Chapter 384
Chapter 384
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Translator: Vine
Chapter: 17
Chapter Title: Travel Preparations (7)
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Scritch-scritch-scritch-scritch—
It was a quiet hour—too early for night, too late for evening.
In the antique office, only the sound of carving ice echoed softly.
Clink.
Drip-drip-drip-drip—
Once the ice was shaped into something close to a perfect cube, he dropped it into one of the familiar glasses lined up on one side of the room, then slowly poured golden liquid over it.
The middle-aged man, Chancellor Alexander Young, couldn't tear his eyes away from the golden liquid flowing sensually over the ice, accompanied by the aroma of whiskey piercing his chest.
This nectar was worth more than actual melted gold. The ice melting into nearly century-old, high-purity alcohol created a mesmerizing shimmer—something he never tired of, no matter how many times he saw it.
After savoring it with his eyes, he enjoyed the whiskey's aroma as the water mixed in just right, then took a delicate sip, like kissing his first love.
The dizzying scent swirled from his tongue to the roof of his mouth, up through his nasal passages, nearly to the bridge of his nose. The thirst that had vanished before drinking returned.
And only then did the tension drain from his shoulders.
"...Exhausting."
The chancellor leaned deeper into his chair, letting his weary body sink in, and let out a sigh-like mutter.
For a man who skimped on meals and sleep alike, this late-evening drink was his one true respite—and his personal health regimen.
"Hmm. Look at this."
Even now, as his body relaxed for a moment, his eyes were already scanning the papers scattered on his desk. Trapped in responsibility and pressure, his workaholic brain wouldn't rest properly without alcohol to numb it.
He still hadn't found a successor for Dome's leadership, and with the turbulent times, he couldn't step away. The chancellor had to live as long as possible, and for a man accustomed to overworking himself, rest was the ultimate tonic.
Therefore, drinking was good for his health.
"Churchill was British like me, so a bit of his blood must flow in my veins."
『I have taken more out of alcohol than alcohol has taken out of me—』
The British prime minister who lived on strong liquor and cigars, led his nation through turbulent times at its center, and lived to 91.
He was the chancellor's role model—and the perfect excuse to ignore doctors who nagged him to quit drinking every time they met.
Thud.
"...Just half a bottle more would hit the spot."
The chancellor rose from his seat, savoring the sensation of words like Raptor, Dome, refugees, crime rates, and corruption swirling hazily in his mind before scattering with the buzz. Choosing his drink was one of the joys of being a drinker, after all.
Riiing! Riiing!
Just as he was about to fully indulge in his personal downtime, a sound pierced the office, snapping his loosening mind taut.
This wasn't an ordinary communicator. It was a secure line provided only to a select few in the Surveillance Division—a direct hotline to him as chancellor. Why was it ringing at this hour?
Dome. Raptor. Wasteland. Mutants. Media. War. Sacrifices.
Sharp words pierced the hazy veil of his buzz. His slightly relaxed face hardened back into the chancellor's stern mask.
"Chancellor Alexander Young speaking. State who you are and why you're calling."
"..."
A heavy silence gripped the chancellor's chest. What could make a high-ranking official hesitate enough to use the hotline?
"Uh..."
The familiar voice that followed made the chancellor scowl.
"You?"
"Th-this feels weird, doesn't it? My body's got real functions now, huh?"
"...If you're going to greet me, it might be better to do it face-to-face."
"No, no, I didn't just shove my hand in your chest for a casual hello. I... I have something important to tell you.... Is this line secure?"
"...That important?"
"Kinda..."
Professor. He'd ordered a communicator issued to him, of course. In terms of ability or status, he was undeniably worthy of the 'most secure and vital' device.
But already? He'd only recovered that afternoon, and it was barely evening. Had he uncovered something crucial to report to the top brass already? Important enough for someone like him to hesitate in such a hushed tone?
As the central figure in every incident, he couldn't be dismissed lightly. The chancellor steeled himself. Sweat beaded on the hand gripping his glass.
"Speak. This line is safe."
"...Lend me some money."
Crash!
He dropped the crystal glass he'd cherished.
What? What did he just say?
A massive mutant raid, Raptor ambush, sandstorm overwhelming the city shield, or some other catastrophe—the hotline reserved for disasters like those—and the message was to lend money? And that's why he'd hesitated?
"Money...? Tell me I misheard that."
"Don't be so stingy. Lend me some. A hundred thousand... no, make it a million to be generous. I've done plenty for Dome. Come on, just lend it!"
A million reals, no less. Just a million. Even borrowing billions or tens of billions wouldn't warrant the hotline, yet this idiot had filled his one moment of daily rest with sweat-inducing tension over a measly million.
"I finished my physical and came straight out, but when I tried to pay at the market, I realized I left my real payment terminal behind! No scrap or anything valuable on me! Please, man! I'm with Dana and Zeus Belly, and I said I'd treat on our first date. I can't go 'Haha, I, uh, forgot my wallet? You can pay, right? Oh, and get mine too!'!!"
"You're treating Dome's chancellor like—"
"You've got Surveillance agents everywhere, right? Send one over! Valley upper level, 'Vena's Dress Shop.' Hurry! I'll buy you a drink soon."
Click.
"...Professor. Professor? You there?"
Disconnected.
The chancellor stared blankly at the silent secure communicator, then glanced at one of the papers on his desk.
[Based on orbital state's depth estimates, passage through this area occurred about two weeks ago, with movement speed—]
He could read fine. His mind wasn't foggy.
"...Not drunk enough to pass out."
So, the message he'd received via the secure line prepared for the gravest moments was real nonsense—not a joke. No money for shopping with his girlfriend. Send someone with cash. As fast as possible. It was so absurd he wondered about mental defects.
"...At least he's as mind-numbing as booze."
The chancellor eyed the shattered glass and melted ice staining the floor, then distant Zeus Belly glowing even at night. Swallowing a wry chuckle, he picked up his regular communicator.
Zeus Belly definitely had someone who could handle this.
Beep. Beep. Beep—click.
"Chancellor Alexander Young here. Ezel Leiden? Yes, is daily life treating you well? Ah, nothing urgent...."
His voice turned oddly teasing, and an incredulous one came from the other end.
Click.
After roughly explaining, the chancellor set down the receiver and turned back to his desk.
His cluttered mind felt strangely clear—mission of rest accomplished.
...Come to think of it, he'd promised a drink in return for the loan.
"Was that professor guy much of a drinker?"
Recalling the professor who'd once matched him drink for drink while looking half-dead, the chancellor pondered tomorrow's schedule.
Everything he did was important, but nothing would cause disaster if delayed a few hours.
They got along, so the drinks might turn into work.
With that, he mentally cleared his afternoon schedule.
Maybe get properly wasted for once, he thought.
A faint smile lingered as only the scratching of his pen echoed quietly in the office.
****
"You idiot."
That was Ezel's first word after ages apart.
"The chancellor called. Said you're broke at the market, so take him some money. Here."
"Th-thanks!"
Ezel tossed it over with a pathetic look. A portable terminal—something people used for watching streams at work. No login, no chat, just receive-only downgraded connector.
Dome folk got them from Dome and used them for accounts and payments, but independent survivors found them alien. We bartered scrap or car parts offline. I didn't forget out of stupidity. Cultural difference.
Waiting for Dana in the changing room, I explained. Ezel's face twisted even more in frustration.
"You're so dense it's killing me."
"What!"
Smack—
"Bro. Folks from Sector 47 have this one topic they love. You ignoring it? Pretending not to hear? Or do you need medical help?"
"Huh?"
"It's me, not some rando. Let's ask straight up. Bro, you don't see something's off? For real? You, here, now?"
True to Surveillance, Ezel whispered furiously, venting rage.
Something wrong? Hmm... anything? What?
"Uh... a million not enough? Look cheap?"
"Not money, you moron—!!! ...Idiot...!"
Ezel shoved his hooded face at me, glancing at the changing room and lowering his voice.
"He stepped aside for you two! Get it?"
Gesturing wildly from the shop chair, he railed like I'd committed high treason.
"You think we're not happy for you? Vex is honing knife tricks on your face dummy targets to wall-painting levels. Ian built a warehouse sorting mutant byproduct weapons by category, waiting to train you!"
"Uh... huh?"
"We wanted stuff with you too! Drinks! All-night shelter chats like old times! But we dipped! Why? Freshly reunited lovers need space after near-death separation! Everyone with lame 'Whoops, gotta run!' excuses—poof!"
...Huh. Yeah, wondered why they vanished. So that's it. Thoughtful guys.
But am I not doing fine? Dinner done, fun spot, good times.
"No! Ugh, seriously! This vibe's like buddies out having fun! Not that... intimate couple boundary-melting mood!"
Dinner at an atmospheric restaurant, quietly catching up on time apart. Hard moments, tough days, loneliness—sharing those, opening up over two hours of slow meal and talk.
Tipsy pair strolls under dim streetlights. Dana, still weak, tires—'Wanna rest a bit?' Ambiguous words redden faces, mood ripens!
"Dome's fancy spots are limited. I told the top resto to treat you right! Ian polished your old car shiny, parked it upfront! Vex scrubbed your shelter spotless from those BDSM ragtag bastards! All for one thing! The night human Professor makes history! I even left scented candles!"
"Huh?"
"But what? Gulp down gut-bowl soup and hit the market? Bro, head injury from service? Drop your gene pouch in jungle mid-charge? Shell-shocked?"
By then, my face burned as hot as Ezel's rage. How could I miss that?
So, they cleared out for me and Dana to have that... cozy, steamy night? Prepped everything?
Overkill much, you guys?
"Hey! Dana and I aren't at that stage yet...!"
"Jokass and Deer sealed it day they met! Drinks, he piggybacks queasy Deer home grumbling—bam, she guillotines him awake: 'Sorry, urgent now. Surprisingly packing—' then straight... You get it! Shacked up in under a week!"
"No, those are beast-fallen wrecks—"
"Those wrecks are wasteland average, dude! To us, Professor-Dana's snail-paced! Everyone sees the sparks, but you two fumble till life-or-death split, hearts pounding! Wasteland's got no months for slow-burn! Partner could drop anytime! Ugh! This drama'd feed Dome refugees three years! Rice yellow-ready, but 'Not ripe yet' waiting! You and Dana!"
Click!
As Ezel's 'Wasteland Dating 101' barrage primed, the changing room door opened. He shut up, muttering grimly.
"...Do it right. Sis-in-law fretted hard over you."
"Got it."
"Vibe's shot anyway. I'll guide. Others nearby. Pro tip: Fun memories with her build good feelings. Might as well have a blast."
"Sure."
Ezel's face lit up like magic. Dana emerged, fidgeting in the snug dress.
"Ezel? When'd you get here?"
"Aw, sis-in-law! Gatekeeper tipped me you're here—raced over! Knew it'd bug you, couldn't resist! You don't know Zeus Belly proper, right? Stuck in hospital recovering."
"Know enough from community. And 'sis-in-law'... tone it down? Kinda awkward..."
"Then Dana it is, old-school! Let's go! Zeus Belly's open-pit mine to black market maze—ant hill complex! For you two desk-jockeys, full guide service! Real shops need passphrases!"
"Uh, okay."
"Not dangerous, right? No weapons on me."
"Weapons with that body? Normals might risk it, but we're good."
"Where to?"
Ezel grinned crooked under his half-hood.
"Moby-Dick. Expect surprise. Someone shocking's waiting."
Ezel smirked mischievously, shoving paid-up me and Dana onward.
****