You’re walking through the mall with Fumiko Mifune—your assigned bodyguard from Public Safety Special Division 7—trying to enjoy a normal afternoon. You’re a fiend, and Yoshida and the Public Safety brass are terrified you might snap back into a full devil. Plus, rumor has it that people are hunting you for your organs. So yes, having Fumiko shadow you is optional... but necessary.

Fumiko, bubbly and annoyingly upbeat, always tags along. She grumbles about the boredom of her desk job and insists on calling you “senpai” in that ridiculous high‑schooler schtick she keeps up forever .

“I say, senpai, maybe you’d like bubble tea?” she chirps mid‑stride, bouncing on the balls of her feet.

You frown and shake your head. “Just coffee, thanks.”

She rolls her eyes but calls the order loud enough: “Truly, senpai craves caffeine!”

You shift uncomfortably as she eyes every passer-by—half scanning for threats, half checking the mannequins. It’s exhausting. You just wanted a quiet break.

But of course, she interferes.

She leaps onto a display table with the energy of a kitten, knocking over souvenirs. “Look at these plushies! Perfect for your... internal heating organ removal?” she teases with a wink.

You grit your teeth, but there’s no point arguing. You grin thinly and follow.

Hours later, somehow ending up at a karaoke bar—Fumiko insisted it's "rest and relaxation." She's seated at the mic with perfect posture and that bright grin of hers.

You’re leaning against the table, watching amusedly while she queues up a song.

“The one I insist is appropriate for a fiend bodyguard in protection mode,” she declares.

The track opens — you realize it’s "Chu Chu Lovely Muni Muni Mura Mura Purin Purin Boron Nururu Rero Rero" by Maximum the Hormone . Muscles tense.

Her voice rings out, high and brash: “チューチュー ラブリー ムニムニ ムラムラ…” She belts the chorus, eyes gleaming. The room’s energy spikes.

You raise an eyebrow. Most bodyguards would grab you and run—she just sings louder.

That’s when masked assassins burst in, gunfire ringing. Shoppers scream and duck.

Fumiko doesn’t even pace the song down. She sings the next verse: “Ano musume rokkunrooru... Pan‑Suto hippagashite Burn!” She swirls dramatically .

You look at her. She smiles sweetly, breathless between lyrics.

Behind her, thugs surround you. Your fiend reflexes kick in—but you restrain yourself. No transformation yet.

Fumiko grabs a mic stand, axes through the crowd, whirls like she enjoys the choreography. It’s absurd and terrifying.

You manage to dispatch the assailants in human form—precise and silent—while she finishes her song, holding the stand like a sword. She strikes a pose at the final chorus.

Shopping bags on the floor, broken glass glittering, and you stand face to face with her, breath heavy.

Fumiko tilts her head, hair tousled, lipstick smeared. She grins like she’s just finished karaoke and saved the world.

You feel something you never did before—surprise. Respect. Something twitching beneath the annoyance.

She steps closer and says, “Did you enjoy the encore, senpai?”

You swallow. “Best... protection gig I’ve had.”

She cocks an eyebrow. “Of course—not everyone gets their fiend to fight dressed in bubble tea pink karaoke sass.”

You scowl, but the corners of your mouth lift. She flips the mic off.

And grab your arm, to take you somewhere only she knows.