6 July, 1958
Evening
Hosel, Düsseldorf, Germany
The storm had finally exhausted itself.
Rainwater still dripped from rooftops and railings, and the air carried that strange silence which follows chaos — as if the world itself needed time to breathe again. Clouds drifted slowly overhead, heavy but no longer violent.
On the small bridge where gunfire had echoed only minutes earlier, flashing police lights now painted the wet streets in restless red and blue.
The place was no longer just a bridge.
It was a crime scene.
Police officers moved back and forth, setting boundaries, collecting evidence, speaking in low voices. Yet despite all the movement, confusion hung thick in the air.
They had secured the scene.
They had followed procedure.
They had documented everything.
But now came the real question.
What next?
No one dared to make decisions on their own, because the officers assigned to lead the case had not yet arrived.
Then, the distant sound of an approaching engine cut through the uneasy calm.
A police car slowed near the barricade and came to a halt. Two men stepped out.
Tom and Oliver.
Four years had passed since they last stood across from a certain child in an interrogation room in Berlin. Four years since the case that refused to leave their memories.
Tom stretched his stiff shoulders, irritation already visible on his face.
"Man… this sucks," he muttered. "We just got transferred back home two days ago, and boom — a murder case. Haven't even had the chance to meet Robert yet.
Oliver, as always, appeared calmer. His eyes moved across the scene, absorbing details before speaking.
"Work is work," he replied evenly. "Robert can wait. Dead bodies usually don't."
Before Tom could respond, a young officer hurried toward them and snapped into a salute.
Oliver nodded slightly. "Report."
The officer straightened.
"Sir, victim identified. Male, twenty-one years old. Name — Diable. Cause of death appears to be gunshot wounds. Scene is fresh. Estimated time of death… less than an hour ago."
Tom let out a quiet whistle.
Oliver's expression remained unchanged.
"Send officers to his residence," Oliver ordered. "Speak to neighbors, friends, family. Anyone who might know something. We need background, recent conflicts, possible suspects."
He turned slightly toward Tom.
"You go with them."
Tom sighed but nodded. "Yeah, yeah. I'm going."
Within minutes, Tom and three officers were back in a patrol car heading toward Diable's address.
The neighborhood was quiet when they arrived. Streetlights reflected off damp pavement, and distant thunder rolled faintly beyond the city.
One house stood with its lights still on.
Someone was home.
As Tom stepped out and walked toward the entrance, something on the roadside caught his eye — a dead cat, likely struck by a passing car during the storm.
He stared at it briefly.
Bad night all around, he thought.
Then he moved on and knocked on the door.
A few seconds passed before it opened.
A young woman stood there — blonde hair, blue eyes, confusion already visible on her face.
"Um… may I help you, officers?" she asked politely.
Tom adjusted his tone into something professional but gentle.
"Does a man named Diable live here?"
Her expression shifted slightly, concern creeping in.
"Yes… why?"
Tom continued carefully. "And your relationship with him?"
"I'm his friend," she answered. "We were classmates."
Tom nodded. "And may I ask why you're here tonight?"
She hesitated for a moment, then replied, "Today was a birthday party for Te—"
She froze mid-sentence.
Something clicked in her memory — Diable's warning. The name they weren't supposed to reveal.
She corrected herself quickly.
"Frazzle. Yeah… Frazzle's birthday."
Tom frowned slightly. "Frazzle? Who's that?"
Now irritation entered her voice. "Officer, I've answered enough. What is going on? And where are Diable and Frazzle?"
Tom hesitated.
This was the part he never liked.
He took a breath.
"Miss… I'm sorry to inform you… but we found Diable's body tonight."
For a moment, she simply stared at him.
As if her mind refused to process the word.
Her fingers trembled. Her breathing quickened. Color drained from her face.
Before Tom could say anything else, her body collapsed.
She hit the ground unconscious.
"Hey! Miss!" Tom shouted, kneeling beside her.
The officers rushed forward, trying to help while one of them quickly radioed for an ambulance.
And under the quiet sky, with stormwater still dripping from rooftops, the night grew heavier.
Because whatever had begun on that bridge…
…was only just unfolding.
Oliver stood alone at the edge of the bridge, looking down at the dark ribbon of water sliding quietly beneath it. The storm had washed the city clean, yet something heavy still clung to the night.
He pulled a cigarette from his pocket out of habit, placing it between his lips. The lighter clicked once, twice, and then a small flame bloomed.
But before the flame touched the tip—
A memory surfaced.
A voice. Soft. Familiar.
"Maybe you should stop smoking."
For a moment, the present dissolved. His hand trembled slightly. The lighter snapped shut.
Without a word, Oliver removed the cigarette, stared at it as if it were something foreign, then crushed it between his fingers. The entire packet followed, tossed into the river below. It vanished into the current.
His breathing grew uneven.
Sweat gathered along his temples despite the cool night air.
Footsteps approached from behind.
Tom.
Oliver straightened, forcing composure back onto his face before turning around.
"So," he asked, voice steady again, "what's the report?"
Tom rubbed the back of his neck, tired.
"Well… I dug up what I could," he began. "Originally, Diable was English. Came to Germany around the end of the war. Not legally."
Oliver listened silently.
"I tried finding records from England," Tom continued, "but there's nothing. Like the guy didn't exist before coming here."
Tom shrugged.
"From his girlfriend and neighbors, I found out he'd been living with some kid for about two years. Name — Frazzle. Tonight was the kid's birthday. Diable, his girlfriend, and the boy were all together earlier."
He exhaled.
"Problem is, the only witness — Marry — fainted when I told her Diable was dead. She's in the hospital now. Can't question her yet."
Oliver's gaze drifted downward, unfocused.
Tom kept going.
"But here's the weird part. This kid Frazzle… he's a ghost. No ID, no school record, no birth certificate, nothing. It's like the kid never existed."
Tom frowned.
"Hey… Oliver? You listening?"
No response.
Tom waved a hand in front of him.
"Come on, man."
Oliver blinked, returning to the present.
"Oh. Yeah. Sorry. What were you saying?"
Tom sighed in frustration.
"Seriously? Don't tell me you're still stuck on that kid from Berlin. He died two years ago. Why are you still bothered by some—"
He stopped mid-sentence.
Because Oliver's expression had changed.
For the first time in years, Tom saw anger on his partner's face.
Real anger.
Oliver grabbed Tom by the collar and shoved him back against the patrol car.
"He is not that boy," Oliver snapped. "He was Yui's child."
Tom froze.
Oliver's grip tightened.
"Our childhood friend, Yui. Remember her? High school? He was the son of the woman I loved."
Tom's eyes widened.
"Don't you dare talk about him like that again. Understood?"
Tom swallowed. "Y-Yeah… understood."
Oliver released him, stepping back, regaining control of himself.
A beat of silence followed.
"…Sorry," Oliver muttered. "I went too far."
Tom straightened his jacket, still shaken.
"I'll explain everything when Robert gets here," Oliver added quietly.
Tom blinked. "Oh, right. I forgot to tell you — he called earlier. He's already on his way."
Oliver frowned. "What? Isn't he supposed to be at the hospital? He's a doctor."
Tom shrugged. "Day off."
Just then, headlights swept across the bridge.
A sleek Ford rolled to a stop nearby, engine humming softly before shutting off. The driver's door opened, and a man stepped out — broad-shouldered, bearded, confident. Same age as them, but carrying the relaxed swagger of someone untouched by police work.
His voice echoed across the bridge.
"Are you puppies talking about me?"
Tom smirked. "There he is."
Robert approached, throwing an arm around each of their shoulders as if no time had passed at all.
"So what's up, fellas?" he grinned. "Already busy with a case? You cops never get a break, huh?"
Oliver smirked faintly. "Long time no see."
Robert laughed. "Long time? It's been five years, man."
Tom chuckled. "How're you and your family doing?"
"Good, good," Robert replied. "Everyone's good. What about you, Tommy? How old's your son now?"
"First grade," Tom said proudly. "And… don't spread it around, but we're expecting another one."
Robert grinned. "You don't waste time, do you?"
Tom laughed. "What about your daughter?"
"Fifth grade now," Robert said. "Growing too fast."
He stepped back, looking at both of them.
"You guys should come over sometime. We'll drink properly."
Tom snorted. "You're a doctor. Shouldn't you be setting an example?"
Robert shrugged. "Being a doctor doesn't mean giving up life's pleasures."
Tom shook his head. "One day you'll drink yourself to death."
Robert shot back instantly, "Then I hope you get arrested for framing me in a fake murder case."
Tom groaned. "Why am I always the criminal?"
Oliver burst into laughter.
Tom and Robert followed, their laughter echoing across the quiet bridge.
For a brief moment, the murder, the storm, the investigation — everything faded.
Three old friends, laughing like nothing had changed.
But beneath that laughter, the night still held its secrets.
Scene shifts — a few hours earlier.
The storm had weakened, yet the rain had not fully stopped. The sky still growled in the distance, as if reluctant to end what it had started.
Teufel kept running.
His lungs burned, every breath tearing through his chest, but he refused to slow down. Each step splashed through puddles, scattering droplets into the air like fragments of something broken.
Like regret.
But he did not stop.
Because this was not aimless running.
He knew exactly where he was going.
And that was the most terrifying part.
Regret weighed on him, yet instead of turning back, he chose to move further ahead—deeper into the path he had already chosen. Each step felt less like escape and more like punishment he willingly inflicted upon himself.
Finally, exhausted, he stopped in front of a familiar park.
The same park.
The place where he and Diable had first met.
His chest heaved as he stepped inside, rain dripping from his hair and clothes. His eyes searched desperately from side to side, scanning every bench, every shadow.
Then—
A hand waved at him.
Not far away, a woman sat on a bench, smiling gently as she motioned him over.
She appeared to be in her late twenties. Her skin carried a pale, unhealthy tint, and faint shadows rested beneath her eyes, signs of a body constantly fighting weakness. Yet despite that fragility, she remained strikingly beautiful.
Her clothes were elegant—far too expensive for such a quiet, empty park.
As Teufel approached, she stood up happily.
"HAPPY BIRTHDAY, JAMES!"
She wrapped her arms around him without hesitation.
"Oh my God, you're soaking wet!" she exclaimed. "Still raining, huh? Don't worry, I'll fix that."
From her purse, she pulled out a small towel and gently began drying his hair and face, like a worried older sister or mother.
As she fussed over him, Teufel's thoughts ran cold and precise beneath his calm expression.
Aisha Ford. Twenty-eight years old. Wealthy beyond imagination.
A rare skin disease destroyed most of her immune system. Regular hospital visits. Endless medicines. A fragile body that could fail at any time.
She cannot conceive children.
No family left. Parents dead. A failed marriage—her husband only wanted money and betrayed her.
Now she stands alone.
And she owns a fortune with no heir.
I met her two months ago. Told her I was a homeless boy named James. No surname. No identity. No past.
And slowly… I became someone important to her.
Back in the present, Aisha smiled warmly.
"James, sit down."
He obeyed, sitting beside her on the bench.
"So," she asked playfully, "do you know what your birthday present is?"
Teufel tilted his head, pretending curiosity.
"No idea. What is it?"
She hesitated, suddenly serious.
"Before I tell you… can I ask something? Have you ever gone to school? Do you even have basic education?"
He shrugged lightly. "Never went. But I know English, German… some math. And a little Japanese too. Konnichiwa, Aisha-san."
She laughed softly.
"That's more than enough."
Then her expression softened, almost hopeful.
"What if… you could go to school? Like normal kids. Make friends. Eat what you want. Live better than most children."
Teufel frowned, playing confusion.
"H-how?"
Aisha took a small breath.
"James… would you let me adopt you?"
His eyes widened.
The perfect reaction.
Inside, however, there was no surprise. He had predicted this months ago.
Still, he maintained the act.
"But… I don't have documents. No birth certificate. No surname. Nothing. That's illegal, right?"
She waved it off confidently.
"Leave that to me. Money can solve paperwork problems. After this, you'll be James Ford."
She looked at him with gentle expectation.
"So… will you let me adopt you?"
Everything was unfolding exactly as planned.
That was why Diable had to die today.
Teufel forced emotion into his voice.
"Yes… yes, of course! Thank you… thank you so much!"
He hugged her tightly.
Aisha hugged him back, relieved and happy, unaware of the storm standing within the boy in her arms.
Under the dim park lights, in the quiet after the storm,
The deceiver and the fool embraced each other.
And neither realized which one they truly were.
Chapter Ends
To be continued