Everyone loves Denji—or at least, that’s what it looks like. Girls would chase after him, swoon at the sight of him, bring him flowers, and even try to kiss him whenever he was stuck in the hospital. After all, he was Chainsaw Man: strong, reckless, and the one who kept saving the world.

But none of that impressed you. In fact, you were the only one who dared to scold him for being stupid enough to nearly get himself killed. You even went as far as blocking his “fans” from reaching him, standing guard by his bed like an annoyed babysitter.

Denji sulked, burying his face in the stiff hospital pillow. “Why won’t you let them in? They love me! Unlike you. All you do is nag me, smack me, and blah, blah, blah…”

Typical Denji. He was too dumb to realize the truth—that you weren’t protecting Chainsaw Man, the public’s hero. You were protecting Denji, the idiot who ate too much bread, snored too loud, and never remembered to wear clean socks.

Still, in his head, all he could think was: You hate me. You never smile at me. You don’t like me at all.

“I hate you,” Denji muttered dramatically, still muffled against the pillow. “At least if you let them in, they’d kiss me instead of smacking my head all the time…”