In the dim, lightless room, Soma quietly studied the divine wine he'd brewed, swirling the liquid gently in its glass before taking a small sip.
"Hm. Not bad."
To anyone else, it would've been a masterpiece—an unparalleled creation worthy of praise. But to him, it was simply ordinary. Even if he could describe its flavor in extravagant terms, there was no point in flattering his own work.
What frustrated him most was that even a wine he deemed merely "acceptable" left him unsatisfied.
He had descended to the lower world to pursue the ultimate pinnacle of brewing—to create a wine that surpassed even divine comprehension. Yet no matter how much he experimented or refined his craft, he couldn't reach that next realm.
No matter the adjustments, his brewing always ended at the level of Soma—the divine wine. Nothing more.
"Maybe… different ingredients would help."
He muttered to himself. Perhaps he'd been too constrained by his past experiences, too reliant on familiar materials. If he could find something truly unique—something beyond the ordinary—maybe he could brew something greater than the Soma he already made.
"That's not happening. With those kids of yours, there's no way you'll get anything better."
"!?"
The sudden voice made Soma whip around in alarm.
"Loki?"
A goddess with bright crimson hair stood casually in the doorway, her slim frame impossible to mistake.
Loki herself wasn't surprising—but seeing her here, in his home, definitely was.
His gaze shifted slightly, landing on the young man standing silently beside her. The youth had a shadowed expression, his presence heavy yet oddly lifeless.
"Your child?" Soma frowned. "He doesn't look… human."
"No tact at all, huh? First thing out of your mouth and you're insulting my kid."
Loki huffed, clearly offended. But Soma didn't respond. His sharp eyes studied the youth again, then returned to Loki.
"Your eyes aren't deceiving you," Loki said breezily. "He's not human. He's one of my child's summoned constructs—a Puppet, inherited from his lineage."
A summoned being, then.
Soma's gaze lingered for a moment. The Puppet had no warmth, no breath—just a hollow shell, moving as if on instinct alone.
After observing it for a while, Soma finally turned his attention fully back to Loki.
"So. What brings you here?"
He couldn't recall ever having a friendly relationship with this goddess. In fact, Loki was one of the few deities he actively avoided.
"You could say I came for business."
She smirked. "I want one of your children. There's a particular one I've taken an interest in."
…She wants one of my children?
Soma blinked, thinking she must have gone insane. His children? The ones hopelessly addicted to his divine wine, willing to throw away their lives for a single sip?
There wasn't a single one worth her attention. They weren't adventurers anymore—they were husks, slaves to their addiction.
"Which one?" he asked flatly.
"The Pallum girl with transformation magic."
At that, Soma immediately recalled the child in question. Yes, she was one of his—one of the few with a unique magic that allowed her to mimic others' appearances.
But that was all she had.
He could still picture her kneeling before him, trembling, her hands clasped in desperation as she begged for a taste of the Soma. That was her—pathetic, addicted, broken.
And Loki wanted that?
He frowned, his voice dry. "A child like that has value to you?"
"Hey, don't talk about your own child like that," Loki scolded.
"So what if she's mine?" Soma replied coldly. "I guided her once. She broke the glass I gave her and—"
He paused abruptly, as if remembering something unpleasant, his expression tightening.
"…and disappointed me."
Loki's lips curved in irritation. "Don't you dare say that. Don't you dare look down on her, idiot."
Her tone had shifted—sharper, colder.
"She's one of your children, Soma. Whether she fell or not, that's on you. If your guidance failed, then it's your fault, not hers."
Soma's brows furrowed slightly. "Fault…?"
"Yes, fault. You sit here, chasing perfection in your damn wine, but you never even bother to look at the ones right in front of you."
Her voice echoed through the room, and for a moment, Soma had no response.
He turned his gaze toward the bottle in his hand—the shining, flawless Soma—and for the first time, it looked dull.
"Prove it," Soma said suddenly, setting down his glass. "If guidance makes such a difference, then prove it."
He walked to his shelf and pulled out a fresh bottle of his divine wine—Soma, the drink that had ensnared countless souls.
"Give this to your child. Let's see if your 'guidance' really works."
Loki narrowed her eyes, then smirked. "Fine. Pour it."
Soma poured two glasses. One for Loki, one for Tsuna's Puppet.
Loki took hers without hesitation and downed it in one gulp. The Puppet did the same, Tsuna controlling it from within the Alternate Dimension.
A moment passed.
Then another.
Loki's cheeks flushed slightly pink, a faint glaze settling over her eyes. She let out a soft breath, clearly feeling the effects—tipsy, but still herself.
But Tsuna?
The Puppet's expression didn't change at all. Through the link, Tsuna only wrinkled his nose at the strong, burning aftertaste. That was it. No intoxication. No craving. Nothing.
Soma stared, stunned.
His divine wine had affected a goddess before it could touch her mortal child.
"Strong stuff," Loki said with a lazy grin, still slightly flushed. "But see? My kid's fine. Not even a little tipsy."
Soma's gaze lingered on the Puppet—no, on Loki's child. He truly couldn't understand it.