The young boy, John, grabbed his backpack and headed to school, leaving the mansion in tense silence. Meanwhile, Julia Alois packed furiously—crystal vases into velvet cases, family portraits face-down. Every box stamped "LEVERKUSEN" felt like a defeat.
The front door slammed. John's father entered, loosening his tie.
"Julia, how's the move going?"
Julia straightened, forcing a smile that didn't reach her eyes.
"John's upset about Leverkusen."
Her husband sighed. "I'll talk to him." He climbed the marble stairs toward John's room.
Alone, Julia snatched John's phone. Social media loaded—a photo stopped her cold: John grinning beside a pretty blonde girl with green eyes, both radiant at some school event.
Julia's fingers flew across the screen, hunting the girl's profiles. Found it. "Lina Müller, 15." Another photo: Lina kissing an unfamiliar boy under Dortmund stadium lights.
Julia exhaled sharply, relieved. "Good. He's still MINE."
Hours later, John burst through the door, tossing his backpack.
"Good night, son. How was school?" Julia purred, sweeter than honey.
"Good," John mumbled, reaching for his phone.
Julia slid the screen toward him—Lina kissing her boyfriend. John's face fell, eyes wide with shock.
"You like this girl," Julia stated flatly.
John froze, cheeks burning.
"You're NEVER seeing her again. Understood?" Julia's voice dropped to ice. Her grip tightened on his phone, knuckles white. John's world shrank to that screen—and his mother's unblinking stare.
Back to Peter Schmidt, standing outside BayArena's glow as the crowd dispersed into Leverkusen's night. He turned to Namie, scanning the VIP area.
"Where's Bernard?"
Namie smiled softly. "He went home early—family stuff."
Peter gazed across the city skyline, lights reflecting in his green eyes—still flickering with faint black sparks. He took her hand gently.
"I love you, Namie."
Her cheeks flushed deep red. She reached up, touching his forehead tenderly. "I love you too, Peter."
The motorcycle engine growled to life. Peter rode through Leverkusen's quiet streets, Namie's arms wrapped around his waist. Streetlights blurred past as she leaned forward, her voice soft against the wind.
"You always loved me. And I always loved you." Her fingers brushed his shoulder.
They pulled up to Namie's modest apartment building. She led him inside, flicking on warm lights. "Welcome to my place." A cozy space—family photos, spiritual charms, a well-loved tea set. Peter sank into the sofa, watching her move with quiet grace.
Namie sat beside him, their knees touching. For the first time
Meanwhile in Dortmund...
Dawn broke over the mansion as moving trucks idled outside. Julia Alois stood at the grand window, surveying the last boxes being loaded. John slumped in the backseat of the black SUV, arms crossed, staring out at the only home he'd known. His father gripped the steering wheel, glancing back nervously.
"John, it'll be fine," his father said. "Leverkusen's a fresh start."
John kicked the seat. "I hate it." But as Dortmund's familiar streets faded in the rearview—industrial smokestacks, yellow Wall Street signs—the anger softened. Leverkusen wasn't Dortmund. But maybe... it could be home.
Julia, in the passenger seat, watched Germany blur past. Her reflection stared back from the window—perfect makeup, cold calculation. "Now we go to Leverkusen," she murmured, voice dripping with purpose.
John pressed his face against the window, watching Leverkusen's distant lights appear. Sadness lingered, but a spark of curiosity flickered. His new life—and his mother's dark plans—awaited.
At Namie's apartment, deep into the night...
Peter and Namie slept side by side, her head resting on his chest. Moonlight filtered through thin curtains, casting soft shadows across their peaceful faces. Peter stirred, eyes half-open, staring at the ceiling. The faint black sparks flickered along his arm, barely visible in the dark.
He whispered so quietly it was almost breath, "I'm worried about my own power..." Namie slept on, unaware of the demonic fear gnawing at him.
Meanwhile, at Bernard's house...
Bernard sat alone at his kitchen table, a single lamp casting harsh light over scattered papers. His eyes locked onto an elegant envelope—"Schwarz Motorrad" embossed in gold. He slid out the letter, reading Julia Alois' words:
"As you know, our motorcycle company Schwarz Motorrad wants to sponsor you both. We want to create custom bikes and spiritual weapons for you to hunt demons and external threats. Enclosed is the contract."
A sleek contract waited beneath—millions in funding, prototype demon-hunter bikes, consecrated blades forged with anti-Seifros tech. Bernard's finger hovered over the pen. Accept Julia's money?
Thank you for reading today's
chapter! It was quite short because it was
really difficult to finish,
so I left the hook for tomorrow. But tomorrow
I promise we'll be back with a longer chapter.