Ch.299Demian’s Past

=====[Demian]=====

Is being different a blessing or a curse?

For social animals living in groups, otherness is always subject to contempt and rejection.

That child was no exception.

—-

“That’s not my child but a monster’s offspring. It must be cursed. I should have gotten rid of it long ago.”

These were the words Herman habitually spat out whenever he drank.

Such malicious verbal abuse was too extreme to be directed at one’s own child.

Anyone hearing it would think poorly of a father who spoke this way. That would be the case in normal circumstances.

However, in this village, hardly anyone disagreed with those words.

Even to them, that child was not just strange but downright eerie.

Herman’s son, Demian.

Herman would flare up in anger if someone called the boy his son, but anyone could see they were blood relatives—the resemblance was undeniable.

Yet that child could hardly be considered an ordinary person.

Or was he even human at all? This was the thought most villagers harbored, including Herman.

He never smiled, never cried, never showed anger. A boy with an expressionless face who showed interest in nothing.

He was so taciturn that even though Demian was already over nine years old, some people had never even heard his voice.

In this rural village full of common folk, it was inevitable that the boy would be called “the cursed child” and ostracized.

Adults would pretend not to see this spine-chilling boy, avoiding him through deliberate ignorance.

The fact that they didn’t openly persecute him or try to eliminate him altogether was evidence that they possessed some conscience and faint compassion.

But children were different. Young children can sometimes be frighteningly cruel to those weaker than themselves.

Just as they might pull the legs off frogs or tear dragonflies to pieces with bright smiles on their faces.

There was a vast gulf between childlike innocence and human goodness.

—-

“Hey, look over there. It’s the ghost kid! How is he fine after getting beaten up like that yesterday?”

“Hans is just weak with his fists. Maybe it didn’t hurt at all?”

For boys desperate to show off their courage, there was no more tempting plaything.

Not everyone participated in the bullying, but it wasn’t a small number either.

A kid they could do anything to without consequences. Someone even adults strangely avoided.

Even his delicate face somehow displeased them.

“Who cares about that? Let’s play ghost hunting!”

“Three points for hitting the stomach, five for arms and legs, ten if you knock him down! Don’t hit the head!”

Even though they lacked the nerve to take a life, their bullying consisted of beating him up or throwing stones at him.

Because of this, Demian’s body was always covered in wounds as he wandered through the village.

Only his face remained unharmed, but this wasn’t due to any remaining conscience in the children—they simply feared being caught by adults if they left visible marks on his face.

Having been strictly warned to stay away from that child, they knew they would be punished if caught tormenting him.

Even boys who threw stones at someone smaller than themselves still feared their parents’ scolding.

“Ugh…!”

Demian let out a faint groan as a sharp stone hit his solar plexus.

How much force could a child’s thrown stone really have? But the recipient was also just a child. The village boys hadn’t realized that if an ordinary child had been hit by those stones, they would have lost their life long ago.

In reality, Demian felt only slight pain rather than any threat to his life.

His innate toughness protected him from the persecution. It was fortunate indeed.

Not for Demian, but for the village boys.

—-

It happened around the time Demian turned ten.

Turning ten didn’t change anything. Or rather, things got worse.

The persecution from people continued, and Herman’s temperament grew sharper with each passing year.

Every evening, he would return home drunk and hurl abuse at Demian.

“You monster. Why are you still stubbornly alive?”

After Herman threw an empty bottle and fell asleep, Demian would silently clean up the broken pieces and then go to find his mother.

The only person in this world who neither ignored nor was hostile toward him.

“Are you all right, my child…? I’m sorry, I should be protecting you…”

In Demian’s memory, his mother was always a woman with a pale complexion and drooping expression, leaning back in bed.

She would force a smile whenever he came to see her.

They said she had fallen ill after giving birth to him and couldn’t move properly.

The villagers whispered that it was because she had given birth to a cursed child.

“Why?”

Her face was filled with such misery that anyone would feel compassion, but Demian only asked with an expressionless face.

For Demian, who had been surrounded by hostility since he began to crawl, curses and violence were all too ordinary and expected.

Therefore, to the boy, this woman was the incomprehensible, strange existence.

He couldn’t recognize the love for her son or the heartbreaking sadness she felt.

“…Because I love you. Someday… someday you’ll understand too.”

Again, an answer he couldn’t comprehend.

He didn’t understand why she shed tears or why she forced her lips to curl upward.

But it didn’t matter.

Her embrace was warm like sunshine, and his uninjured body felt comfortable enough to fall asleep.

That was enough.

—-

Life’s turning points always arrive like sudden coincidences.

It was the same for Demian.

One evening as the sunset-colored sun was slowly sinking below the horizon.

As usual, after being pelted with stones, he was heading home when he happened to spot Herman walking in a completely different direction from their house.

‘What’s this…?’

Not staggering from drunkenness, without his normally aggressive and proud gait, moving cautiously as if avoiding others’ eyes.

He looked completely different from the Herman that Demian knew.

‘That direction is… Mr. Dieter’s house, isn’t it?’

Dieter. A middle-aged man with a hunting background who lived slightly apart from the village with his wife Eila and daughter Millia.

It was strange. Herman and Dieter weren’t close enough to warrant an evening visit. In fact, Demian had never seen Dieter socializing with the villagers. Moreover—

‘Mr. Dieter shouldn’t be home right now…’

True to his hunter nature, he would spend days in the forest once he entered it.

He would return with game and share the meat with the villagers… so Demian knew well that Dieter had not yet returned.

Herman, being an adult, couldn’t possibly be unaware of what even Demian knew.

Puzzled by Herman’s inexplicable behavior, Demian carefully followed him.

And what he saw there was.

“Ah, ahh! Haaang…!”

A woman’s moans escaping from the log cabin. Herman’s panting breath.

Peeking through the window, Demian saw a naked man and woman writhing passionately and sweating on the bed.

“Ahh, Herman…! A little slower…! Hnn, if Millia wakes up…”

“You look like you’re enjoying it too much to care. If you’re worried about your daughter, bite the blanket or something.”

Herman, entangled with Eila, snickering.

Demian could understand what they were doing. He had picked up enough knowledge about acts between men and women.

‘I heard this was something only married couples or lovers did. Guess that’s not true.’

That was the only thought Demian had watching their adultery.

He didn’t understand why they were doing this secretly, but now that he knew the reason, he lost interest.

Demian turned away from the window and headed straight back home.

The boy didn’t know.

While he had knowledge about sexual acts, the fact that adultery was considered sinful was knowledge difficult to pick up just by overhearing.

And he couldn’t understand what emotions a person caught in sin might feel.

That’s why he didn’t even notice.

The long trail of footprints leading from Dieter’s house to Demian’s own home.

That night, someone died.