Chapter 17
Makima ignored Denji's line—half provocation, half flirtation—and asked:
"How strange. With that scent… you're really not 'him'?"
"Who?"
Makima didn't answer. She spoke as if musing to herself:
"The recorder devil's playback can drag the protagonist of those sounds and images into deep memories. And yet… you seem to have none at all."
So that's how it worked?
Just another probe for information?
Denji felt like he might have overestimated her.
Meanwhile Makima continued talking nonstop:
"If that's the case… then you really are Denji."
"Denji, your father didn't commit suicide. You killed him, didn't you?"
Her tone was absolute certainty.
"A man like your father—who always blamed others, who always dumped his emotions on those around him or the weak—would never kill himself.
According to the records, that day he got drunk and tried to beat you to death. You had no choice but to kill him. Right?"
"No matter how you spin it, you personally murdered your own father. And yet you've lived your life normally ever since?
Repressed memories? Or some innate abnormality?
I've observed you closely. You don't have that kind of defect. So—repressed memories."
"How pitiful, little Denji. Your beloved mother died of illness. You killed your own father. You stood by while an entire yakuza gang fell into a devil's trap, became zombies, and then you slaughtered them—leaving their families shattered.
A person like you… should become the embodiment of a 'hero'?"
"Ah… haaa~"
After listening for so long, Denji finally couldn't hold back a yawn.
No emotional reaction to the story—just a yawn that squeezed two tears from his eyes.
Makima no longer cared about his response. She had confirmed: this was Denji.
"Denji.
Submit to me.
That is an order."
Makima's ability dominated those who "subjectively believed themselves inferior." The dominated became completely obedient, allowing her full use of their powers.
Once she locked in her conclusion, she activated it.
But…
It failed?
Makima was puzzled. Her power didn't fail over trivial things like a wrong name.
As long as the target wasn't someone she subjectively viewed as superior, it should take hold.
So why?
The devils and sisters she considered equal or greater were in Hell—or sleeping in death, awaiting revival.
The only missing piece—the Chainsaw Man—was undeniably tied to the boy in front of her.
Yet her earlier probe had already ruled that out.
So why?
Why did it fail?!
An emotion Makima hadn't felt in ages surged inside her—intense and unfamiliar.
"What exactly are you?"
For once, a sliver of unknown fear crept into her heart.
She raised her hand, preparing to attack.
She no longer cared about truth or reasons. Right now she just wanted to crush Denji with force—then dominate him… or simply make him die!
From the intel she had, Denji couldn't possibly be…?
It was an instant—too brief for the brain to process or react. A flash that existed and vanished before the optic nerve could even transmit it to the mind.
Makima's vision plunged into black. Her brain died in chaos.
Once.
Twice.
Thrice…
Seven times.
Finally, consciousness clawed back from the void. Thought began to turn again.
What… was that?
"Something just happened, didn't it?"
Such a strange feeling…
"Sour, soft, tingly, hot, wet… suffocating pressure that makes you want to explode!"
Am I bound?
"Turtle-shell rope bondage across the torso, arms folded behind the back, wrists tied behind the head, knees on the ground, waist, thighs, calves, ankles—all linked in two tight triangles; even the five toes and soles specially locked with thin cord; mouth…"
"Enough! Stop talking!"
Makima's furious outburst sounded half like a tantrum, half like a moan…
"Uh—I just noticed you'd been staring with your eyes open forever without saying anything. Was worried you'd get fucked stupid~"
Denji sat astride Makima, "apologizing" with mock innocence.
Yes—everything spoken just now had been Denji narrating.
Makima—already frustrated from thinking—was constantly interrupted, her thoughts derailed, making her even angrier.
Anger didn't help~
Denji looked at her adorable, displeased expression and reached down to stroke her smooth red hair. Head pats~
Makima tried to shake him off—only to discover the nearby ropes tightened further. In her current state, she couldn't muster real strength.
"Don't struggle I checked. Your body's in perfect 'health' right now. It'll take at least a few minutes to regain power"
As he spoke, Denji felt her trying to summon devil power beneath him. He sighed and advised:
"Stop wasting effort. That just burns both our time."
Makima—seemingly accepting defeat—gave up channeling her subordinates' power. Instead she asked:
"Who are you? What do you want?"
"That's my line!"
Denji's grip tightened involuntarily—nearly pushing Makima over the edge again!
He quickly reapplied Ultra-Sensitive Muscle to soothe her.
After a series of strange noises, Makima fell back into "powerless" mode.
Her mind spun dizzily—almost broken by the alternate overload of feedback.
Because it was positive reinforcement, she couldn't even trigger damage transfer.
Truly vile, heartless, filthy tactics!
Even she—a devil—couldn't help but judge it that harshly. Denji's actions were that depraved.
Yet amid the hatred and cursing… a different emotion inevitably mixed in… blending with earlier feelings until it took root deep in her core—like a seed.
"Hm? Why so quiet now?"
Denji pinched the silent Makima.
She flushed deeper. The steam that had faded returned thicker.
"Hmph."
Makima couldn't hold back a small, venting huff.
Look at him—he clearly knew tons about her, yet here he was pretending to ask pointless questions… scum!
"You… what are you doing?"
Feeling movement on her body, Makima cursed internally while asking nervously.
For that kind of thing—she felt both repulsion and faint anticipation.
"Nothing~ Just noticed your mouth's still stubborn.
Time for some classic 'interrogation of a female agent'~"
"You fu—ah?!!!"
…
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