"He has depression," Lionel stated indifferently, no longer wanting to even glance at Diavolo. "Just look at the state he's in. I would've rammed myself against a wall and killed myself if I were him."

"Haha!" Claude laughed. "It is indeed rare to find a person with depression in this day and age. Even I myself have never come across such a case."

"Excellent. You can conduct your research on him. I'll guide you, and old fart, I guarantee you'll be completely cured."

Diavolo refused. "I'm not ill, just a bit troubled. I came out for some fresh air, and I'm not going to let you use me to make yourselves famous."

"Whatever!" Lionel grabbed Claude's hand and dismissively said, "Let's leave him be since he doesn't want our help."

Claude, intrigued but confused, recognized Diavolo's voice but could not recall where he had heard it before. "Am I suffering from memory loss at such a young age?"

"Don't think about it then. Come on. Let's walk faster and hope that we get rid of him along