The two monsters clung to each other, bawling until they hiccuped, tears and snot everywhere.
Ronn silently grabbed a rag and started wiping the counter.
In this tavern, the hardest thing to clean wasn't blood — it was filial piety mixed with mucus.
Ding-ling.
The doorbell chimed.
The tavern door creaked open, and a tall, composed young man stepped inside — black hair, neat uniform, and eyes sharp enough to cut glass.
He looked like an honor student, but the cold aura around him was anything but human.
The system's voice echoed in Ronn's mind:
[Ding! A new customer has entered. Scanning characteristics...]
[Scan complete: Customer — Yagami Light. Trait: Villain (Extreme).]
[Two additional villain-class guests remain queued for random invitation.]
Ronn raised an eyebrow.
Oh? A dangerous one this time.
Light's gaze swept across the room.
Dragons, demons, catgirls, maids, golden-haired angels — and two hulking beasts crying into each other's arms.
His pupils constricted slightly, but he quickly regained his composure, flashing a polite smile.
"Nice place," he said evenly. "I'll have whatever you recommend."
"Bamboo Leaf Green," Ronn replied, sliding a cup across the bar. "Something clean for a student."
Light accepted the drink gracefully.
His movements were calm, but his eyes were dissecting everything in the room — calculating, cataloging.
Then, casually, he slipped a sheet of black paper from his notebook and laid it flat on his lap, hidden from view.
Across the top, faint white letters read: DEATH NOTE.
Ronn saw it, of course.
But instead of stopping him, he leaned on the bar, interested.
Light's pen tip hesitated briefly over one target — the Holy Master.
The moment the ink touched paper, something shimmered in the air.
A faint, transparent ripple passed through the tavern walls, like a stone dropped into a calm lake.
The black letters twisted, blurred, and vanished, reduced to dust before they could take form.
Light's hand froze.
He tried again.
This time: Demon Little Dragon.
The same thing — the ink dissolved before the name could finish.
His face remained unreadable, but the faintest frown appeared.
"That notebook of yours doesn't work here," Keisha said softly, her eyes glinting like twin stars.
"This tavern forbids killing. All lethal intent is neutralized."
Light's fingers trembled once before regaining control.
He smoothly tucked the page away, eyes calm as a pond.
"I was just… practicing my handwriting."
Ronn grinned. "Your calligraphy's excellent."
The Holy Master, half-hiding behind Ronn, hissed, "Boss, this student feels more demonic than me."
The Demon Little Dragon snorted but stopped short, his "filial programming" still active.
"Father… step back."
Light took another sip, then asked quietly, "Who defines justice in this place?"
Keisha turned to him, smiling faintly.
"The Celestial Computer. And me."
Light's voice remained calm. "Order that doesn't come from God will always decay.
That's why I define it myself."
Keisha chuckled. "You sound just like a child pretending to be divine.
Tell me — is that arrogance, or ignorance?"
"Neither," Light replied. "It's courage."
Ronn stepped in before the air froze over.
He poured Light another cup and asked,
"Tell me something — before you write a name, why do you need the real one?"
Light's eyes flickered. "Because a name anchors the soul. Without the true name, death cannot find its target."
"Exactly," Ronn said, smiling. "And that's where you lose."
Light's brow twitched.
"In this multiverse," Ronn continued, "a person doesn't have just one true name.
Every world, every rule, every soul — each gives you a different one.
Here, for example, that man you call 'Holy Master'—"
Ronn pointed to the sniffling demon at the counter.
"—is simply known as Customer."
Light's eyes narrowed. The logic was sound — frustratingly so.
After a pause, he said quietly, "Then I need a way to confirm a person's true name.
What's your price?"
Keisha's eyes lit up with interest.
"How about you trade me that toy's full rule set?"
Light smiled faintly. "Then it wouldn't be valuable anymore.
I can offer something better — models of social manipulation, media control structures,
anonymous collective frameworks, even a draft for a 'New Ideal World.'"
Ronn laughed. "You're not short on ambition. All right — two items. Pick one."
He placed two small boxes on the bar.
The first: a black wooden case, holding a thin, fluid-looking mirror the size of a fingernail.
"Mirror of True Name. It reveals a person's true name within this tavern's domain.
Outside, it's just a piece of glass."
The second: a white porcelain case containing a silver pen that shimmered faintly.
"Pen of Undoing. Whatever decision you write within three minutes can be revoked once —
but only for yourself. Use it carefully. Side effect: three hours of insomnia."
Light considered in silence, then took the mirror.
"I don't need to undo decisions," he said softly.
Ronn smirked. "Let's hope you never wish you could."
The system chimed again:
[Ding! Customer Yagami Light has completed his session.]
[Available abilities: Perfect Logic, Emotional Masking, Predictive Behavior Analysis...]
Ronn thought for a moment. "Take Emotional Masking."
A pulse of cold clarity passed through him.
His heartbeat steadied, emotions flattened — and then tucked neatly away like folded paper.
He could open or close them at will.
Light rose from his seat, straightened his uniform, and smiled politely.
"Thank you for the drink. I owe you one."
He slipped the mirror into his pocket, turned toward the door, then paused.
"One last question," he said without looking back.
"When 'corruption and freedom' finally clash with 'order and justice' in this world… whose side will you take?"
Ronn propped his chin on one hand, grinning lazily.
"I'll stand with the tavern.
Whoever pays, whoever drinks, whoever doesn't fight — gets to stay till closing."
Light chuckled. "The most honest answer I've heard yet."
Ding-ling.
The door closed behind him, his silhouette fading into the morning light.
The Holy Master peeked over the counter, clutching his spray tighter.
"That kid's gone?"
"Gone," Ronn said. "Off to build his ideal world."
The Demon Little Dragon snorted. "Sounds like he's got about a week to live."
The Holy Master sighed dramatically.
"Son… maybe we should give the boss that heart-softening spray.
I don't think I've got much time left."
"Father! Don't say things that make me sad!"
The demon's voice cracked again, and they fell into each other's arms for the third time.
Ronn poured himself another drink, rubbing his temples.
Inwardly, he muttered:
"You give someone the heart-softening spray…
and sure enough — you're not far from death yourself."
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