Chapter 64
Time rewinds slightly.
In the heart of Tokyo, inside a certain luxurious high-floor apartment.
After selecting her erotic innerwear, Makima finally began choosing her outer layer.
Her fingertips drifted along the hangers and finally stopped on that dress—red so vivid it was almost scorching, as though the afterglow of sunset had been cut into fabric. Wearing it would be enough to set the entire night ablaze.
The halter-neck design left her smooth shoulders and neck completely bare. The fabric was thin as cicada wings, clinging tightly to her skin so that the faint blue veins beneath were clearly visible—yet under the light they glowed with an ambiguous warmth, like gauze illuminated by fire.
The cut at the waist, abdomen, and hips was even bolder. The material wrapped her curves with perfect precision, every inch seeming to grow directly from her body. With each breath it rose and fell slightly, as though the fabric might tear open at any second. When she turned, the cloth slid against her skin, outlining the full, ripe arc of her hips—like flowing lava, passionate and dangerous.
The single-shoulder strap carried a provocative edge—the thin band looped around the side of her neck, exposing most of her back. Only a very thin layer of mesh interwoven with lace provided cover; the outline of her skin shimmered faintly beneath the lace, like something veiled in hazy mist.
The hem fell exactly below the calf. When she walked, the fabric swayed gently with each step, revealing a glimpse of long, dazzlingly white leg—only to be covered again the next moment, leaving an itchy ache in the heart.
She ran her fingers along her waist; the fabric felt cool yet soft, like a lover's fingertips gliding over skin. This dress wasn't "worn"—it was wrapped around her body. It revealed just enough: the white of her shoulders and neck, the slenderness of her waist, the softness of her back, the length of her legs—every part calculated temptation, never crude, yet impossible to look away from.
Makima looked at herself in the mirror and practiced an expression: eyes flowing with charm, a smile hidden at the corners of her lips.
This expression was perfect—it matched the dress's "visible but untouchable" teasing energy~
The fabric rubbed against her skin as she turned, making an extremely soft sha sha sound—like whispered sweet nothings in the ear.
She knew Denji would like this dress. Not because it was loud, but because of the intense, almost overflowing sensual beauty hidden beneath the material.
Her fingertips brushed the swell above the hem of the wine-red dress, confirming the pulse-quickening texture, then she turned toward the rack.
There hung a pure-black heavy military-style overcoat.
Not the khaki trench coat urban women wear—this was an aggressive, extremely sharp-cut black coat. The fabric was high-density heavyweight cotton with an almost leather-like cold hardness; the color was black as midnight asphalt, without a trace of impurity, exuding unquestionable authority.
She examined herself in the mirror. The wine-red dress clung like a scalding second skin—if she wore the coat directly to a seated drinking party, sitting down would inevitably make the tight fabric look improper.
So she took out a white silk blouse with a draped, flowing feel.
The blouse had a slightly oversized "boyfriend" cut: wide sleeves, longer hem than usual—just enough to cover the waist of the red dress without extending past the skirt.
She draped the blouse loosely over the red dress, fastening only two buttons—barely holding the chest closed, revealing a faint glimpse of red at the collarbone.
Finally, she put on the pure-black long coat.
The wide shoulder pads straightened her originally soft, alluring shoulder line, instantly turning her entire aura cold, hard, and murderous.
She zipped it up to her chin; the high collar swallowed her fair neck and collarbone completely into shadow.
The coat was too long, too wide—like a massive black coffin, sealing the wine-red "lust" and pure-white "innocence" inside tightly.
From the outside, nothing could be seen of what lay beneath. Only a figure wrapped impenetrably in black—an ice-cold superior image.
The red dress was crushed beneath thick black fabric; not even a wrinkle of movement remained. All temptation was sealed under this black shell.
She looked at herself in the mirror once more.
The person in the reflection was, outwardly, the absolute ruler of a black-and-white world; inwardly, she had prepared a burning crimson paradise… or perhaps hell—for him?
Heh~ It doesn't matter.
In any case, the effect could barely be called perfect.
Clearly designed by humans, yet only a devil's perfection could fully embody it…
She fastened the last button, confirming there were no flaws. This black coat wasn't for warmth now—it was for disguise, and for the moment of revelation.
Everything was ready.
But the problem was—at the welcome party, almost the entire Special Division 4 was present. Only Denji and his two "exclusive partners" were absent.
Makima had read the mission report. Sometimes she really doubted her own judgment—was Denji really just a sex-obsessed creature at heart?
Power was understandable—she was a very special Blood Devil, one Makima had carefully chosen as Denji's "good partner" from the beginning.
But what was going on with this Higashiyama Koharu?
Makima knew a little about Higashiyama Koharu.
When she heard the report that a rookie couldn't contract any devil at all, she knew the newcomer had issues.
After all, devils feed on humans; preferences and compatibility only affect the contract price.
How could a perfectly "normal" person be completely rejected by every devil contract?
She met Higashiyama Koharu in person.
Though very faint, Makima did smell a very special devil scent on her. She didn't expose it—such rare cases were probably extremely uncommon worldwide.
And the ability was special enough.
Makima glanced at the floor where she had almost slipped and fallen earlier—she knew it was related to the devil power inside Higashiyama Koharu.
"Misfortune," huh?
It must be her. To still be alive and running around… looks like my sisters really are "waking up."
Not close, not distant—just treat her as an idle piece on the board. That was Makima's attitude toward Higashiyama Koharu.
She approved Koharu's entry and, in the contract-devil column of her file, filled in the special category: "Secret."
…
She never expected to be backstabbed one day by such an "idle piece."
After all, Denji and Power had been together for so long; they hadn't missed anything they usually did.
Only today—after Denji took Higashiyama Koharu away, he suddenly had something to do!
Needless to say—
Denji's absence today was most likely caused by Higashiyama Koharu.
But the question was—what exactly happened?
To the point that he could even put aside the date he promised her?
Could the three of them be having a party at home?
A thousand thoughts swirled in Makima's mind, but her face remained completely expressionless.
Honestly—she really hated when things slipped completely out of control due to such anomalies.
Yet the one doing it was the only person in the human world who made her feel something special.
Excluding minor accidents—this was already the second time…
The dark emotions in Makima's heart kept accumulating. Before Denji appeared, she had always seen herself as the ultimate balance and "goodwill" toward humanity.
Everything submitting at her feet was only natural—wasn't that a form of balance too?
She clearly possessed the power to dominate everything, yet she didn't turn the human world into a complete hell of domination. Instead she planned to save humanity through domination.
Wasn't that enough to describe her "goodwill" toward the world?
Makima's little self-amusing game had finally been shattered by Denji's arrival.
At first she cared only about the Chainsaw's "ability" and "specialness." But as Denji continued to stir unusual waves in her heart in extraordinary ways, her attention gradually shifted.
Until today, she had to admit: Denji had become a special partner on the chessboard—qualified to dance with her, even able to force her to relinquish control to a certain degree.
She had prepared so much for him, done so much for him—but if he wasn't there, then all of it was nothing.
Things that are nothing have no meaning. A world of nothing should be destroyed…
Ding~
Her phone chimed with a message notification. While mentally plotting a new plan to destroy the world, Makima opened the phone and read:
[I don't like the vibe at the welcome party. I'm eating outside. I'll come pick you up later. —Denji]
"…"
World destruction plan?
Temporarily shelved.
After all—she couldn't let that idiot go hungry while saving the world, could she?
Her gaze lingered on those words. Deep in her golden-ringed pupils, the extreme icy indifference seemed to gain a faint, swaying trace of life.
Heh.
Since he didn't forget our date…
Then I'll be a little more patient with this world.
After all—compared to making the world burn with him, watching that idiot come pick me up later seems like a much more interesting choice.
She calmly slipped the phone back into her pocket. Her fingertips lightly smoothed something under the hem of her coat—though what exactly, no one could tell—then let her hand fall casually.
—Since that's the case, I'll just stay here and play the role of a "little wife"… obediently waiting for him to come get me.
--------------------------
Support us on Patreon and gain access to 100 chapters in advance!
patreon.com/inkshield
Special Offer: Badass Tier – 20% OFF
Use code: STAR20