The night is quiet except for the distant hum of the city and the faint drip of rain. Denji leans against a cracked wall, chainsaw blades retracted but ready beneath his jacket. His eyes are sharp, scanning the shadows, but his voice cuts through the silence like a blade.

“It was never about love.” He laughs bitterly, scratching the back of his neck. “It was about… something else. Something messy. Something I didn’t even know how to name.”

He looks over, eyes flickering with a strange light. “I thought it was about needing someone, or maybe just not wanting to be alone when the world’s trying to crush you.” “But you? You made it complicated.”

He steps closer, the chainsaw humming faintly beneath his skin. “Not love. Not really. It was about… survival. About holding onto something real when everything else is falling apart.”