Ding–ling…
At the chime of the bell, Shendu pushed the door open. "Boss, I'm disturbing you again."
"Welcome," Ron smiled.
Shendu nodded but didn't head straight for the counter. He turned and barked toward the street, voice like thunder:
"Get in here. Now."
Ron tilted his head for a look. A presence very much like Shendu's loomed outside—
a towering demon with blazing crimson eyes, chin bristling with tendrils, and two backward-tilted horns.
Drago.
Shendu's idiot son—now swollen with the seven demon chi.
Drago shuffled in, unwilling from head to claw, sweeping the tavern with a sullen glance before fixing on Ron.
"If your drinks aren't as good as this old lizard claims," he drawled, "I don't mind—"
Smack!
Shendu, powered up with the Ox Talisman, cuffed him hard across the head.
"Old lizard, you wanna fight again?" Drago snarled through bared fangs.
Shendu ignored him and bowed slightly to Ron. "Pay him no mind. The whelp still needs housebreaking."
It wasn't fear—Shendu was extending the highest respect he could muster.
And he wanted his son to get on Ron's good side. The one who'd torn open the dimensional wall and fished them out of the Demon Netherworld was not a being to offend.
"Housebreaking sounds about right. Don't just stand there—sit," Ron said casually.
Shendu shrank his bulk down to a more human scale and, with one well-placed kick, sent his "whelp" skidding to the bar.
Thud.
Drago lay there, stunned. What was this? Had the old man finally been knocked simple?
Why was he showing a human this much respect?
Humans were supposed to be toys.
The more he stewed, the more his hackles rose—until a black cat sauntered past his line of sight.
Four golden eyes met.
Drago's pupils tightened to pinpricks; the killing urge in his chest evaporated like mist.
That pressure… it wasn't just strength. It pressed straight on the soul.
With one glance, he knew: this cat could swat him dead.
"Don't wander," Ron scooped the cat up, rubbing the back of her ears. "Did you pee in the tavern again?"
"Mrrrow!"
Yoruichi protested, thoroughly overruled.
Watching that, Drago quietly climbed onto a stool. For the first time tonight, he behaved.
Shendu's stern face eased—relief tinged with a faint pang of regret.
If only they'd found this tavern earlier… maybe those two years of brawling needn't have happened.
Rem came up with two bottles. "Your drinks. Please enjoy."
Shendu nodded, gentling his tone. "Thank you, little one."
Drago's eyelid twitched. Thank you?
Hearing that from him felt fundamentally wrong.
He grabbed the bottle and took a long pull.
Glug—
A clean, vivid fragrance burst across his tongue—pure fermented bouquet, layered and delicate.
He'd tasted fine liquor in both the demon realm and the human world, but this was something else.
"Not bad," Drago muttered, smacking his lips.
"See? I wasn't lying," Shendu said, patting his shoulder with smug paternal pride.
Drago shoved the hand away, face written with disdain.
Ron didn't chime in. Father and son knots like these weren't his to untangle.
Minutes stretched. The two drank in silence—as if they were strangers.
Several bottles later, Shendu finally spoke.
"We can get along," he said quietly. "I can even forgive your betrayal."
Drago laughed, low and hollow, and drank again.
Once, he had wanted to free his father.
But failure after failure, beating after beating—hope curdled into ambition.
After absorbing the Seven Chi, whether it was the power talking or his twisted heart, he no longer dreamed of rescue.
He dreamed of ruin—a world remade into a demon's Eden.
"This might be the first time we've simply sat and shared a drink," Shendu asked.
"…Yeah."
Encouraged by the reply, Shendu offered a thin smile.
"When I'm gone, everything will be yours. No more fighting."
A gleam flitted through Drago's eyes.
Behind the counter, Ron almost laughed aloud.
Shendu, you sly old dragon. Selling the future like hot cakes.
With the Dog Talisman granting immortality, how exactly do you plan to "be gone"?
By the time grass grows two meters on Drago's grave, you'll be rolling a fresh character.
"Father, I was wrong!" Drago blurted, eyes wet as he lunged into Shendu's arms.
"My foolish son…" Shendu's voice thickened.
The door kicked open.
Rayleigh staggered in, face sallow, one hand supporting his lower back. He looked older by several years compared to just a few days ago.
In his current state, even "five minutes with Miss Liu Yue" would be a fatal challenge—and that woman is no joke.
"A man's love should drift with the waves, a woman's should adapt with the—ah, forget it," he wheezed. "It's all crap. I just want a new kidney."
Last night, after he bolted with his pants half on, Shakky was not amused.
By the time Rayleigh got home, he plowed fields till dawn.
For an old bull with ideas up top but no horsepower below, that was agony.
Ron sighed. "If you don't start pacing yourself, you really won't last many more years."
Rayleigh opened his mouth to clap back—then saw two horned monsters hugging and crying at the bar.
He scrubbed at his eyes. "Did I… walk into the wrong place?"
"This is Shendu," Ron said cheerfully, "and his son, Drago. New patrons."
Rayleigh frowned, curiosity burning, then let it go.
If Ron volunteered that much, he wasn't going to give the whole truth. And what would knowing change?
Better to "borrow" a few bottles and nurse his battered dignity.
At the bar, Drago sniffled dramatically.
"Father, if you truly intend to step down, why not entrust all the Talismans to me for safekeeping?"
A heavy thump cracked through the tavern.
Drago sailed backward, slapped across the room by one very unretired dad.
"We just made up," Shendu snarled. "And you're already after your father's life? Ingrate!"
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