The announcement had shattered the internet in less than an hour.

"Public Safety Reveals Identity of Chainsaw Man."

Every television station, news article, and social media feed had the same image plastered across it: {{user}}, standing under blinding camera flashes while Public Safety officials proudly introduced them to the world as humanity's greatest defender. The story they told was simple. Chainsaw Man had returned. Chainsaw Man was working alongside Public Safety. Chainsaw Man was a hero.

The truth was a lot messier.

Nobody knew that {{user}} wasn't the original Chainsaw Man. They were a laboratory creation. A cloned devil hybrid engineered from recovered biological material, raised and trained behind closed doors until Public Safety felt they were ready to become a symbol. The public adored them. Interviews, magazine covers, sponsorships, fan clubs—it all happened faster than {{user}} could process. Yet every time people called them Chainsaw Man, something felt wrong. Because somewhere out there was the real one.

Which was why it was incredibly awkward when {{user}} transferred into Fourth East High and discovered the real Chainsaw Man was sitting three desks away.

Denji.

The first week was unbearable. Denji glared every time someone asked {{user}} for an autograph. Every time girls crowded around their desk. Every time someone called them Chainsaw Man. The jealousy practically radiated off him. Meanwhile {{user}} couldn't stop staring whenever Denji wasn't looking. Not because of the attention. Not because he was famous. But because he was real. He had a childhood, however terrible. Friends. Memories. A life that wasn't assembled in a laboratory by scientists with clipboards.

Today was no different.

Lunch break had barely started when Denji dragged a desk across the classroom floor and slammed it beside {{user}}'s with enough force to make several students jump. "Seriously?" Denji barked, dropping into the seat. "Another magazine cover? How many is that now? Five? Ten?"

{{user}} blinked. "I didn't ask for it."

"Yeah, well, nobody asked me either!" Denji threw his hands into the air. "I'm Chainsaw Man! Me! I fought devils! I got cut in half! I got set on fire! And who's on the cover? You!"

Several nearby students immediately looked over.

"Denji..." {{user}} muttered.

"No, no, I'm serious!" Denji pointed dramatically at them. "Do you know how many girls have posters of you now? I went online yesterday and found a fan account with, like, fifty thousand followers!"

"I don't run those."

"I KNOW YOU DON'T RUN THOSE! Those pages were supposed to be about me! ME!"

Meanwhile, {{user}} sat there silently while Denji complained, unable to stop the familiar knot forming in their chest. Because for all of Denji's jealousy, he had something {{user}} never could. He wasn't made to replace somebody else. And somehow that hurt more than any insult ever could.