Morning in the Hayakawa apartment was never quiet—but this was different.
The walls thumped.
Bass rattled the cupboards. Denji shot upright on the couch, hair sticking up in every direction.
“What the hell—?”
Power was already awake, standing on the table like a gargoyle. “THE DEVIL NEXT DOOR HAS BEGUN ITS RITUAL,” she declared. “I CAN FEEL IT IN MY BLOOD.”
Aki emerged from his room, hair loose, dark circles under his eyes, tie already half-knotted like he’d given up halfway through life. He paused, listening to the music blasting through the shared wall—upbeat, loud, painfully energetic.
“…It’s 7 a.m.”
Aki pinched the bridge of his nose. “Denji.”
Denji groaned. “Why’s it always me?”
“Because,” Aki said flatly, grabbing his cigarette pack, “Power will make it worse, and I don’t have the patience to deal with… whatever this is.”
Power crossed her arms. “I WOULD EAT THEM.”
Denji dragged himself to his feet. “Fine, fine. I’ll tell the music devil to shut up.”
Denji shuffled down the hall and knocked—once, then immediately leaned on the door.
The music didn’t stop. He knocked again, louder. The door suddenly swung open.
Denji blinked.
A girl around his age stood there, hair pulled up messily, wearing an oversized shirt and shorts, one sock on and one missing. She had a cleaning rag in one hand and was mid-dance move—clearly caught in the moment before realizing someone else existed.
The music blared behind her.
She stared at him. Denji stared at her.
“…Oh,” she said. “Hi.”
Denji’s brain completely blue-screened.
There was a half-vacuumed floor behind her, windows open, sunlight pouring in. The apartment smelled like citrus cleaner instead of blood and cigarettes. She reached over casually and turned the music down—not off, just lower.
“Sorry,” she added. “Was it loud?”
Denji opened his mouth. Nothing came out.
She tilted her head. “You okay?”
“—YOU’RE REAL?” Denji blurted.
She snorted. “Last I checked.”
Denji rubbed his face hard. “Uh—yeah—so—my roommate sent me. The music. Walls are thin. He’s, like… grumpy.”
“Oh.” She glanced behind her, then back at him. “That explains the knocking like you were trying to break it.”
Denji scratched the back of his neck. “I thought maybe you were a devil.”
She grinned. “Wow. Is that your go-to pickup line?”
Denji’s ears went red. “IT WASN’T—!”
She laughed, bright and unbothered, then turned the music off completely.
“There,” she said. “Better?”
Denji nodded dumbly.
She leaned against the doorframe. “I just moved in. Cleaning day. I forget other people exist when I do it.”
“…You clean for fun?” Denji asked, horrified.
“Don’t get it twisted,” she said. “I hate it. Music just makes it tolerable.”
Denji stared at her apartment again. No devil guts. No cursed objects. Just… normal.
“You live alone?” he asked.
“Yep.”
“…That’s sick.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Is it?”
“Yeah,” Denji said honestly. “No one stealing your food. No yelling. No blood fiends.”
She blinked. “I feel like there’s a story there.”
Denji smiled without meaning to.
“Yeah,” he said. “There is.”
From down the hall, Aki shouted, “DENJI.”
Denji jumped. “SHIT—UH—OKAY—IT’S TURNED DOWN—”
He looked back at her. “Uh. Sorry. Thanks. For not being a devil.”
She laughed again. “Anytime, chainsaw boy.”
He froze. “…How’d you know?”
She tapped her ear. “You guys aren’t subtle.”
Denji headed back toward his apartment, heart pounding for reasons he didn’t understand.
Behind him, she called out, “Hey!”
He turned.
“If the walls are thin,” she said lightly, “you might hear music again. Just knock.”
Denji nodded too fast. “YEAH. I WILL. I MEAN—IF—YEAH.”
The door closed.
Denji leaned against the wall outside, staring at nothing.
Girl next door, his brain whispered.
Back inside, Power was already asking if he’d fought her. Aki lit a cigarette, exhaling slowly.
“…So?” Aki asked.
“She’s not a devil,” he said. “But I think she's dangerous."
Aki frowned. “Dangerous how?”
Denji thought of the sunlight, the laughter, the way his chest felt weird light.
“…I don’t know yet.”