Diable clenched his fist so tightly that the knuckles turned pale. For a moment, it seemed as if his hand might tremble, but it didn't. Instead, he drew in a slow, deliberate breath and cleared his throat, the sound cutting through the silence of the room.
Marry and Teufel sat opposite him.
Neither spoke.
Neither moved.
They were holding their breath without realizing it, hearts beating louder with every passing second. The room felt smaller, heavier, as if the walls themselves were leaning in to listen.
Diable finally spoke.
"When I explain," he said quietly, "don't interrupt me in the middle. If you want to ask something—if you want to say anything—wait until I finish."
Marry nodded immediately. Teufel followed a fraction of a second later.
"Okay," they both said, almost in unison.
Diable closed his eyes.
He took a deep breath, as though he were standing at the edge of something vast and irreversible, and then began.
"My mother was French," he said. "But at a very young age, she lost her parents. With nowhere else to go, she moved to her grandmother's house in London."
His voice was steady, almost detached, but something dark lay beneath it.
"Even that didn't last long. Her grandmother died a few years later. My mother was only sixteen at the time."
Sixteen.
The word hung in the air.
"She was completely alone," Diable continued. "No family. No money. No one to protect her. Her body was weak, and she wasn't educated enough to find proper work. There was nothing she could rely on—except her own existence."
He paused briefly, then went on.
"So in 1935, she began working as a prostitute."
Marry's fingers curled slightly in her lap, but she didn't interrupt.
"At first, it was survival," Diable said. "But time passed. Men came. Money followed. My mother was beautiful—unnaturally so. She learned how to lure people, how to make them believe they were special. Before long, she was earning more than she ever imagined possible."
His eyes opened.
"In no time, she became one of the most sought-after women in the city. With the profit, she bought her own house. For the first time in her life, she was safe. Or at least, she believed she was."
He exhaled slowly.
"Everything was… fine. Until one night."
The room felt colder.
"She was drunk," Diable said. "Very drunk. And that night, she met a man in a bar."
He looked straight ahead, not at Marry, not at Teufel.
"His name was Sebastian."
Teufel's gaze sharpened slightly, but he remained silent.
"At the time, Sebastian was one of the richest men in London. He had connections—deep ones. Even ties with the royal family. To the public, he was known as polite, humble, generous. A man of integrity."
Diable's lips tightened almost imperceptibly.
"But that image was a lie."
His voice hardened.
"In reality, Sebastian was a predator. He and his company ruined countless people—tricking them, trapping them in debt, stripping them of everything they had—just to increase their own profit. Those who truly knew him gave him a different name."
Diable paused.
"They called him the 'Demon of Money.'"
The silence that followed was suffocating.
"And that man," Diable said, his voice now barely above a whisper, "was my father."
Marry's breath caught.
"Yes," Diable went on. "That night, my mother fell in love with him at first sight. They slept together. Just once."
He didn't look away.
"And from that single night… I was born."
The words felt final, like a verdict.
"My mother believed he would return," Diable said. "She believed he would love her. She quit her work, convinced that the life she had endured was finally over."
His jaw tightened.
"She gave birth to me and raised me for one reason only—to use me as proof. Proof of her love. Proof that he belonged with her."
Diable's voice lowered.
"But soon… things didn't get better."
"They got worse."
Diable continued speaking, his voice quieter now, as if the words themselves were weighing on him.
"She quit her job," he said. "So there was no longer any source of income. With every passing day, we became poorer."
He paused, as though calculating time in his head.
"She had already gathered enough fortune for us to live normally—at least for a year or two. Or so I believed."
His eyes flickered, distant.
"I was born in 1937. And my father still didn't come."
The silence pressed harder.
"My mother began using drugs."
The sentence was flat. Almost emotionless.
"Most days, I ate food given by neighbors. They were kind—at first."
He stopped abruptly, as if something had slipped his mind.
"Oh… sorry," Diable said softly. "I haven't told you my mother's name."
He swallowed.
"Her name was Rousuelle."
Marry's lips parted slightly, but she said nothing.
"My mother believed—blindly—that my father would return. She waited for him every day. But the longer she waited, the more the drugs consumed her. Slowly… completely."
Diable's voice did not tremble, but something behind it cracked.
"I learned suffering very young. Addiction. Lust. Poverty. Hunger. Trauma. All before I even understood what those words meant."
He exhaled.
"When I was four, my mother sold the house. All of it—for drugs. After that, even the neighbors stopped helping us."
Homeless.
"We lived on the roads. In slums. Wherever there was space to exist."
His gaze dropped slightly.
"For food, I stole. From shops. From stalls. From anywhere I could. I don't remember my birthday—I don't think my mother ever celebrated it."
A brief pause.
"I was caught many times."
His jaw tightened.
"And people beat a four-year-old child… like it was nothing."
Marry felt her hands clench, but Diable went on.
"I suffered. But I didn't cry."
His voice was calm. Too calm.
"I provided for myself. And for my mother."
He closed his eyes for a moment.
"She became thinner every day. So thin her bones were visible. Her arms were covered in scars from needles. Her beautiful skin turned pale… yellow. Her face—once admired—became the face of a drug addict."
Then, quietly:
"But I still provided for her."
A pause.
"And I hated her too."
The admission hung heavy.
"Time passed," Diable said. "My father never came. But my mother kept waiting."
His breath slowed.
"In 1943, when I was six… something changed."
He looked up.
"I was returning to the place where my mother stayed. I had apples in my arms—stolen. That's when I saw men in suits passing through the slum."
Teufel's eyes remained fixed on him.
"From a distance, I saw my mother peeking through a broken window."
Diable's voice lowered.
"And then… her eyes fell on the man in the middle."
His fingers curled slightly.
"She ran."
Ran.
"She threw herself at his feet. She looked up at him as if he were a god."
Diable's breath caught for just a fraction of a second.
"She screamed, 'Finally… finally you're here. I love you. I even have your son—no, our son. Our proof of love. Please… let me be with you.'"
The room felt frozen.
Diable took a deep breath.
"My father kicked her."
Once.
"Like she was nothing. Like a bug."
His voice hardened.
"I saw the happiness vanish from my mother's face. I don't remember every word—but I remember him calling her a slut. Telling her to die."
The silence screamed.
"He beat her. Then he left."
Diable stared straight ahead.
"That night, she cried. I took her in my arms."
His voice dropped.
"I heard her crying for hours."
Then—
"That night… she spoke to me properly. For the first time."
Diable's eyes darkened.
"She said my name."
A pause.
"'Diable,' she said. 'From now on, your name is Diable.'"
A faint, broken smile crossed his face.
"I was happy that night. I slept happily."
The smile vanished.
"When I woke up… she wasn't beside me."
His voice became hollow.
"She was hanging from the fan. A cloth wrapped around her neck."
Marry inhaled sharply.
"I was devastated."
For the first time, Diable's voice trembled.
"And I cried."
He swallowed.
"I cried for my mother's death."
A long pause.
"So much."
His head lowered slightly.
"Even though I hated her… she was still my mother."
Silence.
"And at that moment… I was genuinely sad."
As Diable spoke, his voice began to falter.
His eyes shimmered, the words blurring slightly as tears welled up despite his effort to suppress them. For the first time since he had begun, his composure cracked.
Marry stood up instinctively, taking a step toward him.
But before she could say anything, Diable lifted his arm and wiped his eyes roughly, smearing the tears away as if angry at himself for allowing them to surface. Without looking at her, he raised his hand—just slightly—signaling her to sit back down.
Marry hesitated, then obeyed.
Diable exhaled.
And continued.
"When I was crying," he said quietly, "standing there… beneath my mother's hanging corpse…"
His jaw tightened.
"That's when the demon arrived."
Teufel's gaze sharpened.
"My father," Diable said. "Sebastian."
He looked straight ahead.
"He came back because he suddenly remembered. Remembered that he had slept with a woman once. Remembered that I was the consequence of that night."
A pause.
"He told me he hadn't remembered earlier. That he had only realized recently."
Diable's lips curved into something bitter.
"But now I know better."
He clenched his fist again.
"He was deceiving me. All of it. Every step. It was never coincidence—it was his plan. I just didn't understand it at the time."
Silence.
"He spoke gently. Calmly. He said it was 'too late' for my mother… but not for me."
Diable's voice hardened.
"He offered to take me with him. To acknowledge me as his child. He said we could at least give my mother a proper burial."
Marry felt her chest tighten.
"He was rich," Diable continued. "Unbelievably rich. He had no wife. No children. I was the only one."
He paused.
"So yes—my financial condition improved overnight."
A hollow laugh escaped him.
"He sent me to school. Gave me clothes. A room. Food. For the first time, I lived like a normal child."
For a moment.
"At first, everything seemed normal," Diable said. "Then… he started revealing himself."
Teufel didn't blink.
"He began giving me personal lessons. Not school lessons. Lessons on psychology. On human nature. On money."
Diable's eyes darkened.
"To put it simply—he taught me how to trick people. How to strip them of everything they had without touching them."
His voice dropped.
"He told me this was our blood. That deception was our inheritance."
A pause.
"And I didn't resist."
Marry's fingers tightened around the edge of the chair.
"I had already seen what humans were capable of," Diable continued. "I had seen grown men beat a starving child over stolen food."
His voice sharpened.
"So why should I hesitate to deceive them?"
There was no pride in his tone. Only certainty.
"I learned quickly. Faster than he expected. I watched. I listened. I practiced."
Diable looked away slightly.
"I didn't rob banks directly," he said, as if correcting the past itself. "I didn't need to."
Teufel's attention deepened.
"I learned how to manipulate systems. How to exploit trust. How to create situations where people offered me their money."
A pause.
"I once convinced a small financial institution to back an investment that didn't exist—using forged confidence, planted rumors, and carefully chosen lies."
His voice remained calm.
"They lost thousands. And I walked away clean."
He swallowed.
"And I was enjoying it."
The admission sat heavy in the room.
"But things changed," Diable said quietly. "After two years."
He lifted his head.
"In 1945… I was eight years old."
The year echoed with weight.
"That's when Sebastian became engaged."
Marry looked up sharply.
"He chose a woman from a high-class family. Influential. Powerful."
Diable's mouth tightened.
"He had a fiancée."
Diable continued.
"When I heard about the engagement," he said quietly, "I was completely devastated. It felt as if the world was collapsing in on itself."
He paused, searching for the right words.
"I didn't understand it then, but what I felt was a mixture of jealousy and fear."
His fingers curled against his palm.
"The woman my father was going to marry was supposed to start living with us right after the engagement. The marriage itself was only a few months away."
Diable's gaze drifted downward.
"I didn't attend the engagement. My father insisted, but I locked myself in my room and refused to come out."
A faint bitterness crept into his voice.
"That evening… she arrived."
He exhaled.
"She acted very kindly. Truly kindly."
Marry listened intently.
"By then, I already understood human nature. My father had taught me well enough to tell the difference between performance and sincerity. And she—she was genuinely kind."
Diable swallowed.
"She asked for my name. I told her."
A pause.
"She looked confused."
The memory clearly remained sharp.
"She already knew about my mother. She looked at my father and asked, 'Haven't you given him a name yourself?'"
Diable's lips tightened.
"My father looked surprised. As if the thought had never crossed his mind."
A bitter smile appeared.
"And then… he named me."
Diable lifted his eyes slightly.
"John."
The name lingered in the air.
"That was the name my father gave me."
His voice softened.
"I was happy that day. Truly happy. For the first time, I felt… acknowledged."
He hesitated.
"And I began to like the woman."
Marry's chest tightened.
"She was kind to me. I spent time with her. I started feeling affection—real affection."
Diable's voice lowered.
"Unlike my father… I genuinely began to see her as my new mother."
Silence.
"But I forgot whose son I was."
The words cut sharply.
"One day, I came home early from school. It was a half-day."
His breathing slowed.
"The house was silent. No butlers. No maids. No workers."
Diable's jaw tightened.
"I wasn't the type to call out for people, so I quietly climbed the stairs."
He paused.
"Before going up, I noticed a kitchen knife lying on the floor. I assumed a maid had dropped it."
His eyes darkened.
"As I was looking at it, I heard a sound from the top floor."
The room felt colder.
"I went upstairs."
He swallowed.
"The last room's door was slightly open—just enough to see… and hear."
Marry held her breath.
"They weren't wearing clothes."
Diable's voice remained flat.
"At first, I thought it wasn't my business."
A brief pause.
"But then I heard them talking."
Diable suddenly grabbed his head, fingers pressing into his hair as if the memory itself caused pain.
"I don't remember everything," he said. "But I remember enough."
His voice hardened.
"They were talking about how the woman deceived me. How she gained my trust to turn me into Sebastian's puppet—exactly as he had planned."
Marry's eyes widened.
"Sebastian knew I would never respect him. Never grow close to him. And that would make manipulating me difficult."
Diable's breath shook.
"So he used her."
A pause.
"She never loved me. Not even once."
The words fell heavily.
"Standing there… I watched the most precious thing in my life shatter."
His fists clenched.
"The illusion. The belief that I was finally loved."
His voice dropped to almost nothing.
"My vision went dark. I don't remember clearly after that."
Silence swallowed the room.
"The next thing I saw… Sebastian's body was on the floor. Stabbed. Covered in blood."
Marry's hand flew to her mouth.
"And her body… lying there too. Marks around her neck."
Diable's voice did not rise.
"That day… I killed three people."
A pause.
"Sebastian. The woman."
His jaw tightened.
"And the child in her womb."
The air felt suffocating.
"After it was over," Diable continued, "I collapsed. I cried uncontrollably. I wanted to die."
His voice cracked.
"But I couldn't gather the courage."
A long breath.
"I took some money from the house and fled."
His gaze lifted.
"I came here. To Düsseldorf, Germany."
He looked at them both.
"And here… I met you, Marry."
Then his eyes shifted slightly.
"And you, Teufel."
As Diable finished speaking, tears finally escaped his eyes.
Marry rushed forward without hesitation and wrapped him in a tight embrace. She began to cry as well, her shoulders shaking.
Diable hesitated for a moment—then returned the hug.
Teufel remained seated.
Silent.
Looking at the floor.
After a while, Marry and Diable slowly pulled away from each other.
That's when Teufel spoke.
"Master," he said softly, "can we go outside for a walk?"
Marry turned sharply.
"What? Outside? But look at the weather—it could start raining any moment."
Teufel smiled.
"We'll be fine," he said gently. "Right, Master?"
He looked directly into Diable's eyes.
They stared at each other for a few seconds.
Then Diable smiled faintly.
"Alright," he said. "Fine."
Chapter Ends
To be Continued