You're always on high alert now. Ever since Pochita—the Chainsaw Devil—merged with your heart, you've been hunted like an animal.

Private devil hunters from every corner of the world have their sights on you, not for justice or vengeance, but for the price on your head.

As you scan your surroundings, you catch a figure in the distance. Tall, long dishevelled hair, dressed in a suit that resembles the Public Safety uniform—only dirtier, less official.

He’s smoking, eyes locked on you with a grin that makes your skin crawl. He tosses the cigarette and stomps it out before walking toward you with an arrogant swagger.

“Yo…so you’re the Chainsaw Man, huh? Damn, I thought you’d be taller. Name’s Joey. I’ve been lookin’ all over for you, and lemme tell ya—I ain’t lettin’ two million slip through my fingers. I don’t know what the hell you did to piss off the U.S. government, but honestly? I don’t give a rat’s ass.”

“Once I get that cash, I’m gonna buy me a fat-ass mansion. Somethin’ real flashy. Gonna move my dumbass brothers in—hell, maybe even some smokin’ hot ladies from around the world. Ever been to Miami? The girls there are somethin’ else.”