My Dad, the Demon King, Is a Big Problem-Chapter 117

I clenched my eyes shut, swallowing my rage.

Just the sight of Cyrillote staring at me—at the baby version of me—made me want to smack him upside the head.

But what could I do? This was the past, something already set in stone.

After forcing down my irritation, I opened my eyes again.

Cyrillote was still plastered against the window, utterly fascinated, unable to tear his gaze away from the infant in the room. His pitch-black eyes, usually befitting a demon, shone with an almost childlike curiosity.

I let out a long sigh.

Before I realized it, words slipped out of my mouth, knowing full well he couldn’t hear me anyway.

“Hey, didn’t you say you’d tell me about my mom? Why the hell are you showing me all this instead? If you have time for this, why don’t you go find her? What’s the point of dragging me back here? I’m doing just fine without you hovering over me, so just get lo—”

…st.

I never got to finish.

The woman holding baby me gently set me down on the bed and walked toward the door. Left alone, the infant flailed on her back, staring up at the ceiling, tiny arms paddling in the air.

I watched, dumbfounded.

Wait, I wasn’t telling her to leave! Why did she go?!

With her gone, an unsettling thought crept in.

Now it was just baby me and Cyrillote. Alone.

Predictably, Cyrillote pressed even closer to the window, as if he was about to sink right through the glass.

Meanwhile, my father was still out there, searching for my mother.

Oblivious to everything, baby me continued blinking at the ceiling, waving tiny fingers.

Would my father find her? Was this the night they were separated forever?

Where was my mother?

I was lost in thought when—

“Waaaahhh!”

Baby me suddenly started wailing.

For a split second, my body tensed, as if I was about to react. But there was nothing I could do to comfort her.

The woman would come back soon to soothe her.

“Waaaah! Waaaah!”

The crying grew louder.

Cyrillote’s gaze flicked toward the door the woman had exited through.

But even after a few minutes passed, she didn’t return. Had she gone somewhere far enough that she couldn’t hear the baby crying?

Of course, I knew baby me would grow up fine—after all, I was standing here now. But watching her cry like that was still unsettling.

Come on, hurry back and take care of me.

What if that damn demon does something weird?

Just then, the baby stilled. Even the floating dust motes in the air froze in place.

Cyrillote had stopped time again.

Unhurried, he stepped through the doorway, entering the room where baby me lay.

I narrowed my eyes, already unimpressed.

Knew it.

The moment I got back to the present, I was going to smash his nose flat.

I glared at him, silently plotting, as he shut the door behind him and let time resume.

The baby’s cries picked up again, as if nothing had happened.

Then, Cyrillote reached out toward me.

“Touch me, and I swear—”

Ignoring my warning completely, he scooped me up into his arms.

I nearly jumped out of my skin.

Hey! Are you insane?! Do you have a death wish?!

Who the hell do you think you’re holding?!

Cyrillote’s lips curled into an infuriating grin. He gently rocked the baby, gazing at her tiny face with an oddly soft expression.

“…You’ve got to be kidding me.”

I was so stunned that my anger evaporated.

How long was I going to have to watch this?

Left with no choice, I sat there, slack-jawed, waiting for the scene to change.

At some point, baby me stopped crying. Her round eyes blinked up at the handsome—no, demonic—man holding her.

Something about it irked me.

She stopped crying just because he comforted her?

“You really are something… The great and beautiful Demon King created something even more beautiful.”

Nope. Not listening.

If I let those words sink in, my brain was going to rot.

Shaking my head violently, I tried to block it all out.

The last thing I needed was to hear Cyrillote doting on me.

Thankfully, before I had to endure another second, time shifted again.

***

The warm afternoon sunlight stretched long shadows across the cozy, love-filled home.

Yet, despite the golden glow, the house felt eerily silent.

Not just quiet—lonely.

Amidst the stillness, the faint sound of rhythmic patting broke the silence.

I turned toward the sound.

There, in a rocking chair, my father sat alone, gently patting me in his arms. The baby was sound asleep.

Strangely, Cyrillote was nowhere in sight.

“…Where’s Mom?”

The question escaped me unconsciously as I scanned the house.

It hadn’t been long—only a few days, at most—but was she back? Had she returned?

A sinking feeling settled in my stomach as I took in my father’s expression and the heavy atmosphere of the house.

He was staring blankly ahead, his eyes hollow, as if his entire world had collapsed.

No way…

Had she never come back?

Just then, thud—something slipped from my father’s hand and landed on the floor. The hand that had been patting me remained steady, but his other hand had let go of something.

Curious, I stepped closer.

His eyes were vacant, completely lifeless.

What the hell was he looking at?

I followed his gaze downward and spotted the fallen object—a small letter.

I reached out, instinctively trying to pick it up, but my fingers passed straight through it.

…Of course. I couldn’t touch anything in this memory.

Resigning myself, I crouched down to read the contents.

The moment I saw the words, my eyes widened.

**[Lloyd, I’m somewhere you’ll never find me.

I had no choice—please understand that.

Don’t waste your time searching for me. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to return.

I love you always.

Please take care of Crescent.

–Your Dia.]**

“…?”

What the hell was this?

I blinked, rereading the letter.

The words didn’t change.

Did Mom… really write this?

She left nothing but a letter and disappeared?

I slowly straightened up, struggling to process it.

So that’s why Dad looked so shattered.

He hadn’t moved for a long time—his body completely still, save for the mechanical motion of patting the baby in his arms.

“Lody…”

Suddenly, his voice broke the silence.

His gaze drifted down to the sleeping infant.

“Crescent, your mother and I… we called each other Lody and Dia. It was our little secret—nicknames only the two of us knew.”

“…”

Pat, pat.

The soft rhythm of his hand against the baby’s back continued.

Blissfully unaware that her mother was gone, the baby remained deep in slumber.

I stood frozen, unable to say a word.

His voice was quiet when he spoke again.

“So that letter… it has to be from your mother. No one else would call me Lody. She’s the one who gave me my name in the first place. And that handwriting… it’s hers. But it doesn’t make sense. Why would Diana send me a letter like this instead of coming home? Why would she say she can’t come back? It doesn’t make sense…”

His words trailed off into a hoarse whisper.

I couldn’t make sense of it either.

Was she kidnapped?

If that were the case, someone would’ve used her to extort money or threaten my father—but that hadn’t happened.

Or maybe someone had forced her to write the letter before taking her away?

But why would kidnappers bother sending a handwritten note? That didn’t make sense either.

Something was off.

Had she really just… disappeared?

And if so, who delivered the letter? Did she come back just to leave it behind?

Nothing about this added up.

I couldn’t imagine any mother leaving her child behind so soon after giving birth.

“…This is impossible…”

My father muttered the same words under his breath.

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His eyes drifted back to the baby.

At some point, his gentle patting had stopped.

“Crescent… What happened to your mother? She has to be okay…”

“….”

Shh… shh…

The baby’s tiny breaths filled the quiet room.

For a long time, my father simply stared at her.

But he wasn’t truly looking at his daughter.

His gaze was lost, heavy with something far deeper.

Worry.

Worry for the woman he loved.