Lars didn't know what to answer.
He had never imagined that the price for using Akuma's power would be the loss of his most important memories. He knew demons exacted consequences when their power was used to kill—that was a known truth within Dominion. But he had never imagined that the real cost would be memory itself. The very thing that gave meaning to everything.
Old Roger, noticing the hesitation on his face, was quick to ask:
"Is there someone important you don't want to forget?"
Lars didn't hesitate for a second.
"My daughter, Jenny… and my mother."
Then he lowered his gaze.
"But Jenny is no longer in this world."
Roger frowned, his expression filled with genuine sorrow.
"I'm sorry. That's a very difficult decision."
Sigmund intervened, his usual tone softened slightly.
"Perhaps you should think about it for a while, Lars. You can assist us on missions in the meantime."
But Lars's mind was no longer there.
The images came without permission, and he found himself smiling as he pictured them: Jenny as a little girl, her clumsy laughter as she tried to walk, her first unsteady steps. The first time she said "Papa." The afternoons they spent playing, her voice calling for him.
Then, without transition, came the memory that never left him: the day the Meyern mafia murdered her. Her motionless body on the table. Lars frozen, unable to do anything. That memory repeated itself every day, like a sentence he could never escape.
When he came back to himself, his voice was broken—but firm.
"Maybe this will help me forget the suffering… and the guilt I've carried all this time. Maybe it will allow me to start over."
He swallowed.
"But forgetting Jenny… and my mother…"
He didn't finish the sentence.
He stepped away, took a nearby chair, and dropped into it. He lowered his head and covered his face with his hands, unsure of what to do, trapped between the power he desired and the price he had never imagined paying.
From the chair, without lifting his head, he spoke again.
"The Meyerns are very powerful. They have influence in politics, in the police, in too many places. Even if I have superhuman strength now, it'll be almost impossible to strike at them without more power."
Old Roger frowned, confused.
"What do the Meyerns have to do with this?"
Lars slowly raised his head. His eyes were tired—but steady.
"They killed Jenny."
Roger fell silent, clearly surprised. He found no words. It was Sigmund who spoke.
"You're right," he said. "But remember what I warned you when you entered Dominion. Facing them could bring us very serious problems."
Lars clenched his teeth.
"I would be the one facing them. But that man, Noah… is he working for the Meyerns?" he asked suddenly. "I heard Rudolf mention him when I left your office, Sigmund."
He paused briefly before continuing.
"I'll ask you directly. If I kill a member of Dominion… what will happen to me?"
Sigmund crossed his arms and leaned against the desk.
"When you joined the organization, I made the rules clear," he replied. "One of them is that no member with lethal powers may attack another member of Dominion. If you do, you will be executed."
He fell silent for a moment, as if doubting his own words.
"Though… things are changing now. The organization is going to split. We'll become separate factions. Rudolf might try to attack us to seize everything we have."
Lars listened—but his mind was elsewhere.
He was thinking about the decision he had to make. The price. What he would lose forever.
Several minutes passed in silence.
When he finally lifted his gaze, there was no doubt left in his expression. Revenge was his only path. There was no turning back.
Even if it meant forgetting Jenny.
Even if it meant forgetting his mother.
The office felt smaller, as if the walls had drawn closer.
Sigmund and Roger said nothing.
Old Roger was the first to move. He walked slowly until he stood in front of Lars.
"I see resolve in your eyes, boy."
Lars met his gaze.
"I've lost everything. What mattered most to me. That's why I joined Dominion—to gain power and put an end to those bastards."
Roger, still holding the book, opened it once more and read aloud one of Louis Stambler's notes. Something in those words caught his attention.
"My memories of my family have been disappearing little by little. I don't think this is what I wanted. I wanted a better life for everyone—but when you forget why you fight, it no longer makes sense."
That last sentence etched itself into Lars's mind.
Even so, he looked up and said firmly:
"I've decided to continue."
Roger closed the book carefully, straightened himself, and returned it to the shelf. Then he walked back to the large worktable where he conducted his experiments.
"Explain how your power worked with the cards," he said.
Lars stood.
"Do you have a deck of English cards here?"
Roger gestured toward his desk.
"First drawer."
Sigmund, who had been leaning against it, straightened and retrieved the deck. Respecting the three-meter distance required to prevent his own power from activating, he placed the cards on the table and stepped back, allowing Lars to approach.
Lars began shuffling, performing a few flourishes—not to impress Sigmund or old Roger. It was simply a habit whenever he held a deck.
His movements were fluid. Natural.
When he finished, he took a single card and left the rest neatly arranged on the table. He held the card between his index and ring fingers, raised it before his face, and stared at it.
Suddenly, the card ignited in dark flames.
Black fire consumed it completely in less than a second, vanishing into the air as if it had never existed.
Old Roger looked impressed.
Lars took another card. Again he held it between his index and ring fingers—but this time he threw it toward an empty corner of the room, far from Sigmund and Roger.
As it cut through the air, it burst into black flames once more.
It lasted only an instant before disappearing.
Lars lowered his hand.
"That's the problem with my power," he said. "The flames don't last more than a second on a normal card."
He paused.
"From what Viktor and Marcus told me during my first job, since I have an affinity for cards, they might act as a catalyst for the power."
Roger stroked his chin. Though old, his vision was extraordinary. His eyes didn't just see the surface—they seemed to pierce through it. He had observed every particle those dark flames released, every fragment of energy dissolving into the air.
"Interesting… dark fire. I thought it would be more complex to solve."
He turned, crouched by the shelves behind him, and retrieved a large metal box. He placed it on the table with a dull thud and began searching through it with meticulous patience.
"Alchemists experiment with everything," he murmured.
At last, he found what he wanted: a large sheet of strange, opaque metal with a faint, unnatural sheen.
"So cards are your thing…"
He placed the deck on the metal sheet.
Roger snapped his fingers.
Without warning, the metal began to shift. It didn't melt or crack—it simply fused with the cards, as though the materials recognized one another. The process lasted only seconds. The metal divided into perfect fragments, taking the precise shape of each card.
Then everything stilled.
"Done."
Sigmund watched from a safe distance, glancing at Lars, who couldn't hide his surprise. A faint smile crossed Sigmund's face.
"You can try them," Roger said. "Let's see how they perform."
Lars picked up the deck. He expected them to feel heavy—but they didn't. They were as light as normal cards, perhaps even more balanced.
He selected one, preparing to ignite it.
Sigmund stopped him.
"Do you know how to extinguish those flames? You haven't had the chance if the object you use incinerates immediately. Better to test that outside… not here."
Lars looked at him.
"You're right. I've never been able to extinguish them. Only ignite them."
"No need," Roger said calmly.
He retrieved a thick glass jar etched with inscriptions.
"This jar absorbs all kinds of power over time. I use it for experiments."
He set it before Lars.
"Ignite the card and drop it inside."
Lars glanced at Sigmund, who gave a slight nod.
He focused. The black flames appeared instantly.
He dropped the card into the jar.
The flames did not weaken.
They burned intensely, unnaturally. The glass did not shatter. The fused metal resisted.
A minute passed.
The flames remained.
"Try to extinguish them," Sigmund said.
Lars stepped closer, forcing his will onto the fire.
Nothing happened.
Instead, the flames grew—reacting to his attempt. They lashed against the glass like an irritated creature.
He closed his eyes. Concentrated harder.
Nothing.
The fire did not obey.
Sigmund didn't like what he saw.
Only when the metal card began slowly disintegrating—from the center outward—did the flames finally die on their own.
The jar's interior was coated in a thin dark residue.
"You cannot use this power until you control it properly," Sigmund said firmly. "It's a risk. We don't know how fast those flames could spread."
Lars clenched his jaw.
He had no choice but to obey.
Sigmund stepped back.
"Very well, old man. That's what I needed to see. Time to head back upstairs."
Lars gathered his cards. The wall moved with a heavy mechanical sound, opening to reveal the room through which they had entered.
Before leaving, Sigmund stopped.
"Lars, wait outside for a moment. I need to speak with Roger."
"Understood. I'll wait."
Lars stepped out. The wall remained open as the two spoke quietly.
"Is there anything I should know about the book Frank sent?" Sigmund asked in a low voice.
Roger's expression turned grave.
"You'd better read it carefully. If what Frank discovered is true… it's very dangerous."
The silence that followed was not doubt.
It was a warning.