The moment he stepped into the ballroom, the atmosphere snapped.
The music cut off.
Conversations died.
Every being in the room—most of whom were either Edion Lords or Astral-Crowned Experts—felt it.
The weight.
Not of hostility. Not of intent.
Just mere existence.
Ryuk had arrived.
He wore a radiant white jacket trimmed with flowing gold, the fabric shifting like woven starlight.
It clung perfectly to his frame—tailored to match a body carved by divine symmetry.
Underneath, a flat white shirt rested against his chest—spotless, unmarred.
His trousers matched—smooth, straight, and sharp at every edge.
Not a single thread out of place.
He wore no crest. No ornaments. His aura did not flare.
He didn't need it.
His physique was sculpted—not in the exaggerated form of brutes, but in the refined elegance of one meant to rule.
Slim. Athletic. Silent.
White hair flowed back in smooth, soft layers, tipped in a subtle golden sheen like stardust dancing in the wind.
