Year 1956
Diable stood beside Teufel as he opened the door to his house.
It was small.
Not broken. Not miserable. Just… modest.
There were five rooms in total — a kitchen, a bedroom, a bathroom, a living room, and one additional room with almost nothing inside except a blackboard, a wooden table, and a few chairs.
"That will be our classroom," Diable had said earlier.
There were no signs of wealth. No decorations meant to impress. Everything was practical.
Diable had already explained that he didn't have a permanent job.
"In the mornings, I deliver newspapers," he had told Teufel.
"After that, I work at a convenience store. And in the evening, I wash cars."
He said it casually, without embarrassment.
Teufel listened carefully.
From those few sentences alone, he had already built an outline of Diable's life:
Unstable income. Long hours. Physical exhaustion.
No safety net.
It meant something important.
It meant Diable had chosen to take him in despite that.
But there were still things Teufel needed to know.
After showing him the house, Diable stepped outside again, motioning for Teufel to follow.
The air felt different.
Teufel frowned slightly.
This didn't look like Berlin.
"Dia—" He paused. "Master… where are we?"
Diable blinked, then gave a small apologetic smile.
"Oh. I forgot to mention. We're far from Berlin. This is Hösel. Near Düsseldorf."
Teufel stopped walking.
"Düsseldorf…?"
"Yes." Diable's tone was steady. "You're safe here. I can guarantee that."
That word again.
Safe.
They turned to head back.
But before entering the house, Teufel asked one more question.
"One last thing… Who was that girl? Mary."
For the first time that day, Diable's expression softened in a different way.
Not calm.
Not analytical.
But warm.
"Well…" He looked away slightly. "You could say she's a friend. We were classmates in high school."
There was something unspoken there.
Teufel noticed it.
He stored it.
⸻
Back inside, Diable moved toward the kitchen.
"So," he called out, "what do you feel like eating?"
"Anything is fine."
"Alright. You can watch TV until lunch is ready."
Teufel nodded and sat on the sofa in the living room. The kitchen was close enough that they could speak without raising their voices.
A movie played quietly on the television.
After a few minutes, Teufel spoke.
"Master."
"Yes?"
"You're not German. Right?"
The question hung in the air.
Diable went silent for several seconds.
Then—
"You're right. I'm half English and half French."
"Oh."
There was no judgment in Teufel's tone.
Just confirmation.
From the kitchen, Diable asked, "And you? You aren't fully German either, are you?"
Teufel allowed himself a faint smile.
"I'm half German. Half Russian."
He paused.
"And a little Japanese too."
Diable let out a soft laugh.
"That's quite the collection of nations."
Moments later, he stepped out of the kitchen carrying a plate.
"It's ready. Come taste it."
He sat beside Teufel and handed him the plate.
Teufel took a spoonful and ate quietly.
Diable watched carefully.
"So… how is it?" he asked, trying not to sound nervous — and failing.
Teufel paused, searching for the right word.
"It's good."
The answer was simple.
Too simple.
But Diable nodded anyway.
For now, it was enough.
Silence followed.
It wasn't hostile.
Just… uncertain.
Diable cleared his throat.
"Well… lessons start tomorrow. Today you can rest."
"Okay."
Another silence.
Diable tried to think of something else to say.
Nothing came.
The television continued playing in the background.
And so, the afternoon passed quietly.
Two people in the same room.
Neither fully understood by the other.
Yet.
After fifteen or twenty minutes of silence, Teufel suddenly spoke.
"Diable… who is he?"
He raised a finger toward the window.
Diable followed his gesture. Across the street, an old man stood in his garden, staring at nothing in particular.
"Oh… him?" Diable said lightly. "That's Mr. Heinrich. Our neighbor. A retired German soldier. He fought in both wars."
Teufel didn't respond immediately. His eyes remained fixed on the old man, studying him.
Diable continued, unaware of the weight behind that gaze.
"If you'd like, you can visit him. He loves children. Poor man… he lost his entire family in the Second War."
A faint smile appeared on Teufel's lips.
"Is that so? …Then I'll give it a try."
The smile lingered a second too long.
Diable felt something tighten in his chest.
What is going on in that mind of yours?
Before the silence could settle again, Teufel asked—
"Master… what is the Cold War?"
Diable stiffened.
"W–why do you ask? Where did you hear that?"
"On the television. The news reporter was talking about it."
Diable exhaled slowly.
"Well… I suppose you should know."
He walked toward the table and leaned against it.
"It has been about nine years since it began. It's mainly between the United States and the Soviet Union."
He paused, choosing his words carefully.
"It's not a direct war like the ones we witnessed before. That's why it's called 'cold.' It's a war of ideology. Propaganda. Technology. Weapons. Influence. They prepare for battle without firing a shot."
Teufel listened without blinking.
"Germany," Diable continued, voice lowering, "stands at its center. Our country is divided. Our capital is divided. We live between two armies."
He glanced toward the window.
"There are no battles here—yet. But there is fear. Spies. And preparation for a war that could begin at any moment."
Silence followed.
Teufel's voice came quietly.
"So… they are competing. But it could turn into a real war at any time."
"Yes."
"Do we have five years before it begins?"
The question was precise.
Diable frowned slightly.
"It's impossible to predict. It could remain like this for fifty years… or it could begin in five hours. No one can say for certain."
Teufel went silent.
For the first time, a faint shadow crossed his expression.
Disappointment.
Diable noticed it.
Did I say something wrong?
The room filled again with that strange, suffocating stillness.
Then—
The doorbell rang.
Both of them reacted instantly.
Diable moved to the door. Teufel followed.
When the door opened—
"Hey, Diable… what's up?"
Mary stepped inside without waiting for an answer.
Her gaze softened when she noticed Teufel.
"Oh. The little one is here too. Hello, Teufel. You remember me, right? Of course you do—we just met a few hours ago. So? How are things? What are you two plotting?"
The words came quickly, one over another.
Teufel blinked, processing.
Diable rubbed his forehead.
"Not again…" he muttered under his breath.
Teufel caught the signal immediately.
So this time, he would have to deal with her alone.
It wasn't that he disliked her.
He had simply learned—
Once Mary began speaking, it was nearly impossible to stop her.
Teufel looked up at her.
And smiled.
Chapter ends
To be continued