Chapter 201: Lucy's Original Appearance, a Medieval Customer?
At this moment, it could be said that Lucy—the Queen of Hell, the CEO of the Underworld, and currently, a silver-haired beauty lounging on a plush sofa—had absolutely no intention of continuing to watch the movie.
Her crimson eyes, usually filled with pride or mischief, were now entirely focused on the closed entrance of the restaurant. Her gaze was intense, unwavering, as if she could force the heavy wooden door open with sheer willpower. Her mind was no longer on the plot of the film; it was entirely consumed by the potential of the next customer.
She was truly too curious. Who would it be? A hero? A monster? Another chaotic element to add to her collection?
Ren sat beside her, observing the way her tail—if she had one in this form—would practically be twitching with restlessness. He chuckled softly, breaking the silence.
"Lucy," Ren said, his voice teasing. "You're staring so hard you might burn a hole in the wood. Speaking of history... when you fell from Grace, it seems that the period most recorded in human history regarding angels and demons coincides largely with the Middle Ages, right?"
Lucy stiffened slightly. She tore her eyes away from the door and let out a sharp, dismissive snort.
"Hmph. Mere humans," she said, crossing her arms over her chest and lifting her chin in a gesture of supreme arrogance. "To think they actually believe they can speculate on the true identities of angels and devils. It is laughable! How could anyone believe such fabricated tales if the truth were told? Humans claim to know the will of the gods, but no matter how you think about it, their stories are known to be nothing more than fictional delusions!"
Ren looked at Lucy, taking in her haughty expression. Despite her sharp words, there was a cuteness to her defensiveness. He reached out and gently pinched her soft cheek, pulling it slightly until she glared at him.
"But, Lucy," Ren continued with a smile, ignoring her indignation. "You seem to be recorded in the lore of this world primarily as a Western fallen angel. The aesthetics, the mythology—it's all very European. In that case, I have a question I've been meaning to ask you."
"Eh?" Lucy batted his hand away, though not forcefully. She rubbed her cheek, looking at him with suspicion. "What question? If it's about the temperature of brimstone, I'm not answering."
When they were alone in their own world—this restaurant that sat between dimensions—Lucy dropped her guard. She could be said to answer every question and grant every request from Ren, without any of the pretense she held up for others.
Ren tapped his chin thoughtfully. "I mean, Lucy, you are Western devils. You govern the Hell depicted in Western theology. Logically, that means you have nothing to do with the East. So, is there also an Eastern Hell? Like the Diyu of mythology or Yomi?"
Hearing this, Lucy blinked. Her expression shifted from arrogant to scholarly. She nodded, her silver hair swaying with the motion.
"Yes, there is," she admitted. "But regarding Eastern and Western Hells... there is no strict boundary for where a soul goes. It's not based on geography. It's actually very random. Sometimes we get souls that should definitely be elsewhere, and we just... process them. Bureaucracy is universal, Ren."
Ren laughed. "Suddenly, I feel like Hell has no dignity at all. It sounds more like a chaotic corporate office... well, I suppose that fits you perfectly, CEO."
He picked up the remote control, scrolling through the list of available movies. "Since we're on the topic... do you want to watch a medieval movie? Or something with that aesthetic? I feel like, Lucy, you might remember things from the past if we watch knights and castles."
Lucy snorted again, but this time her voice carried a hint of panic. "I don't want to remember things from the past! I am the Queen of Hell now! Those days are gone! Most importantly, I..."
"Ah, no," Ren interrupted, waving his hand dismissively. "It's not as complicated as you think. I'm not trying to trigger a philosophical crisis. I just thought... letting Lucy remember her past memories might make you feel like changing into an angel's clothes for a bit."
The air in the room seemed to freeze.
Lucy was stunned. Her brain processed the request—Ren wanted to see her in her former uniform. The uniform of a High Prosecutor of Heaven. The pristine, white, military-style outfit that represented everything she had rebelled against.
Her face instantly flushed a deep, vibrant red.
Smack!
She slapped Ren's shoulder hard, her voice rising an octave. "I won't wear it! You wish! You are asking for too much! How dare you!"
Lucy remembered very clearly what she looked like back then. The clothes in the Heavenly Realm were not the flowing robes of Renaissance paintings; they were sharp, authoritarian military uniforms, tailored to perfection and blindingly white. If Ren saw her in that... if he saw her looking so... holy... the consequences would be unimaginable!
It was too embarrassing! It was too terrifying!
Ren just smiled, rubbing his shoulder. He had expected this reaction. "Then let's not watch it, okay? We can pick something else."
Lucy pulled her knees up to her chest, mumbling into her arms. Her voice was barely a whisper. "Watching is fine... but I won't wear angel's clothes... As a devil, I must stick to my duty. Angel's clothes are ugly anyway. Tacky. Ahaha..."
Ren smiled and turned his attention back to the screen. To be honest, selecting a movie for Lucy was a logistical nightmare. Her requirements were simple yet incredibly restrictive:
No movies with angels (she would criticize the inaccuracies).
No movies with God (she would get angry).
No horror movies (she was secretly terrified of ghosts).
It sounded simple, but when you filtered out those three categories, a surprising number of classics disappeared.
"If you really want to watch..." Lucy whispered, her voice trailing off.
Ren paused his scrolling. He looked at her. "Hmm?"
Lucy looked at the door again, her anxiety about the new customer warring with her desire to please Ren. She took a deep breath.
"I said! It depends on your performance!" she blurted out, her face burning. "Don't be so smug! And... and if I do it, it can only be a magical replica of the clothes! Just ordinary fabric! But the halo, my hair color, and my abilities cannot change back! I am a demon now!"
Ren looked at her with genuine curiosity. "Eh? Hair? That reminds me... what was Lucy's original hair like? Was it golden waves? Like the classic depictions?"
Hearing this, Lucy's mouth twitched. She tried to imagine herself with bouncy, golden ringlets. A laugh bubbled up in her throat—it was so absurd.
"Pfft! Ren, it seems you've read a lot of manga," she giggled, shaking her head. "Although there are blonde angels with curly hair in the Heavenly Realm, not all angels are like that. We aren't clones. My original hair... it was black."
Ren paused. He looked at her shimmering silver hair, then tried to overlay an image of jet-black locks.
"Eh? Black hair..." Ren murmured.
"Do you..." Lucy hesitated, her voice small. "Do you like black hair?"
When she asked this question, Lucy felt a spike of nervousness. She clenched her hands in her lap.
Ren looked at her tenderly and shook his head. "I don't dislike it. I was just wondering what Lucy would look like with black hair. I feel like it would look very cool—black hair, white military clothes, maybe a matching peaked cap... you'd look like a strict instructor."
Lucy's pupils contracted.
That's exactly what I looked like!
Ren's imagination was too dangerous! If he kept guessing, he would piece together her entire embarrassing past history as a heavenly bureaucrat. She couldn't let him imagine any further. If he really reconstructed her image in his mind, she would die of shame!
"Ah! Ren! I suddenly want to watch that medieval-type movie! The one with the horses! Play it now!" Lucy shouted, pointing frantically at the screen.
"Eh? Alright, alright. I'll look for it..." Ren laughed, sensing her panic but deciding to let her off the hook.
Lucy breathed a sigh of relief as the opening credits of an epic historical war movie began to roll. It was close. Too close.
She silently cursed Tony Stark. Ever since that playboy billionaire had visited the restaurant, Ren's imagination had become far more vivid. It was as if Tony's narcissistic creativity was contagious. Lucy now felt a strong urge to tear Tony apart the next time he walked through the door.
(Somewhere in the Marvel Universe, Tony Stark sneezed loudly inside his armor. "J.A.R.V.I.S., scan for allergens. Someone is talking about me.")
The movie played on. The sound of thundering hooves and clashing steel filled the restaurant.
"Wow..." Lucy murmured, her eyes wide as she watched the screen. "So a few thousand people can create such a grand formation. It seems that charging into battle is indeed a very exciting thing..."
She watched the soldiers in the movie—men in grit-covered armor, holding weapons that looked barely sharp enough to cut butter, charging on warhorses toward their deaths. She didn't know why, but amidst the blood and mud, she saw a noble side of humanity that her current role usually ignored.
Ren smiled, resting his head on his hand. "There's a saying in the East: if the number of people exceeds ten thousand, the formation becomes boundless. A few thousand people is already a massive crowd. You can't even see the end of a field of a few thousand potatoes, let alone people."
Lucifer nodded, her eyes glued to the screen. She was just about to make a comment about the tactical inefficiency of the cavalry charge when she saw it.
In the corner of her vision, the shop door suddenly pulsed with a soft, white light.
Lucifer instantly became excited. She practically vibrated in her seat.
In her eyes, this wasn't just a customer; this was a ticket to Another World! It was the experience stone needed for the shop's upgrade! It was the key to expanding her domain!
One second passed.
Two seconds.
The light continued to glow.
One minute passed.
Five minutes...
Time ticked by, agonizingly slow. The door remained lit, signaling a connection, but no customer opened it. The handle didn't turn. The bell didn't ring.
This made Lucifer frantic. She gripped the armrest of the sofa, her claws digging in slightly. She wished she could rush to the door, kick it open, and drag the hesitant soul inside. Didn't they know the Queen of Hell was waiting? Didn't they know how precious this opportunity was?
Ren sensed her rising anxiety. He reached out and pulled Lucifer closer, wrapping an arm around her waist. He pinched her cheek again, grounding her.
"Alright, calm down," Ren said soothingly. "If they're coming in, they'll come in. Just let these things happen naturally. Hesitation is part of the journey. Lucifer, don't underestimate how long the night can be for someone standing on a threshold."
Lucifer looked at him, pouting slightly, but she nodded. She obediently turned her head back to the movie, forcing herself to focus on the siege warfare on screen. Although she was still a bit anxious, Ren's touch had helped her control herself.
Just as Lucifer was about to critique the movie's architectural defenses, the shop door finally moved.
Creak...
The heavy wooden door groaned as it was pushed open. A gust of wind blew into the restaurant—not the air of the city outside, but a wind that smelled of wet earth, pine needles, and ancient, untamed forests.
A man stepped across the threshold.
He was dressed in travel-worn leather and a cloak that had clearly seen many seasons of rain and sun. His boots were caked with mud. He had shaggy, medium-length dark hair that hung around a face weathered by the elements.
In his hand, gripped tightly, was a long sword. It wasn't a ceremonial blade; it was a weapon of war, chipped and scarred, yet held with the ease of a master.
Lucifer stared blankly at the man for a moment. She blinked, then slowly turned her head to look at the paused computer screen, then back at the man.
She knew why he looked familiar...
He looked exactly like the humans in the movie. He looked like he had walked straight out of the Middle Ages.
The man stood in the entryway, his grey eyes scanning the clean, well-lit interior of the restaurant with a mixture of suspicion, weariness, and confusion. He didn't sheath his sword.
"Humans?"
The man spoke only these two words. His voice was raspy, as if he hadn't used it for conversation in days.
But the amount of information contained in that single word—and the tone in which it was delivered—was exceptionally large.
Ren stood up slowly, his expression shifting from relaxed to serious. He realized instantly that this customer was probably not just a simple medieval cosplayer or a lost actor.
The aura around the man was thick with the scent of destiny and kingship buried under the guise of a ranger.
This was a man who walked in the wild.