Peter Schmidt sat alone in his dimly lit apartment in Leverkusen, the weight of Earth 2's cosmic dust still clinging to his jacket. The black sparks danced faintly across his palms, flickering like dying embers—constant reminders of Seifros' curse. Outside, Leverkusen's streets buzzed with everyday life, but inside Peter's mind, a storm raged. Nights blurred into days filled with doubt, rage, and the haunting whispers: "I need you now."
His phone buzzed sharply on the nightstand, shattering the silence. Namie's name lit up the screen. He hesitated, then answered.
"Peter, are you okay?" Her voice cut through, warm but worried.
Peter forced a breath, staring at the shadows creeping up his arm. "Yeah... but I'm thoughtful about this Seifros power. It's eating at me, Namie. What if I can't control it? What if Germany sees me as the monster now?"
Namie paused, then replied gently, "You don't have to give up because of this. I've said it before—you can hide it, keep fighting from the shadows like always. Or reveal it to everyone, tell your full story. The world needs heroes who are real, not perfect. You're still the man who saved Earth 2."
Peter rubbed his temples, torn. The demonic energy pulsed warmer, almost responding to his turmoil. "I'll think about it. I just... need time."
Namie shifted tones, injecting excitement. "Peter, the government invited the three of us—me, you, and Bernard—to a Leverkusen United FC match. It's a huge tribute to our team for stopping the demonic outbreak. They specifically need you there. The fans want to see Germany's hero."
Peter blinked, glancing at a faded Leverkusen United poster on his wall—a team he'd cheered for since childhood, back when life was simple. "What time does it kick off?"
"In 18 hours. It's Leverkusen United versus Ironforge FC—prime rivals. BayArena will be electric."
A faint smile cracked Peter's face for the first time in days. The roar of the crowd, the chant of "United Forever," unity—it might drown out the demon's whispers, even if just for a night. "I'll be there. We all will."
He hung up, staring at his reflection in the window. Green eyes flickered with black sparks. The choice loomed: hide the demon, or let the world see the full hero.
Eighteen hours later, BayArena pulsed with 30,000 fans waving red-and-black scarves. Peter, Namie, and Bernard sat in the VIP box as halftime hit. The stadium announcer's voice boomed: "Ladies and gentlemen, tonight we honor the Spiritual Guardians who saved our world—Captain Peter Schmidt!"
The crowd erupted. Banners unfurled: "Schmidt: Demon Slayer of Germany!" Fireworks lit the sky. Peter stood, waving awkwardly, the demonic itch buried deep—for now.
But as the second half kicked off, a familiar chill crept up his spine. In the stands, eyes watched—not fans, but shadows. Seifros' pups? Brosnan's remnants? The demon within stirred, hungry amid the cheers.
The match ended 3-1 to Leverkusen United. Victory cheers rang out. But Peter's war was just beginning.
At 5 PM, Peter grabbed his motorcycle keys and rode toward Leverkusen United FC Stadium. The engine roared through Leverkusen's streets as twilight painted the sky orange. Gazing at the city lights flickering to life, Peter muttered to himself, "What am I really going to say to Germany?"
He arrived at the stadium and spotted Namie and Bernard waiting near the VIP entrance. Before he could say anything, the governor and the Leverkusen United FC owner approached with broad smiles.
"The match is about to start," the governor announced. "We're honored to have Germany's heroes here tonight."
The club owner handed each of them a crisp Leverkusen United jersey—red and black, with their names embroidered on the back. Peter stared at his, running his fingers over "SCHMIDT" in bold letters. "Do I even deserve this?" he whispered to himself, the demonic sparks tingling faintly beneath his skin.
He slipped on the jersey. The three took their seats in the VIP box just as the crowd's roar swelled. For the first time in years, Peter felt something new: the electric joy of a football match. He'd been so consumed watching the world through eyes of darkness—demons, cults, corruption—that he'd forgotten moments like this existed.
Then, a memory hit him like a thunderbolt.
His father, sitting at the kitchen table years ago, newspaper spread open to a Leverkusen United headline. "You need sports to feel good, Peter," his dad had said, smiling over the article.
Peter, young and cocky, had always replied, "Thanks Dad, but my sport is helping people."
Now, in the stadium's roar, Peter spoke to his father mentally: "I'm sorry for my arrogance, Dad. I promise I'll do better somehow."
The whistle blew. Leverkusen United vs. Ironforge FC kicked off. Cheers cascaded like waves. For 90 minutes, Peter's demon slept—the crowd's unity louder than Seifros' whispers.
Peter, Namie, and Bernard rose from their VIP seats as the final whistle blew—Leverkusen United victorious 3-1. The crowd's roar shook BayArena. An usher guided them backstage to the ceremony platform where the tribute awaited.
Peter shook hands with star player manuel wirtz, whose stunning goal had sealed the win. "Incredible finish, Lukas. You carried the team tonight."
Varen grinned. "Coming from Germany's real hero? Means everything."
Peter then greeted coach Thomas wartz, clapping his shoulder. "Your tactics were flawless. True leadership."
The trio stepped onto the floodlit stage. 30,000 fans chanted "Schmidt! Schmidt!" as microphones were handed over. Peter stepped forward first, heart pounding, black sparks hidden but burning beneath his Leverkusen United jersey.
"Today," Peter began, voice steady despite the tremor in his soul, "I came to tell you about my life—how I became a spiritual detective. Society discriminates against this work, saying demons don't exist, that it's all imagination. But now you know they do."
He paused, glancing at Namie and Bernard. The crowd hung silent.
"And there's something inside me," he continued, hand instinctively touching his chest where Seifros stirred. "Something I can prove—not everything I do is right, is it?"
The stadium erupted: "YES!"
Peter's eyes welled up. "Just like these players—before they became Leverkusen United's heroes, what did society tell them? 'This isn't real work'? Yes! And like me, they suffered that doubt. But I need to tell you: everything good you do deserves recognition. No matter what shadows you carry, your light still matters."
The crowd exploded—applause, tears, chants of "Hero! Hero!" Peter beamed, truly joyful for the first time since Earth 2. Namie squeezed his hand. Bernard nodded proudly.
As fireworks lit the victory sky,
As Peter's speech thunderous applause faded, Namie stepped forward to the microphone, her long hair catching the stadium lights. The crowd hushed, sensing the weight of her words. She took a deep breath and began:
"Before I joined my love," Namie said, voice clear and steady, "I was just an ordinary girl—a Japanese descendant living in Germany. I met Peter when we were children, and what drew me to him was that he was different. He had an Irish mother and a German father, and society saw that as madness. But I saw it as love. It made us better."
She paused, eyes locking with Peter's. "I was tortured by William Brosnan. Since then, Peter has been the only thing keeping me going—protecting him so he wouldn't break mentally. And I'll always love him because he loves, he fears, and wakes up every night wondering what his life would be like if he weren't different."
The stadium erupted—30,000 voices cheering, tears streaming down faces in the stands. Banners waved: "Schmidt & Namie Forever!"
Peter stood frozen, cheeks burning red, heart pounding. Nervous sweat beaded on his forehead, but beneath it all, pure joy bloomed. Namie's words cut through his demonic doubts like holy light. For the first time since Seifros' curse, he felt truly seen—not as a monster, but as a man worth loving.
Bernard clapped his shoulder with a rare grin. The trio stood together as fireworks exploded overhead, sealing the night's triumph. But in Peter's chest, the black sparks flickered—not in rage, but almost... gratefully.
Meanwhile, miles away in a lavish Dortmund mansion...
A young boy swung a wooden sword through the air, slashing imaginary foes with wild yells. Crystal chandeliers trembled above marble floors as his battle cries echoed through empty halls.
"STOP YELLING, YOU PEST!" his mother shrieked from the staircase, face twisted in frustration.
The boy lowered his sword, glaring at her with defiance.
"Can't you stay quiet for once, you spoiled brat?" she snapped.
He smirked mockingly. "Why are you so cold today?"
"We're moving," she hissed. "Packing up this mansion. We're going to Leverkusen."
"NO!" the boy shouted, storming to the moving boxes. "We're NOT leaving Dortmund!" He ripped them open, flinging clothes and books across the floor.
"WHAT ARE YOU DOING, YOU IDIOT?!" his mother roared, face purple with rage. "Can't you see we're LEAVING for Leverkusen?!"
The boy stood tall amidst the chaos. "Why this ignorance? You're acting weird because something's bothering you."
"Nothing's bothering me!" she screamed. "I just want a better life in another region!"
The tension hung thick. Outside, Dortmund's skyline glittered innocently. But mother and son both knew: this move wasn't just about "better life." Something darker chased them toward Leverkusen... straight into Peter's world.
Thank you all for reading my story and for simply seeing value in what I do. I'm grateful that you've been following Peter Schmidt's journey, and all I can say is that I will do my best every day to deliver good chapters of the webnovel Detektiv Schwarz.