I woke to the faint light filtering through the skylight, my fingers instinctively reaching toward the space beside my pillow—but there was nothing there. After fleeing from the convenience store, I had shoved that poster into the very bottom of my drawer, burying it deep beneath several layers of old clothes.
I had locked it away. It was like locking a dangerous thought inside a cage.
I sat up and rubbed my eyes. My reflection in the mirror was still a bit pale, but better than before. As I washed up, the biting chill of the cold water splashed against my face, forcing me into complete wakefulness.
The events of that night—the hallucinations in the convenience store, the devil's whispers, the phantom of that silver-haired woman—felt like a nightmare born of a high fever. But now, the fever had broken, and reality had become clear and solid once more.
I had a job to do. I had the final day of my trial period to complete. And I had Miss Reze waiting for me downstairs.
This was my reality.
I changed into my clean uniform, tied my apron, and practiced smiling in the mirror. Corners of the mouth up, eyes soft—just as Reze had taught me: "A smile is the fundamental skill of the service industry."
I opened the drawer, reaching toward the stack of old clothes, and paused for a heartbeat.
My fingertips didn't go searching for the poster. Instead, I pulled out my crumpled notebook. I turned to a new page and wrote:
"Today is the last day of my trial. I must focus on my work and prove that I deserve to stay."
Today's sunset was exceptionally brilliant, streaming into the shop without reservation and tinting the cafe's glass the color of honey.
I finished wiping the last table and straightened my back, watching my reflection in the window. My apron was tied neatly, my hair was pulled into a low ponytail similar to Reze's, and the rag in my hand was worn thin at the edges.
Seven days. One hundred and sixty-eight hours. I had washed over three hundred cups, mopped the floor fourteen times, and memorized the names and habits of twenty-two regulars. I had broken two cup handles (six hundred yen deducted from my wages) and messed up the change three times.
I stood by the window, my heart thumping as I waited for the verdict.
The manager emerged from his office, clutching a small ledger. He adjusted his reading glasses, looked at me, and then glanced at Reze standing behind the counter.
"Hong Xin," he began.
My breath hitched.
"Your trial period ends today." The manager's voice was flat. "In these seven days, you have been late zero times, left early zero times, and taken zero sick days. Your work attitude… is decent."
"Mrs. Fujiwara said the temperature of your black tea was just right. Mr. Yamaguchi gave you a nod when he left today—he has never once nodded to Reze." The manager paused. "Reze says you aren't the fastest learner, but you remember things well. And…"
He walked behind the counter, opened the register, and tapped a few keys. "This week's turnover was higher than last week's. It's not a huge jump, but for it to increase while a newcomer is training shows that—" he scratched his chin with his pen, "the customers actually quite like you."
I opened my mouth, but no sound came out.
"So." The manager pulled an envelope from a drawer and handed it to me. "Starting tomorrow, your hourly wage is one thousand yen. Here is a formal one-year contract. I'm waiving one thousand yen of the attic's utility fees—consider it a perfect attendance bonus."
I took the envelope, my fingers trembling. Inside was a contract and several bills—my wages for the first week, minus the cost of the cups and utilities.
"Th… thank you, Manager." My voice cracked.
"Don't thank me." The manager waved a hand, turning to head back upstairs. "Thank yourself. And thank Reze. The time she spent on you this week was enough for her to do twice the work."
The sound of his footsteps faded as he went upstairs. Only Reze and I remained in the shop, bathed in the slanted rays of the setting sun.
I turned to Reze and bowed so deeply my forehead nearly touched her knees.
"Thank you."
"Stand up." Reze's voice sounded a bit helpless. "I told you, you grabbed the opportunity yourself."
"But if it weren't for you—"
"If it weren't for me, it would have been someone else," she interrupted, though her tone was gentle. "Tokyo is huge; someone was bound to give you a chance. It just happened to be me."
She walked over, her finger lightly brushing the envelope in my hand. "This is what you earned. Keep it safe. Go to the bank tomorrow, open an account, and save it. In Tokyo, without money…"
Reze let out a strange little laugh. I understood what she meant and nodded vigorously, clutching the envelope to my chest. It was thin, yet it felt heavier than anything I had ever held—it was the first money I had earned in this city, proof of my acceptance, and my very own place to stand.
I had a home, a job, and someone who called me "Hong Xin" instead of "you there."
I, in Tokyo, had survived.
Reze and I did the closing cleaning together. Today, she had me handle the final espresso machine maintenance while she watched from the side.
"Backflush the group head for thirty seconds. Stop when the pressure gauge hits this mark." "Wipe the steam wand with a wet cloth. It only gets clean while it's hot." "Empty the residual grounds from the grinder with the small brush. Not a single bean left behind."
I did exactly as told. I remembered every step because she had taught me countless times this week.
Once finished, I stood behind the polished counter and looked around the small space—the wooden tables, the glass cases, the map of coffee origins on the wall, and the wind chime jingling by the door. Starting tomorrow, all of this would officially be part of my life.
"Miss Reze," I said softly.
"Hmm?"
"Why… are you so good to me?"
The question took even me by surprise. It wasn't something I had planned to say, but it slipped out like breath I'd been holding too long.
Reze's hands stopped as she was folding an apron. She didn't answer immediately. Instead, she tucked the apron neatly under the counter and turned around, leaning against the edge to look at me.
The sun had completely dipped below the horizon, and only a single wall lamp remained lit in the shop. In the dim, yellow light, half of her face was in shadow, the other half illuminated.
"Do you think I'm being good to you?" she asked back.
"Yes." I nodded. "You gave me a job, you taught me things, you let me live in the attic, you gave me food, and you didn't scold me when I made mistakes. You're… different from the teachers at school. You don't treat me like I'm stupid."
I spoke softly, my cheeks flushing as I waited for her response.
Reze was silent. She raised her right hand, subconsciously fingering the choker around her neck.
Her gaze shifted to my face. "Hong Xin, if you hadn't walked into this shop that day, where would you be now?"
I thought about it and answered honestly: "I'd probably still be sleeping on a bench outside a convenience store. Or… I'd have been taken away by the police."
"Ha, maybe that's why." Miss Reze chuckled softly and turned her head away, her gaze shifting from my face. "I couldn't bear to let a cute girl end up on the streets."
"But…" I hesitated. "Are you like this with everyone? Do you help everyone who walks in?"
Reze smiled. It was a complex smile—a little bitter, a little tender, and something else I couldn't quite name.
"Not everyone needs me to reach out," she said. "Some people know how to swim on their own. And some… even if I reach out, they won't take my hand."
Her fingers lightly brushed my shoulder, a touch that was there and then gone. Then she took a step back and grabbed her bag.
"I'm off. See you tomorrow."
"See you tomorrow," I whispered.
She reached the door, her hand on the handle, then looked back with her usual lively smile. "By the way, congratulations on becoming a regular."
The wind chime jingled; the door opened and closed. Her footsteps faded into the street.
I stood there for a long, long time.
A strange, warm emotion surged in my chest. It wasn't just gratitude, not just relief. It was something more private, more delicate—like the first sprout of a tender bud breaking through frozen soil in early spring. Wary, yet stubbornly growing upward.
I liked Reze. And not just because she had helped me.
I liked the focused profile of her face when she brewed coffee, her direct tone when she taught me things, her tenderness, and those rare moments of silence that were so different from her usual liveliness.
I, a person who had almost given up on herself, had been seen by her.
And because she saw me, she became the only figure I wanted to remember in this vast city.
It was only after Reze's silhouette disappeared that I remembered I had one last task to finish. I picked up two bags of trash—combustible and recyclable, already sorted. The bins in the back alley were fifty meters away. After seven days, I was already familiar with this short path.
My mood was different today. My steps were light, and I found myself humming the melody Reze often sang. The streetlights stretched my shadow long, then shortened it as I passed under the next, a repeating cycle.
The last of the sunset faded, and distant neon lights flickered on, outlining the city skyline. I suddenly felt that perhaps this city wasn't so terrifying. At least now, I had a door I could lock, a bed that belonged to me, a place to go tomorrow morning, and… a person I wanted to see every day.
The trash bins were just around the corner of the alley. I pulled back the lid, tossed the bags in, and frowned at the mountain of trash already piled to the side.
I don't remember that being there yesterday, I thought.
Just as I turned around, muttering about whoever was irresponsible enough to dump trash like that, a rustling sound echoed. It was quiet and viscous, like something being dragged across a wet floor.
I whirled around. That "mountain" was moving!
What was it? A stray animal? No, it couldn't be that large. Or maybe…
I didn't have the mental capacity to think further. Only one thought remained:
Run!
But it was too late.
Black shadows surged from the darkness—not liquid, not solid, but a substance somewhere in between, constantly shifting its form. It had no fixed shape, like a pool of living sludge. Bubbles rose to its surface, emitting a powerful, foul stench—a mixture of swamp, dead fish, and rotting vegetation.
A Sludge Devil. I had seen them on the news before—a low-level devil that frequently appeared in damp, filthy places, feeding on the fear and despair of living things.
It crawled toward me. It wasn't fast, but its reach was expanding rapidly. I backed away, my heel hitting a trash bin with a loud clatter.
The devil paused, and then—it stood up.
The sludge surged upward from the ground, forming a wave of rotting black-and-red filth over two meters high. The sickening smell hit me full force. It aimed and slammed down.
I lunged forward with all my might, my elbows slamming unprotected against the ground. But it wasn't enough—the black wave crashed into my legs, and a searing sensation shot through them.
I struggled desperately, kicking my legs, but an invincible, crushing force coiled around me, dragging me into the darkness.
I wanted to scream, but the sound was trapped in my throat. Only one thought remained: I can't die.
Not here. Not now.
I had just gotten my formal contract. I finally had my own room. I had just saved a little money.
I had finally found my tiny place to stand in Tokyo.
I still had to see Reze. I had to tell her that I might… that I might more than just appreciate her.
I had to live—live until the day I could untangle this strange emotion in my chest.
"Get away!" I finally screamed, grabbing an empty can near my hand and hurlng it.
The can passed through the devil's body, sinking into the sludge until it was swallowed. Taking advantage of the opening, the devil swallowed my arm.
The devil's shadow loomed over me.
I was going to die. In this filthy back alley, like countless others who disappeared in this city, dying without a sound.
No.
Tears welled in my eyes. I flailed my arms blindly, trying to push the horrific shadow away, but every effort felt like sinking into a swamp—no resistance, no feedback.
Was this my fate? To live like a shadow, to come to the big city and starve, to finally find a sliver of light, only to be swallowed by a pile of sludge?
But my life has only just begun…
Boom.
A dull explosion, muffled by something, came from behind the devil.
My eyes snapped open.
A hole had been blown through the center of the devil's body. It wasn't caused by fire or a shockwave; it was more like an internal disintegration. Black sludge splattered in all directions, only to solidify, crack, and turn into black powder that drifted away in the air.
The devil let out a silent wail—if that twisted form could be said to howl. Its body began to collapse, the decay spreading outward from the hole in its center like a sandcastle blown apart by the wind.
Two seconds. It took only two seconds for that horrific Sludge Devil to become nothing but a pile of black ash on the ground.
I collapsed, gasping for air.
A figure flashed at the other end of the alley.
It was the silhouette of a woman, standing in the shadows where the streetlights couldn't reach.
She held her arm outstretched—
Then she turned and walked away quickly, vanishing around the corner.
The smell of gunpowder smoke lingered in the air, along with… a faint scent of coffee and citrus.
I sat in the cold alley, staring at the pile of ash, at the empty corner, and at my own trembling hands.
I was still alive.
I don't know how I made it back to the cafe. When I pushed the door open, the wind chime jingled as usual, but tonight the sound felt exceptionally jarring.
The lights on the first floor were off. Reze had long since finished her shift, and the manager had likely left as well.
I crept upstairs, returned to the attic, and locked the door.
Then, with my back against the door, I slowly slid down to the floor.
A devil. I had actually encountered a devil. It wasn't a rare thing; news of devil attacks happened every day. But when it actually happens to you—when that slimy, foul-smelling thing trying to consume you is actually closing in—the clinical descriptions in textbooks feel hollow.
I could have died. I almost died just now.
But someone saved me.
That silhouette…
No. Don't think about it. I can't think about it.
I struggled to my feet, went to the restroom, and turned on the light. In the mirror, my face was deathly pale, my hair a mess, and my jacket and pants were stained with black filth.
I stripped off my clothes, turned on the hot water, and scrubbed my body with everything I had. The water was scalding, and my skin soon turned red, but I still felt cold—a cold that seeped out from my bones.
I washed for a long time, until the skin on my fingers wrinkled. I changed into clean pajamas and sat on the edge of the bed.
Outside the window, Tokyo's night was as boisterous as ever. The sound of traffic, the wind, the faint music from afar. The world was still functioning normally, as if that life-and-death struggle in the back alley had never happened.
But I knew it had.
And someone had saved me.
Questions flooded my mind one after another, but there were no answers.
I walked to the desk and opened my notebook. My hand was still shaking, the writing crooked and uneven.
"I became a regular today. I signed the contract. The manager said I did okay."
"I asked Miss Reze why she was good to me. She said it was because she likes cute girls and couldn't bear to let me end up on the streets."
"I like Miss Reze. Not just out of gratitude."
"I encountered a Sludge Devil while taking out the trash tonight. I thought I was going to die, but I didn't want to. Because I have a place to return to, someone to see, and a tomorrow to live."
"Someone saved me."
"I might be overthinking it, but—"
I stopped writing there. I stared at that last line for a long time.
My mind recalled that familiar scent.
Then, I continued:
"I don't know why, but I think it was Miss Reze."
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My : https://[email protected]/AuAuMon
Chainsaw Man : The Chainsaw Man World Doesn't Need a Perfect Idol (14 Chapters – Ongoing)
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