The Knight Holds an Interview (1)

"Goddamn it, no seats again today? Hey, Matt! Make me a spot!"

"You want a seat, haul in your own chair and table. I'm busy—quit your bitching!"

"Is that any way to talk to a customer!"

"A bum like you isn't my customer. Get the hell out!"

"You little—!"

The man who looked like a customer and the man who looked like the owner were at each other's throats, and not a soul spared them a glance. Scenes like this were an everyday affair. If anything, there were people who treated the quarrel as a show.

The Public House—a public space, and a shop that served commoners as both tavern and inn. More people simply shortened it to the pub. It was always packed to the door and roaring, and because drunks kept pouring in even deep into the night, the shouting and the fights never quite stopped. Fortunately, real trouble was rare.

There was a reason for that.

"Hey. Fight all you want. Just don't drag the guild out here. Then you're the only one who gets hurt."

"……."

Places like the pub were, more often than not, one of the organs under the guild. So even when a quarrel broke out, common sense said it ended quietly.

"Tch. I'll let you off. Just give me some of that disgustingly tasteless food."

"…This bastard only ever says things that beg for a fist."

The taste wasn't guaranteed, but a cheap price still bought a solid meal, and the liquor and coffee were inexpensive too, so making an enemy of the pub's owner was the greater loss. Knowing that, some carpenter tossed over a tip by way of a rough apology, and the crowd—faced with an amusement that had died in a heartbeat—drank flat, cheap lager as if the fizz had gone out of them as well.

Amid all that racket, two people shared a drink in the pub's third-floor lounge, a place where money at least bought you the quiet to tip a glass in peace.

Or, more precisely—

"And where do you think you're drinking?"

"I-I'm an adult too, you know?"

"An adult, sure. But don't you know Academy students are banned from drink, song, and dance until they graduate? Trying to break the rules right in front of an instructor. You've got nerve."

"…That's harsh."

Only the man ordered alcohol. The shy boy wore a face on the verge of tears and had to nurse an orange juice.

There was liquor right in front of him, and he was stuck with juice. Could anything be more miser—

"—Huh? This is good?"

The miserable look lasted only a moment. The orange juice was bright and cool, which was to say far better than he had imagined. Hadn't this been a place that sold nothing but cheap stuff?

The man, Lee Han, snorted at the startled face and spoke.

"The good thing about this pub is that if you pay, they actually give you something decent. The fruit in that orange juice was brought up from the South, so it's a cut above the usual. You can't drink, but it ought to take the edge off."

"That's amazing."

"The kingdom's food is pretty solid. That's why the drink tastes especially good. Once you graduate, make sure you try it."

"…gulp."

"Kid, you're a drunk after all."

Looks aside, he knew the taste of liquor. Well, the sort who couldn't properly empty his heart sometimes drowned his stress in drink. Nothing strange about that.

Should I have let him have one glass?

…Mm. No. This was the right call. He had a position to keep, and so did the boy. Better not to do, from the start, anything that could be picked apart.

Lee Han braced the part of him that wanted to go soft and knocked back his ale. A rich barley scent, and body to match. They had used top-grade barley and hadn't watered it, so the flavor was as full as it could be—easily five times better than the beer he used to drink in his past life.

I don't know about the rest, but this kingdom really does make beer.

An ale properly aged in oak was, as expected, excellent.

"Yeah. Ale suits me better than lager."

It had less of lager's crisp bite, but a faint fruit note rose off it, and Lee Han preferred ale. In the end, either one was worth the coin.

"A-aren't you overdoing it? The third-floor lounge must cost a fair bit, and the dishes you're supposed to order are expensive too…."

"It's worth that much, though. Quiet, and the food's good."

Unlike the first and second floors, the third cost more, and it earned the price. Drink downstairs and he would have ruined his palate on lukewarm, watered beer. Better to pay a little and eat something worth eating.

"Two things I don't cheap out on: gear, and food. So eat your fill. It's on me tonight."

"…Then I'll eat gratefully."

"Grateful, nothing. I'm buying because I'm the one who's thankful."

"Haha…."

Derek laughed awkwardly. Lee Han treating him well only made him uncomfortable. He knew this was the man's way of thanking him for the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠elixir, so refusing felt wrong—though, honestly, what he wanted was to go home and sleep this very instant.

Still… this isn't bad.

The food, and the atmosphere with it. Neither was bad. In a life that had been nothing but busy, he had rarely been given a leisure like this.

"Go on, order whatever you want. My purse is fat tonight."

"…Th-then just a few more."

"Yeah, yeah."

He could feel a pleased gaze on him—the look of a man who grew full just from watching someone else eat. Meeting those honey-dripping eyes, Derek understood that Lee Han was genuinely grateful. Had the elixir pleased him that much?

I-I did put some care into it.

As the one who had made it, he was satisfied and embarrassed at once. He had only done his best to repay a debt of the heart, and yet—

"—Haha."

A flinch—!!

In that instant Derek felt a chill and shuddered.

Wh-what?

The moment his eyes met that satisfied smile, an indescribable shiver raced up his spine.

If he were meeting the eyes of a beast sizing up its prey, would it feel like this? Derek remembered he had felt a sensation like it ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠somewhere before.

Wh-where did I feel this?

This was not hospitality meant only to say thank you. There was a scheme in the treating. Uneasy, he dragged up a memory that had been sleeping in a corner of his mind.

……Ah.

And then, suddenly, he remembered. When he had felt this. None other than around the time, in his past life, that he had pinned on a private's rank….

Th-the sergeant major took me to a rib house and asked if I didn't want to try for specialist, and that was exactly—!?

Derek was, at some point, drenched in cold sweat. Somehow he had the feeling he had walked into the tiger's den of his own accord.

Th-thank god I can't drink.

He was profoundly relieved he wasn't drinking. There was still a chance of slipping free of a den that had nearly swallowed him whole. And the instructor, who had been nursing the scheme of how he might put the boy to work as an assistant instructor….

Timid little bastard. Those eyes rolling around—he's already plotting how to run…. Tch. He caught on.

…Anyway.

This is why sharp-eyed brats….

The instructor was disappointed!

There had been an ulterior (?) motive, but the food was delicious all the same. Gambas, a fine octopus dish, even meat like roast beef—a meal and a spread of sides too good to believe they had come out of a pub. Even so, Lee Han drank exactly two ales and stopped short of a third. Asked why a man who looked ready to drain a whole oak cask by himself stopped at two—

"Drink's enough if you enjoy it lightly. More than that, I've got no one to match cups with, so two is plenty."

"…Mmm."

A reasonable answer, in its way. Steeped in a culture of drinking by the crate, the boy made a strange face. Seeing Lee Han more wholesome than he had expected, he once again couldn't bring himself to think the man was from the same homeland.

H-he isn't really a murim martial artist, is he?

The idle thought that such a man would be far too much of a mongrel made Derek swallow a groan.

"Why are you picking at it like that? Eat. Eat."

"…Ah, yes."

Watching him meddle and press food on him like this, he did seem like someone from home….

…No. That's another idle thought.

Derek admitted he was reading every one of the man's actions too sensitively. Someone he might be meeting for the first time… someone whose situation might resemble his own. Excited by that, he was trying to hang meaning even on the smallest gesture. It was a sickness.

For now, don't put meaning on it.

Even if the man were from home, their positions would not change. If he dropped heavy hints of being a countryman and opened his heart first, that would be different—but he wasn't doing that, was he? …And Derek himself did not have the courage to ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠speak first. At times like this he truly hated his own character.

Why am I so damn stifled?

Derek's face crumpled.

"…Having a fine time all by yourself."

"!?!!"

"Fretting, then scowling, then suddenly looking ready to cry…. Anyone watching would suspect schizophrenia."

"Ah, no, it's not like that!"

"Not like that, he says. The way you look right now, it's the early stages of schizophrenia exactly. If it's something dangerous, say so. Your instructor will kindly smack the back of your head."

"…Wouldn't my head just burst and kill me instead…?"

"I'm confident I can control my strength. I'll fix only the head."

"……Even if I did come down with schizophrenia, I'd rather just go to the temple."

Derek meant it. Better to trust the temple than some folk cure.

"Well, if you're fine, that's a relief. But when your head's a mess, telling someone else can be an answer sometimes. You may consult this instructor, or you may unload it on your girlfriend."

"L-Lady Karin and I are not like that!"

"…I didn't specifically point at Little Purple, though?"

"!!?"

"Mm. Go easy on rubbing salt in a single man's wounds. This instructor's fist might stop being medicine and turn into punishment."

"I-it's really not like that……."

Derek trailed off, insisting on his sincerity, but Lee Han did not look convinced in the least, and the corner of his mouth had even lifted, just a little. Caught with one weakness in the other man's hand, Derek's face crumpled again.

Then—

"……"

The man's serious advice. It was not the sort of counsel someone offered merely because he had lived a little longer. It was advice born of experience, the kind only a man who had already lived a life like his could give….. Derek found himself thinking that. The ache of it struck his chest that deeply. Truly….

What kind of man had he been?

Derek blinked, faintly amazed that someone else's past could make him this curious.

…Meanwhile, unaware of how badly Derek wanted to know that past, Lee Han held a mouthful of water and narrowed his eyes.

Tch. Won't be coming back to this place either.

Feeling the press of presence packing the first and second floors, Lee Han shook his head. Someone might think it was only that the place had plenty of ordinary customers, or that he simply disliked crowds. That was not why he meant to abandon a regular haunt.

This place is crawling with rats.

Half of the bastards he could feel chattering away on the first and second floors. Every one of that half felt off. From the men picking a fight with the owner on purpose, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠to the ones talking just a shade too loudly—there were a great many of them. And all of them had their ears trained on his every move. Wasn't there a saying that birds hear the words of the day, and rats the words of the night? These were rats putting that saying into practice.

…Irritating.

He had wanted a fairly serious talk with the Taechang kid today. With drink in him, he had steeled himself to dig deep—into this world, or if not that, into past lives and possession. He had even spent the coin to take a seat in the lounge….

For a while, I won't be able to talk anywhere.

As things stood, he shouldn't open his mouth no matter where he went. Even home was not safe. Among informants there were sometimes Mystery holders, and he had heard of Mysteries that borrowed the ears of sparrows and cats.

So this is why attention is frightening.

The day before, the worth of Lee Han's name had risen, and interest in him had grown with it. That was surely why these ridiculous people trying to get a read on him had multiplied. And he could roughly guess who was probing him in this shabby way.

The Information Guild.

Further than that, he suspected the Guild Collective itself had moved.

Tap, tap.

Lee Han lightly struck the table and thought. What was he supposed to do about these ridiculous things?

……Should I just wreck them?

He had needed a live test anyway. A bit of blade-work would do nicely, if only to see how much his body had changed. Lee Han quietly focused on the feel of the hand axe tucked inside his coat—keen senses, touch drawn tight so he could draw it at any moment. His momentum was just beginning to boil when—

"…Hm?"

—he blinked at the appearance of someone he had not expected. For a moment he wondered if his senses were wrong, but unfortunately they boasted the performance of a drug-sniffing dog, able to pick a person's scent out from three kilometers away. Blankly, he let his mouth fall open at the arrival of a figure who did not belong in this pub at all.

"…Bear-Girl?"

His pupils quaked.

Levi Fault. Sensing the honor student's presence, Lee Han was—rarely—thrown.