Chapter 65
The air inside the private room was slightly stuffy.
Makima stepped in on her high heels and gracefully took her seat during a brief lull in the clamor.
As she sat, her wrist gave a light turn—very naturally drawing the wide black coat forward, like a black bird folding its wings.
The heavy hem draped onto the tatami, perfectly concealing her legs and hiding everything beneath the skirt in deep shadow.
Her arrival didn't cause the room to fall silent. These were people who lived on the knife-edge between life and death.
No one could say whether tomorrow's sunrise or death would arrive first.
They lived by the creed of carpe diem—drink today while the wine is here.
The noise continued, laughter and singing, merry chaos. A colleague's death was mentioned only in passing over drinks—casual, faint, less memorable than a forced joke.
Yet amid all this, Hayakawa Aki and Himeno were gradually detaching from the atmosphere.
This despairing, absurd reality was something every Public Safety Devil Hunter had to face.
But right now, neither of them wanted to keep sinking into it.
After perfunctorily downing two cups, they noticed Makima—who had been fading into the corner with increasingly low presence.
Someone even tried to pour her a drink at one point, but she refused simply.
Strange—no one found it odd. No one pressed her afterward. It was as though everyone had forgotten Makima was even in the room.
Except Aki—and Himeno, who was always watching him.
After one extra glance, Aki simply asked, "Is that Makima?"
After everything that had happened, Himeno had come to accept Aki's peculiar pseudo-amnesia—turning specific memories into abstractions. (Only regarding Makima.)
"Yeah, yeah."
Himeno answered vaguely, her gaze drifting.
She used to be the woman you admired so much Hmph
A sour feeling rose in her chest, like drinking undiluted cheap vinegar. After all, she had been blocked by Makima in Aki's heart more than once before.
Thinking of that made her unhappy, sullen, and thirsty for another drink.
After passion cools, old memories surface—who can truly let go completely?
At the very least, not so easily…
Himeno picked up a large glass, gripped the cold cup; muscle memory kicked in instantly.
Head back, hand up—gulp gulp gulp—sharp liquid flooded her mouth.
Since she hadn't drunk much earlier, this sudden heavy pour was actually hard to swallow.
A hand suddenly and decisively took the cup from hers.
Himeno turned, irritation about to erupt—only to meet Aki's eyes, serious to the point of clumsiness.
Her cheeks puffed out, ready to swallow and spit some harsh words.
But she never expected Aki to move in at that moment.
Not gentle persuasion, but a near-stubborn insistence. He cradled the back of her head and sealed every unspoken question between their lips and teeth.
The surrounding colleagues hadn't seen what happened before and now assumed—per usual—that Himeno had gone wild from drinking and was just grabbing someone to kiss.
But the kiss was too long, too deep. Long enough that the cheering crowd grew bored and drifted back to their own noise. Only then did the two slowly separate.
"You…"
Himeno's question lodged in her throat, leaving only ragged breathing.
Aki pressed his forehead to hers, voice hoarse and low: "I don't want you getting drunk."
"…Oh."
His hand took hers on its own; knuckles blanched from the force. In that uncompromising grip hid a trace of gentleness and tolerance almost imperceptible.
"Let's go home."
"It's… still so early…"
"Remember what I promised you this morning?" Aki's gaze dropped, fixed on their tightly interlocked fingers.
Whoever smokes less.
Himeno hadn't touched a single one. Aki had smoked two fewer.
"I won~!"
For some reason, Himeno's eyes suddenly lit up like a cat that stole the cream. "Right—once tomorrow comes, the wish expires. You sure you don't want to head back early?"
"Back back back—right now!"
Himeno had already forgotten the exact details of the promise. She only knew that later tonight, Aki was going to fulfill one of her wishes in bed.
Using the earlier hot kiss as cover, Aki half-supported, half-carried the "drunk" Himeno and left early.
For some reason, the way they slipped out carried a sneaky little joy, along with an unspoken youthful impulsiveness and urgency.
In the corner, Makima—who had silently watched the entire scene—took another sip of her orange juice.
Interesting… Will Denji be this hazy yet passionate too? What does the raw instinctual release of human desire really taste like?
It's surprisingly captivating.
Makima's hand stayed hidden inside her coat—resting somewhere, savoring some lingering memory…
...
Outside the restroom, by the sink.
The faucet ran in monotonous rhythm.
Aki had just come out of the bathroom, washed his hands, and turned the tap back on.
Himeno hadn't come out yet. He silently walked to the corner smoking area and faced a trash can.
He didn't light a cigarette—just stood there like a child who'd done something wrong, reflecting against the wall.
He didn't even know why he had acted so impulsively just now.
Could he really see himself clearly? Understand himself completely?
He was analyzing—trying to dissect his own soul with the scalpel of reason.
His feelings for Himeno were chaotic—mixed with guilt over the past, confusion about the future, and a kind of "we're both stranded in the same miserable place" dependency.
From an objective view, none of it made sense. They were both people weighed down by hatred—especially him, whose burning rage never stopped scorching his heart.
The road ahead was full of unknowns. Their union was like building a house on quicksand. Would releasing love only bring heavier pain?
That's what he thought.
But the moment he saw her lift that glass—the sadness and grief in her eyes, the memories and love-hate—it all shattered his rationality.
That possessive urge—not wanting her gaze to drift away to anyone else—coiled around his heart like a venomous snake.
How could such bitter, suffocating possessiveness possibly be the pure love humans yearn for?
He grew more lost, straying further down the wrong path of thought.
Maybe… I just didn't want her to get drunk… right?
While Aki was sinking deeper into self-loathing and the spiral of self-affirmation and denial, the faucet turned on again.
Was Himeno finally out?
He looked over eagerly—heavy black coat, red single braid. It was Makima.
Not very familiar. Aki quietly withdrew his gaze and resumed facing the trash can in silent reflection.
He didn't know when Makima had left the private room.
Right now she stood at the sink, meticulously adjusting her appearance.
She took out her custom perfume bottle from her bag and lightly spritzed twice into the air—not directly on her skin—as though using the cold, crisp scent to mask any possible lingering alcohol smell on her clothes.
Then she tilted her head slightly, looking at herself in the mirror.
That face was flawless—needing no extra adornment.
Her fingertips gently rested on the collar of her coat.
With slight force, she pulled the tightly fastened collar down just a fraction.
Not too much, not too little—just enough to reveal a small patch of fair skin below the collarbone, and the faint edge of the wine-red dress hidden beneath the coat.
After confirming the effect once more, she seemed satisfied. She pulled the collar back up, withdrew her hand, and unconsciously let her fingertips graze lightly over the coat's fabric—as though confirming some texture.
Having finished this necessary "preparation," she drew the coat closed and stepped away.
As she passed Aki, she suddenly paused and left behind a light, floating sentence. It wasn't really directed at him—more like speaking to herself:
"You know… humans always become very strange when facing someone they like."
She gazed at the empty space ahead, yet in her mind was the shadow of a certain someone.
"Even when the abyss lies right beneath their feet, they still want to hold that person's hand and fall together. Even if that fall lasts only a brief instant—it's still better than the despairing loneliness of being left alone.
This crazy, romantic foolishness… is probably one of the ways humans express love."
With those words, Makima resumed walking—leaving the restaurant ahead of him, to be picked up by Denji…
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