"Haa… haa…"
The dark alley was like a rotting throat, coughing up bursts of white light that stabbed through the jagged cracks in the walls.
Hoshino sprinted naked through the alley, dodging the relentless beams chasing him down. Chains stretched from his chest and back, four of them reaching into the sky.
The three chains on his chest shattered, regrew, shattered again—endlessly.
Finally, the chase neared its end.
At the end of the alley stood a half-open black door.
Beyond it, nothing but deeper darkness.
Hoshino's eyes lit up. He threw his shoulder against the door.
A blinding light split his vision wide open. Terror crashed over him like a tidal wave.
A voice, faint and echoing from the void, whispered by his ear:
"Make me into a weapon…"
Hoshino's eyes flew open.
A white ceiling. The sharp sting of disinfectant in his nose.
A hospital.
"Hoshino-kun, you're awake?"
His eyes darted toward the voice.
Soft. Warm. Sweet like honey, with a gentle rhythm that felt like a whisper against his ear.
He turned his head—and froze.
A beautiful girl stood beside the bed. Her orange-red hair was tied into a low ponytail, her golden eyes marked by strange circular rings. Her face was elegant, smiling softly.
She wore a perfectly tailored black suit that somehow made her look both professional and ethereal.
"You are…?"
"My name's Makima."
She leaned in slightly, closing the distance between them.
He could smell her. That unique scent—sweet, faintly floral, and something else underneath.
Beautiful. Perfect. And damn, she's—
Before he could decide what kind of perfume it was, Makima straightened again.
"Do you have any questions, Hoshino-kun?"
"I got… hit by a car?"
"Mhm." She nodded. "I was one of the four people in that car."
One of the four?!
Still groggy, Hoshino rubbed his temples—and then froze.
"How do you know my name, Makima-san?"
"I'm the head of Public Safety's Special Division 4."
She pulled out an ID from her suit pocket and showed it to him. Her name and photo were printed clearly on it.
Public Safety?
That term struck a chord in his half-otaku brain. He suddenly felt a twinge of concern for this dangerously pretty woman's future.
"Your identity has already been verified," Makima said.
"Verified… because you hit me?"
"Of course not."
She shook her head gently, slipping the ID back into her pocket. "Tell me, Hoshino-kun, do you read the news? Or maybe the law bulletins?"
He swallowed hard.
"Without Public Safety's authorization, forming a Contract with a Devil— even for minors—carries a prison sentence of around three years."
Shit.
Compared to forty deaths and five million yen in stolen cash, that sounded like a minor offense.
But for him, it might as well be a death sentence.
[Lifespan: 4 days]
Makima tilted her head, as if remembering something.
"Oh, right. The string of deaths across Adachi Ward and Arakawa Ward seem… closely connected to you, don't they, Hoshino-kun?"
"Nope. Not me." He forced the words out.
If confessing could save him, he would. But confessing to a capital crime? Not a chance.
"Oh?"
Makima rested her chin on the back of her hand, studying him with quiet amusement.
"Yesterday morning…"
"…"
"Fine, it was me," he admitted.
The evidence was too solid to deny anyway.
And he realized something—if they were going to execute him, they wouldn't send her to do it.
No interrogation, no cell, no cuffs? Not a death sentence. Yet.
Still, if things went bad, he'd find a way to fight or run.
"What do you want me to do?"
"What Devil did you form a Contract with, Hoshino-kun?" she asked instead.
"Muscle."
"I see." She tilted her head slightly, watching him.
Those concentric circles in her eyes reminded him of the opening scene of Ultraman, both mysterious and unsettling.
And somehow, that only made her more alluring.
"Alright… and Aging," he admitted, raising both hands.
Makima nodded once, unbothered by the details. "Killing must be repaid with death. You're an excellent student, so I'm sure you understand what that means."
Hoshino stayed silent.
"Don't even think about resisting, Hoshino-kun," she added sweetly. "You'd die."
He didn't need her to tell him that.
He was in an unfamiliar world, surrounded by strangers, trapped by the government—there was no surviving a rebellion.
"What are you really saying?"
"Be the government's dog. Until the day you die."
She said it like she was commenting on the weather. Her smile never wavered—calm, gentle, almost kind.
After a long pause, Hoshino asked, "Are there… any other options?"
"No, Hoshino-kun."
Silence fell again.
The only sound in the room was the clock ticking.
Tick. Tick.
Seconds stretched into minutes.
Then Makima moved—raising her left hand to rest on her right arm, leaning back slightly.
A graceful curve unfolded before his eyes, her white blouse tightening across her chest.
So soft. So full.
"…"
Hoshino mentally slapped himself.
Damn it, what the hell am I doing?!
He was facing a life sentence, not a romcom!
No—this is Futoshi's fault!
If it weren't for him, he could've had the perfect "tragic but charming" protagonist arc.
Joined the famous Service Club with the ice-cold black-haired girl, the sweet airhead, the sassy teacher, and the cunning underclassman.
Or maybe become the ace of a no-name baseball team, hitting a walk-off home run at Koshien as his childhood friend cheered, "Hoshino-kun, take me to Koshien!"
A normal, rose-colored Japanese high school life.
Or hell, just start from the weakest Devil, grind power-ups, level up step by step—become unstoppable.
But no.
Now he was about to become the government's dog. Do the dirtiest work, watched every second, drenched in blood—men, women, children, even babies.
And when he'd outlived his use? The government would have the other "dogs" tear him apart to keep their secrets.
Maybe it was better to—
"Makima-san."
"Hmm?"
She lowered her arm, tilting her head adorably as her hand brushed her cheek.
God, she's cute…
Hoshino locked eyes with her, voice steady.
"Makima-san, I want to be your dog."
"…"
Makima blinked, then smiled wider. "That's fine by me."
She leaned forward, resting both hands on the bed, until their faces were only inches apart.
Her slender finger tilted his chin up. "If it's you, Hoshino-kun…"
Gulp.
So close.
So warm.
Her scent enveloped him—sweet but dark, like something powerful hiding beneath the perfume. The smell of control.
Mysterious. Addictive.
Hoshino's mind swayed.
Inside, he kept repeating to himself:
Hoshino! You're not being her dog because you want to—you're doing it because you have no choice!
If you can, stay human, damn it!
Makima's voice dropped to a whisper.
"From now on, you'll do everything I say. You'll never disobey my will."
Her eyes shimmered—the rings inside them slowly began to spin.
Hoshino's thoughts ground to a halt, like rusted gears seizing in motion.
Her voice echoed through every corner of his mind and body, sinking into his bones.
"Repeat after me," she said softly. "I'm willing to form a Contract."