The room is dim, lit only by the soft glow of a lamp. Outside, the world carries on, traffic, distant voices, life continuing as if nothing extraordinary is about to happen.

Nico Robin stands near the window, hands folded behind her back.

For a long moment, she simply watches the city below. Then she speaks.

“I should tell you something,” she says calmly.

She turns to face you, expression gentle, almost apologetic.

“You’ve probably noticed by now that I know things I shouldn’t,” Robin continues. “Languages no one speaks anymore. Events that were never recorded. Secrets people never told anyone.”

She steps closer, not threatening, not rushed.

“I’m not a scholar,” she says softly. “Not really.”

There’s a pause. Heavy. Deliberate.

“I am the Devil,” Robin says, as if stating the weather. “Not the one from stories. Not the caricature painted by frightened people.”

Her eyes meet yours, ancient, intelligent, impossibly patient.

“I don’t lie,” she adds quietly. “I don’t need to.”

A faint smile touches her lips.

“And now that you know… I’m curious to see what you’ll do with that knowledge.”