denji1 f

Chapter 1: The Daily Grind

Denji's life was a bleak, endless grind.

The morning light filtered weakly through the grimy, cracked window of his dilapidated apartment, illuminating dancing dust particles and the sorry state of his existence. A steady drip from the ceiling had formed a small puddle on the floor—the third new leak this week. The landlord had stopped answering Denji's calls months ago.

"Another beautiful day in paradise," Denji muttered sarcastically, peeling himself off the thin, stained mattress that served as his bed. His back ached from the springs poking through the worn fabric, adding to the general misery that constituted his daily life.

From the corner of the room came a small, concerned whine. Pochita—the chainsaw devil that had become Denji's only friend and companion—watched him with worried button eyes. The small, orange dog-like creature with a chainsaw protruding from its face tilted its head sympathetically.

"Don't look at me like that, buddy." Denji attempted a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "It's not so bad. At least we have a roof, even if it leaks in seventeen places."

Pochita made another small noise, unconvinced.

Denji shuffled to the sink, which dripped constantly despite his best attempts to fix it with duct tape and wishful thinking. The mirror above it was cracked, offering a fractured reflection of his gaunt face. Dark circles underlined his eyes, and his blonde hair stuck out in disheveled tufts. He looked older than his nineteen years—life had not been kind.

"Breakfast time," he announced with forced cheerfulness, opening the mini-refrigerator that hummed loudly in the corner. Inside was a half loaf of bread spotted with blue-green mold and a carton of milk that had expired two weeks ago. "Gourmet selections as usual."

Carefully cutting away the moldiest parts of the bread, Denji divided what remained between himself and Pochita. He chewed mechanically, barely tasting the stale bread as he mentally calculated his finances.

"Let's see... we have..." He emptied his pockets onto the wobbly table, counting the meager collection of coins. "Four hundred and thirty-seven yen. Not even enough for instant ramen."

Pochita nudged his leg sympathetically.

"Yeah, I know. Devil hunting day again." Denji sighed, reaching down to pat Pochita's head. "Maybe we'll get lucky and find something worth killing that actually pays decent money."

A thunderous pounding at the door made both of them jump.

"OPEN UP, YOU WORTHLESS BRAT!" The voice belonged to one of the many debt collectors who seemed to take turns making Denji's life hell. "PAYMENT'S DUE TODAY!"

Denji glanced at Pochita, keeping his voice low. "Back window?"

The chainsaw devil nodded, already moving toward their practiced escape route.

"Coming! Just give me a second!" Denji called toward the door, buying time as he grabbed his worn jacket. The pounding continued as he silently slid the window open and helped Pochita through before squeezing out himself.

The narrow ledge outside the window connected to a rusty fire escape that groaned under even Denji's slight weight. They descended as quietly as possible, jumping the last few feet to the alley below just as they heard the apartment door being kicked in above.

"That's the third door this month," Denji muttered as they hurried away. "Guess we're using the window entrance exclusively now."

The slums of the city were a labyrinth of despair—crumbling buildings covered in graffiti, trash-filled alleys populated by feral cats and rats, and the occasional passed-out drunk. This was Denji's world, a place where hope came to die slowly of neglect and exposure.

"You know what I dream about, Pochita?" Denji asked as they navigated the familiar maze of back streets, heading toward the yakuza office where they might find work. "Toast. Not moldy bread, but actual toast with butter. And jam. Raspberry jam."

Pochita trotted alongside him, listening intently as he always did to Denji's ramblings.

"And I'd eat it in an apartment with no leaks. Maybe even one with hot water." Denji kicked an empty can, watching it clatter down the alley. "And someday, I'm gonna touch a boob. Just once. Is that too much to ask from life?"

A group of children playing with a deflated soccer ball scattered as they approached, eyeing Pochita with a mixture of fear and fascination. Devil companions weren't common, and Pochita's chainsaw nose was particularly distinctive.

"Don't worry, he doesn't bite," Denji assured them, but they kept their distance anyway. He was used to it—being avoided was the story of his life.

The yakuza office was actually a run-down pachinko parlor with a back room where the real business took place. The electronic jingles and flashing lights of the machines provided cover for the hushed conversations and occasional screams from behind the nondescript door marked "Staff Only."

The guard at the door—a burly man with tattoos creeping up his neck from beneath his cheap suit—recognized Denji immediately.

"Chainsaw kid," he grunted. "Here for work?"

"Got anything that pays actual money today?" Denji asked, trying to sound casual despite his desperation.

The guard snorted. "Beggars can't be choosers. Wait here."

Five minutes later, Denji was seated across from Takeo, the yakuza lieutenant who handled the devil hunters. Takeo was a thin man with expensive glasses and manicured nails who managed to look perpetually bored and mildly disgusted.

"We've got a Needle Devil causing problems at the abandoned textile factory," Takeo said without preamble, sliding a wrinkled photo across the desk. The blurry image showed something vaguely humanoid with what appeared to be thousands of needles protruding from its body. "Three thousand yen if you bring back proof of the kill."

"Three thousand?" Denji protested. "That's barely enough for food for the week!"

Takeo's expression didn't change. "Take it or leave it. There's five other hunters who would be happy for this job."

Denji bit back his frustration. "Fine. I'll take it."

"Wise choice." Takeo's smile didn't reach his eyes. "Oh, and Ozaki-san asked about your payment schedule. You're behind again."

Denji tensed. Ozaki was the loan shark who held most of his father's debt—the reason he was stuck in this endless cycle of poverty and desperation.

"I'll have something for him by the end of the week," he promised.

"You'd better. He mentioned something about being interested in your remaining kidney." Takeo delivered this threat with the same bored tone he used to discuss the weather. "One is all you need, right? And they pay well overseas."

Denji's hand unconsciously moved to his side, where the scar from his last "donation" was still pink and tender. "Tell him he'll get his money."

"See that he does."

The textile factory was on the outskirts of the city, a hulking concrete structure with broken windows that resembled missing teeth in a diseased mouth. The sun was beginning to set as Denji and Pochita approached, casting long shadows that seemed to reach for them like grasping fingers.

"Alright, buddy, you know the drill," Denji said, kneeling beside Pochita. "Quick in and out. Find the devil, do the thing, get paid. Try not to get stabbed by needle things this time."

Pochita nodded solemnly, the engine inside him giving a soft purr of readiness.

The interior of the factory was a maze of rusting machinery and rotting fabric bolts. Their footsteps echoed in the cavernous space, despite Denji's attempts to move quietly. He held a flashlight in one hand, its beam cutting through the gathering darkness like a dull knife.

"Come out, come out, wherever you are," Denji whispered, more to calm his own nerves than any expectation of response.

A skittering sound came from above—like dozens of metal points clicking against concrete. Denji swung his flashlight up just in time to catch a glimpse of something scuttling across the rafters.

"There!" he hissed to Pochita. "Ready?"

Before the chainsaw devil could respond, the Needle Devil dropped from the ceiling, landing just feet away. Up close, it was even more grotesque than the photo suggested—a writhing mass of needles with glowing red eyes and a mouth full of needle-teeth that clicked together in apparent anticipation.

"Pochita, now!" Denji yelled, grabbing the cord that protruded from his partner's body and yanking it hard.

With a mechanical roar, Pochita's chainsaw nose revved to life. The small devil launched itself at the larger threat, spinning blades slicing through the first wave of needle projectiles the creature fired at them.

Denji ducked behind a rusting loom as more needles embedded themselves in the floor where he'd been standing. The fight was chaotic and brief—Pochita's whirring chainsaw against the Needle Devil's projectile attacks and slashing limbs.

When it was over, Denji emerged cautiously from his hiding place. The Needle Devil lay in pieces, its body already beginning to dissolve into the strange ash that all devils became upon death. Pochita stood victorious but wounded, several needles protruding from his small body.

"Good job, buddy," Denji said softly, carefully removing the needles one by one. "Let's get that payment and find something to eat that isn't actively growing new life forms."

The proof of kill—a jar containing the Needle Devil's glowing eyes—earned them the promised three thousand yen. Denji splurged on actual fresh food: a small carton of rice, some vegetables that were only slightly wilted, and a tiny portion of cheap beef. In his world, this constituted a feast.

Back in their apartment (entering through the window due to the now-broken door), Denji cooked their meal on the hotplate that served as their kitchen. The smell of actual cooking food was so rare in the tiny space that it seemed almost surreal.

"See, Pochita? Things aren't so bad," Denji said, dividing the food onto two chipped plates. "We've got dinner, a roof, and each other. Some people don't even have that much."

Pochita made a small noise that might have been agreement but sounded more like concern.

"Yeah, I know," Denji sighed, his momentary optimism fading. "Ozaki still wants his payment, the ceiling's still leaking, and we're still one bad day away from total disaster. But hey—at least we're not hungry tonight."

They ate in companionable silence, the sounds of the slum providing their dinner music—distant sirens, a couple arguing in the apartment above, the occasional gunshot far enough away to not be an immediate concern.

After dinner, Denji treated Pochita's wounds with their dwindling first-aid supplies before tending to his own scrapes and bruises. It was their post-hunt ritual, a moment of care in lives that saw precious little of it.

Night fell, bringing with it a gentle rain that found new ways to leak through the ceiling. Denji positioned buckets and pots to catch the worst of it before settling onto his mattress, Pochita curled up at his side.

"Tomorrow will be better," he murmured, more habit than belief. "We'll find a bigger devil with a bigger bounty. Maybe even enough to pay off some of the debt."

Sleep came reluctantly, filled with dreams of warm meals and dry rooms and a life where survival wasn't a daily battle. It wasn't much to ask for, really—just the basics that others took for granted. But in Denji's world, even these modest dreams seemed hopelessly out of reach.

At least he had Pochita. As long as they were together, they could face whatever the next day brought.

Little did he know that the next day would bring something far beyond his wildest imagination.

Chapter 2: The Circle's Glow

The following evening found Denji trudging through the rain-slick streets, his shoulders hunched against the persistent drizzle. The day had been particularly miserable—no devil hunting jobs available, a close call with another debt collector, and a failed attempt to sell his blood (apparently, his iron levels were too low for the clinic's standards).

"Can this day get any worse?" he muttered to Pochita, who trotted loyally alongside him despite the rain soaking into his fur-like exterior.

As if in answer, the heavens opened up, transforming the drizzle into a downpour. Denji swore creatively, ducking under the sagging awning of a closed convenience store.

"Perfect. Just perfect," he sighed, wringing water from his sodden jacket. "Guess we're taking the long way home to avoid drowning."

The "long way" meant navigating the labyrinthine back alleys that wound through the slum district. Denji knew these passages well—which ones were relatively safe, which housed territorial gang members, which were favored by the more dangerous devils that sometimes prowled the city's shadows.

The rain had driven most people indoors, leaving the narrow pathways eerily deserted. Their footsteps echoed between the close-set buildings, accompanied by the constant patter of raindrops and the occasional drip from overflowing gutters.

"At least the rain keeps the smell down," Denji remarked, always searching for that elusive silver lining. The slums usually reeked of garbage and despair, but the clean scent of rain temporarily masked the worst of it.

They turned down an unfamiliar alley—a detour forced by a collapsed building blocking their usual route. The passage was narrower than most, barely wide enough for two people to walk abreast, with walls of crumbling concrete rising high on either side.

"Stay close," Denji warned Pochita unnecessarily. The chainsaw devil never strayed far from his side.

Halfway down the alley, the rain suddenly slackened, as though reluctant to fall on this particular spot. The clouds parted momentarily, allowing a shaft of moonlight to penetrate the gloom. The silver light illuminated something on the ground ahead—something that made Denji stop in his tracks, eyes widening in surprise.

"What the hell is that?" he breathed, stepping cautiously closer.

Covering almost the entire width of the alley was an intricate circular design that seemed to have been burned or etched into the cracked asphalt. Complex geometric patterns spiraled outward from a central point, interspersed with strange symbols that Denji couldn't begin to identify. The entire thing had to be at least fifteen feet in diameter.

"Some crazy bastard made cool graffiti!" Denji exclaimed, momentarily forgetting his miserable day in the face of this unexpected discovery.

Pochita, however, didn't share his enthusiasm. The small devil growled softly, backing away from the circle with obvious unease.

"What's wrong, buddy?" Denji asked, glancing down at his companion. "It's just some weird art thing. Probably done by one of those foreign students from the university."

The university was miles away, in a part of the city Denji rarely visited—a world of libraries and laboratories and people with futures brighter than survival. But occasionally, art students ventured into the slums, drawn by what they called its "authentic urban decay aesthetic." Denji found their fascination with his misery both amusing and irritating.

He stepped closer to examine the circle, noticing details that suddenly seemed strange. The lines were too precise to have been drawn freehand, too deeply etched to be paint or chalk. And most curiously, they appeared to be... glowing? A faint luminescence pulsed within the etched lines, barely perceptible but definitely there.

"That's weird," Denji murmured, kneeling for a closer look. "How'd they make it glow like that?"

Pochita's growling grew more insistent. The chainsaw devil tugged at Denji's pant leg, trying to pull him away from the circle.

"Relax, it's just some fancy light-up paint or something," Denji said, though he wasn't entirely convinced. Something about the circle felt old—ancient even—despite its pristine appearance. It was as though the design had always been there, waiting beneath the surface until some unknown force revealed it.

The moonlight intensified, bathing the circle in silver light that seemed to make the etched lines pulse more strongly in response. The glow deepened from subtle to unmistakable, a soft golden radiance that illuminated Denji's fascinated face from below.

"Whoa..." he breathed. "This is the coolest thing I've ever seen!"

Pochita was practically frantic now, yanking harder at Denji's pants, making distressed noises that would have been clear to anyone less enthralled than Denji currently was.

"I wonder what happens if I touch it," Denji mused, reaching out a curious hand.

Pochita let out a sound that was perilously close to human speech—a desperate "No!" that fell just short of actual words.

But it was too late. Denji's fingers brushed the outermost ring of the circle, sending a visible ripple through the golden light. The glow intensified dramatically, pulsing like a heartbeat.

"This is awesome!" Denji grinned, utterly failing to grasp the significance of what was happening. "Maybe it's some kind of interactive art installation!"

Emboldened by the lack of immediate consequences, he stood and stepped fully into the circle, dragging the reluctant Pochita with him.

"Come on, buddy. Don't be scared—it's just lights!"

The moment both of them stood in the center of the circle, everything changed. The golden glow flared blindingly bright, shooting upward in a pillar of light that pierced the night sky. The etched lines began to rotate, inner and outer rings moving in opposite directions like the workings of some cosmic clock.

"Okay, maybe this isn't art," Denji admitted, suddenly nervous as the ground beneath his feet started to vibrate. He tried to step back, but found himself unable to move—as though his feet were glued to the center of the now-spinning circle. "Pochita, what's happening?!"

The chainsaw devil had given up struggling and now pressed against Denji's leg, as if accepting that whatever was coming, they would face it together.

The air around them crackled with energy, making Denji's hair stand on end and his skin tingle uncomfortably. The pillar of light expanded, forming a dome of golden energy that enclosed them completely, cutting them off from the outside world.

Within this dome, strange symbols began to materialize—floating in the air, spinning slowly around them like the text of some alien language. They glowed with different colors: blue, red, green, and purple, each set of symbols distinct from the others.

"I think..." Denji gulped, watching as the symbols began to coalesce into more substantial forms, "this might be some kind of devil thing."

But it wasn't devils that were forming within the golden dome. The symbols were gathering, compressing, taking humanoid shape. Four distinct figures were materializing—one at each cardinal direction around Denji and Pochita.

The air pressure changed suddenly, making Denji's ears pop painfully. There was a sound like distant thunder, growing rapidly closer until it culminated in a deafening boom that shook the entire alley. The golden dome shattered like glass, fragments of light dissolving into the night air.

And there they stood—four figures that definitely hadn't been there before. Four women, to be precise. Four impossibly beautiful, imposingly powerful women whose very presence seemed to alter the reality around them.

Denji blinked rapidly, convinced he must be hallucinating. People didn't just appear out of thin air, especially not people who looked like... well, like them.

The woman directly in front of him stepped forward first. She was tall and graceful, with golden-blonde hair braided elegantly at the side. Her violet eyes regarded him with a serene intensity that made Denji want to check if his clothes were clean (they weren't). She wore gleaming silver armor over a black and blue battle dress and carried what appeared to be an enormous battle standard.

"I, Servant Ruler, have answered the summons," she spoke, her voice clear as crystal and carrying a subtle accent Denji couldn't place. "I ask of you—are you my Master?"

Before Denji could even begin to formulate a response to this bizarre question, the woman to his right stepped forward. She was shorter than the first, with a petite but powerful build. Her blonde hair was tied back simply, and her green eyes assessed him with the calculating gaze of someone who had led armies. She wore blue and silver armor that gleamed even in the dim light of the alley.

"Servant Saber," she stated with regal authority. "I have come in response to your call. I ask again—are you to be our Master in this War?"

"W-war?" Denji stammered, thoroughly confused. "What war? I didn't call anybody!"

The third woman let out a melodious laugh, stepping forward with theatrical flair. She was the shortest of the four, dressed in an elaborate crimson and white outfit that combined elements of ancient Roman design with what appeared to be a wedding dress. Her blonde hair was styled in an elegant bun, and her green eyes sparkled with amusement.

"Umu! Such a confused Master we have! Fear not, for the radiant Emperor Nero has arrived to illuminate your path! The bride form has answered your earnest wish!"

The fourth woman remained slightly back from the others. She was tall and statuesque, with long purple hair and a maternal smile that somehow managed to be simultaneously comforting and terrifying. Her outfit resembled a modified kimono, revealing enough to make Denji blush and look away quickly.

"Servant Berserker," she introduced herself, her voice surprisingly gentle. "I have come to protect you, my child."

"I'm not a child," Denji said automatically, then mentally kicked himself for focusing on that detail out of everything happening. "Look, I think there's been some kind of mistake. I didn't summon anyone. I was just checking out this cool glowing circle thing."

The four women exchanged glances.

"The summoning circle is ancient," the one called Ruler observed. "Not the standard form used in modern Holy Grail Wars."

"Indeed," agreed Saber. "And to summon four Servants simultaneously... most irregular."

"Umu! But not impossible for a Master of exceptional quality!" Nero declared, beaming at Denji as though he'd accomplished something remarkable.

"Um, what's a Servant? And a Master? And what's this Holy Grail War thing you keep mentioning?" Denji asked, feeling increasingly out of his depth.

Pochita had emerged from behind Denji's legs and was cautiously sniffing in the direction of the four women, apparently deciding they weren't an immediate threat.

The purple-haired Berserker immediately knelt down, her expression softening further. "What an unusual familiar. Come here, little one. You must be hungry."

To Denji's surprise, Pochita actually approached her, allowing Berserker to pet his head gently. Even more surprisingly, she produced a small rice ball from somewhere within her outfit and offered it to the chainsaw devil, who accepted it eagerly.

"He's not actually a familiar," Denji said. "He's my partner. Pochita's a chainsaw devil."

"A devil?" Ruler's expression sharpened with interest. "You form contracts with demons?"

"Not exactly. He's just... we look out for each other. Have for years."

Saber had been examining their surroundings with increasing disapproval. "This area is strategically vulnerable. We should relocate to a more defensible position before discussing details."

"Umu! The Emperor agrees! These surroundings are utterly unsuited to one of my magnificence!" Nero struck another dramatic pose. "Lead us to your fortress, Master!"

"My... fortress?" Denji repeated blankly.

"Your home," Ruler clarified kindly. "Where you reside."

"Oh." Denji felt a flush of embarrassment creeping up his neck. "It's not exactly a fortress. Or, you know, nice. Or big enough for five people and a chainsaw devil."

"Nevertheless, it would be wiser than remaining exposed in this alley," Saber insisted. "Lead on, Master."

There was something in her tone that brooked no argument. Denji found himself nodding agreement before he'd even decided to do so.

"Fine, but don't say I didn't warn you." He looked down at Pochita, who was finishing the last of Berserker's rice ball with evident enjoyment. "Come on, buddy. Apparently we're having... guests?"

As they exited the alley, Denji became acutely aware of how strange their group must appear—four women in elaborate costumes following a scruffy young man and his chainsaw pet through the slums. But the streets remained eerily empty, as though the normal inhabitants of the area were instinctively avoiding whatever power had just manifested.

"So..." Denji began awkwardly as they walked, "do you all have actual names? Besides these Servant titles, I mean?"

"I am Jeanne d'Arc," Ruler replied. "In life, I led the French army against English occupation before being burned as a heretic."

"Wait, like, the Joan of Arc? From history?" Denji's limited education did include some knowledge of famous historical figures. "But that was hundreds of years ago!"

"Indeed. As Heroic Spirits, we exist outside normal time," Jeanne explained patiently. "We are summoned from the Throne of Heroes when called."

"I am Artoria Pendragon," Saber introduced herself. "Known in your legends as King Arthur of Britain."

Denji stumbled slightly. "King Arthur was a woman?"

"History often simplifies complex truths," Artoria replied with dignity. "It was necessary for me to be perceived as male during my reign."

"I am Nero Claudius Caesar Augustus Germanicus!" the woman in red announced grandly. "Fifth Emperor of Rome, though your histories often portray me unfairly. You may worship me as Emperor, or simply Nero if you prefer a more intimate connection, umu!"

"And I am Minamoto no Raikou," the purple-haired woman said. "I served as the leader of the Four Heavenly Kings in ancient Japan."

Denji's head was spinning. "So you're all... dead people? Ghosts?"

"Heroic Spirits," Jeanne corrected gently. "Legends given form through the summoning ritual. We are more than mere ghosts, but less than fully human."

"And I accidentally summoned all four of you by stepping in a weird glowing circle?"

"It appears so," Artoria confirmed. "Though typically, a Master summons only one Servant for the Holy Grail War. This situation is highly irregular."

"You keep mentioning this war thing. What exactly is a Holy Grail War?"

"A battle between seven Masters and their summoned Servants for possession of the Holy Grail—an omnipotent wish-granting device," Jeanne explained.

"A wish? Like, anything I want?" Denji's mind immediately raced to warm apartments, decent food, and yes, definitely touching a boob at some point.

"Within certain limitations," Artoria cautioned. "But first, we must determine if a proper Grail War is even underway in this timeline. The method of our summoning suggests otherwise."

By this time, they had reached Denji's apartment building—a crumbling concrete structure covered in graffiti, with several windows boarded up and a distinct odor of mildew permeating the air. Denji led them up the stairs, wincing at every creaking step and piece of peeling wallpaper.

"Remember what I said about it not being nice?" he reminded them as they reached his door—or rather, where his door should have been. The debt collector's earlier visit had left it hanging from one hinge. "Oh great, they broke in again."

"This is where you live?" Nero asked, her voice mixing horror and fascination.

Denji pushed the damaged door aside, revealing his tiny, dilapidated apartment in all its squalid glory. The ceiling was still leaking in multiple places, with mismatched containers catching the drips. The mattress in the corner had seen better days—probably in the previous decade. The hotplate that served as his kitchen sat precariously on a milk crate, and his few possessions were stored in cardboard boxes that showed signs of previous water damage.

"Home sweet home," he said with a grimace, suddenly seeing the place through their eyes and feeling a sharp stab of shame. "Told you it wasn't fancy."

The four Servants entered cautiously, each reacting in their own way. Artoria maintained a diplomatic neutrality, though her lips tightened slightly. Jeanne's expression showed compassion without pity—a subtle distinction Denji appreciated. Nero looked around with theatrical dismay, hands on her cheeks as though witnessing a tragedy. And Raikou...

"UNACCEPTABLE!" The purple-haired woman's voice thundered suddenly, making everyone jump. Her maternal aura darkened to something more dangerous. "No child should live in such conditions! This environment is harmful to proper development and basic dignity!"

"I keep telling you, I'm not a child," Denji protested weakly.

"You are nineteen, yes? A mere infant!" Raikou declared. "In need of proper nutrition, safe shelter, and maternal guidance!"

Denji blinked, surprised she had somehow known his exact age. "How did you—"

"Now I understand why you turned to devil hunting," Jeanne said softly, examining the meager contents of his apartment. "You've been surviving as best you can."

"Yeah, well," Denji shifted uncomfortably, "my dad left me with a ton of debt when he died. The yakuza aren't exactly flexible with payment plans."

"Yakuza?" Artoria's eyes narrowed. "Criminal organizations that prey on the vulnerable?"

"That's them. I work for one branch killing devils, while dodging the collection agents from another branch." Denji attempted a laugh that came out hollow. "Circle of life around here."

"These debt collectors," Raikou said with dangerous calm, "what do they do when you cannot pay?"

Denji hesitated, then pulled up his shirt slightly, revealing a fresh surgical scar along his side. "They take payment in other ways. Parts fetch a good price overseas, apparently."

The temperature in the room seemed to drop several degrees as all four women stared at the scar.

"They harvest your organs?" Jeanne's voice was barely above a whisper, horror evident in her violet eyes.

"Just the ones I can spare," Denji shrugged, trying to make light of it. "Still got one kidney left, part of my liver regrows, and blood replenishes itself pretty quick."

"This will no longer continue," Artoria stated with quiet authority. It wasn't a suggestion or even a promise—it was a decree, as binding as any royal proclamation. "No Master of ours will be butchered for parts."

"Umu! The Emperor declares these debt collectors enemies of the state!" Nero announced, striking a pose of imperial outrage. "Such barbarism will not stand!"

"I would very much like to meet these organ harvesters," Raikou said with a smile that promised violence. "To discuss their business practices in detail."

Denji wasn't sure whether to be touched by their concern or terrified by the obvious power thrumming beneath their seemingly human exteriors. Before he could respond, a familiar pounding echoed through the apartment.

"OPEN UP, DENJI! PAYMENT'S DUE!"

"Speak of the devil," Denji muttered, instinctively backing away from the broken door. "That's one of them now."

"Perfect timing," Raikou's smile widened unnervingly.

"Wait!" Denji hissed urgently. "These guys are dangerous! They're yakuza! They have guns and knives and—"

"Allow me," Artoria interrupted calmly, moving toward the door with measured steps. Before Denji could stop her, she pulled the damaged door open, revealing a burly man with a shaved head and tattoos visible above his collar. His fist was raised to continue pounding.

"Who the hell are you?" the debt collector demanded, clearly surprised to find someone other than Denji answering.

"I am the servant of Denji," Artoria stated with quiet dignity. "State your business."

The man regained his composure quickly, scowling down at the petite blonde woman who seemed entirely unintimidated by his size advantage. "My business is with the brat who owes money, not some cosplay chick. Get out of my way."

"I understand you are here to collect a debt," Artoria continued, her tone unchanged. "What is the exact amount owed?"

The debt collector looked momentarily thrown by her businesslike approach. "Fifty thousand yen, due today. Plus interest."

"And if he cannot pay?"

The man's mouth curved into an unpleasant smile. "Then I take payment another way. Kid's still got a few parts worth harvesting."

Artoria's expression didn't change, but something in the air did—a subtle pressure, like the moment before a lightning strike. "I see. And you find this arrangement acceptable? Taking parts of a person's body for money?"

"It's business," the collector shrugged. "Now, where is he? I know he's in there."

"Business," Artoria repeated, the single word somehow laden with judgment. "Very well. I have new terms to propose."

"Who the hell do you think—"

The debt collector's words died in his throat as Artoria's posture shifted slightly. Nothing obvious changed—she held no visible weapon, made no threatening gesture—but suddenly the air around her crack

Chapter 2: The Circle's Glow (Continued)

The debt collector's words died in his throat as Artoria's posture shifted slightly. Nothing obvious changed—she held no visible weapon, made no threatening gesture—but suddenly the air around her crackled with barely restrained power. The corridor temperature seemed to drop several degrees.

"I—what are you doing?" the man stammered, taking an involuntary step backward.

"Renegotiating," Artoria replied simply. "The debt is now considered paid in full."

The collector found his courage, or perhaps his foolishness. "Listen, lady, I don't know what game you're playing, but that's not how this works. I answer to people who'll—"

"Is there a problem?" Jeanne appeared beside Artoria, her serene expression belied by the firm grip on her battle standard.

The debt collector's eyes widened as he took in the second woman in elaborate armor. "What is this, some kind of costume party?"

"Umu! Did someone mention a party?" Nero squeezed through the doorway, positioning herself on Artoria's other side with theatrical flair. "The Emperor does enjoy festivities! Shall we celebrate the cancellation of this debt with song?"

The man's confusion was turning to alarm. "Look, I don't know what's going on here, but—"

"Are you still here?" Raikou's voice came from behind the other three, her towering presence casting them all in shadow. "How persistent. I admire dedication in most contexts, but not when it involves harvesting organs from children."

"I keep telling everyone, I'm not a child," Denji muttered from inside the apartment, though no one paid him any attention.

The debt collector reached inside his jacket, likely for a weapon. "Okay, I've had enough of this freak show. Either the kid pays up now, or—"

He never finished the sentence. In movements too swift for human eyes to follow, Artoria stepped forward. Again, there was no visible blade, but suddenly the man found himself pinned against the opposite wall, an invisible pressure against his throat holding him a foot above the floor.

"You misunderstand the nature of our negotiation," Artoria stated calmly. "This is not a request. The debt is canceled. You will inform your superiors that Denji is no longer available for collection. Any further attempts will be met with... firmer measures."

"What... are... you?" the man gasped, his feet dangling helplessly.

"Concerned parties," Jeanne answered diplomatically.

"Imperial enforcement!" Nero added with a flourish.

"Family," Raikou stated with absolute conviction.

Artoria released her invisible hold, allowing the man to slide down the wall. He collapsed to his knees, gasping for air.

"We are in agreement, yes?" Artoria asked, looking down at him with regal authority.

The debt collector scrambled backward, crab-walking away from the four imposing women. "You're all crazy! This—this isn't over!" With that weak threat, he staggered to his feet and fled, nearly tumbling down the stairs in his haste.

Denji peeked around the doorframe, eyes wide with astonishment. "That was... you just... he actually..." He seemed unable to complete a thought, overwhelmed by what he'd witnessed.

"Umu! The Emperor's mere presence sent the barbarian fleeing!" Nero declared, striking a victorious pose. "Such is the power of Rome!"

"I believe it was Artoria's blade at his throat that proved most persuasive," Jeanne observed mildly.

"What blade?" Denji asked, looking around in confusion. "I didn't see any weapon."

"Excalibur," Artoria said simply. "It remains invisible to most eyes while sheathed in the winds of the lake."

"You have an invisible sword?" Denji's voice cracked slightly. "That's... actually really cool."

"He will return with reinforcements," Raikou noted, scanning the dimly lit hallway. "This location is compromised."

"Agreed," Artoria nodded. "We should relocate as soon as possible."

"Relocate where?" Denji asked. "This crappy apartment is all I have. I can't exactly afford a hotel, especially not for five people."

The four Servants exchanged glances, a silent communication passing between them.

"We might be able to establish a bounded field around this location as a temporary measure," Jeanne suggested. "At least until we determine the nature of our summoning and whether a proper Holy Grail War is underway."

"A what field?" Denji looked increasingly confused.

"A magical barrier," Artoria explained. "It would conceal our presence and deter casual intruders."

"Magical... right." Denji ran a hand through his disheveled hair. "So you're all, what, magicians too?"

"Not exactly," Jeanne said carefully. "But as Heroic Spirits, we possess abilities beyond normal human capability."

"No kidding," Denji muttered, recalling how easily Artoria had manhandled the debt collector. "So what happens now? You're all here because of this Holy Grail thing, but you don't know if it's actually happening?"

"The circumstances of our summoning are unusual," Artoria acknowledged. "Typically, a Master would call a single Servant through a deliberate ritual. Your accidental activation of an ancient summoning circle resulting in four simultaneous summonings... is unprecedented."

"I didn't even mean to!" Denji protested. "I was just checking out some cool glowing graffiti!"

"Umu! Fate works in mysterious ways," Nero declared with a dramatic gesture. "Perhaps it was destined that you should summon us! The Emperor does not believe in mere coincidence!"

"Do you have any knowledge of magecraft, Master?" Jeanne asked gently.

"Magic?" Denji shook his head. "The only thing I know about is devils. That's my job—hunting them down when they cause trouble."

"Yet you maintain a partnership with one," Raikou observed, glancing at Pochita who was watching the proceedings with evident interest.

"Pochita's different," Denji said defensively. "He's been with me for years. He's... he's family."

At the word 'family,' Raikou's expression softened dramatically. "Of course he is. Family comes in many forms."

"Look," Denji sighed, sinking down onto his worn mattress. "I appreciate you scaring off that debt collector. Seriously, that was amazing. But I don't know anything about magic or Holy Grails or whatever else you're talking about. I'm just a guy trying to survive day to day."

Jeanne knelt beside him, her armor clinking softly. "Perhaps that is precisely why the circle responded to you. Sometimes the most worthy vessels are those who do not seek power for its own sake."

"Worthy of what, exactly?"

"Of the Command Seals," Artoria said, nodding toward Denji's right hand. "Look."

Denji raised his hand, surprised to find intricate red markings had appeared on the back—a complex pattern unlike anything he'd seen before.

"What are these?" he asked, tracing the marks with his fingertip.

"Command Seals," Jeanne explained. "Three absolute commands that a Master may use to direct their Servant, even against the Servant's will. They are proof of your status as our Master."

"Wait, I can order you to do... anything?" Denji's eyes widened as various possibilities—some more appropriate than others—flashed through his mind.

"Within the bounds of what is possible, yes," Artoria confirmed. "However, I advise using them wisely. Once expended, they cannot be recovered."

"Umu! The Emperor recommends saving such precious resources for moments of true need!" Nero advised, wagging a finger playfully. "Though I am always eager to please my Master regardless!"

Raikou had been examining the apartment with increasing disapproval, poking at the leaking ceiling and testing the wobbling furniture. "This situation is untenable. A growing child needs proper shelter, nutrition, and safety."

"Still not a child," Denji muttered.

"When did you last eat a proper meal?" Raikou asked suddenly, fixing him with an intense maternal stare.

Denji hesitated. "Define 'proper'..."

"As I suspected." Raikou's expression darkened momentarily before brightening with determination. "The first order of business shall be dinner! No strategies can be formed on an empty stomach."

"I don't really have much food," Denji admitted, gesturing to his nearly empty mini-refrigerator. "Just some moldy bread and—"

"MOLDY BREAD?!" Raikou looked genuinely outraged. "Absolutely not! We shall procure proper ingredients immediately!"

"With what money?" Denji asked practically. "I'm broke, remember? And I doubt any grocery store is going to accept 'I'm a legendary hero from the past' as payment."

"Leave that to me," Artoria said with quiet confidence. "Material resources can be acquired through various means."

"You're not going to, like, rob a bank or something, are you?" Denji asked nervously.

Artoria looked mildly offended. "I was King of Britain. I have more honor than to resort to common thievery."

"Then how—"

"Umu! The Emperor has experience converting adoration into practical benefits!" Nero interjected cheerfully. "People are often quite generous when presented with true magnificence!"

Before Denji could question this dubious statement further, a distant siren wailed, growing closer. Likely someone had reported the disturbance with the debt collector.

"Perhaps this discussion would be better continued elsewhere," Jeanne suggested diplomatically. "Involving local authorities would complicate matters unnecessarily."

"Agreed," Artoria nodded. "Master, is there somewhere else we might go temporarily? Somewhere your pursuers would not think to look?"

Denji thought for a moment. "There's an abandoned warehouse by the old canal. I've crashed there a few times when things got too hot around here. It's not exactly comfortable, but it's secluded."

"It will suffice for tonight," Artoria decided. "Gather what essentials you need. We depart immediately."

"What about Pochita?" Denji asked, looking at his partner.

Raikou was already kneeling beside the chainsaw devil, speaking to him in soft, cooing tones. "Such a brave little guardian. Would you like me to carry you? Those small legs must get tired."

To Denji's astonishment, Pochita actually allowed Raikou to pick him up, nestling comfortably in her arms as though he'd found his rightful place.

"Traitor," Denji muttered, though there was no real heat behind the accusation. It had been a long time since anyone had shown Pochita that kind of affection—or him, for that matter.

Gathering his meager possessions took less than five minutes. Everything he truly valued fit into a single tattered backpack: a change of clothes, his small medical kit, a photo of his mother he barely remembered, and the few nonperishable food items that weren't actively growing new life forms.

As they prepared to leave, Denji took one last look at the apartment that had been his home, such as it was. Despite its many flaws, it represented safety of a sort—the devil you know, as the saying went. What he was embarking on now was something else entirely, something unknown and potentially dangerous.

But looking at the four extraordinary women who had literally appeared out of thin air into his life, Denji felt something unfamiliar stirring in his chest. It took him a moment to recognize it, so rare was its appearance in his world.

Hope.

Chapter 3: Adjusting to the Impossible

The abandoned warehouse by the canal had clearly seen better days—decades ago. Massive concrete pillars supported a partially collapsed roof, creating a cathedral-like space filled with shadows and echoes. Broken windows lined the upper walls, allowing thin shafts of moonlight to penetrate the gloom. The air smelled of rust, stagnant water, and the passage of time.

"It's not much," Denji admitted as they entered through a gap in the chain-link fence, "but the yakuza don't come here. Something about a territory dispute with another group."

"It is... spacious," Jeanne observed diplomatically, her gaze sweeping the cavernous interior.

"Umu! Like the ruins of an ancient colosseum!" Nero declared, her voice echoing dramatically. "The Emperor approves of these historic surroundings!"

Artoria was already examining the strategic layout, noting entrances, exits, and defensible positions with the practiced eye of a military commander. "It will serve for the night. We should establish a perimeter nonetheless."

Raikou, still cradling Pochita, zeroed in on a relatively clean corner protected from the elements by an intact section of roof. "This area shall be our temporary living quarters. It requires thorough cleaning and proper organization."

Denji dropped his backpack with a weary sigh. The events of the day—from near-drowning in the rain to accidentally summoning four legendary heroes to fleeing his apartment—had left him physically and emotionally drained.

"So," he began, slumping against a concrete pillar, "does someone want to explain all this in a way that actually makes sense? Because I'm still having trouble with the whole 'magical summoning' thing."

The four Servants exchanged glances before Jeanne stepped forward, her manner gentle but direct.

"The Holy Grail War is a ritual combat between seven Masters and their summoned Servants," she began. "Masters are typically mages who deliberately call forth Heroic Spirits—legends from across time and space—to fight on their behalf. The last Master-Servant pair standing claims the Holy Grail, which grants a wish."

"And I accidentally triggered this ritual by stepping in a weird circle?" Denji asked skeptically.

"Not precisely," Artoria clarified. "The summoning circle you activated was ancient—predating the formal Grail War system. It appears to have connected directly to the Throne of Heroes rather than through the Grail's usual mediation."

"Which explains how four of us were summoned simultaneously," Jeanne added. "Under normal circumstances, only seven Servants total would be called—one of each class."

"Classes?" Denji's brow furrowed. "Like in a video game?"

"Umu! An apt comparison!" Nero beamed. "Each Heroic Spirit is summoned into a container that defines their capabilities! Saber, Archer, Lancer, Rider, Caster, Assassin, and Berserker!"

"Artoria and I are both Sabers, though I can qualify for other classes as well," Nero continued proudly. "Lady Jeanne is a Ruler—a special class meant to oversee Grail Wars rather than participate directly. And our statuesque friend is a Berserker, though she seems remarkably composed for her class."

Raikou smiled serenely. "I maintain my sanity through maternal devotion. Protecting my children keeps me grounded in reason."

"Again, not a child," Denji muttered, though with less conviction than before.

"What troubles me," Artoria said thoughtfully, "is the absence of other signs of a Holy Grail War. No bounded fields across the city, no presence of other Servants or Masters. It's as though we were summoned... independently."

"Is that bad?" Denji asked.

"It is unusual," Jeanne replied carefully. "And potentially concerning. Without the Grail's support, maintaining our manifestation will draw magical energy directly from you, our Master."

"Wait, what?" Denji straightened. "What does that mean? You're going to, like, drain my life force or something?"

"Nothing so dramatic," Artoria assured him. "But sustaining four Servants simultaneously will require considerable magical energy. Under normal circumstances, it would be nearly impossible for a single Master."

Denji glanced at Pochita, who was now curled contentedly in Raikou's lap. "Would it help if I mentioned I have a chainsaw devil literally connected to my heart? That's got to count for something power-wise, right?"

This revelation caused a moment of stunned silence among the Servants.

"Connected to your heart?" Jeanne asked carefully. "What do you mean, exactly?"

Denji shrugged. "It's a long story, but basically, Pochita and I have a deal. He's linked to me—we share a heart, kind of. That's how I can use his chainsaw powers when I need to."

"You transform into a devil?" Artoria's hand drifted instinctively toward her invisible sword.

"Not exactly. I can pull a cord and use Pochita's chainsaw, but I'm still me." Denji demonstrated by pantomiming pulling an imaginary cord from his chest. "It helps with hunting the bigger devils."

"Fascinating," Jeanne murmured. "This connection may indeed explain how you're able to sustain us. Devil entities in this world likely possess considerable magical energy."

"Umu! Our Master is more resourceful than he appears!" Nero declared delightedly. "The Emperor approves of such ingenuity!"

"This connection," Raikou asked with maternal concern, "is it harmful to you?"

"Nah, it's kept me alive more times than I can count," Denji replied honestly. "Pochita's the best partner I could ask for."

The small devil perked up at the mention of his name, giving a soft rev of his internal engine that sounded suspiciously like purring.

"See? He agrees." Denji smiled fondly.

Their conversation was interrupted by a low rumbling sound—Denji's stomach protesting its empty state loudly enough to echo in the cavernous warehouse.

"Sorry," he mumbled, embarrassed. "Didn't exactly have time for dinner with all the magical summoning and running from debt collectors."

Raikou stood immediately, handing Pochita gently to Jeanne. "This will not do. A growing child requires proper nutrition. I shall procure food."

"How? It's the middle of the night," Denji pointed out. "And again, we have no money."

"Leave it to me," Raikou said with serene confidence. "Maternal instinct finds a way."

"I shall accompany you," Artoria offered. "Two can carry more than one."

"The Emperor shall remain to protect our Master!" Nero declared. "Though I expect detailed reports of any culinary discoveries upon your return!"

"I will help establish a barrier around our temporary sanctuary," Jeanne added. "Even a basic bounded field will deter casual intrusion."

Before Denji could raise further objections, Artoria and Raikou were gone—slipping into the night with a speed and silence that reminded him these were not ordinary women, regardless of their sometimes domestic concerns.

Left with Nero, Jeanne, and Pochita, Denji struggled to process the surreal turn his life had taken. Yesterday, he'd been a desperate devil hunter surviving on moldy bread and dodging debt collectors. Today, he was apparently the "Master" of four legendary heroes in human form, fleeing to an abandoned warehouse while discussing magical energy and Holy Grails.

"This is insane," he muttered, more to himself than his companions. "Completely insane."

"Umu! The most magnificent experiences in life often appear mad at first glance!" Nero declared, striking a theatrical pose against the moonlight streaming through a broken window. "When I decided to perform naked on stage as Emperor, many called it insanity—yet it was acclaimed as revolutionary artistic expression!"

"You... performed naked?" Denji couldn't help but ask, immediately regretting the question as his imagination provided unwanted illustrations.

"The Emperor has nothing to hide!" Nero confirmed proudly. "Beauty should be shared with the masses! It is the duty of the divine to inspire through all available means!"

"Perhaps we should focus on making this space more habitable," Jeanne suggested tactfully, noticing Denji's reddening face. She had begun tracing symbols in the air with her hand, creating faint golden lines that lingered momentarily before fading.

"What are you doing?" Denji asked, grateful for the change of subject.

"Establishing a simple bounded field," Jeanne explained. "It will not prevent determined entry, but it will discourage casual trespassers and mask our presence from basic magical detection."

"There are other magical people out there? In the city?"

"It's a precaution," Jeanne clarified. "If we were summoned, it's possible others were as well. Until we understand the full situation, caution is warranted."

Nero had begun dramatically clearing debris from their chosen corner, somehow managing to make the mundane task look like a royal performance. "The Emperor shall transform this humble space into a palace worthy of Rome! Or at least a comfortable bivouac for tonight's repose!"

Despite his exhaustion and confusion, Denji found himself smiling slightly at her enthusiasm. There was something infectious about Nero's grandiose personality—a reminder that life could contain color and passion even in the bleakest circumstances.

An hour later, their corner of the warehouse had been transformed with surprising efficiency. Jeanne had completed her bounded field, an invisible dome of protection that Denji could somehow sense at the edges of his awareness. Nero had arranged their meager supplies with theatrical flair, creating distinct "rooms" using fallen debris and Denji's single blanket as a makeshift curtain. Pochita had contributed by dragging over various items he deemed useful—a relatively intact wooden pallet that could serve as a raised platform for sleeping, several empty crates that functioned as rudimentary furniture, and oddly, a plastic flamingo lawn ornament whose origin in the warehouse remained mysterious.

"The Emperor approves of your decorative instincts!" Nero told Pochita seriously, placing the flamingo in a position of honor atop one of the crates. "A touch of the exotic elevates even the humblest dwelling!"

Pochita seemed pleased by the praise, his chainsaw nose revving softly.

Artoria and Raikou returned laden with supplies—food, blankets, even a portable camping stove of questionable origin. Denji decided not to ask too many questions about how they'd acquired these items, especially when Raikou immediately set about preparing a meal that smelled better than anything he'd encountered in months.

"How did you—" he began, but Artoria shook her head slightly.

"Some mysteries are best left unexplored," she advised quietly. "Rest assured, no laws were broken... irreparably."

Dinner was a revelation. Raikou had somehow created a feast from limited ingredients—rice, vegetables, and a small amount of meat transformed into a hearty stew that steamed invitingly in the cool warehouse air.

"This is amazing," Denji mumbled around a mouthful, not bothering with table manners in his desperate hunger. "I haven't eaten anything this good in... maybe ever?"

Raikou beamed with maternal pride. "A proper meal is the foundation of health and happiness. Tomorrow we shall establish a more complete nutritional plan."

"Umu! The Emperor recognizes culinary excellence when she tastes it!" Nero declared, sampling the stew with theatrical appreciation. "Rome approves!"

Even Artoria, who had maintained her dignified reserve throughout most of their interactions, seemed to soften slightly as she ate, though Denji noticed she consumed her portion with remarkable speed and glanced hopefully at the cooking pot when she thought no one was looking.

As they ate, Denji found himself studying his strange new companions more carefully. They were impossibly beautiful, yes, but there was something beyond physical appearance that made them extraordinary—an aura of power and purpose that hummed beneath their human exteriors like an electrical current.

"So," he ventured eventually, setting aside his empty bowl, "what happens now? I mean, if there isn't actually a Holy Grail War happening, what are you all supposed to do? Just... hang around with me?"

"Until we determine the precise nature of our summoning, serving our Master is our primary purpose," Jeanne explained gently. "Whether that means fighting in a Grail War or... other endeavors."

"What other endeavors could legendary heroes possibly have with someone like me?" Denji asked, genuine confusion in his voice. "I hunt devils for yakuza scraps. That's my whole life."

"Then perhaps we shall hunt devils together," Artoria suggested pragmatically. "If that is your profession, we could certainly enhance your effectiveness—and consequently, your compensation."

Denji blinked. "You'd help me hunt devils? Aren't you supposed to be, I don't know, fighting epic battles against other heroes or something?"

"Umu! The Emperor is versatile!" Nero declared. "Exterminating unholy creatures sounds appropriately glorious! And financially beneficial!"

"These devils," Raikou asked with narrowed eyes, "they threaten innocents, yes? Children and families?"

"Some of them, sure," Denji nodded. "The ones that pay best are usually causing the most trouble."

"Then eliminating them serves justice," Jeanne concluded. "A worthy endeavor for Heroic Spirits, even without the context of a Grail War."

"And it would provide resources to improve your living conditions," Artoria added practically. "No Master of ours should reside in squalor or sell body parts for survival."

Denji felt an unexpected lump in his throat at their matter-of-fact acceptance of his reality—and their immediate inclination to improve it. No one had ever looked at his life and decided to make it better, not since Pochita had found him.

"I... that would be... helpful," he managed, struggling to find words for the strange mix of emotions churning inside him.

"Then it is decided," Artoria declared with the finality of someone accustomed to royal pronouncements. "Tomorrow, we begin our devil hunting enterprise. Tonight, we rest and recover."

As the makeshift camp settled for the night, practical matters arose. The pallet Pochita had found could serve as Denji's bed, but the warehouse floor was hardly suitable for anyone else.

"Don't worry about us," Jeanne assured him when he raised this concern. "Servants don't require sleep as humans do. We can enter a restful state to conserve energy, but actual sleep is unnecessary."

"Though the Emperor does enjoy a good nap!" Nero added cheerfully. "Purely for pleasure rather than necessity!"

"We will maintain a watch rotation," Artoria decided, ever the tactical commander. "Even with Jeanne's bounded field, proper vigilance is prudent."

Raikou had produced additional blankets from her seemingly endless supply of acquired goods, arranging them into a surprisingly comfortable-looking nest on the pallet. "Rest well, child. Tomorrow brings new adventures."

"Still not a—" Denji began automatically, then sighed. "You know what? Fine. Call me whatever you want. You brought me actual food and scared off a debt collector. You've earned it."

Raikou's smile was radiant with maternal satisfaction.

As Denji settled onto the makeshift bed, Pochita curled up beside him with familiar comfort. The chainsaw devil seemed remarkably at ease with their new companions, which was unusual—he typically regarded strangers with cautious suspicion.

"What do you think, buddy?" Denji whispered to his partner. "Craziest day ever, right?"

Pochita made a soft noise that Denji chose to interpret as agreement.

The last thing Denji saw before drifting into exhausted sleep was his four new guardians taking positions around their improvised camp—Artoria standing sentinel by the main entrance, Jeanne meditating peacefully near her bounded field, Nero dramatically draping herself across a stack of crates in what she insisted was "the imperial watch posture," and Raikou organizing their supplies with methodical care.

Four legendary heroes from across time and space, now somehow bound to him—Denji, the worthless devil hunter from the slums.

Maybe his luck was finally changing.

Or maybe, as experience had taught him repeatedly, this was just the calm before an even greater storm.

Chapter 4: Learning the Ropes

Denji woke to the unfamiliar sensation of feeling rested. No leaking ceiling dripping onto his face, no debt collectors pounding at his door, no gnawing hunger distracting him from sleep. For a moment, he lay still, disoriented by the absence of his usual morning miseries.

Then it all came flooding back—the summoning circle, the four women, the escape to the warehouse. He sat up abruptly, half-convinced it had all been a particularly elaborate dream.

But there they were. Artoria stood by one of the broken windows, golden morning light illuminating her profile as she surveyed the exterior with vigilant attention. Jeanne was kneeling nearby in what appeared to be morning prayer, her banner propped beside her. Nero was... singing? Yes, performing vocal exercises with theatrical hand gestures near the warehouse entrance. And Raikou—

"Good morning, child! Did you sleep well?"

Raikou appeared at his side so suddenly that Denji nearly jumped out of his skin. She was carrying what appeared to be a tray of food—where she'd obtained a tray in an abandoned warehouse was yet another mystery—laden with a simple but appetizing breakfast.

"I... yeah, actually," Denji admitted, still processing the reality of his situation. "Where's Pochita?"

"Your little companion is assisting with perimeter checks," Raikou explained, setting the tray beside him. "He's quite the vigilant guardian! Now eat while it's warm."

The breakfast consisted of rice, a few strips of grilled fish, and a small portion of pickled vegetables. Simple fare, but to Denji, who typically started his days with either nothing or moldy bread, it might as well have been a royal feast.

"Thanks," he said awkwardly, unused to being cared for. "This looks great."

Raikou beamed with maternal pride. "Growing children need proper nutrition to start the day! We'd have eggs if this location had better facilities, but we'll make do for now."

As Denji ate, the other Servants gathered around, apparently ready to begin planning their day.

"Did you rest well, Master?" Jeanne asked kindly.

"Best sleep I've had in years," Denji admitted between mouthfuls. "No one tried to kill me or collect body parts even once."

"A low bar for comfort," Artoria observed dryly, "but progress nonetheless."

"Umu! The Emperor demands updates on our strategic situation!" Nero announced, striking a pose that managed to be both imperious and slightly ridiculous. "What glorious conquests await us today?"

"Devil hunting," Denji reminded her, finishing the last of his breakfast. "But first we need to find out what jobs are available. That means going to the yakuza office."

"These yakuza," Artoria frowned. "They are the same organization that harvests your organs when you cannot pay your debts?"

"Different branch, same overall family," Denji explained. "They're kind of like a company with different departments. The collection division wants my organs, the security division pays me to kill devils. Corporate synergy at its finest."

"This arrangement is unacceptable," Raikou stated flatly, her maternal aura darkening slightly. "No child of mine will continue to be exploited by criminals."

"But we need their jobs," Denji pointed out practically. "Unless you have another way to make money killing devils?"

The four Servants exchanged thoughtful glances.

"Perhaps," Jeanne suggested carefully, "we could establish a more... independent operation? Offer devil elimination services directly to those affected, bypassing these criminal intermediaries?"

"Start our own business, you mean?" Denji looked skeptical. "I don't know... the yakuza kind of have a monopoly on devil hunting in this city. They don't like competition."

"The Emperor fears no monopoly!" Nero declared dramatically. "Rome was built by creating superior alternatives to existing structures!"

"It's not about fear," Denji sighed. "It's about practicality. The yakuza know where the devils are, what they're worth, and they have the connections to pay for specific parts. Plus, they'll actually kill me if I try to compete with them."

"They would have to get through us first," Artoria stated calmly, but with an underlying steel that sent a shiver down Denji's spine. "However, I see the strategic value in maintaining your existing relationship while we establish alternatives."

"So we start with a yakuza job," Denji nodded, relieved they were seeing reason. "But, uh, you guys might want to change your outfits. You'll attract way too much attention dressed like that."

He gestured at their elaborate costumes—Artoria's royal blue battle dress and armor, Jeanne's silver plate mail, Nero's crimson imperial regalia, and Raikou's revealing battle kimono.

"Umu! The Emperor does tend to draw admiring gazes!" Nero agreed cheerfully. "Though reducing my splendor seems counterproductive to proper adoration!"

"We can adopt spirit form to remain unseen," Jeanne suggested.

"Spirit form?" Denji repeated uncertainly.

"Dematerialization," Artoria explained. "Servants can become invisible to normal humans when not in combat, conserving magical energy in the process."

"That would actually be perfect," Denji brightened. "You could spy on the yakuza, maybe find out where the really valuable devils are, without them knowing you exist!"

"One problem," Jeanne said with a slight frown. "I'm not certain we can assume spirit form in this irregular summoning. Typically, the Grail provides that capability, but since we were called through an ancient circle..."

All four Servants concentrated momentarily, their expressions becoming frustrated.

"As suspected," Artoria confirmed. "The ability is unavailable to us."

"Then we shall require mortal disguises!" Nero announced dramatically. "The Emperor has experience with disguising her magnificence when conducting undercover inspections of her domain!"

"Do you have experience with, you know, normal clothes?" Denji asked dubiously, eyeing their elaborate outfits.

"Servants can materialize different attire,"