Farewell Toast at Glen Luna
"So."
*Crisp, crisp.*
"You planning to head there?"
I took a sip of the cocktail Master had prepared.
The heavy aroma swept through my sinuses.
Before it could fade, I drew deeply on the lit cigar.
Maybe he'd prepared a different one from the Angus Fleur leaf I'd smoked a few days ago.
It wasn't that flavor from before—instead, the robust body blended with the cigar's smoke, creating a rich bouquet.
"That's how it turned out. You told me yourself, didn't you? 'If you've got the skills, bet your life on it.'"
*Crisp.*
Master didn't respond to my words, just kept wiping his glass.
Smiling at the sight, I settled in to savor what might be my last time at Glen Luna for a while.
The quiet, elegant lounge music of the bar.
The unique scent from all those oak barrels mixed together—never overpowering, always just right.
*Clink.*
The fresh sound of ice melting against the glass.
"Ahh, won't see you for a bit. What now, Master? I'm your only regular."
"...You've paid up plenty. Won't go under without you."
"Hmm? Well, suits me fine. Places like this are rare."
He never said how he'd made his money.
Even after I became an adult regular here, Master never shared personal stories.
I just figured he'd made quite a name for himself back in the day, based on the vibes.
"Hm? Jazz?"
The phonograph music shifted again.
It had been subtle lounge tunes before, but now it eased into slow jazz.
A glance.
Behind Master's back, an incredibly fine thread of mana.
So subtle even I had to focus to see it, precise enough to manipulate the phonograph from across the bar—mana control on another level.
I'd seen it every time, but it never failed to impress.
And there was only one reason Master changed the music like this.
*Click.*
Someone had just entered the bar.
"Hello."
A familiar voice from the seat next to me.
Emotionless, yet captivating—a low, seductive timbre from a woman.
"First time trying a cocktail. Could you recommend one?"
I rolled my eyes her way. Black hair, black skin.
"First-timer, huh. Any flavors you're after?"
Master usually went casual with regulars, but polite to newcomers.
"Hmm... well then."
With a short hum, she—no, Mist—turned to me, her expression blank but her voice laced with allure.
She'd ditched the maid outfit for something sleek, fitting the cocktail bar vibe.
"Same as that gentleman over there, please."
"Hmm. Mine's strong on the booze—might be too much for a lady."
I rested my cigar in the ashtray Master had provided and played along with her act.
Mist parted her lips slightly, cracking her blank face with a soft smile.
"Is that so? What cocktails would you recommend then?"
"Dunno. Piña Colada for smooth sweetness, Mojito for refreshing coolness, or Spritz for bitter bite. But ask Master, not me."
"Hmm... well then."
She glanced at me, flicking her tongue across her lips.
"I like bitter too. Something bitter but light-bodied, please."
No idea why she was directing it at me, but I ignored it.
I turned back to my cigar and cocktail.
She didn't chat me up anymore, just sipped what Master gave her.
Jazz tickling my ears.
Cigar and cocktail aromas delighting my nose.
Sometimes sipping the cocktail while drawing on the cigar let me savor both at once.
Just enjoying the flow of time.
By the time half the cigar had burned down, a voice shattered the pleasant quiet.
"So, this lady next to you—she's the employer you accepted the contract from?"
"Hm? Yeah."
My cocktail was down to ice, cigar half-smoked.
Probably why Master broke the silence now.
"Why, surprised she's so alluring?"
I teased.
But Master ignored it, scanning Mist head to toe in an instant.
Instinct or experience telling him she wasn't some ordinary woman.
"Hmm. Whatever."
He finished with the glasses and looked at me.
"Ah, one more cocktail. Master's pick again."
"Got it."
As Master started mixing, I called to Mist beside me.
"First off, I want intel."
"Intel, sir?"
Realizing the role-play was over, she switched back to her usual tone and expression.
"Yeah. Intel. They said roughly a year there, but what exactly do I do?"
I didn't name the place.
Back-alley life had drilled in that unspoken rule: keep contract details secret.
Even from close allies.
"Exactly that."
As if reading my mind, Mist gave the broad strokes.
"What I want is an example."
"An example?"
She glanced at Master mixing drinks.
"Yes. A proper example for the riffraff. That's all you need to do."
"...Fine. Whatever."
An example, huh.
Words jumbled chaotically in my head.
Like puzzle pieces scattered everywhere—words connecting to her vague hints.
Anyone else might snap, "Spit it out already!"
Frustrating wordplay, gut-busting vagueness.
But I loved piecing clues together like this.
Deriving answers from scraps—it was unexpectedly fun.
Just a hobby picked up after tumbling from dopamine-drenched 21st-century life to here, of course.
"Then tell me about the others, excluding me."
"Yes. First, there are two who passed the test."
*Clink.*
I sipped the fresh cocktail from Master while listening closely.
Of course, pondering her true intent all the while.
"One's from the Empire's north, born with a rough temper."
Top-secret info flowed easily from her lips.
A far cry from the "ordinary maid" she'd played at first.
What ordinary maid rattles off intel on ducal heirs?
"The other was born in Adrian, land of eastern mages—a cautious type."
"Haha, what is this, scripted? One hothead, one overly careful?"
And me, heading to the ducal house: a cigar-loving slacker who accepted her terms.
The perfect trinity.
"Future looks bleak, no?"
I didn't say "ducal house," but she'd get it.
From this, I pieced together the flow.
She rated me highly.
Knew I had zero interest in heading the family.
But the ducal house must endure.
The others: one impulsive, one too cautious.
She wouldn't phrase it so bluntly if she saw them positively— she'd sugarcoat.
'But then I showed up.'
Her top pick, me.
No clue why so highly rated, but she'd thought:
Show them her judged best heir—me—as the example.
I didn't know her full mind, of course.
Could be something else.
But this seemed most likely.
As my thoughts wrapped up, the clock's second hand pointed to late afternoon.
Time to go.
"Alright. Shall we?"
I greedily puffed the remaining third of the cigar in one go, then downed Master's cocktail in a single gulp.
A violent explosion of aroma and flavor assaulted my tongue and nose.
"Urk!"
I clutched my mouth without thinking—the intensity overwhelming.
"Idiot, chugging it like that?"
Even the finest scents and tastes turn violent if overdone.
Master sighed at my coughing fit and offered cold water.
"Phew... Urk. Wasted it trying to finish in one go—embarrassing."
Still, the harsh booze rose in my gut, cigar smoke numbing my nose.
I waved my hand frantically, trying to clear the lingering haze from my mouth.
A moment later.
Out of the bar, I climbed into the car parked out front.
Destination: the Nebula Duke Family Estate in the south.
*Vroooom.*
Mist's car smoothly pulled away from the Imperial Capital.