Breakfast was a combination of sweet rolls, Manju and a whole metric ton of pocky sticks. The pocky was something that Power liked, and therefore was the first thing Denji reached for when hunger set in.
Kishibe took his breakfast in the form of a lit cigarette. Anytime Denji offered him something, the old man would say he'd already ate, and that was all the idle conversation would be between them.
But the television had other ideas about that. Turning it on had brought to Denji the prospects of the outside world, happenings that were, at first glance, beyond his care. Things kept exciting his eyes and words kept catching his ears, snippets, phrases and the like, and they all centered around the repeated term.
Chainsaw Man.
Ah, so that's what he looked like, when he transforms. He always wondered if the metal blade that would poke from his skull was worth the splitting headache afterwards.
The news channel they listened to were mentioning something about a controversy, asking of themselves and the public for what Chainsaw Man was.
Denji found himself infatuated with curiosity and stared at the screen with wide eyes. This must be what Power had meant, when she'd said a second chance.
A hero, a savior of innocents. A good person.
But the curiosity morphed into confusion, as the TV showed something else. Thousands of voices, having been gathered in and around the streets of Tokyo, all crashing in a tidal wave of chants, tidal waves of sounds attempting to drown out the other.
Two factions had been formed, it seemed. Some people were rightfully afraid of Chainsaw Man, and demonstrated it obviously with their tones. But there were some people there, across from those haters, who were joyful with their words—
"They love me," then, as if having triumphed the insurmountable odds, Denji pointed a half-eaten pocky stick at the crowd on one side of the TV, "They love me! Look at them all!"
"You shouldn't be happy about that."
A scoff came at the old man's notion to crush his spirit, "What, can't I at least have this moment for myself?"
"Devils gain power from peoples' fear of them," the smoke hung in the air as the Captain spoke, "Having them admire you like a hero is only going to weaken your power."
"I thought my power came from devils' fear, not humans," another sweet roll was stuffed into his mouth, and he chewed with confusion.
"It's from both humans and devils," Kishibe drawled, "It's what signifies you from the rest, why only the Horsemen and a select few don't fear your existence. Your abilities, your very essence is fueled by the same thing all devils sustain themselves with."
"And that's why you shouldn't be happy that people are celebrating you," he finished, taking another drag from the cigarette. The smoke was starting to get all up in Denji's nose, shriveling up his appetite.
"Alright, fine then. Don't gotta be such a sourpuss 'bout it," the boy grumbled, and focused on the TV again, the news anchor running their mouths again about something.
"We've seen more and more people come out to express their support for the latest hero of Tokyo city, Chainsaw Man. While a vocal majority have skeptical feelings for this new devilish vigilante, some have taken to calling him a hero, having proven himself worthy of this praise, even despite the events that occurred in the southeastern district—"
"Hey, Teach', what's he talking about?"
"The fight you had, with Makima. Collateral damage to the surrounding structures," the captain turned to side-glance the boy, "I thought you knew that already."
"I didn't. I took a spear early in the fight, so I let Pochita take control for most of it. I didn't get to see what happened."
"Ah."
Another bite into a bean bun. Cigarette smoke be damned, he was going to finish this meal.
"…we're gonna have to fight Makima again," Kishibe reminded him, "best to do it while you still have some power in peoples' fears. Wait too long, and you'll be too weak to have a chance."
"And where d'you think we'll find her?" Denji asked genuinely, "She could be anywhere, in or out of the city! We'd have better luck making her find us."
The old man kept silent, letting the TV take over as ambience in the small room. It was a good minute or two before he spoke again, "You're right. It would be better for her to find us. All we have to do is get her attention."
Denji smiled, and tapped a finger repeatedly to his temple, "I'm telling ya Teach', I got the mind of a fuckin' genius."
"What's nine plus ten?" the hunter deadpanned, already knowing the answer.
"Twenty—no wait, uhm…ninety-ten!"
Kishibe huffed in amusement, and took another drag, "Close enough."
The TV continued to rattle on. It would not cease its endless babble.
A hand reached for the remote and shut it off. She had heard enough.
The tangents were never ending, flowing this way and that. It's what humans do—she had seen it countless times already. Events near and far would stoke the curiosity of the masses, giving these moments a temporary feeling, which otherwise would be etched into the linear models of time. The truth was as light as a feather, being blown this way and that.
Except these tangents, which otherwise were meant to be swept away by time, were not being let go. The people seemed so riveted to this turn of events, that she nearly found herself surprised by it.
The news had first aired yesterday afternoon, once the damage was done and authorities were closing up the zone of destruction. She had been expecting the result of Chainsaw Man being portrayed a hero for fighting the unknown menace, set to stop a rowdy band of seriously dangerous devils that would no-doubt lay siege to the entirety of Tokyo. It was to be an easy win-win situation—either Chainsaw would perish, and she would have his heart, or he would triumph in the hearts of humanity, and be so weakened by the praise that even by herself, she could settle the score.
And it had worked in her favor, she reminded herself. It had worked out exactly as she planned, where she had dealt the final blow, even after losing all her servants. It was a costly victory, but a victory, nonetheless.
Her hand gently clenched to a fist.
The aftermath, however, was something she had envisioned differently.
She was too caught up in the glory of having slain the greatest obstacle to her plans, too inebriated by the blood rush and the conquest. Having ripped his torso in two, spilling his crimson blood, it had given her a new sense of what it meant to control the inevitable outcome.
She should have known then, that sending her prize off with some puppets without any supporting elements to protect it would lead to problems. Kishibe had shown his hand and played it when she had least expected it.
The feeling of having everything in the grasp of her hand, only to slip from that grasp—it was nauseating. It was a horrible, terrible feeling.
And now, the news was shifting to something unforeseen. Talking of an accomplice to Chainsaw Man, a ridiculous lie that would make her laugh if it wasn't for how dangerous it was.
The news was claiming, with a disturbing amount of forthcoming support, that she had somehow helped Chainsaw Man in his plight against the devilish foes. Whether she was an unlucky bystander caught amongst the fight, or a cute little sidekick to the devil-eater, the lies flowed from those human mouths with an intensity unbefitting the circumstances.
It's all wrong. It's all slipping from my grasp.
It would take time before the money would reach the pockets of the CEOs and government officials, one payment to make the news anchors shut their mouths and the other to make sure the CEOs follow through with their promises if their news anchors didn't comply. It was a temporary stopgap, but she needed just a single moment to calm herself before another rash decision be made.
Try as she might, she was as much a devil as the ones she controlled, and this meant she was dependent to the same needs of devils as well. It was true she could survive on the adoration of those she controlled, but this love had to be willing, it had to be a blissfully ignorant love to give essence to her being.
Otherwise, she relied on fear.
And fear seemed to be the only way out of this mess, if she wanted to consolidate any measure of power. These coming days will be costly, but not just for her. Chainsaw Man and his little friends are out there and can't rely on the fear of the populace to hide behind anymore. It was just a matter of scoping them out and crushing their hope before it could bloom to fruition.
She stood from her couch, and calmly trekked to the calendar situated on the fridge in the kitchen space. Each day was marked for plans and events that she had meticulously prepared for. It was due to be changed, but she resolved to have the upper hand once the dust settled.
Here she was, with a plethora of animals at her beck and call, with the capability to tame even the wildest of beasts. Yet the power she looked for lied in something so small, so meek and insignificant. She couldn't help but chuckle a bit at the irony.
Tomorrow, Makima would pay a visit to her little mouse.
