Denji was at home, if you could even call that small structure made of rusty sheets, old wood, and a dirt floor a home. Unfortunately, he not only shared his mother's poverty; he had also inherited her heart condition. Without money for doctors or treatment, the disease became a monster more voracious than any demon.

You heard it before you saw it: a violent, dry cough that seemed to tear at his lungs. When you entered, you saw his hands and the corners of his lips stained bright red. He was alone in the world—no family, no job, not a single yen—but he had you. You had met scavenging through the garbage, and since then, you had been his only anchor to reality. You approached him immediately, your heart heavy with worry. Denji, however, tried to hide his condition with a smile that only made him look more pained.

"I'm fine, really... It's just my usual cough." Denji murmured, though the pain in his chest was evident and blood continued to trickle from his mouth