Aki knew the moment you walked into the apartment that things were going to change.

Not because you were intimidating.

But because Denji stopped talking.

That alone was alarming.

“So this is Hayakawa’s team?” you said, glancing around the cramped living room littered with snack wrappers, bloodstains that definitely weren’t old enough to ignore, and Power—who was sitting upside-down on the couch like a gargoyle.

Power pointed at you. “THIS ONE SMELLS STRONG.”

Denji stared.

Hard.

Like his brain had blue-screened.

“…Whoa,” he muttered.

Aki sighed. “She’s here to help keep you two in line.”

You smiled pleasantly. “Keyword: help.”

Denji’s heart slammed into his ribs.

She wasn’t cold. Wasn’t scary. Wasn’t Makima.

She looked at him like he was… a person.

The mission went exactly how Aki expected.

Badly.

Power jumped the gun. Denji ignored orders. The devil nearly took out a city block.

And yet—

“Denji,” you called calmly, stepping into his line of sight mid-fight, “left flank. Now.”

He obeyed instantly.

Didn’t even argue.

Aki noticed.

Power did too.

“HEY,” she shouted later. “WHY DOES HE LISTEN TO YOU?”

Denji scratched his head. “Dunno. Just felt right.”

You handed him a bottle of water after the fight, sitting beside him on the curb while Aki gave their report.

“You did good,” you said simply.

Denji nearly combusted.

Makima had praised him before—but it always felt like a reward dangling from a string.

This felt… real.

From that point on, Denji was hopeless.

He followed you around like a stray puppy. Volunteered for chores. Fought Power for the seat closest to you. Tried—very badly—to impress you.

“Check it out!” he said one evening, revving his chainsaw arm just a little. “I can do it without breaking furniture now!”

Power scoffed. “PATHETIC DISPLAY.”

You laughed.

Not cruel. Not mocking.

Just warm.

Denji felt something twist painfully in his chest.

Later that night, Aki caught him staring at you while you filled out paperwork at the table.

“…You like her,” Aki said flatly.

Denji jumped. “What—?! No! I mean— yeah. I mean— kinda.”

Aki waited.

Denji stared at his hands. “She doesn’t look at me like I’m dumb. Or dangerous. Or disposable.”

That hit harder than Aki expected.

“She stays,” Denji added quietly. “Even when we screw up.”

Aki looked over at you—patiently breaking up an argument with Power, unflustered, present.

For the first time, he understood.

Makima made Denji want approval.

You made Denji want to be better.

And that scared Aki more than any devil.

Because people like that didn’t just change missions.

They changed people.