6 July 1958
The storm had quieted, though the air still carried its chill.
It was hard to believe that just an hour ago, the sky had been tearing itself apart.
Aisha and Teufel — now James — walked side by side, their hands intertwined like mother and child. Her grip was gentle but unsteady. Each step cost her more than she let show.
"So," James asked, glancing at her, "where are we going?"
"To my car," Aisha replied without hesitation.
"And where is that?"
"On the other side of the park."
They continued walking.
Aisha looked… happy. Not the polite happiness of society, but something softer. Almost fragile.
After a few moments, James spoke again.
"Why did you say that?"
"Say what?"
"About adopting me. We've only known each other for two months. And you just… said it."
Aisha let out a small laugh, covering her mouth.
"Pff— sorry. I couldn't help it."
She looked at him warmly. "James, it wasn't sudden. Two months is enough to understand someone's heart. Trust does grow with time… but sometimes, you simply listen to what your heart is telling you."
She paused.
"When I was little, I wanted a child more than anything. I loved children. I had a baby brother. I used to feed him, wash him, play with him… I did everything I could to make him smile."
James tilted his head slightly.
"You had?"
Her smile dimmed.
"He had cancer. He died when he was eight. I was twelve."
The wind felt colder.
James hadn't expected that. For once, he chose silence.
Aisha continued, her voice softer.
"I cried for years. And then… I learned I couldn't have children."
She gave a small, humorless smile.
"My husband cheated on me. My parents died early. I had wealth… but I never learned how to buy happiness."
She squeezed James's hand gently.
"And then you appeared."
She looked at him carefully.
"I don't know why, but you feel special to me. And I'm good at reading hearts, James."
Her tone shifted — still gentle, but perceptive.
"You're a good person. But you're hiding something."
For a split second, every instinct inside James sharpened.
Aisha noticed the flicker — but misunderstood it.
"I won't force you to tell me," she said calmly. "If you wanted to, you would have already. I know you've been through things I can't even imagine. I may never fully understand… but I know one thing."
She smiled again — not naive, not blind. Just hopeful.
"Everything will be alright."
James said nothing.
He simply kept walking.
⸻
They reached the car.
James froze.
"W–what… this is yours?"
Aisha smiled proudly.
"Of course. I told you, I'm very wealthy."
Parked before them was one of Volkswagen's newest 1958 models — polished, pristine, untouched by the storm.
Beside it stood an older man in his mid-fifties. Long white moustache. Black suit. Posture straight as iron.
Aisha gestured lightly.
"James, this is my butler — Mr. Locke."
The man placed his hand over his chest and bowed.
"My lady," he said formally, before turning his sharp gaze toward the boy. "May I ask who this young gentleman is?"
Aisha beamed.
"I forgot to tell you. His name is James. And from today onward, he will be James Ford."
She laughed lightly. "Yes. I'm adopting him."
For a fraction of a second, Locke's eyes widened.
Then they returned to composure.
"Understood, my lady." He inclined his head toward James. "In that case… welcome, Young Master."
He opened the car door.
They entered. Locke took the driver's seat, and the engine hummed to life.
⸻
An hour passed.
Night swallowed the sky.
James watched the cityscape change outside the window. Buildings grew grander. Streets more polished. Lights brighter. The wealth here surpassed even what he had seen in Berlin… even in Moscow — the city of his birth.
"So," James asked quietly, "when will we arrive?"
"Five minutes, Young Master," Locke answered smoothly.
James continued watching.
Then he looked at Aisha.
"Where are we?"
She smiled.
"Welcome to my home city — Bonn."
Her voice carried quiet pride.
"The capital of West Germany."
For a moment, James's mind didn't respond.
Bonn.
A new city.
A new identity.
A new stage.
After some time, the car finally slowed.
The iron gates opened.
James looked up—
And his eyes widened.
Before him stood a mansion so vast it barely seemed real. Even under the night sky, every window glowed warmly, golden light spilling across the marble driveway. The building stretched wide and tall — three full stories, symmetrical, imposing.
The garden in front was enormous. Rows of carefully trimmed hedges, rare flowers, tall trees standing like silent guards. It didn't look like a house.
It looked like something pulled from a novel.
James slowly turned toward Aisha.
He said nothing.
But his expression screamed:
You own this?
Aisha understood instantly.
She simply smiled and looked ahead.
The car moved closer to the entrance. As it did, figures began emerging from the grand doorway — cooks, gardeners, maids, attendants. Six of them in total. Even from a distance, their uniforms were immaculate.
As the car stopped and Aisha stepped out, followed by James, all six bowed in unison.
The choreography of wealth.
"Are you hungry?" Aisha asked gently.
"No. I'm alright."
She glanced at the sky. Night had fully settled.
Then she looked back at him.
"You must be tired from the journey. We'll talk tomorrow, okay? I also want you to meet some friends of mine."
"Friends?" James asked.
"Yes." She smiled softly. "Now rest."
She turned slightly.
"Sophia, could you show him his room?"
A maid stepped forward.
Medium-length black hair. Calm eyes. Composed posture.
"Of course, my lady," she said in a soft, controlled voice.
She looked at James.
"Please follow me, Young Master."
James nodded.
"Let's go."
⸻
As they entered the mansion, the interior felt even more overwhelming.
Polished floors. Chandeliers dripping crystal light. Paintings in golden frames. Sculptures. Carpets so thick his steps made no sound.
For the first time, something became clear.
Aisha wasn't just rich.
She was elite.
James lowered his gaze slightly, watching Sophia walk ahead of him.
"S-so… your name is Sophia, right?" he asked, trying to sound natural.
"Yes, Young Master."
"How long have you worked here?"
"This is my first year, sir."
Her tone remained steady. Professional. Measured.
James fell silent.
Any further attempt at conversation would feel forced.
They walked down a long corridor before stopping at a large wooden door.
"This is your room, Young Master."
She opened it.
James stepped inside.
The room was as extravagant as the rest of the mansion — a wide bed, polished desk, wardrobe, private bathroom, tall windows overlooking the garden.
But this time… he didn't react.
He was too tired.
"Rest well," Sophia said before quietly leaving.
The door closed.
Silence.
⸻
James removed his clothes and stepped into the shower.
Warm water ran down his body.
He stared at the tiles.
Five bullets.
The Walther PPK remained hidden among his belongings.
Loaded.
Ready.
Even here.
He dried himself, changed, and lay down on the bed.
The mattress sank softly beneath him.
For the first time in a long while, he was somewhere safe.
He closed his eyes.
⸻
Darkness.
In the dream, he saw a figure standing with its back toward him.
He didn't need to see the face.
"Diable…"
His voice echoed faintly.
The background was pitch black.
Only the silhouette existed.
"Diable…"
Again.
The figure slowly turned.
And as it did—
The face changed.
Not Diable.
Yui.
His mother.
Her eyes were empty.
James's own breathing echoed loudly in the void.
⸻
He jolted awake.
His body was drenched in sweat.
His breath came in sharp, uneven pulls.
The room felt too warm.
His chest tightened.
Suddenly—
Nausea.
He rushed to the bathroom.
The sound of vomiting broke the silence of the mansion.
He gripped the sink afterward, staring at his reflection.
His face looked pale.
But his eyes…
Cold. Awake.
He washed his face, forcing his breathing to steady.
He didn't want to think.
He didn't want to remember.
He returned to the bed.
Sleep came again — but not gently.
The night passed like this.
7 July 1958
Morning.
James opened his eyes.
For a second, the ceiling above him meant nothing.
Then memory returned.
Diable.
The park.
The mansion.
Bonn.
He sat up slowly.
The room was unfamiliar — but he did not look confused. He looked focused.
He walked straight to the mirror.
His reflection stared back at him.
For several long seconds, he simply watched it.
Then suddenly—
Slap.
The sound cracked through the quiet room.
"ENOUGH."
His voice was low but sharp.
He inhaled deeply. Held it.
Exhaled.
His eyes shifted to the pillow.
The Walther PPK rested beneath it.
Cold. Loaded. Silent.
He picked it up without hesitation and slipped it into yesterday's clothes, hiding it carefully.
The mask settled back into place.
He opened the door.
⸻
The hallway stretched long and quiet.
Last night, Sophia had guided him through these corridors.
But even exhausted, even distracted—
He had memorized the path.
If anyone else had tried to guide him now, he would have known immediately.
He walked toward what he calculated to be the main hall.
His mind was full of thoughts.
But none of them reached his face.
⸻
As he turned a corner—
He collided with someone.
A girl.
Short brown hair. Sharp eyes. Posture straight and commanding. She held a file under her arm like authority itself.
"Who are you?" she demanded, irritation clear in her tone.
"Um… my name is James."
"And?"
"James Ford."
Her eyes widened.
"Are you kidding me? Please don't tell me she adopted you."
Frustration flashed across her face.
Before he could respond, she grabbed his arm.
"Come with me."
She walked quickly — almost dragging him.
Moments later, they entered a sitting room.
Aisha was seated calmly, sipping tea.
Locke stood beside her, holding a silver tray.
"Oh," Aisha smiled. "You've already met."
"Aisha," the girl snapped, "don't tell me you adopted this kid."
"Yes, Amy. I did."
Amy.
Her jaw tightened.
"You can't just do that."
Aisha ignored the tone and gestured toward James.
"James, this is Amy. One of my closest friends. She manages most of my business affairs. We've known each other a long time."
She smiled teasingly. "She's younger than me, but acts like my mother."
Amy didn't smile.
"I'm serious. You can't adopt someone out of nowhere."
"Don't worry," Aisha replied lightly. "His documents will be ready by evening."
"I'm not talking about the paperwork, I—"
Suddenly—
"AMYYYYYYY!"
A loud, overly cheerful voice filled the room.
Everyone turned.
A young man with blonde hair and bright blue eyes stood at the entrance, grinning like the world belonged to him. He didn't look much older than nineteen.
He ran toward Amy with open arms.
She sidestepped.
He crashed onto the floor.
Aisha cleared her throat awkwardly and looked at James.
"W-well… that's Samuel. He's also a friend. He lives nearby. We haven't known him very long, but he's a good boy."
Samuel stood up, rubbing his nose.
"Come on, Amy. Just one hug."
"Not in your dreams," she replied coldly.
Samuel finally noticed James.
He tilted his head.
"And who's this?"
"His name is James," Aisha said warmly. "I adopted him yesterday. He's part of the family now."
Samuel's face lit up.
He walked over, placed a friendly hand on James's shoulder.
"Nice to meet you, James. I'm Samuel. Nineteen years old. Currently single… but hoping to mingle with Amy someday."
He winked dramatically.
Amy rolled her eyes.
"Don't worry," Samuel continued. "Everyone here is good. If something bothers you, come to your big brother, alright?"
James looked at him carefully.
"Of course."
"So how old are you?" Samuel asked.
"I turned twelve yesterday."
Samuel grinned.
"Old enough to get a girl."
Amy blinked.
"Wait. You're twelve?" She examined James more closely. "You look older. Fourteen. Maybe fifteen."
Aisha and Samuel exchanged glances.
"Now that you mention it…" Samuel murmured.
James looked at Amy.
"How old do I look exactly?"
"Fourteen. At least."
Silence lingered for a second too long.
Then Aisha clapped her hands lightly.
"Oh! Samuel, I forgot to mention — his documents will be ready by evening. He'll start school in a week. Seventh grade. I want you to prepare him before that."
Samuel straightened dramatically.
"Understood! Come, James. After breakfast, we begin your training."
James nodded.
"Okay."
Samuel flashed a smile and left the room.
The door closed behind him.
⸻
James stood still.
A strange thought flickered across his mind.
He studied the doorway where Samuel had disappeared.
Doesn't he look… familiar?
The thought lingered.
Then faded.
For now.
Chapter ends
To be Continued