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Slowly, the rain transitioned from a light drizzle into a storm, but inside that small establishment, there wasn't a single leak to warn the local patrons.
The sound of the old jukebox screamed an old song, even by today's standards, but the gentleman behind the counter wouldn't allow it to be changed until the final chorus — and the drunks, happy and furious due to the alcohol in their blood, wouldn't cause any trouble over it.
No, they had more to worry about. Rock had more to worry about.
The phantom thief, in clothes far too formal for someone who had come with the idea of having fun, glared at the elderly man with twisted horns with anger, not because he was being poorly served, but because of the neglect in listening to his problem, if he could really call it a problem.
The old man smiled, swirling his own glass. "My boy, it does me no good for you to make that face; I’ve heard so many love stories that I don't even have memories of them anymore. You aren't the only one who shows up here because of failed romances."
His mouth grew bitter at the thought and he raised his head to look at him over his bangs, but his head spun with the movement, bile rising to his mouth before he could say anything.
"See? Nothing out of the ordinary. If you want to throw up, the third door to the left down that hallway is the bathroom."
The black-haired man leaned his forehead against the counter, which was stained with alcohol and olive water. "I’m not going to throw up."
The man raised an eyebrow, skeptical. "If you mess up my floor, I’ll make you lick it clean. This might not be a fancy restaurant or some high-society bar, but it still has principles."
"I’m not going to throw up." he repeated once more, like a mantra in a muffled voice, as uncertain about the statement as he was about the truth of the threat.
Malius didn't know how long he stayed in that position; the chorus of the song repeatedly hammered in his mind along with the deep echo of other demons' voices, making him wish he had gone straight home — but how could he look at the same bedroom door of the younger brother who had surpassed him?
With the same as always, of course. Disdain, pettiness, superiority, nothing more than what he had always done; Jazz, his little brother, was probably celebrating his mini-victory by now, but Rock wasn't exactly suffering because of that.
He had lost an apprentice in less than four hours. He had lost a 1v1 in less than a minute. He had his high-quality cape torn and scorched by something that could have killed him in less than five minutes.
He entered a void of senses for heaven knows how long, if not for what seemed like an eternity.
And the only thing playing in his mind was that cheesy and stupidly sweet song that Shammy, Shandy, Shatty—whatever her name was—sang to him before chasing him with a scythe.
Rock closed his eyes tightly, but that demoness's face — with that smile that didn't match the weight of the scythe or the general's uniform she wore today — seemed burned into the back of his eyelids.
It was so, so... indescribable.
It was pure adrenaline.
"Sir, you’re making a strange face, are you sure you don't want to throw up?"
He shook his head, raising a hand to dismiss the idea with more effort than he truly should have. "If I fall asleep, just put me on the floor."
"If you fall asleep, I’ll throw you near the dumpster in the back alley. I don't deal with drunks."
Rock raised his head, confused; if not to deal with drunks, why open a bar?
The jukebox gave a dry crackle and the chorus finally exploded in the room. The old barman began tapping on the counter, ignoring the Phantom Thief who looked ready to pass out. Rock closed his eyes again, the song repeating that everyone at a bar table was equal. But he wasn't equal. He was Malius Phantom, Andro M. Rock.
That was what he would have told the waiter if his internal organs hadn't betrayed him.
The establishment's door swung open with the dry thud of someone who wanted to break it in the process, but it was immediately followed by a polite—far too polite—apology.
"Wow, Miss Shakky, what a pleasure to see you here again." A man at a nearby table laughed cheerfully. "It’s been a long time; ever since you moved up to the high level, we haven't seen you around here."
Rock's body began to break out in a cold sweat, the urge to vomit rising through his throat. His thoughts began to spin, and all he wanted was to order another glass.
Shakky, brushing her hair away from her face and pulling it into a bun, stared at the guy. "I've had a terrible day. If I don't finish a bottle by the end of the next song, I'm going to kill an officer."
Moving along the length of the counter, she passed right behind Rock’s back, casting a strange look at the strange man before taking the stool closest to the jukebox.
"And is the solution here? If you kill someone here, I won't be an accomplice to anything. Don't those lounges you frequent have enough space for that? At least the bathrooms there are larger for throwing up."
Rock, once again, had enough consciousness to repeat: "I'm not going to throw up." Weak, hoarse, and hardly recognizable, saliva was pooling in the corners of his mouth and contradicting what he claimed with little certainty.
Shakky slapped the table with an open palm. "And I haven't even started. Send a Mary's Blood, double vodka, double the Tabasco too."
"Another one for me too."
The gentleman stared them up and down, knowing his customers well, but maintaining discretion to avoid a headache. "I won't call the ambulance, either." And he turned to prepare the shots.
The clinking of glasses and bottles was inaudible as the new song began to play. The blonde looked at her nails, then at the man nearly fainted beside her, and back at her nails again. "Rough day, huh?" she commented casually, with no interest in the answer, but willing to complain.
The voice took a few minutes to reach Rock's brain; when it did, he only groaned pathetically.
"You know..." Shax began, considering the sound an approval to start complaining. "I saw my jerk of an ex today. I wanted to—and tried to—kill him." A whistle echoed in the background along with a clumsy but encouraging "congratulations" from a random stranger. "But I think in the end, it was me who almost died—of embarrassment, of exhaustion, from seeing that piece of crap door pull those kids in and me not being able to do anything." Bringing her hand to her mouth, she ran her tooth between her nail and the skin. "That jerk of a brother of mine would never speak to me again if that had ended badly."
Dizzy, with his head deplorably slumped on the table, Malius murmured in understanding only of the last sentence. "I’m the one who never wants to look at my little brother's face again."
The smell of pepper rose in the air, and the old man behind the counter turned to the dark-haired man. "Are you sure you want the same as her?" But the glasses were already ready, and he was already placing them in front of both.
Rock didn't lift his head, nor did he move to take the glass. The gentleman stared at him with pity before sliding it near the guy's head and grabbing a straw, placing it close to his mouth. Like a thirsty hamster, the man finally began to drink, ignoring what he was using.
Shax also stared at him with pity, but she didn't stop talking.
"That boy caused me a hell of a problem today. But honestly, I don't know what would be worse. My brother, or his family. Technically it wasn't my fault, it was his, but they are kids—I can't put the blame on him. I'm the adult here." Another sip. "But still! I can still blame that bastard of an ex! It’s his fault! If he hadn't done that, sung that! I wouldn't have gotten distracted—I never get distracted, I'm one of the few demons in the world with that kind of focus, and he comes and... and!"
"Song..." Rock murmured.You are my shine. Your voice is just like chocolate, melting my heart so sweetly.
"You’re right, this song is already played out; someone punch that jukebox to change it."
Rock finally managed to find the strength to move his arm. "Noooo, I like this song..."
Shax raised an eyebrow in disbelief. "You like this song?"
On a thrilling railway rendezvous...
Rock groaned in agreement, far too pathetic for someone who had been so high up hours ago.
What would his family say?
No Malius Phantom was 100% invincible. That was why the title was passed randomly through the family. It wasn't his grandfather who was the Malius before him, it was his uncle; however, so far, his winning streak was undefeated—he was the most successful one, for heavens' sake! The basement of his house held so many, so many treasures that they had to take inventory every two days just to keep it updated.
Andro Malius Rock was incredible. And he had the Demon King's key in his hands until that brat stole it.
But he had never had so much fun. These demons, his brother, were living in such an exciting world and he was just there, on the sidelines.
The blonde woman beside him was still talking, but he wasn't paying attention. With great effort, he managed to look up from under his arm. White clothes, breasts, blonde, with a familiar hat tossed beside her glass, talked too much, breasts, and drank half the glass in one gulp. It looked good.
He had his glass too, but he had forgotten about it.
The clink of Shakky’s empty glass against the table caught the barman’s attention. "Another, please," she said, her voice becoming hoarse as the alcohol slid down her throat and burned her stomach.
The gentleman shrugged, took the glass, washed it, and began preparing another shot. Shax didn't stare back; being in a high position made her understand that when she was in a bad mood, lower-ranked demons tended to feel oppressed when stared at for too long or from behind.
But she didn't remember being like that before she ascended. Probably because she was more worried about marrying a mature, rich, high-level man before she even thought about listening to her survival instinct.
Maybe that was why the man beside her didn't even lift his head to look at her. Too afraid to encounter this pit of power that she was now. Not feminine at all. Seriously, she wondered how Lady Levi or Lady Asmodeus managed to get married and have children. She wouldn't want children; with the Shax gene, it was likely her children would turn out just like Lied. Creepy.
She shuddered at the thought of mini-Lieds ordering her to buy more televisions and more games. It would be even worse because Shakky knew she would give in just as she gives in to buy her brother's games — after a demonstration and abuse of older sister authority, of course; she liked children.
Marriage wasn't a problem; it was her dream to wear a beautiful wedding dress and cling to the man who took her as his wife as they left a church, with relatives and friends throwing Meadowsweet petals on them to ensure their life together would be lovely and romantic.
The glass slid to her left, ready, and she thanked him with a nod.
That dream was difficult to achieve now, thanks to a certain someone she would decapitate as soon as she found him again. She didn’t see any potential romances even at the headquarters: her troop feared her, and the others respected her too much to make a move. And they were all... ugly! Too many background characters!
The thought made her lament once more, and she turned to grab the glass with her right hand. Her gaze once again drifted to the man huddled beside her, but to her surprise, he was staring at her from under his arm.
Those curious eyes, clouded by alcohol, scanned her, and she did the same. Black hair, red irises with exaggerated eyeliner, but he had handsome features. It surprised her that he was still alone, but he _was staring at her_.
She blushed at the thought.
Rock felt observed. The woman beside him looked away, the tips of her ears red — cute ears. Maybe a chance? He wasn’t in his best state, but a Phantom’s instinct screamed that he needed to be presentable. With a Herculean effort and an immediate regret that made his stomach somersault, he forced his head up. The world spun like a broken carousel, but he fixed his gaze on the blonde blur beside him to keep from falling. The wall and the wooden counter seemed to merge into one. Was he looking at her or the table? It didn't matter. He needed an anchor. Could he achieve something like this? Maybe he should try with his voice?
"Hello~" he began, and it sounded good to him — great, perfectly normal.
Jumping in place, Shax was startled — the world jolted a bit too fast for her balance. He was talking to her! It wasn't ideal; the image of him drinking through a straw like a hamster wouldn't leave her mind, but her expectations were so low that her better judgment had already left with the second shot. She was long past being that teenager who dreamed of a prince charming climbing down from a horse to serenade her. At the moment, a handsome dark-haired man who could manage to stay seated on his stool seemed like enough. She blinked slowly, trying to focus on his face, as a comfortable warmth, courtesy of the vodka, rose to her cheeks.
She looked away, twirling a lock of hair with her finger. "Hello~". Soft, innocent, even with the demon patrol crest emblazoned on her chest.
Rock smiled; the table still appeared in the center of his view. "Hello~"
So that was the game?
Shakky laughed softly. "Hii~"
"Bad day?"
"Maybe..." She had been complaining for the last hour to him, but she wouldn't judge him for not paying attention — there was a trail of drool where his face had been pressed before.
Looking closely, despite the sad situation, he wasn't bad at all. His clothes seemed to be made of fine fabric, tailored to his body, and anyone who had clothes tailored to order was usually rich. This unknown man was handsome, had a nice voice, and was rich?
"I can help make it better, if you'd like, m'lady," he proposed, not knowing if he was offering out of kindness or interest. The table was cracked; some lines ran across it and others seemed too deep to be safe. Maybe he should hold his glass.
"And how would you do that, sir?"
"Good company, good music, good wine. What do you think? Do I have your attention with that?"
The blonde laughed once more, gracefully. "The music here is hardly ever good; what do you recommend?" She ignored the glare from the old man on the other side.
"I can sing for you, if you'd like."
"And which song would that be, m'lord?"
Rock suppressed all the dizziness he had and hopped to the stool closest to the woman. "Why don't you come closer? That way I’ll be certain an angel is hearing my prayers~"
Bold, handsome, rich, a singer. Shakky would leave this bar today married to a musician.
She moved closer to the man, leaning against his chest (muscular!) and he brought his face close to her ear. The smell of alcohol emanated from both, and despite everything, it was still warm.
Rock began, humming the initial melody under the loud sound of the jukebox. "You are my shine," he intoned, his voice vibrating against her shoulder. He ignored the persistent nausea and followed the rhythm, each verse serving as an excuse to lean in further. "...Your voice is just like chocolate; Melting my heart so sweetly.~"
Shax’s body froze. A sudden chill of sobriety washed over her, cutting through the alcoholic haze like a blade. She lifted her wide-eyed gaze upward, her vision snapping into sharp focus directly on the dark-haired man's face as the lyrics hit her like a physical blow. But Rock, lost in his own world, ignored her reaction and continued.
"You move just like a hurricane; The siren is already singing in my chest."
He smiled, confident despite feeling his sense of touch fading and his hearing becoming muffled. "True hell isn't darkness... It's a place without you, my darling." He stopped and took a sip of his drink. "That’s one of my favorites, even though the author is a bit crazy. That nutcase chased me for seven days with a scythe, haha!"
The punch he received ended up blacking out the remnants of whichever senses were still functioning.
The old, heavy wooden door was pushed open without effort. Colonel Kyrielight entered, pausing at the entrance. "Wow... are you closed for the day?" He only wanted a drink.
A gentleman lifted his head from behind the counter, which had been broken in half. "No, at least not until now."
The blonde man took off his beret and held it close to his body, uncertain of where to leave it. "Bar fight?"
The old man sighed wearily, using a broom for support to pull himself up. "Worse. Ex-couple fight. And they were getting along so well."
Bar fights were common, and the costs were covered by those involved; his establishment might not be high-class or luxury, but his customers at least possessed a shred of honor.
He walked with steps that were far too calm for someone who had more than half of his place destroyed, over to the old, intact jukebox, and turned it on. A popular song began to play, and he sang along.
"I can't stay, Not one more minute with you. I'm sorry, love, but it cannot be~" And he proceeded to tidy up the room, stepping over Rock’s unconscious body lying on the floor.