Denji died once. Watched everyone he loved break, burn, and disappear—Power's blood on his hands, Aki consumed by the very devil he swore to kill, and Makima's smile hiding the strings that moved them all like puppets. Then he opened his eyes, and it was that morning again.
Same stained ceiling. Same mold-smell apartment. Same date on the calendar.
Pochita is alive. Power is loud and annoying and *alive*. And Makima stands before him with that same gentle, terrifying smile—only now Denji knows
Rewind Chainsaw — This Time, I'll Save You - A Scarred Mentor
The Special Division headquarters corridor was heavy from the morning on.
A four-story government building in the Chiyoda ward office district. From the outside, it looked ordinary. But inside, the walls were different. The corridors were different. The air was different. In the first-floor lobby, there was a stone slab with names carved into it—the names of Devil Hunters killed in the line of duty. Every year, twenty to thirty more were added. That's how many people died here.
Denji walked the corridor and glanced at the slab.
(There are names that haven't been carved here yet.)
Memories from before surfaced. Aki. Power. Denji still remembered both their names. He felt like he'd seen it somewhere—the story of what would really happen.
He bit down on his back teeth.
At the end of the corridor, a man stood.
Tall. About 182 centimeters. Black hair, slightly long, bangs hanging over his eyes. Sharp gray eyes. A small scar on his forehead. He stood without waste—not leaning against the wall, not sitting, just standing there. His clothes were neat, and he wore his suit like an adult.
Cold—that was the first impression. A coldness like stone.
Hayakawa Aki. A senior Devil Hunter in Public Safety's Special Anti-Demon Division.
The moment Denji saw his face, something caught in the back of his throat.
(He's alive.)
Just that, and his chest churned with something complicated. In his previous memories, what happened to this Aki—he didn't want to think about it. But he knew. So seeing him alive here now, whether it made him happy or scared, he couldn't tell.
He crushed the emotion down.
Aki glanced at Denji. Just a glance. A moment, then he turned to Makima. Makima stood a little behind in the corridor, wearing her usual calm smile.
"...Makima-san. Is this the new one?"
His voice was low. No emotion.
"Yes. This is Denji-kun. I'd like you to be his handler."
"This brat, in the Special Division?"
He didn't look at Denji. He spoke only to Makima. As if Denji were the same as the corridor wall.
(Right. We've just met for the first time.)
Denji thought that inwardly, and gave a blunt bow.
"Nice to meet you."
Aki looked at him and let out a short sigh.
"Can't be helped."
That's his catchphrase, Denji thought. In his previous memories too, Aki said that a lot.
＊
Basement level one, the training ground.
Descending beneath the Special Division headquarters, the ceiling got higher. About 800 square meters. The floor was scarred concrete, with training equipment lined up along the walls. Fluorescent light, white and sharp, casting hard shadows.
Denji stood in the center.
Aki stood facing him. About ten meters apart. Aki had taken off his jacket. Through his white shirt, faint scars were visible on his arms. Patches of skin that were somehow a different color.
(The price of his contract with the Fox Devil.)
A Devil Hunter could borrow a devil's power in exchange for a price. A part of the body, lifespan, a sensory organ—something had to be given up. The Fox Devil Aki contracted with took a portion of his skin. Every time he used it, the skin was shaved away, bit by bit.
"We'll do live combat."
Aki said.
"If you can dodge it, we're done. If you can't, we keep going. That's all."
"Got it."
Aki extended his right hand forward. His fingertips moved slightly.
—Here it comes.
Denji knew. In his previous memories, he'd seen this pattern countless times. Aki moves his hand. The Fox Devil is summoned. A massive jaw appears as if tearing through space itself, and bites down on the target. Fast. If you try to dodge, you jump right.
His body almost moved on its own.
(No.)
Denji stopped the motion midway. He planted his feet and deliberately stood still.
In that instant, the massive jaw clamped down on Denji's left shoulder.
A crack echoed inside his skull. The impact came before the pain, and Denji rolled across the floor. His shoulder slammed into concrete, and he was blown all the way to the wall. His back crashed against it.
"Gh—"
A sound escaped him.
His breath stopped. His left shoulder burned. A searing, crawling pain spread outward. There was a taste of iron in his mouth—he must have bitten his lip.
"Stand."
He stood.
"Guard."
He guarded.
The second hit came. Same way. This time it was his stomach. When he hit the floor, his vision flashed yellow for a moment. It hurt. It really hurt. But—Denji's body, fused with the Chainsaw Devil, could heal as long as he had blood. The wounds weren't deep. He could stand.
He stood.
Third hit. Right side. He fell.
He stood.
Fourth hit.
(Aki thinks I'm a rookie.)
While falling, Denji thought.
(He thinks I'm a useless kid. That's fine. Way better than Makima getting suspicious.)
Makima was on the other side of the glass window now. Watching from outside. If she saw Denji taking hit after hit, knowing full well what was coming, and doing nothing—she'd never realize he had memories from before.
Fifth hit. Left leg.
He collapsed flat on the floor. His knees were shaking. Both shoulders felt heavy.
At the edge of his vision, he saw Aki's feet. Approaching. They stopped.
"...If you can't stand, that's the end."
His voice stayed low. No emotion. But Denji sensed something faint in it. Not anger, not contempt—something like testing, like trying to see something.
He gritted his teeth. Put his hands on the floor. Pushed himself up.
(Aki.)
Standing, Denji thought.
(Your family was killed by the Gun Devil thirteen years ago. All of them.)
The Gun Devil. A devil that appeared suddenly thirteen years ago and killed 1.2 million people worldwide in five minutes. 550,000 in America. Over 57,000 in Japan. Aki's family was among those 57,000. The reason Aki became a Devil Hunter was revenge. His hatred for the Gun Devil drove everything about this man.
And that hatred would, in the end, destroy Aki himself.
Denji knew this from his previous memories. That's why those cold eyes—cold as they were now—scared him somewhere. Because he knew where this man's fire would lead.
"Still going?"
"Obviously."
The sixth hit came.
＊
By the time training ended, Denji was sprawled flat on the floor.
On his back, staring at the ceiling. The white fluorescent lights were blinding. His left shoulder barely moved. His side ached with every breath. The taste of blood was still in his mouth.
Aki had already put his jacket back on and left. He'd said only one thing before going.
"Come again tomorrow, same time."
That was all.
Denji stared at the ceiling, dazed.
"HAHAHA! Damn. You're way too pathetic, seriously!!"
A familiar voice dropped from above his head.
Power walked over from the edge of the training ground. Red-and-gold two-tone bangs. Green eyes with vertical slits. Small horns on her forehead. As always, hands still a little bloody, swinging loosely at her sides, grinning.
"How many hits did you take? Five? Six? I've never seen anyone get wrecked by Aki's Fox Devil that bad."
"Shut up."
"And you took every single one clean! Can you seriously not dodge? For real? That's insane."
Power crouched beside Denji.
She was teasing him. Completely teasing him. But—somehow, she didn't feel like she was about to leave. She had this way of pretending to walk off and just... staying.
A silence fell.
Power glanced around. No one else in the training ground. Aki had left. No one beyond the glass window either.
Without a word, Power grabbed Denji's left arm.
"...What—"
"Shut up. Quiet."
Her voice dropped. Not the teasing tone.
Power pressed her fingertip to the wound on Denji's left shoulder. Her fingertip split slightly, and blood welled up. That blood seeped slowly into the wound.
—Hot.
But the pain in the wound receded.
The blood of Power, a Blood Fiend, had healing properties. A Fiend—a devil that had taken over a human corpse. Among them, Power controlled blood. Not just hardening it into weapons. Soaked into a wound like this, it could close the injury.
Slowly, the wound on his shoulder began to seal.
"...Hey, Power."
"What."
"Thanks."
Power let go. Stood up. Didn't look at Denji.
"Whatever. Just a whim."
She said it and walked off briskly.
Denji watched her back.
(Right. You were always like this.)
It was the same in his previous memories. Pretending to be selfish, but unable to leave someone alone when they were really hurting. Doing things for others while acting embarrassed about it. That's who she was.
Deep in his chest, something stirred faintly.
It was the feeling of wanting to protect her.
Denji pushed it down deep. Not feelings—he needed to think about the plan. Right now.
＊
In the corridor outside the training ground, Makima was waiting.
"Good work, Denji-kun. You got roughed up worse than I expected."
Calm voice. Calm smile.
Denji gave a loose grin.
"Yeah, well. I'm new."
Makima looked at Denji.
—And that was the moment.
Makima's eyes narrowed, just for an instant. The smile stayed. Her voice didn't change. But her eyes alone narrowed, as if measuring something—then returned to normal.
"I see. You did well."
She said only that, and walked off down the corridor.
Denji didn't move.
(What did she see? What was she checking with those eyes?)
The smile hadn't changed. Her words were normal. But the way her eyes narrowed—that wasn't the look you gave a subordinate you felt nothing for. She was trying to confirm something.
Did she know? Didn't she? He couldn't even tell.
Denji stood alone in the corridor, staring at the direction Makima had disappeared.
＊
At night, he returned to Room 103 of the Minase Apartments.
A six-tatami room. He sat on the floor. Pochita climbed onto his lap. Warm.
Denji pulled a college notebook from his bag. A new one. He'd bought it at the convenience store on the way home today.
He gripped the pen and opened the first page.
He wrote. Everything that would happen from now on.
—The Gun Devil flesh recovery mission. The Eternity Devil at the hotel. The scene where Aki contracts with the Curse Devil. The Curse Devil shaves away lifespan every time it's used. Aki knows this and keeps using it anyway. For revenge against the Gun Devil, he won't hesitate to shave away his own life.
He wrote, and wrote—and stopped.
In the middle of the page, he stared at a single line he'd written.
"The Bat Devil Incident."
His hand stopped there.
Power's cat, Meowy. The Bat Devil kidnapped Meowy and threatened Power. If you want the cat back, hand over a human. That's what Power was told. Power chose Denji. She offered Denji up as a sacrifice.
Denji knew this from his previous memories. He nearly died. He really nearly died.
But—he thought of the Power from earlier.
In the empty training ground, after glancing around to make sure no one was watching, she'd silently healed his wound.
(She didn't sell me out from the start. She was just backed into a corner, and that's what came of it.)
If he found Meowy first, Power wouldn't need to make a deal. Wouldn't need to negotiate with the Bat Devil. Everything would change.
Denji wrote in the notebook.
"Find Meowy."
Then he thought about the next problem.
Aki's contract with the Curse Devil. What to do about that. When to stop it. How to stop it. If he forced it, Aki would get suspicious. But if he didn't stop it, Aki's lifespan would keep draining.
(There's time. Not yet.)
But "not yet" didn't mean never. Someday he'd have to decide.
Makima, too. He had to think about her. The way her eyes had narrowed. Maybe it was just today. But he couldn't let his guard down.
Denji closed the notebook.
Pochita snuffled.
"I know."
He muttered it to no one.
He wanted to change everything. Protect everyone. But move one piece, and something else shifts. He'd thought his previous memories would be a map, but the branching points not on that map kept multiplying.
Outside the window, the streetlight swayed. The wind had picked up.
Denji stroked Pochita's back for a while. Pochita stayed still
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