The tavern's grand opening had barely settled into its rhythm when the doors slammed open with enough force to rattle the Void Emperor's-throne-turned-barstools. A shadow loomed in the doorway—tall, lanky, wrapped in a tattered cloak that billowed dramatically despite the absence of wind. The figure stomped forward, and with a flourish, a black-nailed hand smacked down on the polished countertop.
"I demand blood smoothies," the Demon King declared, his voice cracking mid-sentence.
Luo Feng barely looked up from wiping down a glass. The once-tiny terror who had toddled around summoning plush demons had undergone a transformation—somewhere between "adorable apocalyptic child" and "edgy teenage nightmare." His horns had grown in crooked, his once-round face now sharp with the beginnings of something more dangerous. And the attitude. Oh, the attitude.
"Blood smoothies," Luo Feng repeated, deadpan.
"Yes," the Demon King hissed, leaning in. "The freshest. The darkest."
Behind the bar, the Death Queen arched a brow. "You're fifteen."
"And evil," the kid snapped back.
Luo Feng sighed, then reached under the counter. He pulled out a handful of beets, their crimson flesh glistening unnervingly under the tavern's flickering lanterns. Without ceremony, he dumped them into a blender, tossed in a generous splash of chili oil, and hit the switch. The machine roared to life, pulverizing the mixture into a thick, violently red slurry. He poured it into a glass, garnished it with a sprig of wilted parsley (for presentation), and slid it across the bar.
"Extra spicy blood, Your Darkness," he said solemnly.
The Demon King hesitated—just for a second—before snatching the glass and taking a defiant gulp. His face immediately flushed. His eyes watered. But he refused to cough, even as his throat visibly constricted.
"...Acceptable," he choked out.
Behind him, his "army" shifted. Or rather, squirmed. Three plush demons—once fluffy, now studded with poorly glued-on spikes and smeared with what looked like eyeliner—clustered at his heels. One of them let out a squeaky battle cry.
The Fox Spirit, draped over a nearby stool, eyed them with undisguised delight. "Oh no," she said, not sounding concerned at all. "The dread legions of the abyss."
The Demon King ignored her, slamming back the rest of his "blood" smoothie with a grimace. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, smearing a streak of beet juice across his cheek like war paint. "Now," he announced, "I must pierce my reality anchors."
Luo Feng paused. "...You mean your ears?"
The kid scowled. "No. My soul."
With a dramatic flourish, he produced a safety pin—ordinary, mundane, probably stolen from someone's sewing kit. He held it up to the dim light, squinting at it with all the gravitas of a dark sorcerer inspecting an ancient artifact. Then, without hesitation, he stabbed it toward his own wrist.
Luo Feng's hand shot out, catching the kid's wrist an inch before the pin made contact. "Whoa, whoa—kid, that's like stapling your soul."
The Demon King yanked his arm back. "I know! That's the point!"
"Uh-huh. And what happens when your soul gets infected because you shoved a dirty pin into it?"
The kid hesitated. "...I... become more powerful?"
The Death Queen snorted into her drink.
Luo Feng pinched the bridge of his nose. "Just—no. If you want to be rebellious, go graffiti the Void Emperor's mop bucket or something."
The Demon King looked considerably more interested in that idea.
Later, when the tavern had quieted and the kid had slunk off to plot his next act of teenage villainy, the Fox Spirit reappeared, something clutched in her hand. She dropped it onto the bar in front of Luo Feng with a grin.
"Found something interesting," she sing-songed.
It was a scrap of parchment—no, not parchment. The back of a tavern receipt, hastily sketched on in smudged charcoal. The drawing was crude but unmistakable: a stick figure with Luo Feng's face (complete with exaggerated eyebrow raise), standing triumphantly over what looked like a pile of defeated enemies. Above it, in wobbly letters:
"Luo Feng's Cooler Dad."
And in the corner, almost too small to see—a tiny, lopsided heart.
Luo Feng stared at it. Then, very carefully, he folded it and tucked it into his pocket.
The Fox Spirit's grin widened. "Aw."
"Shut up."
"He adores you."
"Shut up."
Somewhere in the distance, the sound of clattering metal and a very annoyed Void Emperor's shout echoed through the tavern. The Demon King's laughter followed, bright and unrepentant.
Luo Feng sighed.
Fatherhood was weird.
END OF CHAPTER 102