[Fantasy Ending] Chainsaw Man: Reze Chapter - Fujimoto Tsuki's Fantasy Novel : Makima and Denji 's Fictional Paradise

 

[Fantasy Ending] Chainsaw Man: Reze Chapter - Fujimoto Tsuki's Fantasy Novel : Denji 's Fictional Side Story

 

 

Side story: Rusty pull rings and floral scents

Time loses its weight within the tower. For Denji, who has become an "object," a second is no different from a century.

He had been by Makima's side for a long time. His life was as precise as a perfectly running Swiss clock: he would wake up on time in the morning by Makima's bedside and prepare perfectly warm black tea for her; in the afternoon, he would accompany her on a tour of the territories she "dominated" like a silent shadow; and at night, he would kneel quietly beside the sofa, listening to the sound of her turning the pages of a book.

He no longer dreamed, no longer felt hunger, and even the word "existence" seemed too cumbersome to him. He was merely an extension of Makima's will, her most loyal, most powerful, and also most hollow weapon.

Until that day, an unexpected event occurred, and a pebble was thrown into the lake called "Eternity".

Makima led him through the ruins of an abandoned old suburb. It was a routine clearing operation; a few weak demons, hiding in the rubble, were trying to survive on the edge of the ruler's territory. Dōji skillfully pulled the chainring at his chest, the roar of the chainsaw echoing through the wilderness . Blood rained down , splattering on his expressionless face. He mechanically wielded the blade, not even blinking, as if trimming excess weeds in that brutal slaughter.

After the operation was over, Makima was summoned by a subordinate who rushed over to handle urgent business. She gently patted Dianzhi 's head, signaling him to wait where he was.

Denji stood alone beside a broken, leaning telephone pole. At his feet lay a patch of dry, yellowed weeds, and all around him were collapsed red brick walls and rusted iron sheets. In this eerily silent moment, a sudden gust of wind blew through the gaps in the steel bars of the ruins.

There was a certain smell in the wind .

scent of soap that Makima wore , nor was it the nauseating, raw, and bloody smell of the battlefield. It was a scent with a faint bitterness, yet so refreshing that it made you want to shout out loud.

That's the smell of coffee .

Not far away, beneath the collapsed ruins, lay a rusty can of coffee , half-buried in the dust. It was an extremely cheap industrial product, the kind you could buy from any vending machine. It had probably been dropped by a passerby years ago while fleeing for their lives; the production date on the can was long past its expiration date, and in the slanting sunlight, it gleamed with a humble, earthly luster.

Denji 's feet moved as if possessed. His lifeless eyes trembled slightly the instant he saw the aluminum can . He slowly walked over, bent down, and carefully picked up the can of coffee with his hands, hands stained with the blood of countless demons he had slain .

When his fingertips touched the cold, rough, and rusty metal can, the defenses deep within his brain, which Makima had personally reinforced and sealed off for countless days and nights, emitted a subtle yet sharp cracking sound.

"This ... is ... " His voice was terribly hoarse, like a machine that hadn't been used in a long time.

He clumsily gripped the pull ring. **"Click"** A crisp sound.

The sound of metal clashing overlapped with the sound of the chainsaw being pulled on his chest, triggering a completely different and catastrophic chain reaction within him.

The first sip of bitter, cold, and metallic liquid slid down his throat like a ball of molten lava, instantly igniting his already frozen internal organs.

boom!

Memory is like a tsunami that is many years overdue, breaking through all the controlling dams in an instant.

He saw a girl. She was in the rain, her sleeveless top soaked and clinging to her slender back, water droplets sliding down her hair . She laughed as she taught him to read, laughed as she bit his tongue, and laughed as she asked him if he wanted to escape this crazy world together.

He saw the bouquet of flowers , the bouquet he had held tightly in his arms, which had withered and rotted on the cold train platform.

"Lei... Jie ... ... "

Denji 's lips trembled violently. This name, which had been sealed away and erased, now turned into a bloodstained thorn , fiercely provoking his already withered nerves.

My heart skipped a beat in that pure white stillness.

That was Pochita's roar from the abyss. That was Denji 's last remnant as a "human," a furious spark rekindled in the ashes.

Then came an overwhelming wave of pain.

losing Hayakawa Aki , the guilt of killing his friend with his own hands, the shame of being deprived of his humanity... These distractions that Makima had erased in the name of "happiness" now transformed into the most real and sharpest blades, cutting through his skin woven from false peace inch by inch.

" Denji-kun , what are you doing?"

Makima had somehow returned behind him. Her voice was still as gentle as a spring breeze, but to Denji now , it sounded like countless cold, venomous snakes trying to strangle his soul.

Dianzhi didn't turn around. He was still looking at the cheap , expired can of coffee in his hand, and at his haggard, distorted face, which finally seemed to have a glimmer of life, reflected in the dark liquid.

His eyes welled up with tears, and a drop of clear liquid fell into his coffee, creating tiny ripples.

"Miss Makima... " Denji 's voice had a tearing quality, as if his soul was screaming, "This coffee... is really awful."

Makima's gaze sharpened slightly , a fleeting hint of surprise flashing in her swirling pupils. She saw the pull ring on Dōji 's chest, trembling uneasily—not from a demon's desire, but from humanity's sorrow.

"Really? Just throw away the awful stuff, Denji-kun . Go back to the tower , I'll give you something better, the sweetest gift in the world." She reached out, her fingertips carrying a cold, controlling force, trying to block his gaze once more.

But this time, Denji took a step back. Just one step, yet it crossed the chasm between domination and self.

He gripped the can of bitter , rusty coffee tightly. Although his spirit remained shattered, and although he still couldn't break free from the powerful chains of control in the short term, deep within those pupils that had regained a glimmer of light, the lewd, tenacious, and indomitable soul named " Denji " finally opened its eyes slowly after a long, lifeless slumber.

"No... I 'll never forget this taste, even if it kills me."

His heart was no longer at a steady death line. Beyond the tower filled with cicada chirps and daylight, in that real world teeming with garbage, pain, and regret, that fool Denji finally felt a long-lost, piercing, and raw chill.

That excruciating cold was his last and only proof of being human. (...To be continued...)