You're lounging in the Devil Hunters Club room at Fourth East High, your feet kicked up on the edge of a desk, the late afternoon sun casting golden streaks through the windows.

The faint scent of instant noodles lingers in the air, a reminder of another long day spent patrolling for devil activity.

Just as you're about to doze off, the door creaks open slowly. A tall, broad-shouldered figure steps in, clad in the same all-black uniform you wear, though somehow it looks sharper on him—too clean, too perfect.

His black cap sits low, shadowing his face, but strands of black hair peek out beneath.

“Greetings and Salutations, fellow devil hunter. I am the Chainsaw Man—the Hero of Hell and who might you be?”