Narrator POV.
"You seem much more relaxed now." Makima tilted her head slightly, watching him carefully, as if trying to understand the exact moment something had changed. "And that's curious… you weren't supposed to know what devil I was."
Isagi shrugged with forced calm, crossing his arms for a moment before answering.
"Well, even if from the outside I look built like a tank," he said, lightly tapping his chest, "when you said you were the Control Devil, yeah… I got worried. I thought you could control me at any moment."
He nodded, as if reflecting on his own explanation, while his mind was working at full speed trying to come up with a decent cover for the fact that he had actually known from the beginning.
"But now that I know you can't…" he continued, "I'm at peace with myself. I already overcame that stage. I left fear behind. I have evolved. Now I am superior to all of you."
Makima stared at him silently for a second.
"So you were just bluffing when you said you weren't afraid." A faint smile formed on her lips.
Not for a second did she fully believe him. The subtle touches. The calculated closeness. The whisper in his ear.
Isagi had reacted to every single one of them, getting stiffer than bread left outside the bag for a week… and that said enough.
"Obviously." Isagi spread his arms as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "I'm human. I'm afraid of the unknown and of heights. I'd rather fight devils than climb somewhere high."
Makima nodded slowly. She noticed the change. Now Isagi spoke with a looser tone, more confident… and definitely less formal than before.
"And what will you do now that you know all this, Isagi?" she asked calmly.
Isagi tilted his head, evaluating her with a half-smile.
"Me? Wouldn't it be the other way around?" he replied mockingly. "You're the one who just revealed a lot of things. What are you gonna do with me? Silence me?"
He said it as if he were talking about some trivial gossip, like a journalist who knew too much and was waiting for someone to throw a bag over his head.
But inside… Isagi knew that question wasn't a joke at all.
"Maybe I will." Makima replied with a small smile before starting to walk toward him, her hands clasped behind her back. Her steps were slow and calm, and her gaze never left Isagi's eyes for even a second.
"Hell no—wait, hold on, it was a joke." Isagi raised both hands in a peace sign while stepping back a couple of steps. "It was bait, Makima. A joke."
He let out a nervous, forced laugh, fully aware that maybe he had pulled the rope too hard. Makima stopped right in front of him, close enough to invade his personal space… but without touching him.
She had noticed something.
"Hm?" She tilted her head slightly. "So now you only call me by my name?" She stepped just a little closer—enough for Isagi to catch her scent. It wasn't a strong perfume, it was something natural… disturbingly pleasant. "Do you really not fear me anymore, now that you know I can't control you?"
Isagi closed his eyes for a second and smiled. After all, he wasn't completely lying.
The only reason he had been so careful around Makima from the beginning was her power. The constant fear of losing his will, his mind, his freedom. Now that that restraint had disappeared… well, maybe he was starting to relax a little too much.
"You're strange." Makima straightened her posture, standing face to face with him. "But you have nothing to worry about. I don't plan to do anything physical to you."
Isagi opened his eyes.
"You're still useful for hunting devils," she continued. "You have potential to grow… even more than you imagine." She extended her hand and placed it gently against Isagi's chest. It wasn't rough or invasive, but it was firm. Measured. "I trust you."
Isagi swallowed.
"What's with all the touching?" he said, trying to recover his carefree tone. "I know I'm an irresistible heartthrob, but control yourself, Makima."
He ran a hand through his hair and looked off into the horizon like he was in a movie and he was the cool main character.
"I think at this point you should already know." Makima's smile widened just a little, almost imperceptibly. "Your scent is like a magnet for devils, remember? So… to me, your aroma is pleasant."
Isagi narrowed his eyes immediately, alert.
"You're not gonna bite me, right?" he asked, half joking, half serious. The reminder hit him instantly: Makima was a devil. And that meant that, like the others, she also reacted to his scent.
Makima gently shook her head.
"Of course not. I wouldn't fall for such a basic instinct." Her voice remained calm, controlled. "I'm simply admitting, as a devil, that your scent is pleasant."
With her sharp sense of smell, Makima could clearly perceive Isagi's Marechi blood. It wasn't a common scent, nor one easy to ignore; it was distinctive, persistent. Definitely something she wouldn't forget easily.
And that… that was already a huge achievement.
Makima rarely remembered faces, and even less so scents. Most humans passed through her life like interchangeable shadows. The fact that Isagi left an impression—through something so subtle—made him an interesting anomaly.
"Well…" Isagi scratched the back of his head, dropping his childish attitude. His posture relaxed and his voice became calmer. "I won't say anything." He lifted his gaze toward her, steady. "It's not like anyone would believe me. Think about it: who would accept that you're a devil without proof? They'd call me crazy. Besides… I don't have anyone to tell."
Makima stared at him silently for a second.
"That's good reasoning," she finally nodded, without a trace of concern. Even if Isagi spoke, even if he screamed the truth, Makima knew one thing with absolute certainty:
She had more than enough power to make sure no one believed him. And they both knew it.
"And what do you mean you don't have anyone to tell?" Makima asked calmly, not removing her hand from his chest. Her tone wasn't accusatory; it sounded curious, as if she had smelled a possible crack.
Maybe… this could be an opening. Makima didn't always need her power to manipulate. Sometimes, listening was enough.
"Well…" Isagi sighed heavily.
Was he really about to talk about something like that with Makima? Of all people. Screw it. If he was going to say it, he'd say it his way.
"Because I'm all alone." He shrugged. "I've got nobody by my side. Not even a dog to bark at me."
The line came out as a joke, but the meaning behind it was different.
Thanks to the System, the constant missions, the nonstop battles… Isagi had never had time to stop and think about how alone he was. There was always something to do, something to kill, something to complete.
But that day, facing the Leech Devil, something had become clear: he had no real motivation beyond surviving. And now, standing in front of Makima, that truth hit him even harder.
"…" Isagi pressed his lips together slightly.
Was today the day for existential crises and uncomfortable self-reflection?
He didn't know. And honestly, he didn't like it. He'd rather stay ignorant than start getting philosophical.
"And what about Denji and Power?" Makima asked, still not removing her hand, watching him closely.
"Those two?" Isagi rolled his eyes. "A while ago Denji and I were literally throwing devil guts at each other because we were in a bad mood, and Power just wants to suck my blood."
He said it with annoyance… but he stayed silent a second longer than usual.
If he thought about it—and he didn't want to, but he did anyway—sometimes it was entertaining to spend time with them. They were chaotic, annoying, unpredictable… but real.
Isagi wouldn't admit it out loud. Not even in front of Makima. But for the first time in a long time, he didn't feel completely alone.
"So you're alone?" Makima asked, stepping a little closer, shortening that distance Isagi always tried to maintain.
"Too many questions… what are you, a cop?" Isagi crossed his arms, drawing a line. Yeah. Enough with the revelations.
He was Isagi Fushiguro, son of the Sorcerer Killer, Toji Fushiguro. Hard-working blood ran through his veins.
He narrowed his eyes. The silent answer was simple and honest: yes, he was alone. He had never bothered trying to meet people. There was always something more urgent to do.
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End of the chapter.