) Hayato wondered. (Or am I just fighting for someone's sake?) The answer still eluded him. There was a knock at the door. Hayato turned. Makima stood there. "How are you feeling?" She smiled as she entered the hospital room. White shirt, black skirt. The same flawless figure as always. In her hand was a small paper bag. "...Not bad." Hayato answered shortly. "I see. Good." Makima sat in the chair beside the bed and held out the paper bag. "A get-well gift. Fruit." "...Thanks." Hayato took it. Inside the paper bag were two red apples. "Hayakawa-kun was worried about you. No more going alone from now on." "...I'm sorry." "No need to apologize. You did well." Makima said it and lightly stroked Hayato's head. Her hand was cold. But Hayato's heart was filled again with that warm sensation. (I want this person to acknowledge me.) There was a self that thought that. (I want to fight for this person.) There was a self that wished for that. At the same time, the fear he'd felt that night throbbed faintly at the bottom of his heart. (This person is hiding something.) Hayato looked into Makima's eyes. Amber, nearly gold. Deep enough to drown in — the kind that made you feel everything about you had been seen through. "...Makima-san." "What is it?" "

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Episode 1

Name: Chainsaw Man Gaiden: Shadow Man — A Tale from the Sidelines
Author: Novelia

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