The Great Pretender

A man with a lonely appearance sat in a wheelchair, cradling a white cat in his lap. The cat had a notoriously bad character but also possessed tremendous grace and beauty. Despite its character, the man, a lover of beauty, didn't mind it much.

While the man petted the cat, his eyes remained fixed on the gates with anticipation. This scene had repeated itself daily for over a year now.

"He's not coming today either, Morpheus," the man complained to the cat.

The cat didn't react. Such mundane matters didn't concern him, as long as he had mice and little chickens coming his way.

As the man turned his wheelchair around, about to return to the house, a tall dandy in a fedora and an old-fashioned tailored vest appeared right in front of him.

"Greetings, Immortal," the dandy graciously bowed.

"To what do I owe this pleasure, Lucifer?" the man in the wheelchair rolled his eyes.

"I'm here on a social call. No agenda, I promise."

The white cat made an unhappy sound, expressing what the Immortal felt towards the Devil's visit.

"Could I bother you for a cup of tea?" Lucifer asked, taking the initiative to push the man's wheelchair into the house.

The man had an assortment of teas, being an avid gardener. However, for some reason, he felt reluctant to share. In the end, he pettily pulled out last year's mint leaves, showing signs of molding, and put them into a chipped cup he used for watering plants.

The Ruler of the Underworld didn't show any sign of discomfort and politely thanked the Immortal for the tea.

"It's pleasant here," Lucifer said with seemingly sincere enthusiasm. "A little chilly, though. Or is it just me? You know, my workplace tends to be on the hotter side."

The man in the wheelchair unintentionally glanced at the fireplace installed about a year ago. At the time, he was delighted, thinking that Ash finally cared about making their house cozy.

"He's not coming back anymore?" The question slipped out before the Immortal could control his tongue.

Lucifer suddenly appeared uneasy.

"I thought you already knew."

"How would I know?" the man in the wheelchair asked angrily.

"Ash told me he left you a farewell gift and a card that explained everything…"

The Immortal burst into laughter. It was a loud and prolonged laughter that even annoyed the cat, prompting it to leave his lap with a disgruntled meow.

"A card that explained everything? That's a good joke. I would laugh even harder if it weren't at my expense." The man moved his wheelchair towards the bookshelf, took out Hegel's "Science of Logic," and found a card he had been using as a bookmark.

With a bitter expression, he threw it to Lucifer.

The Devil flipped the card and read what was written on the back. The corners of his mouth nearly curved upward, but he restrained himself, revealing a sympathetic expression instead.

"That's… something."

"Two words. 'Good Luck.' That's all he wrote. Is this some cryptic code?" The man in the wheelchair seemed to grow angrier with each passing minute.

"I don't have to tell you what Ash is like. But I agree, that's in bad taste, even for him," Lucifer nodded.

"Has he entered the rebirth cycle?"

"Not yet, as far as I know. There's quite a backlog, I hear. Birth rates aren't what they used to be, and finding a suitable life for every soul based on merits is no easy task these days. They're getting creative over there," the Devil said thoughtfully.

The Immortal fell silent for a long time.

"You're not going to cry, are you?" Lucifer asked cautiously.

"Get lost."

The Devil ignored the impolite suggestion and, after taking another sip of his "delicious" mint tea, asked, "So what now? Are you finally going to join the pantheon?"

"Why do you care?"

"Well, once you're one of the gods, I hope you'll remember our friendship and not be too harsh on the good ol' Devil," Lucifer's face now displayed a perfect Hollywood smile.

"I won't become a God if that's what you came here to ask," the Immortal sighed.

"Why not? Now that the sociopathic serial killer with karma as heavy as this entire planet is out of your life for good, what's stopping you?"

"I don't want to."

"Do you enjoy being a cripple that much?"

The Immortal didn't respond. Throughout his life, he had performed numerous deeds that could be considered good. The Heavens had taken notice and sent him a heavenly tribulation to test his worth. The tribulation involved overthrowing a corrupt autocratic monarchy in a distant country he was not very familiar with.

He did his best at the time, successfully executing the family of greedy parasites. As a result, he was granted immortality by the pantheon. It meant that he could never enter the rebirth cycle again and was forever stuck in his present body. Furthermore, he was only a few steps away from becoming an actual god.

Initially, he aspired to achieve godhood, traveling the world and rectifying wrongs, punishing evildoers.

During one of his vigilante missions, he met Ash. This man, with an otherworldly face, became his anchor. He was willing to give up everything for him.

But apparently, all Ash wanted was to be reborn as soon as possible.

"Once I become a god, I'll lose the ability to feel," the Immortal burst out honestly.

"You see, they strip you of all earthly attachments. It's the final step to ensure impartiality. It may seem fine on paper, but after living for over a thousand years, I've experienced firsthand what it means to suddenly feel less than you used to. I used to wholeheartedly enjoy the cherry blossoms every spring. And now, I mostly feel nothing when I look at them. Or sometimes, I feel angry at myself for feeling nothing. Well, at least I'm still capable of that for now. When I met Ash, he made me feel things again that I thought I was incapable of. Now that he's gone, it doesn't change the fact that I still want to continue feeling, even if it means enduring pain for a while…"

The Devil nodded solemnly.

"I can't fully grasp what you're saying, but it sounds like you have some unresolved issues. I could recommend someone."

"Does the Father of Darkness experience emotions?" the Immortal asked, suddenly intrigued.

"That's a complex question. But for simplicity's sake, let's go with no."

"Yet, you portray them so convincingly—compassion, sympathy, sadness..."

"Thank you," the Devil blushed slightly. "But those are all part of the standard playbook. Pretty basic stuff. I could show you some advanced emotions too, like being slightly upset about not feeling upset about something."

"Why do you bother performing? Nobody would care if you revealed your true face. After all, you're the one and only Lucifer."

"Would you have been so honest with me if I had shown you my real face?"

"Probably not," the Immortal sighed.

"There's your answer. I see that this conversation has upset you. Do you want me to take you to the pond so you can restore some of your spiritual powers?"

The Immortal rolled his eyes.

"Stop pretending to be nice. I know it's all an act."

"If it feels genuine, does it matter if it's a performance or not?"