Hope

In the spartan office of Kishibe, where the walls were lined with the bare essentials for devil hunting, Haruto sat slumped in a chair, his gaze lost to the ceiling. With a heavy sigh that seemed to draw from the depths of his soul, he disturbed the silence that Kishibe so often preferred.

Kishibe, his concentration interrupted, turned a sharp eye to the young hunter. "What's with the theatrics?" he asked, his voice a mix of irritation and curiosity.

Haruto, jolted from his reverie, fumbled with his words, a blush creeping up his neck. "It's just that... I think I'm in love," he confessed, the words tumbling out amidst a tangle of emotions.

Kishibe raised an eyebrow, a silent prompt for Haruto to continue.

Haruto stood up, pacing back and forth as he spoke. "It's Makima. She's incredible, isn't she? Strong, smart... and those eyes, they're like looking into the universe itself." His hands gestured wildly, mirroring the whirlwind of his thoughts.

Kishibe leaned back, crossing his arms with a grunt. "Love, huh? That's a heavy word for a young buck like you. And Makima?" He let out a skeptical chuckle. "You're swimming in deep waters, Haruto. Make sure you don't drown."

Haruto stopped pacing, his earnest eyes meeting Kishibe's seasoned ones. "I know it's... a lot. But I can't help it. She's all I think about."

With a sigh, Kishibe stood up, closing the distance between them. Placing a firm hand on Haruto's shoulder, he offered a rare, gentle piece of advice. "Feelings are part of being human. But don't let them cloud your judgment, especially not in our line of work. Understand?"

Haruto nodded, a mixture of appreciation and resolve settling in. "I understand," he said, a newfound maturity flickering to life within him. "Thanks, Kishibe."

As Haruto resumed his seat, the air between the mentor and pupil was now filled with an unspoken understanding. Kishibe returned to his work, and Haruto to his thoughts, each man contemplating the complex interplay between human emotion and the harrowing realities of their profession.

The office, once again, succumbed to Haruto's heavy sighs, a soundtrack to his daydreams about Makima. "And her short hair," he mused out loud, "It's so... unique. Just perfect, really."

Kishibe's patience, already hanging by a thread, finally snapped. The pen he'd been clicking incessantly broke under the strain of his grip. He stood abruptly, the chair scraping against the floor with a harsh sound that echoed Haruto's disruption of the peace.

Striding over to Haruto with a scowl that could curdle milk, Kishibe grabbed him by the collar of his shirt, lifting him with an ease that spoke of his strength and experience. "Enough!" he growled, his voice low but filled with an unmistakable edge of warning.

With a swift movement, Kishibe's leg shot out, connecting with Haruto's midsection just enough to propel him towards the door. Haruto, caught off guard by the sudden physical reprimand, stumbled out of the office, propelled by Kishibe's boot.

"Ya cállate," Kishibe barked, his voice a final punctuation to his actions as he slammed the office door shut, leaving Haruto in the silence of the corridor.

Haruto, now sprawled on the floor outside, clutched at his stomach, more wounded by the rejection than the kick. "Otra vez me sacó," he muttered to himself, a mix of disbelief and resignation in his voice. He slowly picked himself up, dusting off his clothes with a sheepish glance around to ensure no one had witnessed his unceremonious exit.

As he straightened up, a small, rueful smile played on his lips. "Guess I need to cool it with the Makima talk around Kishibe," he said to himself, acknowledging the lesson in restraint he'd just been served. With a shake of his head and a chuckle at his own expense, Haruto set off down the hallway, his spirits undampened by the ordeal.

Haruto, brushing off the dust from his earlier encounter, wandered through the labyrinthine corridors of the Public Safety Bureau, his spirits surprisingly high. He whistled a tune, the melody echoing softly against the stark, utilitarian walls. As he rounded a corner, lost in thought and the music of his own making, he nearly collided with the very subject of his daydreams—Makima.

Makima, ever composed, offered him a smile, her eyes meeting his with an unreadable expression. "It's good to see you, funny boy," she greeted, her voice smooth and unfaltering.

Haruto's heart skipped a beat, but her words quickly doused his excitement. "Funny boy? Did you... forget my name?" he asked, a hint of disappointment lacing his tone, his eyebrows knitting together in a mock frown.

Makima's smile didn't waver, but she tilted her head slightly, an acknowledgment of his reaction. "I apologize," she said, her tone even. "I tend to forget names easily. It's nothing personal."

Haruto seized the opportunity to dramatize the moment, clasping his hands over his heart as if wounded. "Ouch, Makima, that cuts deep," he said, his voice rich with exaggerated sorrow. "To think, my name isn't carved into your memory—it's like I'm just another face in the crowd to you."

Makima observed him for a moment, her smile widening just a fraction, amused by his theatrics. "Perhaps if you make a significant impact, I'll have no choice but to remember," she teased, a rare glimpse of playfulness peeking through her usually reserved demeanor.

Haruto straightened up, adopting a pose of determination, his previous drama forgotten. "Challenge accepted, Makima. You'll see, I'll be unforgettable from now on!" he declared, his tone brimming with newfound resolve.

Makima's laughter, soft and enigmatic, followed Haruto as he continued down the corridor, his spirits lifted by their exchange. He didn't just want to make an impact for the sake of being remembered; he genuinely desired to prove himself worthy of standing alongside hunters like Makima. And perhaps, just perhaps, make her smile like that again.

______

In the cramped confines of Kishibe's office, the air was thick with the scent of old paper and the undercurrent of tension that always accompanied the briefing of a new mission. Kishibe, leaning against his desk with an air of casual authority, addressed Haruto and Makima with a grim tone. "There's a possessed individual in one of the residential areas. You two need to go and eliminate the devil."

Haruto, his enthusiasm barely contained, couldn't help but ask, "Aren't you supposed to come with us on these missions?" His eyes were full of the eagerness that so often defined his approach to devil hunting.

Kishibe, with a smirk that suggested he found some amusement in defying expectations, shook his head. "Under normal circumstances, yes. But today, I have a very important matter to attend to," he said, his voice laced with a hint of sarcasm that didn't quite reach his eyes.

Before Haruto could press for details, Kishibe reached for a bottle of liquor stashed away in his drawer. Unscrewing the cap with practiced ease, he took a long swig, his gaze meeting Haruto's. "Getting drunk," he declared, as if it were a task of equal importance to their mission.

Haruto, unable to hide his disappointment, muttered under his breath, "Great example you're setting." Despite his reverence for Kishibe's skills as a hunter, moments like these reminded Haruto of the complexities and contradictions of the adults around him.

Turning on his heel, Haruto gestured to Makima with a nod. "Let's go, Makima." His voice carried a mix of determination and a slight irritation, eager to prove his worth on the field.

Makima followed, a subtle smile playing on her lips, amused by the interplay between her teammates. However, as they made their way out, Haruto's foot caught on an unseen obstacle, sending him tumbling forward with a crash that echoed embarrassingly through the silent office.

Kishibe, lifting his bottle in a mock salute, couldn't resist commenting, "What a way to impress." His voice carried a mix of jest and a hint of fondness for the young hunter's persistent, if clumsy, spirit.

Haruto, red-faced and scrambling to his feet, shot Kishibe a look that was both embarrassed and defiant. "Just watch," he said, his voice a mix of embarrassment and determination, "I'll show you."

As Haruto and Makima made their way through the bustling streets of Tokyo, the city seemed to pulse with life around them. The neon lights painted vibrant streaks across the pavement, and the sounds of the city filled the air with a constant, lively hum. Amidst this backdrop, Haruto walked with a buoyant step, fueled by the anticipation of the mission ahead.

Turning to Makima, he couldn't help but share his excitement. "You'll see me in action again, just like Superman," he declared, his voice brimming with confidence.

Makima, ever composed, cast a sidelong glance at him, a hint of curiosity in her expression. "Why do you like that hero so much?" she inquired, genuinely interested in his answer.

Haruto's pace slowed as he considered her question, his eyes reflecting a depth of feeling. "It's because he symbolizes hope," he began earnestly. "No matter how dark things get, Superman stands for the belief that things can get better. That's what I want to be—a source of hope in this world, fighting against the darkness."

Makima nodded, her smile subtle but genuine. "That's interesting," she said, her voice soft, indicating a rare moment of connection between them.

Caught up in his vision of the future, Haruto didn't immediately notice that Makima had stopped walking. She stood before a shop window, her gaze fixed on the array of desserts displayed behind the glass. Among them, a flan caught her attention, its caramel glaze shimmering under the shop's lights.

"What's that?" she asked, her curiosity piqued by the unfamiliar dessert.

Haruto, doubling back to her side, followed her gaze. "That's a flan," he explained, noting the way her eyes seemed to linger on it. "It's really delicious."

Makima's attention remained on the flan for a moment longer before she reluctantly turned away. "It looks delicious," she murmured, a trace of longing in her voice. Then, with a sigh, she added, "Goodbye, flan."

As they resumed their walk, Haruto, eager to get back on track, picked up the pace. Makima, however, wasn't quite ready to let the moment of levity pass. With a swift, playful move, she gave Haruto a light nudge, causing him to stumble slightly. "Come on," she said, a rare playful tone in her voice, "let's not keep the demons waiting."

Together, they continued on their way, the brief interlude serving as a reminder that even in a world shadowed by the threat of devils, moments of lightness and humanity could still find a way to shine through.

As Haruto and Makima approached the scene, the late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the residential street. The house at the center of their mission stood ominously quiet, cordoned off by police tape that fluttered gently in the breeze. A cluster of police officers stood guard outside, their expressions a mix of concern and wariness.

Walking up to the scene with determined strides, Haruto took the lead, his posture straightening as they neared the captain of the police. "I'm Haruto, and this is Makima. We're Devil Hunters," he introduced them confidently, despite the palpable tension in the air.

The captain, a seasoned officer with lines of experience etched into his face, gave them a skeptical look. "Aren't you a bit young to be Devil Hunters?" he asked, his tone carrying a hint of disbelief.

Haruto, undeterred, nodded eagerly. "Yes, yes we are," he admitted without a hint of shame. "But we're here to help."

The captain shrugged, seemingly resigned to the unusual situation. "Well, as you might already know, there's a possessed inside the house. But that's not all," he continued, his voice dropping to a more serious tone. "The owner, before he died, had a son. We believe he might still be inside."

Without missing a beat, Haruto responded with a volume that echoed down the street, "We'll save them!" His voice was filled with a blend of youthful zeal and determination.

Makima, ever the embodiment of calm, turned to Haruto with a gentle reprimand. "Haruto, remember not to shout," she reminded him softly, her eyes conveying a mixture of patience and mild admonishment.

Flushing with embarrassment, Haruto lowered his head slightly. "Oh, right, sorry," he mumbled, his voice now a stark contrast to the bold proclamation he had made moments before.

The captain, observing the exchange with a mixture of amusement and skepticism, simply shrugged once more. "Well, go on then," he said, stepping aside to let them pass through the police cordon.

As they crossed the threshold into the property, the atmosphere seemed to shift. The playful banter and the bustling street behind them gave way to a heavy silence that enveloped the house. The setting sun cast a golden glow over the scene, its light struggling to penetrate the gloom that lingered around the home.

Haruto and Makima moved with cautious steps, their senses heightened to any sign of the demonic presence within. Despite the bravado Haruto had shown earlier, his movements now were measured, a reflection of the gravity of their task. Makima, for her part, remained an enigma, her expression unreadable but her focus unwavering as they prepared to confront whatever awaited them inside.

The wooden hallway of the house creaked under their feet, each step echoing through the still, dusty air. This home, once filled with life, now felt abandoned to time, its walls peeling and the once vibrant colors faded to a dull, forgotten hue. The late afternoon light barely filtered through the grimy windows, casting long shadows that seemed to dance with every flicker of movement.

As they advanced, the silence was suddenly shattered by the scurrying of a mouse darting across the hallway, its tiny feet skittering right past Haruto's. With a reaction that surprised even himself, Haruto let out a yelp and "AHHHHHHHH". In a moment of pure instinct, wrapped his arms around Makima, seeking refuge from his unexpected fear.

Makima, taken aback by the sudden embrace, raised an eyebrow. "Haruto, don't tell me you're afraid of mice," she said, her voice tinged with both amusement and disbelief.

Haruto, still clinging to her, stuttered out an explanation, his words tumbling over each other in his haste. "It's not just any fear! You see, when I was a kid, my cousin told me that mice are actually spies for larger, scarier creatures, waiting to report back so they can all come and... you know, get me in my sleep." His voice was earnest, even as he realized the absurdity of his childhood fear being spoken aloud.

As the reality of his position dawned on him, Haruto's eyes widened, and he quickly let go of Makima, a deep blush coloring his cheeks. "I—uh, sorry about that," he mumbled, taking a step back, his gaze shifting awkwardly away from her.

The moment was interrupted as a door beside them creaked open, and a young boy, no more than ten, stepped out into the hallway. His eyes, wide and uncertain, fixed on Haruto and Makima as he posed a question that seemed too heavy for his years. "Are you... good people?"

Haruto, his spirit undeterred by the recent embarrassment, responded with a vigor that echoed down the hall. "We are!"

Makima, with a gentle but firm tone, reminded him, "Haruto, no shouting." Her gaze softened as she turned back to the boy, awaiting his response.

"Ah, sorry," Haruto quickly added, lowering his voice and offering the boy a reassuring smile, an attempt to embody the hope and protection he so admired in his favorite hero. The quiet of the house seemed to close in around them again, awaiting the boy's trust in their promise of safety.

They stepped into the room from which the boy had emerged, a small, cluttered space that bore the hallmarks of a lived-in and loved home. Toys were scattered about, and drawings, possibly the boy's own, adorned the walls. The room, despite its disarray, felt like a sanctuary in the midst of the house's oppressive atmosphere.

The boy, his small frame dwarfed by the surroundings, began to recount his story. "My dad started acting weird this morning. He scared me... he tried to attack me, but I ran away and hid here." His voice was a mix of fear and defiance, a child forced too soon into the realities of a cruel world. "I don't want to leave the house because I don't want to leave my dad alone."

Haruto knelt beside him, offering a comforting hand atop the boy's head. "Everything will be okay," he assured him with a gentle firmness that seemed to belie his earlier fear of mice. "We'll take care of the rest."

Standing, Haruto's gaze lingered on the photographs displayed around the room—snapshots of happier times, the boy and his father smiling back at him from a past untouched by the present darkness. It was a silent promise to the boy that he intended to keep.

As he moved towards the door, Haruto paused, turning back to the boy with a reassuring smile. "You can come out now. There are police officers outside; they'll look after you. We'll handle your father," he said, his voice imbued with the conviction of someone who had found their purpose.

The boy, after a moment's hesitation, nodded, a flicker of hope lighting up his features. He slowly stood, his movements hesitant but spurred on by the trust he placed in Haruto's words.

Makima, who had remained silent, observing the exchange with her usual inscrutable gaze, gave the boy a nod of encouragement. Together, Haruto and Makima exited the room, their steps measured and purposeful as they prepared to confront whatever awaited them. Behind them, the boy took a deep breath before stepping out of his sanctuary, his small figure emerging into the corridor, where the police awaited to take him into safety.

As they navigated through the dimly lit corridors of the house, the atmosphere thick with the weight of unseen threats, Makima's voice broke the silence, her tone light yet carrying an undercurrent of seriousness. "Why did you lie to the boy, Haruto? You know his father is gone, his body possessed by a demon. There's no saving him now."

Haruto, taken aback by the question, paused in his steps, turning to face Makima. The shadows cast by the failing light danced across his face, mirroring the conflict within. "He needs hope, Makima," he replied, his voice firm, believing fully in the righteousness of his actions. "Without it, what's left for him?"

Makima's smile didn't falter, but her eyes, sharp and penetrating, fixed on Haruto. "But that's lying," she pointed out, her voice calm but insistent. "And when the boy learns the truth, it will only make things harder for him."

The debate unfolded as they continued their cautious advance through the house, stepping over broken fragments of a life once whole. The air felt stagnant, heavy with the scent of decay and the palpable presence of something malevolent lurking just out of sight.

Haruto, grappling with the complexity of the situation, gestured emphatically, his movements a reflection of his inner turmoil. "Sometimes, a lie can be kinder than the truth. If it gives him the strength to move forward, then isn't it worth it?"

Makima stopped, facing him directly. "Kindness built on a lie is a fragile thing, Haruto," she countered, her voice steady. "The truth might be painful, but it's real. The boy will have to face it eventually, and it might break him more if he feels betrayed by those he trusted."

Haruto's shoulders slumped, the weight of Makima's words pressing down on him. He looked away, his gaze settling on the peeling paint and the dust-covered surfaces that surrounded them. The silence between them stretched, filled only by the soft creaks of the house settling around them.

Finally, Haruto spoke, his voice softer, reflective. "Maybe you're right," he conceded, the admission difficult but honest. "But in this moment, I wanted to give him something to hold onto. Even if it's just for a little while longer."

Makima regarded him for a moment, her expression softening. "Your heart is in the right place, Haruto. But we must be careful not to let our desires cloud the reality of our duty."

With a nod of understanding, Haruto agreed, the resolve in his eyes reigniting as they turned their attention back to the task at hand. Together, they moved forward, the darkness of the house seeming to press in around them, a reminder of the grim reality they faced.

Upon entering the father's room, Haruto and Makima were met with a sight that chilled the blood. The man they had been sent to save was no longer recognizable as human. His mouth was smeared with blood, a grotesque horn protruding from where his forehead once was. The creature that had taken over the man's body hissed at them, "Are you debt collectors? Ah, I'll kill you, I'll kill all of you."

Makima, ever calm in the face of horror, turned to Haruto. "What will you do? Will you summon the Judgment Devil again?"

Haruto shook his head, a grave expression on his face. "No, I can't use it all the time. There's a limit," he admitted, acknowledging the constraints of his pact.

Understanding his predicament, Makima readied herself to act, her hand shaping into a gun as she aimed at the possessed man. But Haruto reached out, stopping her with a firm grip. "Don't do it, whatever you're planning. I promised the boy I'd help his father," he implored, desperation lacing his voice.

Makima, her hand still poised to strike, looked at him intently. "His father is dead. What stands before us is merely a demon."

But Haruto, fueled by a belief that defied logic, countered, "You're wrong. His soul is still there." Pulling out his small Bible, he quickly sliced his thumb on his teeth and let a drop of blood fall onto the sacred text. "I will be the one to judge you," he declared, his voice echoing with a conviction that seemed to transcend the room itself.

Suddenly, chains burst forth from the ground, winding tightly around the demon, restraining its movements. The air crackled with an unseen energy, the very fabric of the room seeming to bend under the weight of the judgment being called forth.

As Haruto advanced toward the writhing, cursing demon, the air was thick with tension and unspoken despair. With a determined step, he reached out and touched the horn protruding from the demon's forehead with his blood-covered thumb. Instantly, a flood of memories washed over him, vivid and heart-wrenchingly personal.

He saw Rentaro, the man the demon had possessed, in happier times: playing with his son in a park, laughter filling the air. Then, the scenes shifted to darker moments: Rentaro overwhelmed by mounting debts, the crushing news of his wife's death, and the despair that followed. More debts piled up, yet amidst the turmoil, there were still moments of joy with his son. Finally, the memories led to this morning, a broken Rentaro ingesting a lethal dose of pills, seeking an escape from his unbearable reality.

Haruto stepped back, his heart heavy with the weight of what he'd seen. "You were a good father, Rentaro," he said softly, addressing the tormented soul before him. "But in losing hope, you left your son alone. Despite everything, you deserve to rest in peace."

With those words, the body of Rentaro underwent a transformation. The demonic distortion receded, revealing his true human form for the first time since his possession. His body, now lifeless but free from the demon's corruption, collapsed to the floor, a peaceful expression replacing the torment that had marred his face. The chains that had bound the demon vanished as Haruto closed his Bible, the room falling silent except for the quiet breaths of the two Devil Hunters.

Makima, witnessing the scene unfold, finally spoke. "I didn't know you could do that," she remarked, a note of genuine surprise in her voice.

Haruto, looking down at the Bible in his hands, responded, "It's part of the power of the Judgment Devil. I can judge them myself, but only if they're not too strong." His voice carried a mix of humility and a newfound understanding of his own abilities.

The room felt lighter somehow, the oppressive air lifted with the exorcism of the demon. They had come to confront a threat, but in doing so, Haruto had also granted peace to a soul tormented beyond death. It was a stark reminder of the complex nature of their work—where lines between right and wrong, justice and mercy, often blurred.

As they stepped out of the house, the weight of their encounter with Rentaro and his fate seemed to linger in the air between them. Makima, ever composed, turned to Haruto with a resolve in her eyes. "I'll relay the details to the captain," she said, her tone indicating she was ready to handle the formalities of their grim task.

Haruto nodded, his mind already on the next immediate concern—the son who awaited news of his father. With a heavy heart, he made his way to the ambulance parked outside, where the boy sat wrapped in a blanket, his eyes wide and filled with a tumultuous mix of fear, sadness, and the faintest glimmer of hope.

Approaching the boy, Haruto crouched down to meet his gaze directly. "We... we took care of the demon," he began, choosing his words with care. "Your father... he's at peace now."

The boy's eyes brimmed with tears, a silent understanding passing between them. "I'm sad he's gone, but... but I'm glad he can rest now. Thank you," he managed to say, his voice quivering with the effort to stay strong.

Haruto placed a gentle hand on the boy's shoulder, offering a comfort that went beyond words. "There's always a tomorrow," he said softly. "Today, it's okay to cry. Let it all out, as much as you need. But don't give up. Your father would want you to keep moving forward, to find happiness again."

With those parting words, Haruto stood, his heart aching for the boy but also filled with a sense of duty fulfilled. He turned to find Makima, who had finished speaking with the police captain. Walking over to her, he asked, "Shall we go?"

Makima, observing the exchange from afar, offered Haruto a smile that held a rare warmth. She nodded, her agreement signaling not just the end of their mission but also a recognition of the small yet significant impact they had made. Together, they walked away from the scene, the setting sun casting long shadows behind them as they moved on to whatever challenges awaited them next.

As they walked away from the scene, Haruto shared with Makima the visions he had witnessed within Rentaro, the moments of joy and despair that had defined the man's life. His voice was low, tinged with the reverence and sadness of the memories he had briefly lived through the touch of a horn and a drop of blood.

They paused in their conversation as Haruto stopped in front of a shop window, the same one that had caught Makima's attention earlier. Inside, an array of desserts was displayed, the flan she had admired now seemed to call out to them, a small beacon of normalcy after the day's shadows.

Haruto turned to Makima, a smile spreading across his face, a lightness in his eyes that had been absent moments before. "We deserve a reward," he declared, nodding towards the flan with a kind of boyish enthusiasm.

Makima's response was immediate, her usual composed demeanor giving way to a genuine spark of delight. "Now, I definitely won't forget your name, Haruto," she said, her voice carrying a warmth and a hint of playfulness.

The moment was brief, a fleeting reprieve in the life of Devil Hunters, yet it was a poignant reminder of the humanity they fought to preserve. As they stepped into the shop, the world outside—with its demons and debts, its grief and loss—faded momentarily, allowing them a taste of something sweet and simple. It was a small victory, not just against the darkness they battled but for the life they dared to cherish amidst it all.