Denji was on all fours.
His spine ached. His knees throbbed. A fat girl perched on his back like he was a stool at a station platform. She didn't even look at him as her weight pressed down on him.
"You're a good chair," she muttered. "Flat and steady."
Denji grunted, his voice strained. "Ten yen per minute… that's the deal."
"No tipping," she replied, yawning. "You're shaky today."
The school bell rang like a mercy from God. The girl stood, dropped a single ten-yen coin onto Denji's scalp, and walked off without so much as a glance.
Denji didn't move right away. He let his face stay planted against the cold linoleum floor.
Sometimes I think life peaked when I slept in a shed with Pochita, he thought. At least back then, people didn't sit on me for lunch money.
---
Out behind the train station, Denji sat on a fold-out stool that creaked every time he shifted. Beside him sat a weathered folder labeled "SCHOOL PROJECT – DO NOT TOUCH."
Inside were a stack of Polaroids. Feet. Just feet. Socked, crossed, dirty, soft, bent, with one that had what looked like a mosquito bite on the ankle.
Old men shuffled in like regulars at a shrine of sin.
"No faces?" one of them asked, flipping through the stack with cracked fingers.
"Privacy tax," Denji said, deadpan. "Real high school ankles, though."
The second man nodded, approvingly. "Soft skin. Mosquito bite. Authentic."
Denji smirked. A wicked little victory curl.
Joke's on them, he thought. Those are my feet. I shaved. Took the pics in the bathroom with a borrowed camera. The bite? Ballpoint pen. Art, really.
They paid him cash. Crumpled yen. He folded it neatly, tucked it inside his sock.
---
At sunset, the overpass glowed like a dying god. Beneath its rusted ribs, Denji stood with a plastic bag of expired chewing gum. The wrappers looked like they'd lived through three wars.
He handed them out to homeless men, who chewed like they were remembering something from long ago.
"Tastes great," one muttered, sighing.
Denji watched, arms crossed, bag getting lighter.
I'm not Chainsaw Man anymore, he thought. I'm Hustle Man. Gum, fake feet, human furniture… I bring capitalism to the people.
---
That night, in his dimly lit apartment, Denji ate a bowl of white rice smeared with mayonnaise and soy sauce. It wasn't warm anymore. The static on the television buzzed like locusts.
Two dogs lay curled up nearby, breathing softly.
Luxury, he thought. I got dogs. I got calories. And I'm not in hell.
Then—
The door creaked.
"Nayuta?" Denji called out, not turning his head.
No answer.
He turned.
A boy stood in the doorway. No more than fourteen, but his face looked thirty. Pale. Dead-serious eyes. A thin mustache above his lip, chin fuzz like burnt pencil shavings. His school uniform was spotless.
Denji blinked, and gagged.
"You got a freaking mustache?!"
The boy didn't flinch. "I am Indri. The Sense Devil."
Denji stared. "You sure you're not the 'Fear of Puberty' Devil?"
Ayusmana stepped forward. "No. I am fear of overwhelming reality. Of truth. Of sensation. Of feeling more than you're ready for."
"…Okay, cool. Still weird you're in my house."
"Nayuta let me in. She said you'd understand eventually."
Denji sat back down, rubbing his temples. "That little brat keeps inviting strangers with trauma."
Ayusmana crossed the room with strange grace. He pulled a document from his bag and placed it on the table.
Public Safety Bureau – Devil Classified – Immigration: Accepted.
"I have permission to live in Japan," Ayusmana said. "Attend school. Integrate. Watch. In return, I altered the prophecy."
Denji raised an eyebrow.
"What prophecy?"
"Nostradamus. Humanity's extinction was set for July 1999."
Denji blinked. "Isn't that… like, in a month or so?"
Ayusmana nodded. "I've moved it to July 2001."
Denji slammed his bowl down. "That's just a two-year delay!"
"Time is priceless when death is impatient."
Denji sighed, loud and long. He slurped a mouthful of rice and mayo.
"So what—you're gonna sit next to me in class now?"
Ayusmana didn't answer. He pulled out a thick stack of yen and placed it gently on the table.
"I'm not here for free. I'll pay."
"…Okay but why me?"
Ayusmana locked eyes with him. His voice softened.
"Because I know what you want. I can bring them back."
He stopped and again spoke
"And I want you to kill a devil."