Chapter 3
The Tomato Devil lay collapsed on the ground, no longer plump and round—after all, it had been sliced clean in half.
After the massive geyser of gore sprayed out, only a pooling puddle of blood remained. The thick main body's ruptured vessels still twitched with tiny spurts here and there.
The body and its writhing finger-like appendages quivered faintly, clinging to the last threads of life.
"Tomato Devil, huh… Wonder what kind of ability you'll give me. Let's go, Pochita."
An invisible Chainsaw Hellhound materialized and devoured the Tomato Devil completely.
(Note: Without prerequisite conditions, abilities require no chants, gestures, or activation phrases—so all the dramatic flair earlier was just Denji's personal style.)
Once the Tomato Devil was fully absorbed, Devour activated. Beyond a small stat boost, Denji gained a new ability:
Tomato (Tomato) Dilemma: Lock onto a target and produce a tomato in your hand. Ask the question "Is this a tomato or a real tomato?" to force the target into deep contemplation and answering. (Hard control duration based on combined soul strength difference and intelligence. Soul strength gap extends control time up to +3 seconds max; intelligence determines base duration with no upper limit.)
What the hell kind of weird skill is this?
Denji chose not to overthink it.
Speaking of which, he still had one fairly pressing problem to deal with~
The massive debt left by his deadbeat father.
"Yakuza, huh… They're all living people. Straight-up killing them might not be the best move, right~?"
Denji mulled over various solutions.
Honestly, if they were truly bad people, he wouldn't feel the slightest guilt killing them now. He was no longer burdened by the same naive weight as before.
The classic "heroic idiot justice protagonist" path? That's just a recipe for tragedy. He was never walking that road again.
Unpleasant memories bubbled up; Denji frowned briefly, then let the expression smooth away.
Good thing none of those events had happened yet. This time, he had the chance to save everything.
He already had a rough plan in mind—but plans are made to be adjusted when reality shifts.
"I don't eat beef, haha~"
Flipping through the transmigrator's memories, Denji spotted something amusing and let out a strange chuckle.
He descended the mountain and approached the white sedan parked by the roadside. Without a care, he opened the back door and slid inside.
An elderly man in a trench coat and glasses, white-haired and white-bearded, was reclining in the seat reading a newspaper.
Sensing the movement beside him, a hoarse, aged voice rasped out:
"Did you take care of the devil on the mountain?"
"Done."
At Denji's reply, the old man folded his newspaper, preparing to go check the corpse's quality and value.
Before he could move, Denji added casually:
"But there's no corpse. After I killed the devil, the body just vanished. Nothing left behind."
His tone was light and breezy.
The old man detected no lie in the words, but the content puzzled him. He turned his head and stared at Denji.
Meeting the gaze, Denji tilted his head back and flashed an innocent, "pure-hearted idiot" smile.
The old man studied him for a moment, as if seeing something beneath the surface. Then he went quiet.
He looked away and spoke softly to the driver up front:
"Head back."
They stopped at the usual spot. Denji got out, politely saying before closing the door:
"Thanks~"
Just as the door was shutting, the old man spoke again:
"No harvest this time. Round-trip fare and wasted time—we'll deduct 100,000 from your pay."
"Sure thing~"
Even such a blatant rip-off couldn't dent Denji's mood. He agreed cheerfully.
After all, who cares what a dead man has to say?
Watching Denji's retreating back, now alone in the car, the driver finally asked:
"That kid telling the truth? Devil corpse disappearing and all?"
"The disappearance part is probably real… but how it disappeared…" The old man trailed off, shifting focus to something that concerned him more.
"Down below, didn't one of the boys say he made contact with a certain devil? How's that going?"
"Seems like he'll have news soon."
"Hm…"
The old man gave a short acknowledgment, waved for the driver to keep going, then leaned back and closed his eyes to rest.
The driver scratched his head, still mulling over the earlier topic. He wasn't book-smart and couldn't grasp the deeper implications in the boss's roundabout words.
He just said what he noticed:
"That kid feels… different from before. Taller, maybe? Oh, and that weird dog of his is gone too."
At those words, the old man's eyes snapped open. His pupils trembled violently for a split second before he spoke in a suddenly heavy tone:
"Don't bother with that kid for now. Turn around—head back immediately!"
Hearing the gravity in the voice, the driver shut up, silently turned the car, and sped off…
Meanwhile, Denji couldn't care less what those guys were thinking~
He walked along a familiar-yet-strange mountain path until he reached his rundown shack halfway up the slope.
"Haven't been back here in forever, huh~"
The door wasn't locked—just a light push and it swung open.
The smell of rotting wood mixed with dust in the air.
Yeah… still the same familiar scent.
He flopped onto the old sofa cushion he'd pulled from who-knows-where, reached into a nearby cardboard box, and pulled out a small packet of bread wrapped in newspaper.
Eating. Thinking. Waiting.
Night fell quickly. The sunset sky had been blindingly bright one moment; the next, the world went pitch black without warning.
Even in the dimness, Denji's vision adjusted instantly.
Suddenly remembering something, he fished several folded pages out from between the sofa cushions. The paper felt like torn magazine pages.
Unfolding them revealed vivid colors—a swimsuit gravure spread of some unknown model.
"Heh heh~"
After chuckling, the familiar loneliness tried to creep back in and drown him. This time it didn't shake him—but the scene still pulled him into memories of his past self at this exact moment:
"If my dreams could come true… before I die, I just want to be with a woman once…"
That had been his nightly prayer back then.
Outside, rain suddenly poured down, the relentless tap-tap-tap drumming on the roof and windows.
Even after the rain stopped, Denji—starving and sleepless—lay awake, crushed by the weight of his debt.
He talked to himself, trying to push the cruel reality aside for a little while:
"…That's the one. That's the dream I'm gonna have tonight after I fall asleep…"
"Spreading jam on bread and eating it with Pochita… then cuddling with a woman…"
"Playing games together in the same room… falling asleep in her arms…"
…
The memory faded.
Denji let out a relieved laugh.
"What a… total dumbass I was~"
His dreams had always been so simple and pure.
His body's most primal desires had always pointed the way forward clearly.
Eat good food. Have a warm, stable home. And be intimate with women.
Even with world-altering power now, his dreams remained just as vulgar and humble.
The only change was that "intimate with one woman" had upgraded to "build a massive harem with lots of women."
My heart and actions are clear as a mirror (Schrödinger's mirror); everything I do is justice (my own definition).
The patter of rain announced another downpour on the way.
But this time, Denji savored the beautiful symphony of the rainy night and drifted peacefully into sleep…