Jackpot. Absolute jackpot.
Those hundred points? Best investment of Ron's life.
That day, Ron grew as a man.
Because true growth, he decided, was when the words "rolling waves" no longer made him think of the ocean.
Ordinary men looked at a woman's face first, maybe her legs second.
Ron was not ordinary.
His entire line of sight was consumed by two… towering mountain peaks that shattered his concept of scale.
The woman before him had flowing golden hair, tilted her head slightly, her mismatched eyes half-lidded in a sultry, knowing gaze.
Her body was nothing short of divine—
a crimson qipao clung to her curves, tracing every inch of perfection.
One glance, and Ron felt an urgent need for repentance—or a three-year vacation.
Across the room, Rayleigh, usually the first to make a lewd joke, suddenly sat bolt upright. His muscles tensed, a bead of sweat rolled down his temple.
Even Yoruichi, sunbathing lazily on the counter, arched her back, fur bristling, pupils narrowing to golden slits.
They could feel it.
The woman's power wasn't just immense—it was divine.
So overwhelming it froze them where they sat, making them forget how to move, how to breathe.
A pressure that crossed dimensions.
Under it, even seasoned warriors felt like mortals standing before a god.
And, as it turned out—
that's exactly what she was.
When the last light faded, Ron finally recognized the woman.
"...Lucoa," he whispered.
Quetzalcoatl. The Feathered Serpent of Mesoamerican myth.
One of the Supreme Gods—guardian of knowledge and culture—
and, apparently, now summoned into his bar.
"I've been hearing a voice calling me to visit some tavern these past few days," Lucoa said, sliding gracefully onto a barstool. "So this is the place, hm?"
Ron raised a brow. "If you didn't mishear, then yes—you're exactly where you were meant to be."
So, she'd been one of the "guests" pre-invited by the tavern's dimensional system.
And that meant…
She was the first of the "mature-type" guests to arrive.
If this was the standard for "mature women," then Ron could only imagine how incredible the next three would be.
He could almost hear the heavens whisper:
Let the age of the Onee-san begin.
"That voice was noisy," Lucoa murmured, stretching with a languid yawn. "I wanted to nap, but then I sensed your little demon summoning ritual and decided to drop by."
Ron's lips twitched.
So she didn't come through the system—but through his ritual?
How absurdly strong did she have to be to ignore dimensional rules like that?
Before he could ask, Lucoa tilted her head, resting her chin on her hand, and smiled faintly.
"Since I was summoned, our contract is formed. So—"
"Tell me, little summoner… what do you want me to do?"
She leaned closer, breath warm, a faint scent of jasmine and danger brushing against Ron's cheek.
Ron's brain briefly blue-screened—but he managed a smile.
"Well, the tavern's short-staffed. If you'd like, you can stay on as a waitress."
From the kitchen, Rem and Ram froze mid-step, hearing that.
Both turned simultaneously, eyes wide.
They looked Lucoa up and down—
then down and up again—
then down once more, at that impossible silhouette.
The blow to morale was instant and critical.
Lucoa tapped a finger to her chin, thinking it over, then grinned.
"That actually sounds… fun. I've been bored lately anyway. I'll stay here for a while."
She paused, her gaze drifting over Ron—slowly, deliberately.
"And besides… if you need anything else done, I can take care of that too."
Ron's heart skipped a beat.
If Momousagi was a sleek, high-performance luxury car,
then Lucoa was a heavy tank—armed, armored, and terrifyingly efficient.
He could probably handle her once.
Maybe.
But over time? He'd end up like Rayleigh—begging for new kidneys.
"Ahem. Anyway—" Ron quickly changed the subject.
"Everyone, this is our new staff member, Lucoa."
She waved cheerfully.
Rayleigh and the others forced a smile. No one dared say a word.
"You'll officially start tomorrow," Ron said, handing her a bottle. "For now, try our plum wine."
"Hm?"
Lucoa's expression shifted. Her eyes darkened, a shadow passing over her face.
She took the bottle hesitantly.
"I should probably check it for curses first."
Ron chuckled. Of course.
Even gods could be traumatized.
Her divine "demotion" had started the day she'd drunk a cursed bottle of wine and—
well—got a little too affectionate with her sister.
Rayleigh saw Ron's smirk and immediately guessed.
For once, he swallowed his joke. This was not the woman to tease.
After confirming the wine was clean, Lucoa filled her glass and took a sip.
Glug—
Her eyes brightened immediately.
"Oh my, this is delicious. That alone was worth the trip."
The plum's sweetness danced with honeyed undertones, its tart finish leaving a refreshing aftertaste.
Even a single sip painted her cheeks a soft pink.
Ron sighed inwardly.
The view from the bar counter was spectacular, but the gods really were unfair to men—
there were reasons humans only got two kidneys.
"You two were smiling oddly just now," Lucoa said, chin propped on her palm, her tone dangerously curious.
"Do you… know something?"
The air grew heavy.
Rayleigh's back went stiff.
That feeling—like someone had peeled back his skull and was rummaging through his thoughts.
"Just that you once drank a cursed bottle and—"
A soft hand clamped firmly over his mouth.
Lucoa's face, already flushed, turned scarlet.
"Don't. Say. Another. Word~."
A goddess could survive divine exile—
but not that kind of embarrassment.
Still, her curiosity about Ron only deepened.
How could this mortal possibly know her story?
Before she could ask, Rem peeked out of the kitchen.
"Master! Lunch is ready!"
She was about to turn back, then blinked curiously.
"Oh, right—Master, you always say 'virtual age' and 'real age.' What's the difference?"
Ron rubbed his chin thoughtfully and smiled.
"Virtual age is how old you are when you come out of your father."
"Real age is how old you are when you come out of your mother."
Rayleigh: "—!!!"
The man nearly choked on his drink.
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