Archive of Our Own

POV : Nero 

For as long as I can remember, it has always been just the two of us—me and Mom. Well, Auntie Lady is around too, though she mostly shows up just to hound Mom about his mounting debts. I used to wonder why other families had women as mothers, while mine was a man. But honestly? I didn’t care. Man or woman, it didn't matter. I loved Mom regardless because he was the one who had held me since the day I was born.

His shock of white hair was always so striking, soft to the touch and carrying the faint, sweet scent of strawberries. I loved that smell. It meant I was safe. It meant I was home. Every time he pulled me into an embrace, I could feel a warmth that seemed to chase away the rest of the world.

Whenever we stepped out of the house—or our Devil May Cry—Mom would always remind me: 'Call me Dante.' Even when customers walked through the door, I had to use that name (except when Lady or Morrison were around) . I never quite understood why, but I never questioned him.

Mom’s job was unlike anyone else’s. He was a Devil Hunter, a man who carried a massive blade on his back and dual pistols that looked cooler than anything in the movies. He was my idol. Every time he headed out for a job, I’d plead with him to take me along. I wanted my own sword, my own guns; I wanted to be just like him. But he’d always turn me down with the same excuse: I was still too young. 'Wait until you’re older,' he’d say. And even though I’d pout and huff, in the end, I always gave in.

Even when our finances were tight, Mom had a habit of splurging on pizza and strawberry sundaes, which—naturally—made our money disappear even faster. Occasionally, he’d try his hand at cooking for me. It was... edible, but barely. It didn’t take long for me to realize that if I wanted a decent meal, I’d have to learn how to cook and look after myself while he was away on a job.

Most mornings, I walked to school alone, fueling up on whatever leftovers were sitting in the fridge. That was the downside of having a mother like him: he’d sleep in late, usually recovering from a long night of devil hunting. The only time he ever actually walked me to the school gates was on my very first day.

Still, whenever he didn't have a client, he’d always be there to pick me up. You couldn't miss him—his signature red coat stood out like a flame against the dull school background, and his motorcycle was easily the coolest thing on the street. I could feel everyone’s eyes on him, whispering about how 'badass' he looked. Each time, I’d hike my backpack up with pride and run into his arms, giving him a tight squeeze before we headed home. Sometimes, if we weren't in a rush, we’d stop at his favorite pizza joint for a slice or two on the way back.

I almost forgot to mention: Mom is absolutely hopeless at math. The most he can manage is basic addition and subtraction. Whenever I bring my homework to him, his face contorts into a expression far more stressed than my own. He’d stare at the page, dead serious, and ask, 'Is this really meant for a kid?' I never quite knew how to answer that, so I’d just try my best on my own. On the lucky days when Auntie Lady dropped by, she’d be the one to actually help me get through my assignments.

But those moments of struggle were overshadowed by the pure happiness of just being with him. Some days, we’d dance. Music from the jukebox would swell, filling every corner of the shop. Mom moved with such effortless grace—every step, every turn was beautiful. I’d try my hardest to keep up, only to end up tripping over my own feet and tumbling to the floor.

Mom would let out a soft, low chuckle, then crouch down to my level. His striking blue eyes would scan me for any scrapes or bruises. 'Where does it hurt?' he’d ask gently. Then, he’d give the spot a soft blow—a tiny puff of air that made the pain vanish instantly, as if he possessed the healing magic of a fairy tale godmother. He’d take my small hands in his, guiding me through the rhythm, teaching me how to find my footing. Afterward, we’d reward ourselves with bowls of sweet, chilled strawberries or some other dessert to recharge.

We might not have a father in our family, but we are the happiest family I could ever imagine.

If you were to ask where my father went... well, I honestly wouldn’t know. I asked Mom once, but he only gave me a faint, fleeting smile and said,

"He’s somewhere far, far away. But one day, he’ll come back to us."

I didn’t truly understand what he meant, but I saw it—the shadow of sorrow that flickered in his eyes. I decided right then never to ask about Father again. I hated seeing that look on his face; I much preferred his smiles and his boisterous laughter. Those suited him so much better.

I once tried asking Auntie Lady what Father was like—his face, his personality. She just pinched my cheek and told me to call her 'Big Sister' first, claiming 'Auntie' made her sound far too old. She told me that Father looked quite a lot like Mom, but that he was a 'shitty, low-life scumbag' who had hurt Mom deeply. She rolled her eyes as she spoke, and it made me certain: Father must have been a truly terrible person. Why else would Mom look so pained, and why else would Lady—I mean, Big Sister Lady—loathe him so much?

But it leaves me wondering... why does Mom still wait for him? Father vanished before I was even born. He was a man who acted cruelly and caused Mom so much pain, yet Mom still clings to the hope of his return. On quiet days when there are no jobs to hunt, I often catch him sitting at his desk, staring blankly at the office entrance... waiting. Each time the door creaks open, his eyes ignite with a desperate spark of anticipation, only to flicker out into a weary sigh the moment he realizes it’s just another customer.

One night, while I was fast asleep on the second floor, a sudden explosion from downstairs jolted me awake. My heart raced—did Mom just blow up the kitchen again? I scrambled out of bed to see what happened, but before I could even reach the door, Mom appeared right in front of me.

He reached out and ruffled my hair gently. 'I’ll be gone for a bit, kiddo. Just two or three days,' he said. 'Take care of yourself while I'm out. If anything happens, call Lady or Morrison.' Then, without another word, he stepped out into the night. I watched from the window as he left with a blonde woman. Her face felt hauntingly familiar, like a memory I couldn't quite grasp—until I looked back at the framed photo on Mom’s desk. She looked exactly like Grandma Eva.

It wasn't unusual for Mom to take on long-distance missions that kept him away for days, though he always tried his hardest to wrap things up in a single day just to get back to me. While I waited, I’d find ways to kill the boredom—watching TV, drawing, or sometimes even whispering to Mom’s devil arms just to ease the loneliness. I always intended to stay up until he got home so we could go to bed together, but sleep usually claimed me before I even realized it.

When I finally woke up, the first thing I’d see was Mom’s sleeping face beside me. Watching the steady rhythm of his breathing and feeling the radiating warmth of his embrace was the best feeling in the world. And as always, if it happened to be a Saturday or Sunday, I’d just snuggle closer and drift right back to sleep alongside him- it was our little weekend .

A few days later, while I was in the middle of drawing at the center of the office, the door creaked open. I knew instantly—Mom was back. I scrambled to my feet and ran toward him as fast as my legs could carry me.

"Mom! You’re home!"

I reached out, ready to throw myself into his arms, but I stopped short when I saw his face. Something was wrong. He looked hollow—utterly exhausted and consumed by a shadow I had never seen before. Without a word, he pulled me into an embrace. Usually, his hugs were the warmest thing I knew, but today, he felt strangely cold. I could feel his entire frame trembling against mine. His grip began to tighten, harder and harder, until it became a crushing force that stole the breath from my lungs—as if he were terrified that if he let go, I might vanish too.

"Mom... I can't breathe... it hurts..."

I managed to gasp out, the pain becoming more than I could bear. It was as if he suddenly snapped back to reality; his arms loosened immediately, and he stammered out an apology, his voice thick with a frailty that scared me. I asked him what was wrong, but he looked away, struggling to gather the courage to speak. When he finally looked at me, his voice was barely a whisper.

"Nero... your father is gone. I'm so sorry."

After those words left his lips, Mom headed straight upstairs to the bathroom, leaving me standing alone in the heavy silence below. I didn't understand. Why was he apologizing? I wanted to follow him, to ask what he meant, but then I heard it—the muffled sound of sobbing from behind the bathroom door, followed by the violent crash of shattering glass. A heavy silence followed, punctuated only by broken gasps. Mom was... crying?

This was the first time I had ever heard him weep. I stood frozen before the bathroom door, my hand hovering near the knob. I knew he never liked to lock it, but I lacked the courage to turn it. Eventually, the door creaked open. Mom stepped out, his voice hoarse and strained as he told me to go to bed. His eyes were swollen and bloodshot from crying. Though a thousand questions burned in my chest, the words died in my throat. I simply took his hand and let him lead me to bed. He didn't forget to tuck me in or press a goodnight kiss to my forehead before walking away, but his touch felt fragile, like glass about to break.

I couldn't sleep. I tossed and turned, haunted by the faint, rhythmic sound of sobbing coming from Mom’s room. No matter how much I tried to block it out, the pain in his voice reached me.

Clutching my pillow and my teddy bear, I made my way to his bedroom. When I pushed the door open, I saw him—curled up in a ball on the bed, trembling like a wounded animal. The room was a mess; things were strewn across the floor in a chaotic heap. I climbed onto the bed beside him, pulling the fallen blanket up to cover his shaking frame before wrapping my arms around him.

"Don't cry, Mom. It's not your fault," I whispered, trying my best to comfort him.

I used my small hands to wipe away the tears streaming down his face. It was the first time I had ever seen him this broken. Usually, he was the strongest person I knew, an unshakable wall, but now... he felt as fragile as glass. I pressed a kiss to his forehead, just as he always did for me. He went quiet then, pulling me into a tight embrace as if I were his only anchor left in the world. And there, held in each other's arms, we finally drifted into a restless sleep.

From that day on, Mom drowned himself in alcohol. Every night before bed, I’d creep downstairs to check on him, only to find him slumped over the desk, a bottle of whiskey still clutched in his hand. The floor around him was littered with empty bottles—a glass graveyard that reeked so strongly it made me want to gag.

Even though it was far too much for a child to shoulder the weight of an adult, I somehow managed to haul him upstairs to his room every single time. I didn’t understand why he was so obsessed with the stuff, as if that bitter liquid could somehow turn back time and fix the past. I once stole a tiny sip just to see what made him crave it so much, but I spat it out instantly. It was horribly bitter and burned my throat like fire.

When he wasn’t drinking, he’d hide away in his room with the curtains drawn tight, refusing to let even a sliver of sunlight in. He stopped taking jobs entirely. The smiles were gone, replaced by a permanent mask of sorrow. Sometimes, I’d wake up in the middle of the night and see the lights still on downstairs. He’d be sitting in that same spot, unmoving, lost in the labyrinth of his own thoughts. I’d try to beg him to come to bed, and he’d always promise he’d be up soon, but by morning, he’d still be there. If it wasn't for the alcohol finally forcing him into a stupor, I don't think he would have slept at all.

I tried asking the women about that mission—about what exactly happened that changed him so much—but they refused to say a word. Especially Trish. She was there; she saw it all. Yet she kept her lips sealed, only telling me that "one day, Dante will tell you himself."

Will that day ever even come? Why does everyone insist on keeping me in the dark? They all just see me as a child, too naive and ignorant to understand anything.

I hate it. I hate it more than anything.

The atmosphere inside the shop grew heavy, thick with an unsettling stillness. Even so, Mom continued to pick me up from school, but everything had changed. It used to be that while I was perched on the back of his motorcycle, he’d constantly strike up a conversation—asking how my day went or what homework I had. Even when the wind whipped against our faces and muffled his words, he never stopped talking. Now, there was only silence. The roar of the engine and the whistling wind were the only sounds left between us. No words, no laughter. Just a hollow void.

Not long after, I was offered a scholarship to a boarding school in Fortuna. At first, I hesitated. The thought of leaving made my chest tight, but in the end, I decided to go. Being at home had become suffocating in a way I couldn't describe. Mom was drifting further and further away from me. At the dinner table, we sat in a deafening silence, both of us staring down at our plates, never once meeting each other's eyes. Our meals used to be vibrant, filled with teasing and jokes, but now the only sounds were the mechanical clinking of silverware against porcelain and the quiet sound of chewing.

Most of the time, Mom didn't even eat. Day by day, he wasted away. His once bronzed skin—had faded into a ghostly, sickly pale. I grew more worried with every passing hour, trying my best to plead with him to eat something, anything.

But he would only ever give me the same hollow response:

"I'm not hungry."

When I talked to Mom about going to study in Fortuna, he didn't object—especially since it was a full scholarship. Yet, I could see the hesitation lingering in his eyes, a silent conflict about whether he should let me go at all. In the end, he gave in. On the day of my departure, he walked me to the harbor to see me off. As the ship began to sail and I turned back to catch one last glimpse of him on the shore, he was already gone. I didn't think much of it then; I assumed he had a job to get to. Besides, I promised myself I’d come back to visit during summer break. I only hoped that by the time we met again, he would be doing better.

Fortuna is a deeply religious city, one that worships Sparda as their Messiah—the savior who liberated humanity from the demon invasion thousands of years ago. But Sparda has long since vanished. The one actually protecting humanity now is a Devil Hunter named Dante—my mom. In my eyes, he’s ten times cooler and more powerful than the Sparda these people idolize (even if that man is technically my grandfather) .

In this place, I’ve become the "strange kid," an outcast who can't seem to fit in. With my unusual white hair, everyone whispers behind my back, accusing me of being a demon. I don’t care what they say. I already know that a part of me isn't human, and I have no intention of wasting my time brawling over such petty, trivial nonsense.

The only exception is when someone dares to call my mother a whore—claiming he’s just some rent-boy who slept with enough clients to end up with me, and that’s why I have no father. Whenever that happens, I don't hesitate. I’ll lung forward and bash the face of any brat who dares to utter such filth. I don't care who their parents are; I’ll beat them until they run home crying with their tails between their legs.

I have no idea which adult let it slip that I lived alone with my mother. In this city, where religion is the absolute center of life, they view our existence as a deviancy. They see my mother as nothing more than a cheap, easy slut who opened his legs for men and couldn't afford an abortion. They have no clue—not a single one of them—that the only reason they’re even alive isn't because of their precious god, but because of Dante. It’s him, and him alone, who’s out there slaughtering the demons that still haunt this world.

The education here is surprisingly good, but the people are the complete opposite. Back at my old school, no one ever looked at me like I was a freak. If anything, they thought I was cool—envying my unique white hair and the badass guardian who’d come to pick me up every day.

Despite everything, I did find one friend here. Her name is Kyrie. She has such a pure, kind heart and always steps in to defend me. Her smile is like a balm; it washes away all the anger I feel after dealing with those local thugs. To me, she’s like a big sister. She has an older brother named Credo, too. Oh, and then there’s Nico—but let’s just say she’s in a category of her own.

No matter how rotten the people in this city can be, I forced myself to endure it. I was determined to hurl top-tier grades back home to Mom, as a way of showing him I was doing fine. Every week, I’d write to him, asking how he was and venting about my daily life. He never once wrote back. I knew it was because of what happened that day—the day everything changed—but I chose to believe he read every single one of my letters. I just had to wait for time to heal him and bring the old 'Mom' back to me.

Summer break was fast approaching. As I was packing my things to head home, I noticed a letter addressed to me. When I opened it, a wide, genuine smile broke across my face. It was from him.

'I'll be waiting for you at the harbor, Nero.'

My heart soared with happiness. I can’t wait to see him again. I really can't

I shouted his name at the top of my lungs. He greeted me with a smile, and I could see right away that he looked so much better than before; the hollow, wasted look was gone, replaced by a spark of the man I remembered.I threw myself into his arms, and after months of being apart, his embrace felt steady and strong—just like I remembered.

I hauled my luggage into the passenger seat of his car, and as we drove back toward our home, I chatted away, filling him in on everything that had happened in Fortuna—carefully omitting the part where people had insulted him. When we finally arrived at the shop, a surprise was waiting for me. A young girl, about eight or nine years old, was already making herself at home inside. I later found out her name was Patty. It turned out Mom had taken on a job that required him to look after her for a while—though from the way she was ordering him around, it felt more like he was the one being managed.

It wasn’t long before I realized Patty wasn’t just ‘being’ there—she’d practically taken it over. The office, once cluttered with pizza boxes and dirty magazines, now smelled faintly of laundry detergent and flowers.

"Dante! I told you to throw away those pizza crusts!" she snarled, pointing at Dante like a miniature military drill instructor.

I glanced at my mother, expecting a cold, indifferent response, but instead, he sighed wearily, rubbed the back of his neck, and actually began clearing the pizza boxes. I stood there, stunned. The legendary demon hunter, the man who could take down skyscraper-sized monsters without tiring, was being ordered around by a tiny girl, only waist-high to him.

As I watched them argue about who would wash the dishes, I felt a strange sense of relief. The heavy, uncomfortable silence that had enveloped the place before I arrived felt… alive again.

I’m older now—old enough to head out on missions with Mom. But he still brushes me off, insisting I’m just a kid. It hits a nerve every time he says that, treating me like I'm still his little boy. I’m twelve years old now, not some toddler anymore! I’m practically a teenager. I don’t know what kind of face I was making, but for some reason, Mom just looked at me like I was a puppy. Instead of a real hunt, he gave me a different 'mission': looking after Patty whenever he’s out of the shop.

Patty constantly complains about how Mom is such a hopeless adult, grumbling about how he always leaves the place a mess. I’ve grown used to his habits a long time ago—to be honest, before she showed up, this place was ten times filthier and more suffocating. Our main job is to watch the shop, but sometimes, we’d secretly tail Dante on his missions. Even though we eventually get caught every single time, it’s worth it just to see him in action.

Watching Mom hunt demons is like watching a masterclass in dance. Every movement is fluid, striking, and effortlessly graceful, as if he’s performing on a grand stage. I can never take my eyes off him; my own eyes probably sparkle with awe. One day, I’ll stand right there beside him. I’ll become his partner—Dante's equal.

As the start of the new school term approached, I began preparing to return to Fortuna. My mother helped me with everything—packing my bags and seeing me off at the pier—but this time, Patty was with me. Even though she had already seen her mother, she wanted to come say goodbye. I felt too old to play with dolls anymore, but she just shrugged and said I could give them to whoever I liked. The first person that came to mind was Kyrie.

They both stood on the pier, waving goodbye to me as the boat began to sail away. I watched their shadows gradually shrink until they disappeared from sight. I knew this wasn't a permanent goodbye; we'd be together again during the next school break.

Upon my graduation in Fortuna, Credo invited me to join the Holy Knights of the Order of the Sword. Despite him being the one who taught me how to fence, I turned him down. Something about the Order had smelled fishy for a long time—though I couldn't be sure if Credo or Kyrie realized it yet. It wasn't long before I finished crafting my own signature weapons: Red Queen and Blue Rose. They were unique, unlike anything else, just like my mom's gear. To us, our weapons are our identity. With them in hand, I finally set off for home, ready to become a Devil Hunter—just like him.

When I arrived, Mom was already there, waiting at the harbor and waving from a distance. The moment the ship docked, he lunged toward me, pulling me into a crushing embrace. My face was buried so deep into his chest that I started to lose my breath, and I could feel the rough scratch of his stubble against my cheek as he nuzzled me. I struggled to push his arms away, even thumping against his solid, muscular frame, but those iron-like arms wouldn't budge an inch.

“You’ve grown so much, Nero.”

“Yeah... could you... let go? I can’t... breathe...”

He finally loosened his grip. I stood there, gasping for air, greedily filling my lungs again. To celebrate my graduation, we threw a pizza party—just the two of us. Mom told me that I was his greatest pride, and that he was genuinely happy to see me graduate. He admitted that when he was my age, he never had the chance to go to school or experience a life like this. Suddenly, he let out a long, dramatic sigh, lamenting that the ladies couldn't make it to our party because they were all tied up with their own business. But for me, having just the two of us was more than enough.

Once we finished eating, Mom’s tone shifted. Out of nowhere, he told me to stop calling him 'Mom.' He insisted—practically commanded me—to call him 'Dante' or 'Uncle' from now on, whether we were alone or out in public. I didn't understand why he was suddenly drawing that line, but in the end, I simply nodded and accepted it.

I’ve finally had the chance to work alongside Dante, but most of the missions are beneath me—simple tasks, clearing out low-level demons while Dante watches from a distance. Even if I suffer the slightest scratch, he rushes over as if a mere graze could kill me. His eyes are always clouded with that suffocating worry.

It started to grate on my nerves. The frustration simmered inside me, building up day by day. No matter how much I grew or how well I could handle myself, Dante refused to see me as anything other than a helpless child. I hated it. I began to loathe the way he treated me. One day, I took on one of his high-level contracts without telling him. I returned to the office battered and bruised. I’ll admit, I was reckless; I underestimated the demon's cunning and walked straight into its trap, leaving me with a deep, ugly gash.

Dante was sitting on the sofa when I walked in. He didn't say a word, but he was on his feet instantly, checking my wounds and searching for other injuries. That was when I finally snapped.

'Stop treating me like a damn kid! I’m not a baby who needs constant supervision anymore. I can stand on my own two feet!'

I shoved his hands away and stormed up to my room. I wasn’t his little subordinate anymore. These wounds would heal in time—even if it took me longer than it took him, thanks to the demon blood in our veins. From that day on, I started pulling away. Maybe it was hormones, or maybe I just wanted to be alone, but I couldn't stand being pampered anymore. In the end, I packed my things and left. I headed back to Fortuna. Even though I knew the Order of the Sword and their obsession with my grandfather was insane, at least there were people there who understood me better than he did.

While I was in Fortuna, I met Dante again. We didn't talk much; I knew he was there on a mission, and we went our separate ways.

My stubbornness and impulsiveness eventually paid off. I fell into Xantus's trap, just as Dante had warned me many times. He said letting emotions cloud my judgment would lead to disaster, but I didn't listen. Xantus took Kiri hostage... and Credo died because of my carelessness.

After the chaos subsided, I rescued Kiri and brought Yamato back. Dante approached me, his eyes scanning my body for wounds as usual, but this time he kept his distance instead of rushing to attend to me. He complimented me briefly before giving me a choice: I could stay here and start a new life with Kiri, or I could go home with him.

It seemed Dante had finally accepted that I was no longer a child. I was free to choose my own path and face the world without a 'tigress' constantly watching over me. Ultimately, I chose to build my own future with Kiri. Before we parted, Dante didn't forget to give me a gift: a neon 'Devil May Cry' sign for my own branch office. He told me that the doors of our home would always be open for me, whenever I wanted to return.

Eventually, Kyri and I started dating, and soon we were officially a couple. I decided to tell her everything, including the truth about my relationship with Dante. She was a little shocked, but her expression quickly softened, replaced by genuine admiration.

“Mr. Dante is incredibly dedicated,” she said softly. “Raising you all by himself… he’s truly incredible. He’s taken such good care of you, Nero.”

Kiri spoke with genuine sincerity, without any judgment. She was right. Dante raised me alone, standing strong through years of hardship and loneliness. It made me realize how fortunate I was to have a role model like him. Kyri and I founded an orphanage to help the children left behind by that event, with Nico providing full support as well. When Nico found out about my relationship with Dante, she was insatiable with questions. As his ‘number one fan,’ she wanted to know everything, from his favorite food to every detail of his Devil Trigger special move.

Every time I visited Dante, Kyri would prepare homemade meals for me to bring him. Every time Dante saw the food she sent, he would tease me, asking when the wedding would be. He would jokingly say he wanted to hold grandchildren as soon as possible. I would always brush him off. Tell him it probably won't be anytime soon.

Whenever I headed out on missions with Dante and summoned Yamato, I noticed him staring at the blade, his gaze lingering with an intensity he couldn't hide. I used to tease him, saying that if he wanted it back so badly, he shouldn't have given it to me in the first place. He’d just laugh it off, claiming he didn't want it and that it suited me much better. But beneath that laughter, hidden deep within his blue eyes, was a profound, aching sadness. After seeing that, I made a silent vow never to draw that sword when I was around him.

The power within Yamato was far greater than anything else I possessed, yet Dante had entrusted it to me, letting me wield it in his stead. It was his brother’s blade—a man Dante never spoke of, a figure shrouded in mystery just like my own father. When Dante looked at Yamato, his eyes held the same longing I remembered from my childhood, back when he would sit and wait for someone who never came. There was a deep-seated guilt buried in his gaze, a look I absolutely loathed to see.

I knew better than to ask. Whenever I tried to pry, he’d shut down or immediately change the subject. A haunting thought began to take root in my mind: Could Dante’s brother and my father be the same person? It would explain why he had commanded me to stop calling him 'Mom'—insisting I call him 'Uncle' instead.

If I calculate back to when Dante was pregnant, he'd be exactly my age. Was I born from a fleeting and passionate love, or just a trial-and-error between two half-demons, or worse...was it rape? Is that why Lady refuses to talk about it? Her face darkens every time I ask? It's just theories, disturbing thoughts...but I still hope and pray that the truth isn't that ugly.

These days, Dante doesn't care about me as much as he used to. In fact, he's become so laid-back that he sneaks off to eat pizza alone, leaving me to deal with the hordes of demons by myself. It's infuriating. What are his excuses? He says I can take care of myself now, and he doesn't want to make me angry like before—I mean, when I yelled at him for bothering me. He says he finally trusts me after everything that happened in Fortuna.

'Don't talk nonsense.' "You're just making excuses to slack off," I retorted.

Because I've been with him since we were kids, I know everything about his personality. He just wants to sightsee and eat, dumping all the hard work on me. Dante just smiled at my words.

'I admit it. Besides, it's been a long time since we…' "We're going out together, aren't we?"

He said casually as he walked ahead of me. Going out together? When was the last time we actually did that? Aside from our mission, my memories were hazy. But then a flashback came to mind: a young me holding Dante's hand tightly as we walked through the bright lights and rides of the amusement park. We spent evenings at the shooting range. I remember the shop owner complaining about the lost profits, but reluctantly giving us a big prize. Dante placed a large shark plushie in my arms. I hugged it tightly as we rode the Ferris wheel together, gazing at the twinkling lights of Redgrave below at night.

We spent the day wandering through the city, taking in the sights. Whenever I glanced back, I’d see Dante lingering in front of bookstores, his gaze fixed on the volumes displayed behind the glass. He’s always been like this. He claims to hate reading—especially literature—and I’ve seen him buy Shakespearean plays only to let them gather dust on a shelf, untouched. Yet, he always pauses to look.

By the time we returned to our lodgings, night had fully fallen. Dante collapsed onto the bed immediately. I sighed at his usual lack of hygiene; even if I nagged him to shower, he wouldn’t budge. I ended up stripping off some of his outer layers, tossing them by the bedside before heading to the bathroom myself.

As the water washed over me, rinsing away the blood and grime of the day, my mind began to drift back to the past—to the moment he told me to call him 'Uncle,' and the mystery of his brother. Was it possible? Could I be the product of something forbidden... a union between kin? It’s a moral taboo for humans, but perhaps such rules meant nothing to half-demons who defy all earthly logic. Then again, even the Greek gods were notorious for keeping it in the family. It wasn't an impossible theory that Dante’s brother and my father were one and the same.

And that night years ago... it was possible Dante had encountered my father and was forced to kill him, leaving a scar on his soul that never healed. Everyone seemed to be hiding the truth from me. But as I turned off the shower and dried my hair, I decided to let it go. It was a lifetime ago.

When I stepped out, the older man was already breathing steadily in a deep sleep. I climbed onto the bed, settling into the space beside him. Our bodies pressed together on the narrow mattress. I tucked my face against his chest, listening to the rhythmic thrum of his heartbeat. My mind finally went quiet as exhaustion began to seep in.

'Goodnight, Mom,' I whispered.

Even with my eyes closed, I felt it—the faint, tender sensation of Dante’s hand resting on my head, gently stroking my hair as I drifted off.

None of the wounds I had ever sustained could compare to the agony of having my arm torn away. First came the numbness, a cold void where my limb used to be, before a searing, throbbing pain surged through me, threatening to shatter my very consciousness. Blood pooled on the floor, soaking everything. As my vision began to fail, I saw the bastard who had robbed me stepping into a portal, muttering something unintelligible. Then, darkness claimed me.

When I finally came to, Dante was already there by my bedside. I had no idea how long he’d been watching over me. Seeing my eyes open, a faint, weary smile touched his lips, though his eyes were clouded with a deep, suffocating worry.

'You’re tougher than you look, kid,' he said, his voice laced with his usual dark humor.

I wanted to snap back, to give him some witty retort, but I had no strength left. I couldn't even find the breath to speak a single word. His calloused hand reached out, stroking my face with a tenderness I hadn't felt in years. When was the last time we had been this close? It felt like a lifetime ago—back when I was just a small boy, aching for my mother’s touch. Dante’s blue eyes searched mine, filled with the raw fear of someone who had almost lost the only thing that mattered.

He stopped stroking my cheek and told me he had found the one who took my arm. He promised he’d get it back for me soon. He told me to stay put and rest, and even though I burned with the urge to hunt down that thief and bash his skull in, my body wouldn't obey. Dante stood up, preparing to leave the room.

"Dante," I called out.

He stopped and turned back to look at me. "Yeah, kid? What is it?"

"Kiss me..."

I didn't know if it was the fever talking or something else entirely, but the words slipped out before I could stop them. Dante froze for a moment, his expression unreadable, before a small, knowing smile tugged at his lips. He walked back to the bed, leaning over to press a soft kiss against my forehead.

No matter how many years had passed, his touch remained the same—as light as a whisper, yet radiating a warmth that spread through my entire body. It was so incredibly tender, so gentle... the last time he’d done this, I must have been twelve. Whether it was some kind of magic or just the comfort of his presence, the heavy dullness in my head began to lift. Dante pulled away, our blue eyes meeting in a silent exchange, as if we were both drifting back to memories from a lifetime ago.

"I’ll be back soon, Nero," he promised.

With that, he rose from the bedside and walked out. I watched his retreating back until he vanished from my sight. My eyelids grew heavy again, slowly fluttering shut. I wanted to follow him, to be by his side, but for now... all I could do was save my strength.

Once my body began to recover, I set out with a mysterious poet named V to hunt down the demon who had stolen my arm. V insisted that Dante alone couldn’t win this fight. I didn't believe him. Dante? The legendary Devil Hunter, losing? Impossible. There was no way the strongest man alive could fall to some nameless demon. But when we finally arrived, the scene before me shattered every bit of my conviction.

It was worse than anything I could have imagined. Dante was broken, a shadow of his former self, being brutally violated by those writhing tentacles. He was bound, treated as nothing more than a toy for their amusement. His muffled cries echoed through the hall, a haunting sound that tore at my soul. Those appendages were forcing themselves into the very place I was born from. The demon sitting upon the throne didn't spare us a single glance; its only interest was the desecration of the Legendary Devil Hunter.

Because Dante was a female of his species, his physiology differed from common men—a fact the demon exploited with sickening efficiency. The sight made my stomach churn, bile rising in my throat. As if sensing my presence, Dante turned his head toward me. His face was a mask of agony, stained with tears and filth, his lips trembling as he managed a raspy, broken plea.

'Nero... run...'

His voice shook, thick with the desperation of a mother who couldn't bear for his child to see him in such a state. At that moment, my blood boiled. A white-hot rage, more intense than anything I had ever felt, surged through my veins. I gripped the handle of Red Queen with my remaining hand, revving it to the limit. I was consumed by a singular, murderous intent to slaughter the monster that had dared to strip Dante of his dignity.

"Let go of my mother, right NOW!"

If even the Legendary Devil Hunter couldn't defeat Urizen, then what chance did I have? I was crushed, beaten down like a stray dog in the gutter. The bitterness of my own weakness tasted like ash in my mouth. If only I had the power... if only I were stronger, I could protect the people I love. In the end, Dante could only buy us enough time to escape. I desperately wanted to turn back, to dive into that hell again and drag him out, but V held me back. I was seething, disgusted by my own helplessness—I was nothing but a burden to him.

My mind was a whirlwind of vengeance. All I could think about was tearing that demon apart. Suddenly, I felt a heavy gaze on me. I turned to find V staring, his expression unreadable. He hesitated for a moment before stepping closer. I expected him to say something practical—that we needed to regroup, to prepare for a second round.

'So... Dante is your mother?'

It was as if he didn't care at all about our crushing defeat or the nightmare we had just witnessed. Instead, his entire focus was on the secret I had let slip in the heat of the moment—that I was Dante’s son. Even Griffon, who was hovering nearby, seemed taken aback by the sheer bluntness of the question.

'Uh... V?' Griffon squawked, his voice laced with unease. 'I really think we should focus on the mess we’re in right now...'"

In the end, we managed to retreat and began preparing our second strike against Urizen—and more importantly, a rescue mission for Dante. Throughout it all, V stuck to me like glue, constantly prying about Dante and why I had called him 'Mom.' At first, I tried to brush it off, claiming it was just a slip of the tongue and that he was actually my uncle. But V was relentless. Eventually, whether it was the weight of everything or the subtle sting of the alcohol in my system, I caved and started telling him the truth. I told him everything he wanted to know.

'Dante’s always had trouble sleeping... he usually relies on booze to knock himself out,' I muttered.

V listened with rapt attention as I rambled on, from the chaos in Fortuna to the mundane, silly things we did together. Talking about it brought back so many memories. I remembered the time Dante tried to use me as a bargaining chip with Lady, offering to let her keep me as a 'living doll' at her place if she’d just shave some of his debt. Lady brought me back in less than half a day. I don’t remember the details, but Dante told me I wouldn’t stop screaming for him until she finally gave up. His debt stayed exactly where it was. Then there were the nights we’d blast the jukebox and just dance around the shop like idiots.

This was the first time I’d ever opened up to an outsider like this, Kyrie aside. I didn’t know what possessed me to trust V so easily—maybe it was the drink, or maybe it was just the desperate need to unburden my soul. I poured it all out to him.

“Remember when I told you how much Dante changed after that one mission?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper. “The truth is, he’s still trapped in that same dark place, even after all these years.”

V nodded silently. I knew that no matter how much Dante joked around or played the part of the carefree hunter, it was all just a mask. He didn’t want anyone to see what was underneath—especially not me. But every time I visited the shop, I saw the truth: the empty bottles scattered across the floor, the suffocating, stale air of the building, and the way he’d shut himself away from the world. If I had to describe it, it felt exactly like depression. I don’t know if there’s a clinical term for a demon’s despair, but Dante was living proof of it.

I knew that no medicine could fix what was broken inside him. Kyrie always told me that only time could heal such wounds, but it’s been so long now... too long.

“I just hope that one day, he can finally move past this,” I added, looking toward the horizon where the Qliphoth loomed. “And more than anything... I just want him to be safe.”

With no news of Dante, I could only pray he was alright. To break the suffocating tension, I shifted the subject, asking V why he was so fixated on Dante’s life. V gave a faint, bittersweet laugh before admitting that Dante had been his first love. He described the first time their paths crossed—how his heart had raced unnaturally, and how he found it impossible to look away. He mused that it must seem strange for a client to fall for the man he had hired.

I couldn't help but let out a dry chuckle. "You're not the only one, V. It’s not strange at all."

I told him how, over the years, countless clients had tried to woo Dante. He had this magnetic charm—his physique, that voice... it was intoxicating. It was no surprise people wanted to be near him, to touch him. Some even tried to bribe me into being their little wingman, assuming I was just some distant relative. As I spoke, I noticed V’s knuckles turn white as he gripped his cane.

I went on to reassure him that Dante never took any of them seriously. Besides, I had made it my mission to drive them all away. I didn’t want anyone stealing his affection. Since I was a brat, I’ve hated the idea of anyone getting close to him. To me, Dante belonged only to me. If he hadn't forbidden me from calling him 'Mom' in public, I would have marked my territory loud and clear. I still remembered the time a client tried to lay a hand on his chest; I didn't hesitate for a second to jump right between them.

"So, I suppose I don't stand a chance either?" V asked, his voice low.

I flashed him a smirk before taking another swig of my drink. "Pretty much. Unless Dante says yes himself. But I’ve gotta say... it’d be pretty damn weird having a step-dad around my age."

I meant it as a joke. I didn't want to give V false hope, yet part of me wanted Dante to find someone good—someone who could finally fill the void in his life. For some reason, I felt a strange, inexplicable connection to V. He didn't feel like a stranger at all.

It wasn't some strange connection—it was blood. My mind was reeling after V merged with Urizen, reforming into the man known as Vergil. My father. The bastard who ripped off my arm was my father's demonic half, while the man I’d shared my deepest secrets with was his human side.

Every dark theory I’d harbored years ago—the ones I prayed weren't true—had just been confirmed. The truth was a cold, hard slap of incest; my mother and my father were brothers. Dante and Vergil. Twin souls who had brought me into this world through a union that defied every human law.

Now, they were heading off to settle a blood feud that had been festering for over twenty years, and Dante still had the gall to tell me to stay out of it. Back at the van, Lady and Trish finally came clean. They confessed they’d known the truth all along but kept it buried because Dante had begged them never to tell me. Even though I’d suspected it for years, hearing it out loud left me paralyzed. My mind went completely numb. I felt lost, anchored only by Kyrie’s voice as I struggled to process the weight of my own existence. But regardless of how twisted or taboo this family was, they were my family. And I wasn’t about to let them kill each other.

In the end, I made my choice. I was going to stop my parents. I would end the cycle of slaughter between these two brothers—this internal war where no one ever truly won. I’d heard of religions that preached about the grave sin of striking one’s father or mother, but honestly? I’d had just about enough of them both. Besides, I’m a devil; human morality was never meant to hold me back.

The storm finally settled. The Sparda twins managed a tenuous reconciliation before descending into the underworld to sever the roots my father had planted. Why did it feel less like a mission and more like they were going on some twisted date in hell? But for the first time, Dante truly trusted me. He left the human world in my hands, no longer looking at me as a helpless child, but as a man who could stand on his own.

I watched the silhouettes of my father and mother dive into the dimensional rift, vanishing from my sight. I looked down at the book Vergil had entrusted to me, gripping it tightly.

It was finally over.

While they're away, I'll stop by the shop to clean and pay the bills, waiting for their return. But each time I go, I find only an empty silence. At first, I hoped it would just be a few weeks, but now it's almost half a year without any sign of them.

Today was no different. I went to the shop for my usual routine—wiping down the desk—and suddenly I felt the urge to open Dante's desk drawer. As expected, it was full of stacks of lingerie magazines. But beneath those magazines, I saw a small box. When I opened it, my heart sank. Inside was a dried umbilical cord—the bond that once connected me to Dante. I never thought he would keep something like that.

Next to it was a photo album with only one word written on the cover: 'Nero'.

I opened the album and found pictures of myself as a newborn baby—tiny, wrinkled skin, looking 'ugly.' There was a hastily written note next to it: 'This little devil is really ugly.' But as I flipped through the pages, each picture had a caption: 'Happy 4th birthday, Nero,' 'Aunt Lady bought Nero a banana costume—hilarious,' 'Remind yourself: Don’t leave a gun nearby. He's absolutely determined—'  'Nero's first day at school!'

I gazed down at those photographs. I had absolutely no recollection of when Dante had even taken most of them, but looking at my younger self, I couldn't help but crack a smile. I flipped through the pages, one by one, until I reached the final photo: there I was, fast asleep on the sofa, surrounded by a mountain of empty pizza boxes and discarded beer cans. Beside it, a messy scrawl read: 'Congrats on graduating, kid.'

“Well, well... little Nero sure used to be a cutie, didn't he?”

A familiar teasing voice rang out from behind me, sending shivers down my spine. I turned around and saw Dante standing there, having sneaked in silently. Behind him, a rift in a shimmering dimensional portal was closing, and Virgil stepped out of the shop behind him.

“You guys!” I exclaimed in surprise, my heart pounding.

“Hey, Nero! Long time no see,” Dante smiled at me, his eyes glancing at an open drawer. “I almost forgot I kept this.”

He calmly reached for an album and flipped through old photos. Then, with a mischievous glint in his eyes, he walked over to his older brother.

"Hey, brother. Want to see some pictures of your kid when he was a brat? He was quite a handful—downright adorable, wasn't he?"

Dante flipped through the album, showing the pages to Vergil. Vergil’s eyes scanned each photo meticulously until his finger paused on one that was particularly blurry. Below it, Dante had scribbled: 'Never leave guns on the table again.'

"Oh, that one?" Dante chuckled. "I’d left Ebony and Ivory on the desk. I was planning to take a photo of him just standing there, but the second I turned my back, Nero had grabbed them and started playing. You know how it is—kids shouldn't play with guns."

Dante laughed and went on to recount the time I’d tried to lift Rebellion. It was far too heavy for a toddler, and it ended up toppling over and bonking me right on the head. I’d wailed so loud the whole shop shook. After that, Dante made sure to keep every weapon hidden well out of my reach. He kept going, narrating every single photo to Vergil and me—most of which were my most embarrassing childhood moments.

"And this one here—"

"That’s enough!' I snapped, finally finding a gap to cut him off before he could humiliate me any further. 'Both of you, get in the shower. Now! You’re covered in demon blood, and I just mopped the floor.'

I practically shoved them toward the bathroom. They’d been in the underworld for so long they were caked in dust and gore. The smell of blood and sweat was starting to stink up the whole room, and Dante definitely smelled the worst of the two.

After that day, with Dante and Vergil finally back, the dream of having a complete family began to take shape, filling the hollow spaces that had haunted us for so long. Yet, I have to admit—the early days of Vergil’s return were suffocatingly awkward. Here was my father, a man I hadn't known for twenty years, the catalyst for everything that had gone wrong. When I finally returned his book, I couldn't even bring myself to meet his eyes. I was speechless, stumbling away as fast as my feet would carry me.

Dante tried his best to bridge the gap between us, but whenever Vergil and I were left alone, the air turned to lead. Silence was our only companion. Maybe it was because Vergil already knew everything through V’s memories that he felt no need to ask me anything. And when I finally mustered the courage to start a conversation, his answers were so clipped and brief that the dialogue died before it could even begin.

Dante, ever the mediator, constantly threw himself between us to ease the tension. He was determined to force some father-son bonding, even going as far as dragging us out on a fishing trip together. It didn't exactly lead to a heartfelt breakthrough; we barely exchanged a word the whole time. However, we did end up coming back with such an absurd amount of fish that I had to lug the entire catch over to the orphanage.

While Vergil and I were out clearing a swarm of demons that had slipped through a rift, he suddenly asked me about our life—about everything Dante and I had gone through during the long years he was gone. I didn't hold back. I told him everything, every detail he wanted to know. Vergil listened with a focused, quiet intensity.

When we returned to the shop, Dante was there waiting for us. Without a word of warning, Vergil walked straight up to him, pulled him into a firm embrace, and kissed his younger brother. Dante let out a startled laugh before gently shoving him back, though he didn't seem to mind. He then invited me to stay for dinner, an offer I didn't even think of refusing.

Once I got back to Fortuna, my phone buzzed. It was Dante. He sounded bewildered, asking me what the hell I’d said to Vergil. Apparently, my father wouldn't let him go—clinging to him, stroking his shoulders, and speaking in a tone so uncharacteristically soft it was giving Dante the creeps. I just gave a weary smile, telling him I’d only shared a few stories from our past.

Every time I drop by the shop now, I’m greeted by the same sight: Dante, fast asleep with his head resting on Vergil’s lap. The former Demon King would have one hand absentmindedly stroking his brother’s hair while the other held a book. The Sparda twins have become practically inseparable.

Dante’s smile has grown brighter, and that chronic insomnia of his seems to have finally vanished. Vergil has become his remedy, a balm for the scars hidden deep within Dante’s soul. Our blood can heal almost any physical wound—well, except for my arm back then—but the heart is a different story. Dante had been suffering since long before I was even born. I have to admit, he truly is the strongest mother I’ve ever known.

I may never fully understand the horrors the twins faced in their youth, but I know Dante fought to ensure I’d never have to endure the same. He raised me until I could stand on my own. I glanced at the clock on the wall; it was time for me to head out.

Dante insisted I stay the night and head back to Fortuna in the morning, but I shut that idea down immediately. I have no desire to spend another night listening to the bedframe slamming against the wall or Dante’s moans echoing from their bedroom. That one night was a lesson enough—I learned exactly how shameless half-demons can be. To think they’d carry on like that while their own son was in the next room...

No matter how exhausted I am, I’d much rather sleep in Fortuna. I’ll leave this place to them; let it be the love nest they’ve waited twenty years for.

One day, while I was helping Nico fix the van, Kyrie told me Dante had called. I sighed heavily, bracing myself for another round of complaints. Usually, our conversations consisted of Dante nagging about Virgil forbidding him from ordering pizza and strawberry sundaes, or the silly arguments between the couple that he kept trying to dump on me with unwanted chores. It was ridiculous, but I'd always put up with it.

"Hey," I replied, "what is it this time? What are you going to complain about today?"

"Calm down, kid. It's not really complaining," Dante's voice came through the phone, sounding unusually serious. "Okay, let's get down to business. Do you want the good news or bad news first?"

This was strange. Dante had never spoken like this before.

"Bad news," I replied. It was probably just another argument between them, something I thought I'd just get over with.

" bad news is... your old shark plushie and teddy bear are going to be thrown in the trash because they're cluttering up the storage room. I tried telling him they're still usable." "But he wouldn't listen to a word I said."

I heard him sigh on the phone. Honestly, those things were over ten years old. Throwing them away wouldn't be a big deal, but I knew they held value to Dante. That teddy bear was the first gift he ever gave me, and that shark toy? I used to drag it everywhere when I was a little kid. Every time Dante went on a long mission, those toys were my only companions to keep me from feeling lonely.

"If he doesn't want them at the store, we could take them to an orphanage," I suggested. "Kiri knows how to take care of them."

Dante said he'd consult Virgil.

"And the good news?" I asked.

"You're going to be a big brother."