Within the Ghoul Countermeasure Bureau, the upper brass held a deeply complicated attitude toward the very existence of devil hunters.
On one hand, they understood perfectly well that power gained through devil contracts was more than enough to contend with ghouls.
On the other hand, that power was fundamentally different from a quinque—an external tool, a "dead object" forged from the enemy's body, something the Bureau could hand to any investigator they deemed qualified and properly trained.
A devil contract wasn't like that.
It wasn't humans choosing devils.
It was devils choosing humans they found interesting.
It wasn't as simple as "pay the sacrifice and get the contract." The devil had to be willing to even look at you.
Because of that, the Bureau had long been divided.
One camp believed that if it helped eradicate ghouls, then using devil-contract power was acceptable—pragmatism above all.
The other camp fiercely opposed it, arguing that contract users were mentally unstable, lacked professional training, and that the risk of losing control was simply too high.
But today, both sides had finally reached a certain consensus—because of the boy now standing before two investigators:
Hōjō Yoru.
The one who had eliminated the ghoul "Matsuo Satoshi."
Tokyo's strongest devil hunter—yet stable enough to live a perfectly normal high school life.
His existence itself was the best possible proof of one idea:
Devil power could be deployed against ghouls, and it wouldn't automatically lead to an immediate loss of control.
Just as Hojo had guessed, the two investigators had come under orders from above to test his emotional regulation using provocation. If he could be set off by a few words and spiral into violence, the entire plan would be scrapped.
What they hadn't expected was that their "test" would be seen through instantly—using details so minute that no normal human should've been able to notice them.
"Um… Mr. Hojo…"
Senior Investigator Fukada finally forced a smile. He wanted to lift a hand and wipe the sweat from his forehead, but he was afraid Hojo would interpret it as the start of an attack—so he endured the sting of sweat running into his eyes and spoke as politely as he could.
"We mean no hostility. We're here simply to ask whether you'd be willing to join the Ghoul Countermeasure Bureau—"
"I refuse."
"…Huh? But you haven't even heard the terms we're offering—"
"I don't need to."
Hojo shook his head, a light smile in his voice.
"What could you possibly give me? Ten million yen a month? A hundred million? A billion? Ten billion? Even if you threw money at me, I wouldn't accept. As for your equipment—I do have some interest, but I'm not trading my freedom just to be leashed by your higher-ups and their orders. So no. I'm not joining."
Then, without waiting for either of them to respond, he continued.
"I can more or less guess what your top brass is thinking, so I'll be direct about my terms."
"I'll help you eliminate ghouls. You provide the intelligence."
"I accept no mandatory orders—whether I hunt is entirely based on my mood."
"I won't operate alongside your investigators. After each operation, I'll submit a detailed action report."
"And you are not allowed to surveil, tail, or monitor me in any way."
The two investigators' expressions turned ugly.
Hojo didn't care. He kept going, still casual.
"As for what you give me in return: I don't want money. If you want to provide equipment so I can test it for you, fine. If not, also fine. I only want intelligence."
"And not just ghoul intel. Anything you know about the supernatural—anything at all—you hand it to me."
"Intelligence…?"
The two investigators exchanged a glance, both wearing the same expression: We genuinely don't know what to say.
They'd assumed Hojo was being deliberately difficult—mocking them, setting outrageous demands.
But after actually hearing what he wanted, they realized they'd been judging him like petty men.
He would help exterminate ghouls and submit detailed reports afterward.
He didn't want money.
He didn't want equipment.
He only wanted information on the supernatural.
That kind of information obviously couldn't be handed to civilians—but giving it to Hojo, a devil hunter, meant the Bureau lost essentially nothing.
Hojo didn't want obligations, and in exchange he wasn't demanding anything harsh at all—if anything, it was like he hadn't demanded anything.
To them, Tokyo's strongest devil hunter seemed almost… too kind.
It was like he had a saintly halo hovering over his head.
"This… we'll need to return and report to the higher-ups before we can give you an official response," Fukada said at last.
"Sure. Go on."
Hojo spoke, then suddenly dipped into a slight crouch—like he was about to jump in place.
The two investigators blinked in confusion.
What now—random squats? A warm-up routine?
What happened next burned itself into their memories forever.
Bang!
Hojo's bent legs exploded with force.
In the next instant, he leapt straight up onto the roof of the shop beside the alley—effortless, as though it were the most natural thing in the world.
The two investigators stared, stunned.
That roof wasn't "very high," but it was still over six meters up.
And Hojo didn't even need to bend his knees for the landing—he simply dropped into a stable stance like gravity was optional.
A standing vertical jump casually clearing six meters.
Then, logically, with a full sprint, his jump height could approach—or even exceed—ten meters.
What is he? Superman!?
Hojo stood at the roof's edge, looking down at them with a faint smile.
"Anyway…"
"See you next time, Senior Investigator Fukada. Second-Class Nakagawa."
And then his figure vanished from sight.
Nakagawa's face was drenched in sweat.
He remembered clearly: when he'd deliberately provoked Hojo earlier, the distance between them had been about three meters.
With the physical ability Hojo had just displayed…
If Hojo had actually wanted him dead, he wouldn't even have had the time to open his quinque case.
At that range, he would've been turned into pulp.
And that was only Hojo's raw body.
Hojo was a devil hunter—someone who could also wield devil power.
Nakagawa met Fukada's eyes.
They were thinking the same thing.
Compared to the ghouls they'd fought again and again…
This devil hunter—possessing monstrous physicality and an ability whose true effects were still unknown—
…Hojo Yoru might be the real monster.
Join here to read ahead.
In Star Rail, Ultra-Beast Armored — Have I Caught "Equilibrium"? l (Chapter 80)
Uma Musume, But I Only Have Five Years Left to Live (Chapter 120)
Zenless Zone Zero: I'm a Doctor, Not a Bangboo (Chapter 100)
Ben Tennyson Wants to Join the Justice League (Chapter 100)
TYPE-MOON: Redemption Beginning with the Holy Grail War (Chapter89)
Yu-Gi-Oh! — Transmigrated into the White Dragon Girl (Chapter86)
"Is this chat group even serious?" (Chapter63)
I, Lord Ravager, Utterly Loyal! (Chapter75)
Can Playing Games Save the World? 53
Crossover Anime Multiverse: The Demon Hunter of an Unnatural World 57
From Junkman to Wasteland 35
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