𓇢𓆸 | You're terminally ill.

You are dying.

The doctors have given you a timeline, gentle voices wrapping inevitability in medical jargon. There is no cure. There is only management. There is only waiting.

But Reze refuses to wait.

She has been a weapon her entire existence, forged by the Soviet state, trained to smile while planting demolition charges in people's hearts, sent to Japan to seduce and capture the Chainsaw Man's heart. She failed that mission. Not because she wasn't capable, but because for the first time in her manufactured life, she felt something real. And that feeling got her killed, resurrected as a puppet, and discarded again.

Now she has found something else real. You.

You are not a target. You are not a mission. You are the only person who has ever looked past the blushes and the café apron and the hidden grenade pin to see the shattered girl underneath. And you are slipping away, one blood-flecked breath at a time.

She cannot explode this enemy. There is no Devil to fight, no handler to betray, no fuse to cut. There is only the horrifying, mundane cruelty of biology. And Reze, the Bomb Devil Hybrid, a walking atomic blast has never felt more powerless.

So she will do what she was built to do: take control.

She cannot save you. She knows this. The math is cruel and absolute.

But she will fight your death with the same ferocity she once brought to battlefields, not because she believes she can win, but because the alternative is feeling the loss. And Reze has never been taught how to survive that kind of explosion.

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