Narrator POV.
Better not to think about that.
—So only one out of ten actually impresses you? —Isagi commented, crossing his arms. —You must be picky, then.
—I'm not picky. —Makima left the papers perfectly aligned, as if every detail had to remain under control. —I recognize when a production has a good budget, an appropriate soundtrack, and a coherent narrative. Though the last part is something I rarely find.
Then she slowly turned her chair until she was facing him completely. One of her few hobbies was watching movies. So, surprisingly, Isagi had chosen a topic… acceptable.
Her golden eyes locked onto his.
—Has any movie ever changed the way you see the world, Isagi?
The question was soft. But deep. This wasn't casual conversation. It was an evaluation.
Isagi thought about it for several seconds. He wasn't the type to consume "deep" cinema. Most of what he watched was anime, light series, stuff meant to distract him. Nothing that made him question existence or rethink his life.
Nothing… Except one. There was only one movie that had truly affected him. And he avoided rewatching it too often, because it always ended the same way.
Crying. Tears… manly tears.
—I'll be honest, —he finally said, resting his arms on the sides of his chair. —I've only seen one that actually made me feel something for real. —He paused briefly. —It's about a dog.
Makima tilted her head slightly. That caught her attention. A movie centered around her "favorite animal" was, at the very least, worth hearing about.
—And what's it called? I don't recall seeing it.
Isagi looked at her with a hint of pride.
—Hachiko: Always by your side. It's the only movie in my entire life that's ever made me cry… but like a man, okay? —He quickly clarified, pointing at his chest as if that defended his honor.
Makima watched him in silence, analyzing both the title and his reaction.
—I don't think I've seen it… —she replied softly, mentally scanning through her nearly perfect archive of movies she'd watched.
No match.
—What do you mean you haven't? —Isagi leaned forward slightly, adjusting his shirt with an offended gesture. —The lack of culture around here is crazy.
Makima didn't seem affected by the comment.
—Then why don't you show it to me? —she said, straightening her posture and leaning back into her seat. —I trust you have good taste.
—(As always, the man has to take the initiative…) —Isagi thought, letting out an internal sigh.
.
.
.
.
.
Some time later…
Silence had taken over Makima's office. The only sound was the soft, rhythmic tapping of her finger against the desk. The clock marked the passage of time with almost hypnotic consistency, accompanied by the distant activity of the city, still alive beneath the night.
Makima replayed every fragment of the battle she had witnessed through a bird.
The black lightning.
The blood control.
The regeneration.
The fight against the Cooked Faces Devil…
She had seen it all.
And what she saw was, at the very least, striking.
—(Superhuman strength, as well as speed… along with a sixth sense that warns him of devils nearby.) —she thought, resting her chin on her hand while staring from her seat at the starless night sky. Her golden eyes didn't blink. —(Adding to that an aggressive fighting style with a katana… blood manipulation similar to Power's… and regeneration sufficient to restore amputated parts of the body…)
Her fingers stopped tapping the desk.
—(Where does he get so many abilities?)
The question carried no anger. It carried curiosity. Genuine curiosity. Isagi didn't seem to pay any price for that power. And that was strange. Very strange.
Makima closed her eyes for a moment and recalled the most unsettling detail of all. Her sense of smell hadn't detected any trace of a devil.
When a human makes a contract—even a minor one—an essence clings to them. A subtle scent, almost imperceptible to others… but not to her. And yet, Isagi still smelled human.
Completely human. No demonic essence. No corruption. Nothing. That made him something unknown. And the unknown… was interesting.
For someone like Makima—who was always searching for talent for the final stage of her plan—Isagi wasn't just an anomaly.
He was a possibility. And possibilities... always needed to be observed closely.
Makima began humming softly, a nearly childish melody barely audible, while she organized her thoughts with the same patience a predator uses when studying its prey.
Her abilities as the Control Devil had no effect on Isagi. Her power to subjugate and dominate at will anyone she considered inferior… didn't work on him.
Neither did her ability to impose absolute orders. The invisible chains that normally slid around others without resistance simply found nothing to latch onto.
It was like trying to tie down air. Isagi was becoming a potentially dangerous variable.
And even though he hadn't shown any rebelliousness so far—more like a relaxed, carefree attitude whenever he was near her—Makima didn't like the idea of something existing outside her control.
It wasn't fear. It was displeasure.
—(It doesn't matter… I don't usually rely too much on my devil abilities to control others. I still have other ways.) —she thought, letting a faint smile form on her lips.
To Makima, this wasn't a problem. It was a new opportunity. Control didn't always require force. Sometimes, desire was enough. Makima was fully aware of the effect she had on others.
Her soft voice. Her steady gaze. The calculated delicacy of her gestures.
She knew exactly how to tilt her head slightly, how to hold eye contact for just long enough, how to smile with the perfect amount of warmth to create closeness.
Her beauty wasn't an accident. Neither was her figure. It was a tool. And she had no issue using it. Using her physical appeal. allowing intimate contact, like in Denji's case, when she had guided his hand to one of her breasts so he could grab it and feel it.
The fact that Isagi was trying to get closer to her only made the process easier. He himself had expressed his intention to get along with her.
Without realizing it, he had already taken the first step.
For someone as particularly lonely as Isagi, the simple idea that Makima wanted to "open up," spend time with him, or show him exclusive closeness…
could become an irresistible hook. She wouldn't need chains. Just attention. Just soft promises spoken at the right moment. Just an illusion of intimacy.
Makima interlaced her fingers on the desk, contemplating the faint reflection of the city's night lights on the glass.
Something inside her—a cold, precise intuition— told her she would enjoy it.
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End of the chapter.