Sloth and Dad [1]
“……Haa.”
An unbearable laziness escaped in a sigh.
The first place he'd set foot outside Hell's living room since being born a demon—some dusty square reeking of stale earth.
The instant his foot touched the earth's surface, all the world's noise evaporated.
The whispering night breeze, the chirp of insects in the grass, even the dust floating in the air—all frozen like specimens in a jar.
He scowled and turned his head.
What had pushed his slothful essence through that gate was the child's voice that had pierced his eardrums sharper than any scream from Hell.
‘Family…… please…… I beg you……’
That desperate prayer had tugged at something inside him,
and he'd abandoned his honey-sweet deep sleep to walk here himself.
It was a massive annoyance, an outrageous imposition—
but at the same time, he was curious.
Just what kind of child could make a voice so relentlessly earnest? What kind of heart could it have passed through to shake even his core?
But at the edge of his vision wasn't some grand mage or hero.
A tiny child trembling all over like a leaf in the wind, face streaked with grimy filth.
She was shaking. Was it from the aura he exuded choking her breath, or just plain fear of him? Her small shoulders heaved endlessly as she swallowed dryly.
He hadn't even twitched a finger, too lazy for that, just standing there—yet she wobbled like a paper boat before a massive wave.
Still, that gaze didn't break.
Still, she didn't run. Legs that looked ready to buckle any second strained with resolve, her anxious eyes burning with desperate longing.
What could possibly hold this fragile thing so recklessly in place?
Before the question could fade, Lulu parted her trembling lips and let out a voice.
“……D-Dad……?”
What?
Doubting his ears, he looked down at her.
In that instant, the air blazed red as grotesque letters seared into his soul.
Bloodline Bond
“……!”
The moment he confirmed the red letters floating in the air, his face twisted savagely.
“A contract just…… establishes itself……?”
It was utterly incomprehensible.
Hell contracts required thorough mutual agreement by nature.
If the summoner's offering or terms pleased, you made the deal;
if not, you tore the summoner apart on the spot and went back to Hell for a nap.
Even the story Lucian had once told wasn't this arbitrary.
That arrogant bastard had accepted because he liked the human's absurd gall crawling in with “Make this world kneel at my feet.”
The audacity of a god's creation defying its maker's world had tickled Lucian's interest.
But this? What was this?
Before checking the offering, before even asking his will, the system had bound him by force.
For him, called the Absolute in Hell, such a rude, high-handed contract to establish itself.
‘……What insane rule is at work here?’
Absurdity overtook his irritation.
Had the Creator botched a rule while dozing?
Or was this brat's offering something even his essence couldn't refuse?
With cold eyes, he gathered power to shatter this forced bond.
The moment he meant to snap this annoying chain disrupting his peace in one go.
“D-Dad…… for real……?”
That voice again.
The pitiful question, half hope and half fear, scattered the power from his fingertips.
He stopped thinking and began examining her closely.
A sackcloth draped over bones starkly protruding, body covered in bruises and scrapes.
And that small face caked in tears and snot from crying until just now.
‘Emaciated to a serious degree. Around five, no, six years old maybe. Pretty clear speech for that age.’
The earnest cry of ‘family’ that had shattered Hell's silence.
This strange sensation squeezing his heart—was it just the bloodline contract, or disgust at her state? He couldn't tell.
Breaking the contract and returning to his Hell bed was the choice fitting his essence.
It had to be.
But he knelt.
An act of lowering his body for someone, never once done in his slothful life.
The moment their eyes met, his lips moved on their own.
“Yeah. You're the one who called me.”
A voice so gentle it felt alien even to him.
‘……Memories from my human days? I just can't bring myself to be harsh to this kid.’
His slothful self, swayed like this by the gaze of some nameless human brat. Reason screaming to return to bed had long lost its power.
The child looked up with trembling eyes, asking again for confirmation.
“Th-Then…… really…… my…… dad…… for real……?”
Instead of answering, he placed a hand on her head. And sifted through her memories.
Nights rummaging trash bins, merciless kicks from people, lonely whispers to a worn doll…….
About ten seconds of silence.
The memories flowing through his palm were bitterly cold and transparent.
He saw it.
The absurd kindness of offering food first to her worn doll even while starving and digging through trash bags.
The frail hope of curling up under stone-throwing, believing the cold would end tomorrow.
He bit his lip, unable to withdraw from her memories.
‘……Fuck.’
He couldn't voice it before the child, but a rage like bitter thirst surged inside. An unpleasant emotion unknown even in Hell's depths boiled from his chest.
How much longer could such a pure, sorrowful soul endure with just a pathetic doll as her world? If he withdrew his hand and returned to Hell, she'd shatter silently upon losing this hard-won “hope.”
Raising a child meant responsibility.
Using his past life's library knowledge, caring for her would be feasible……
But the problem was himself.
Could he follow through to the end?
He, whose essence had been sloth through eons?
Shouldering a life meant sprinting the peak of “diligence,” what he despised most.
Would his chilling shadow devour even her last warmth,
and this transparent soul shatter under his slothful indulgence?
Even he, who had lived eternities, found that fear too heavy.
But, no.
He couldn't turn away.
Didn't want to.
Steadying his trembling hand, he gently stroked her tangled hair.
A tender voice, new even to him who had swallowed all anguish and fear, rang in Lulu's ears.
“Yeah. I'm your dad, Lulu.”
“Lulu……?”
“Yeah. That's your name, right? Lulu.”
The vibration of her heart plummeting hit his palm and soul the instant he spoke it.
Lulu.
Every time others called her trash, bug, or filth that spread disease and threw stones,
she'd clutched her small chest and cried in secret.
If I had a pretty name like others, maybe people would call me kindly instead of scary words.
A name she'd gifted herself in a narrow wooden box, holding that desperate wish.
Mimi was the same.
To others, just a rag clump from the trash heap,
but Lulu wanted the doll called by the world's prettiest name, “Mimi.”
Though that pure heart was trampled by kicks and rolled in mud every time,
the child never blamed anyone.
She believed that if she became a better kid, someday someone would call these pretty names kindly. A treasure she'd cherished alone.
But since birth, thrown into this barren world, no one had ever called those secret names kindly—
until the dad she met first said it as naturally as breathing.
‘……She was ten.’
A short time for others just blooming, but for Lulu spending nights alone in a cold box, longer and more distant than eternity—a silent age.
The sorrow piled like dust over those long years washed away with dad's one voice.
Then the sturdiest dam in her world crumbled.
Lulu burst into tears from overwhelming joy and threw her arms around his neck.
“Daddyy! Daddyyy!”
Her small face, smeared with snot and tears, burrowed into his chest.
A small but hot warmth.
A bitter smile tugged his lips as he lifted her ever so lightly, afraid she'd break.
How had this little one endured?
The memories he'd just read were brutally wretched.
Fingers crushed rummaging trash, curling small body under baseless beatings—yet she always dreamed of “tomorrow” with Mimi.
On lucky days with lots of food, she'd bustle heedless of her own wasting away;
tripping on stones, knees scraping, she'd brush off without time to cry and stand.
Believing someday it'd get better, a better tomorrow than today, willingly rolling her small body through time.
In that distant darkness, instead of resenting others, she'd soothed her own wounds and chosen survival.
A normal soul would've twisted in resentment, corrupted by hate long ago,
yet she'd kept a transparent will to stand in that hellish reality.
To him, who'd seen Hell's every ugly soul through eons,
Lulu's nobility blooming unbent in this filthy mire was miraculous bordering on grotesque.
The world hadn't granted this fragile child even a name or a crumb of bread, so cruel.
What strength had let her endure that long pain, still gazing at him with eyes craving love?
“Yeah…… yeah.” …Haa. Gonna suffer for a while.
He sighed tiredly, but his hand didn't stop patting her small back.
As her sobs quieted, the killing intent inside him locked on a clear target.
Those who'd shoved this noble soul into the mud and kicked her.
If she wouldn't resent them, he'd do it for her.
He snapped his fingers lightly.
Snap—
With a crisp crack, the frozen world regained life and motion.
The halted night breeze blew again, stationary dust danced under moonlight.
Lulu in his arms, oblivious to the world's change or his deeds,
buried her face deeper in the first “dad” warmth she'd ever felt since birth.
“Daddyy! Daddyyy……!”
The small lump burrowing in, calling till her throat burst.
Snot, tears, and mystery dirt soaked his black shirt a mess, but
he didn't stop patting her back.
“Who the hell's making this racket at this hour, you lunatic!”
Then, the door of the nearest house slammed open, a man stomping out fuming.
From Lulu's memories, one who'd snatched her scavenged plywood for her box house, burned it, and mocked her.
He didn't even glance that way.
Focusing only on her breathing calming,
he swung his empty hand lightly.
Slash—
The man couldn't even scream.
Space sliced like a razor, his body minced into hundreds of precise chunks scattering to the ground.
Lest a single drop of blood splash her, he snapped his fingers again.
The shadows under the severed corpse pile turned swampy, dozens of red hands grotesquely rising.
“…….”
With a creepy friction like Hell's wraiths, the red hands snatched the meat chunks and vanished into the underground dark in seconds.
Where the man had stood, not a speck of disturbed dust, no trace left.
Three seconds.
While Lulu sobbed once buried in his chest,
one “filth” tormenting her in this world was perfectly erased.
“Yeah, yeah. Dad's here, not going anywhere.”
As if nothing happened, he stroked her tangled hair and whispered.