"So that was your plan all along."
Even without his limbs, Arata still wore an intriguing smile.
"Not my plan. You're the one who walked right into the trap."
As she spoke, four male doctors entered and strapped Arata to a chair with thick ropes.
"You all can leave now."
"Yes, Makima-san."
Once the door clicked shut, only Makima and Arata were left, face to face.
"Well? Can you transform now?"
"Without limbs, transformation is impossible. It seems I've been outmaneuvered by Makima-san." Arata joked, showing not a hint of fear.
"Once your wounds heal enough, I will return everything you've done to me twofold. I won't kill you—I'll keep you here and torment you forever," Makima said, her voice at its most gentle while delivering the most brutal of threats.
"That's exactly what I wanted to say to you. Don't think that just because you won't kill me, I have no way to deal with you."
"In fact, the methods I'll use to deal with Makima-san this time will be far more effective than before."
No sooner had he finished speaking than a buzzing sound emanated from Arata's abdomen. His body began to swell, bloating rapidly.
BANG!!
The next second, Arata exploded. Swarms of flies filled the room, scattering in every direction. Makima squinted, inspecting the chunks of meat on the floor. In her mind, Arata had committed suicide out of fear of the impending torture.
Though the self-destruction was unexpected, Makima believed she had mastered his fatal weakness. If Arata dared to reappear, she would simply blast his limbs off again. She stepped over the remains and headed for the door, but a familiar drowsiness washed over her.
What is this?
I didn't kill him, so why am I feeling this way?
Makima collapsed to her knees, her grip on the doorknob weakening. She fought with everything she had to stay awake. If she fell asleep, she knew she would be trapped in that inescapable nightmare.
Meanwhile, Arata was already waiting in the dream realm. Knowing Makima would inevitably arrive, he had prepared props in advance. This time, he intended to intensify the training. Makima's resistance earlier proved his previous methods weren't quite effective enough. He manifested ten men in suits wearing blindfolds, standing in two neat rows.
BANG!!
Just as Arata finished heating a soldering iron, the sound of an impact echoed. Makima had fallen from the reality into the dream world.
"Welcome home, Makima-san." The ten men in suits chanted in unison.
"Makima-san, you're late. I even ordered service for you."
"What exactly is going on? I clearly didn't kill you." Makima stood up, glaring at him. Since she was already in the dream, she steeled herself for whatever torment was coming.
"You didn't kill me, but my self-destruction was a reaction to you. So, in the end, you either killed me, or you forced me to my death."
"I see," Makima replied, already formulating her next move.
"You have time to think of ways to handle me, but you'd be better off submitting to me. It'll be for your own good—besides, aside from self-destruction, I have ten thousand other ways to break you."
"Dream on!!"
Makima raised her hand to unleash a lethal attack, but the dream remained eerily quiet.
"Give up. In this dream, your powers are virtually zero—you can't even beat the ten men standing behind you."
As Makima turned, the men in suits pinned her down. Chains appeared on her neck, wrists, and ankles, hoisting her into the air. Each of the ten men pulled out a long black whip and took turns lashing her.
"Anything you do to me will be transferred to someone else."
"I know. But only the attacks I deal to you are transferred back to reality."
Arata held up the red-hot soldering iron. A Chinese character for "Dog" was carved into the metal.
"Where should I brand you, Makima-san?"
"How about one on each side of your chest?"
"Let me go!!"
"Then I'll just put it on your face."
Arata pressed the iron firmly against Makima's cheek. Ssszzzz— Steam and the smell of searing flesh rose into the air, and the character "Dog" was permanently etched onto Makima's face.
The scene shifted. The dark, oppressive void vanished, replaced by a warm, sunny field of grass and flowers. As always, Arata held the leash. Makima, now sporting a collar, had lost all desire to struggle. She dropped to all fours like a dog.
"Let's go. I'll take you to see some new scenery."
Arata pulled the rope, and Makima had no choice but to trot along. Before long, they encountered Himeno and Aki Hayakawa wearing matching couple's outfits, walking a Golden Retriever and a Labrador.
Himeno waved when she saw them. "Arata! Out walking your dog again?"
"That's right. Such a coincidence to run into you."
"Makima-doggy, you've lost weight lately." Himeno knelt down, lifting Makima's chin. Makima couldn't use her abilities, but her mouth was free, and she snapped at Himeno's finger.
"Ouch! Makima-doggy is feisty."
"Yeah, I'm planning on taking her to a dog trainer."
"We'll come with you! I want to see the process of Makima-san's training," Aki added.
The three walked together until they reached a massive training facility nearby.
"Denji!" Arata called out. Denji, the dog trainer, stopped what he was doing. Five Huskies being trained at his side looked toward Arata, immediately rushing over to sniff Makima. Makima hid behind Arata's feet.
"Master! You're here to train dogs again?"
"Yep, Makima again."
"Man, she's so much more timid than last time."
"Timid toward strangers, but bold toward her master—she even has the heart to bite the hand that feeds her."
"A dog that bites its master is no good." Denji squatted down, extending his hand. "Good doggy, shake."
In reality, Denji was Makima's most loyal "simp," willing to sell his life for a scrap of attention. But here, he was the one holding the dog treats, forcing her to submit.
"Eat." Denji jammed a piece of dog food into her mouth, which she immediately spat out.
"She's disobedient. Suggestion: lock her up and starve her for a while. Once her hunger is high enough, she'll be more diligent."
"I don't have time for that, Master. I just want a crash course—I have to take her away soon."
"Alright then." Denji scratched his head and shouted back, "Reze! Bring me my shock collar!"
Reze walked over with a black collar and snapped it around Makima's neck.
"The crash course is clearly working."
"Makima, shake." Denji reached out again.
"Be obedient, or you'll regret it," Arata warned, giving Makima a sharp kick to the rear. But Makima would rather die—she refused to perform such a demeaning act. Shaking Denji's hand would solidify her identity as his "dog." Besides, she wasn't afraid of pain; she could transfer it to anyone.
"Doesn't seem to be working." Denji pulled a button from his pocket and pressed it. Makima's body convulsed violently. She should have been able to transfer the pain, but this time, the shock didn't go anywhere. She stared at Arata in absolute shock.
"Told you you'd regret it. Why didn't you believe me?" Arata asked.
"Why? Why didn't I transfer it away?!" Makima's eyes were wide, her face a mask of bewilderment—an expression Arata had never seen on her before.
"Want to know why?"
"TELL ME! WHY!!" Makima was on the verge of a breakdown; she couldn't fathom the reason.
"Because this is the power of Pure Love. Denji has no hostility toward you—his intent is to redeem you. That's why you can't transfer the pain."
"WHAT!!" Makima's eyes bulged in disbelief.
"To deal with Makima, you have to use the power of Pure Love. I can't do it—but Denji can."
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