14. Melting Point (19)
14. Melting Point (19)
The Under-Heaven Tavern at the Golden Palace paid its employees almost nothing. They were given lodging, three meals a day, and a bare minimum of living expenses to maintain appearances.
Despite the stingy treatment, there was never a shortage of people wanting to work here — because the establishment attracted wealthy patrons.
In any drinking house worth its salt, the real income came from tips. The staff here were more than willing to entertain the guests with conversation, drink alongside them, and, if the price was right, warm their beds through the night.
When Anais started working here, she resolved to do nothing beyond taking orders and serving drinks. No matter how dire her circumstances, she still carried the pride of a noble and the chairwoman of a major trading company. She would sooner die than grovel for a few coins.
Yet two months into the job, Anais was earning more than any other employee at the Under-Heaven Tavern.
"Shall we tally up the Victory Points, then?"
The first basement floor commanded the finest view in the Under-Heaven Tavern. Only the hotel's wealthiest guests were permitted entry here.
Originally, the Under-Heaven Tavern was open to all visitors, but house rules gave priority to hotel guests — specifically those in the expensive suites. As a result, the first basement floor had become naturally packed with patrons from the premium rooms and above.
At the moment, Anais sat at the rowdiest table in that room.
"The Count has 13 points, Director 16, and the young Master here, 37. I have 38. My victory."
Her declaration left the three men at the table gaping at each other. The crowd gathered around to watch, however, erupted in cheers and applause for her.
"Incredible, miss!"
"Good heavens — I truly thought that round was unwinnable."
It had been a razor-edged contest, the kind that made people forget to breathe while they followed the play.
The game they had just finished, 'Wonder Stage,' was originally a free-for-all where each participant competed for individual Victory Points. But this particular round had seen three players openly collude to take Anais down.
Two of them had sacrificed their own scores to harass her while letting the third monopolize all the points — a strategy designed to ensure her defeat.
Early on, it looked like she was being thoroughly overwhelmed. Every scheme she tried to assemble was wrecked again and again by the two saboteurs.
But at some point, Anais began slowly bending the momentum in her favor. By the endgame, she was chasing down her opponents at breakneck speed, hounding them to an even footing, and finally succeeded in Flipping the game to snatch the win.
"R-ridiculous..."
"She read every move we made..."
"Tch. She knew from the start that the three of us were going to combine our forces."
Exhalations of disbelief spilled from the three players — half in admiration, half in bitter regret.
"If you would kindly stand? Other guests are waiting."
In her white shirt, black vest, and necktie, she looked little different from the other attendants.
But the expression on her face as she smiled down at them held the same poised confidence as a company president sizing up a boardroom. It wasn't just the men she had beaten — even the spectators behind them felt a flash of intimidation in the presence of her charisma.
For the past several weeks, Anais had been drifting between tables at the Under-Heaven Tavern, playing the role of kkakdugi — a temporary fill-in when a game was short on players.
Most of the patrons here were university-educated men or people accustomed to giving orders. They did not expect a mere serving girl who sold her smiles to hold her own against them in a battle of wits. They assumed she would simply fill an empty seat and keep the game moving, no more.
Instead, she walked away from every table a winner. If the games had been pure chance — poker, say — they could have dismissed it as a lucky fluke.
But the games that needed a kkakdugi were almost all strategic. And she demonstrated a level of skill that overwhelmed every other player at the table.
"Hard to believe. Are you sure this is really your first time playing?"
"Ha, she could work as a casino dealer."
"I refuse to accept it! One more round! I'll tip you whatever you ask!"
The Under-Heaven Tavern forbade gambling with money. So the patrons here played primarily for social purposes.
If she had been nothing more than a skilled gamer, she would never have drawn this much attention. But she possessed the cultural refinement to blend seamlessly into the social dynamic of any table she joined as a kkakdugi.
Which wine regions were producing the best vintages this year. How global political currents were likely to shift. The tangled domestic affairs of influential noble houses. She carried a breadth of knowledge that startled the guests seated around her. A polished conversational style fit for a highborn only deepened her appeal.
"Right this way, next guests, please take your seats!"
The largest table on the first basement floor had become a place where people had to queue up for a chance to play against her.
The tavern's management was delighted by this turn of events. Thanks to her, the turnover rate at her table was several times higher than anywhere else in the house.
On top of that, the patrons who sat at her table — perhaps conscious of her attention — ordered expensive or unusual drinks to show off, which meant the revenue from her station had doubled as well.
"Here's the order the next guests placed."
Anais handed the ticket to the bartender and slipped quickly into the staff corridor behind the counter. She always ducked into the restroom after finishing a round.
"Are you all right?"
Somo, who had looked after her since her first day, studied her complexion with a worried voice.
The patrons here were the sort who believed drinking was an inseparable part of any game. They were obligated to order at least one round of drinks to claim a seat at the table, and Anais had to match them, glass for glass, with every game she played.
The three men who had just gone after her were especially determined. The liquor they had ordered was a brutal 100-proof fiend. By Somo's estimation, a delicate woman's frame should have struggled to stay upright drinking that much, let alone win the game.
Her face was flushed a deep red. Sweat beaded across her forehead, and her breathing was raw and ragged. She wiped her brow with a damp towel another staff member had brought.
The same employees who had initially kept their distance, muttering that she was dead weight, now all looked at her with something close to awe. To them, she seemed like a hero — a woman who could hold her liquor through a dozen glasses every night while still demolishing wealthy aristocrats in head-to-head contest.
"Hah... hah... hah... C-can you leave me alone for a moment?"
At her request, the others hurried out of the restroom. Everyone seemed to expect she was about to be violently sick.
In truth, Anais was not even the slightest bit drunk. In her entire life, she had never met anyone who metabolized alcohol faster. She was confident she could drain that bottle of Demon God spirits by herself and remain perfectly steady.
"Hah... hah... hhk!"
Something else was tormenting her. Once she confirmed she was alone, she drew an object from inside her jacket and pressed it over her nose and mouth. She squeezed the rubber pump in her hand, forcing air into it. Slowly, her ragged breathing eased.
When her respiration had returned to normal, she removed the mask. She looked down at the respirator in her hand and let out a bitter smile. She had never imagined she would need this again.
Four months ago, when the Orthodox Church's Sacred Stake had pierced her chest, the new lungs Wonderstein had created for her were damaged. A trait forged by Devolut required six months to fully settle into the body. Her lungs had been exposed to the Power of Light before that period was complete — and the damage had been done.
She hadn't felt the effects at first, when she was fleeing. But recently, her breathing had grown so periodically labored that she was forced to rely once more on this wretched contraption.
If her butler had not heard what happened and had the foresight to pack the respirator, she would have suffocated in that cellar weeks ago.
She tucked the steel mask back into her jacket. This was why she had risked drawing her pursuers' attention in the first place — why she had thrown herself so aggressively into gathering money and information.
Her original plan had been to lie low longer and formulate a long-term strategy. But once she realized her condition was deteriorating, that was no longer an option.
She had to scrape together the funds and intelligence to get out of here and find Wonderstein again. And then she had to beg him to fix her body once more.
"Shall we start the game, then?"
She returned to the table and resumed the match. In the course of conversation with the guests, she caught word that the Crown Prince had visited the establishment.
The 'unsettling movements' that old Carlson had sensed were not likely to creep close while the Crown Prince's party was prowling around here. The timing for an escape was ideal.
She had also learned, days earlier, that Wonderstein's circus was stationed at a railway stop not far from here. It was time to move.
***
"Now I will tally the Victory Points."
Wonderstein pointed to each card on the table and added up the scores.
Nika wanted to shout at him to stop, watching that broad, grinning face. He really didn't need to — the outcome was already starkly obvious.
"Mr. Dmitri has 22 points, Mr. Minova 24, Master Nika 28, and I have 31."
Nika stared down at the table with hollow eyes. He had lost.
"Heh. As wagered, the snacks are on you, Master Nika."
"You...!"
He bit down hard on his lower lip, seething.
It wasn't the first time he had tasted defeat. Before he had brought the empire's finest go grandmaster to his knees, he had endured thousands of losses across a go board.
His ability required a sufficiently large accumulation of data to work at its full potential. The process was prolonged, but once he had attained total mastery, he had never lost another game of go to anyone.
'Wonder Stage' was nowhere near as complex as go. He had been confident that five rounds would be enough for him to reach the same level of dominance.
But even if he played this man a hundred times now, he could not be certain of beating him. He lacked the normal 'respiration' that any ordinary person should have shown.
His soul seemed flustered, his spirit serene, his face grinning as if enjoying himself immensely. Nika had never encountered a waveform like this. He genuinely doubted whether the person sitting across from him was human at all.
The others, however, noticed nothing unusual. They chatted casually and played the game without any sense that something was off. Only Nika, who could perceive the wavelengths of will that people radiated, was capable of detecting such anomalies.
"Wh-what sort of trick did you use?!"
No matter how worldly he pretended to be, he was still only fifteen years old. Confronted for the first time with a phenomenon he could not comprehend, he was unable to accept it gracefully.
His tone was that of a child throwing a tantrum.
A mischievous smile spread across Wonderstein's lips.
This was a familiar sight to him. Not long after he had started playing online games, people he had mercilessly crushed had toured the communities, smearing him as a definite cheater.
The accusations did not stop even after he released a clarification broadcast. They argued that anyone who played with eye-tracking gear could artificially inflate their skill just as easily.
Quite a few streamers actually tried buying eye-tracking devices and playing the game. Yet you could count on one hand the number who even managed to grasp basic movement. After a few attempts, most gave up, declaring it impossible.
Eventually, the foreign engineers who had developed the equipment had to come forward and explain publicly that the technology did not meaningfully improve human reaction speeds.
Of course, the bad-faith nitpickers never stopped. Right up until the moment he was dragged into this world, the same malicious users kept reviving the argument every time they got bored. The streamer wiki even had a dedicated entry for the debate, under the heading 'The Eye Is Faster Than the Hand.'
Watching Nika make accusations, Wonderstein felt both a nostalgic fondness and an equal measure of annoyance.
You insufferable little brat who can't accept a loss.
Nika flinched the instant their eyes met.
Anger. Composure. Amusement.
Once again, the wavelengths of soul, spirit, and flesh refused to align.
"Shall we play another round, then? Naturally, with a higher stake."
It was only a flicker of an instant, but he could not forgive himself for that moment of fear.
Do you have any idea who I am?
A resolute expression settled on his face as he nodded.
"...By all means."
By the time they arrived back at their lodging, Nika had tasted three more defeats.