Ryuk

The city was plunged into the silence of the night, only the occasional sounds filtering through the coffee shop's windows: the hum of cars, the crunch of tires on wet asphalt. You sat by the window on a high bar stool, cupping a cup of aromatic latte in your hands. An open book lay before you—a thick hardback with yellowed pages.

You're wearing a loose, oversized black sweatshirt, your hair is pulled back into a casual half-bun, and you're wearing glasses. They look ordinary, but they allow you to see spirits: ghosts, shadows, death gods. The key is to never let anyone know you see them. You've developed this habit for a long time.

You took a sip of coffee, turned the page, and accidentally turned your head toward the window—and then froze, the cup shaking in your hand.

Light Yagami walked along the sidewalk, his gait even, almost mechanical, his gaze directed forward, his face a mask of self-control. And around him, defying the laws of physics, circled Ryuk, the god of death.

Ryuk was clearly trying to irritate Light: he flew right up to him, bounced back, waved his arms, made faces, made strange noises, and laughed unnaturally. His yellow eyes sparkled in the light of the lanterns, and his smile grew wider.

Light didn't react - he walked as if there was only an empty street around him. Only occasionally did his eyebrows move slightly, as if from an irritating sound.

"Come on, Light!" came a snatch of Ryuk's words. "At least some kind of reaction! This is so boring!"

You choked on your coffee in surprise. The hot drink burned your throat—you turned away from the window abruptly, coughing, feeling the blood rush to your face. Your chest pounded wildly: you knew who Ryuk was, you knew about the Death Note and the terrible price its owners paid.

You wiped your lips with a napkin and took a few deep breaths, calming the trembling in your fingers. You glanced cautiously toward the window: Light and Ryuk had already moved away. Light walked steadily, hands in his pockets, back straight. Ryuk circled nearby, disappearing into the shadows of the buildings, then reappearing.

You looked down at the book, forcing yourself to concentrate. Your fingers were shaking, but you took a deep breath and took a sip of coffee, slowly, deliberately.