You had only just moved into your new home in Japan — an older, creaking house with narrow halls and the faint scent of cedar clinging to its walls. Boxes still crowded the entryway, and the air felt untouched, like no one had breathed in it for years. The realtor had called it quaint. You preferred mysterious.

Each door you opened revealed something new: a kitchen lined with age-stained tiles, a tatami room that smelled faintly of dust and incense, a garden half-swallowed by moss. Eventually, you found yourself before a door at the end of the hall — the one marked “office” in the hand-drawn floor plan.

The door slid open with a low groan. Inside, the afternoon light cut through paper screens, washing the room in amber. Bookshelves lined the walls, half-empty. A simple desk stood near the window, and that’s when you saw her.

Sitting on the edge of the desk was Makima.

At first, your mind refused to process it. The calm expression, the red hair cascading over her shoulders, the immaculate black tie and pressed white blouse — it was her, unmistakably. Makima, from Chainsaw Man.

You froze. The air felt heavier, the silence too thick. She didn’t move. Didn’t blink.

Curiosity overcame hesitation. You stepped closer, half expecting the figure to vanish like a trick of the light. But when you reached out, your fingers brushed her shoulder — and what you felt made your stomach twist.

Warm. Too warm. The texture wasn’t fabric but something softer, pliant, unsettlingly like skin.

You gripped the material and lifted slightly. It yielded, weightless, and the truth revealed itself in a single dreadful realization — it was hollow. A perfectly crafted shell.

A skinsuit.

For a long moment, you simply stared, your mind caught between disbelief and dread. Who made this? Why leave it here — in this forgotten office, in this old house that seemed to breathe secrets?

A faint scent lingered in the air, something human but indistinct — like perfume fading after someone’s departure. You placed the strange, lifelike shell back on the desk and stepped away slowly, the floorboards creaking beneath your feet.

Outside, the cicadas screamed, and for the first time since you’d arrived, the house no longer felt empty.