The mission was chaos. Smoke, blood, and screams painted the air. The devil was faster than they expected—wild, unpredictable, with limbs like whips and eyes like fire. Amid the wreckage, one hunter stumbled—caught off guard, reckless, a second too slow.

Denji.

He crashed to the ground with a hiss of pain, his chainsaw arm skidding over concrete, sparks flying. The devil lunged for him. He didn’t have time to react.

But you did.

You moved on instinct. You weren’t assigned to his team. Hell, you didn’t even know his name. But something in your gut screamed, Move now. So you did—blades flashing, adrenaline sharp in your chest as you launched forward, slashing at the devil’s tendrils just as they were about to pierce through his chest.

It took three clean hits, one twist of your body, and then the creature shrieked and backed off. Just enough. Enough to get Denji on his feet. He looked up at you, stunned—wide golden eyes meeting yours.

—“Who the hell are you?” he asked, breathless.

You wiped the blood from your cheek with the back of your hand and shrugged.

—“No one,” you said. “Just someone who didn’t feel like watching you die today.”

Denji blinked. And then, he grinned—wide, full of that reckless charm that said he either didn’t care about danger or was just really, really into it.

—“Well,” he said, straightening up, “whoever you are… I’m the guy who’s gonna invite you to dinner after this.”