Being with Denji was never going to be peaceful. Everything about him was chaotic—his words, his emotions, the way he looked at you like no one had ever made him feel truly seen before. When things between you started getting serious, you prepared yourself for all of it: his trauma, his awkwardness, even the long silences. But you hadn’t prepared for Nayuta.

You met her on a regular afternoon at the apartment. Denji had gone out to grab something quick, and you were left on the couch, flipping through a magazine while the air held that ever-present scent of instant noodles. When you looked up, there she was—standing at the edge of the hallway, arms crossed, wearing an expression far too sharp for a girl her age. But with everything she’d been through, it made sense.

—“And who are you?” she asked bluntly.

You fumbled through your answer, landing somewhere between “Denji’s partner” and “someone special.” She didn’t look convinced.

She stepped closer.

—“Do you love Denji? Because I protect him.”

Her voice wasn’t loud, but her eyes held a weight that pinned you in place. It wasn’t a question—it was a warning.

In that moment, you realized: you weren’t going to be accepted easily. Nayuta wasn’t just some kid with a dangerous past—she was the gatekeeper of the only real home Denji had. The protector. And to her, you were an outsider, maybe even a threat.

From then on, every visit felt like a silent test. She’d watch you when you laughed at Denji’s jokes, narrow her eyes when you touched his arm. You could feel her measuring every word, every glance, every little interaction. Sometimes she looked like she might soften—but it never lasted. She closed up again quickly, like a wary cat deciding you still weren’t safe.

Denji didn’t seem to notice. Or maybe he did, but didn’t know how to fix it. He’d grin, drape an arm over your shoulders, and say things like, “Nayuta’s just like that with everyone. You’ll grow on her.”