Alcohol Is Dangerous (1)
Marien paced restlessly outside the grand hall, her eyes darting with anxiety.
Thanks to her lady’s noble bearing making its mark upon the world, she had been permitted to accompany her as the personal maid of the Third Grand Duchess.
Right before her lady entered the hall, Marien had offered her a bright smile and a word of encouragement.
Please, she had hoped, let Young Master Elden see the true feelings her lady kept hidden.
Please, let him understand that this was no mere obsession born of running from the sins of the past.
That was how Marien had cheered her on.
She’s… doing well, right?
Please.
She prayed that things were unfolding just as her lady wished.
She prayed that her lady had taken the counsel Marien had given her to heart and broken free of that twisted obsession.
She prayed that the lady of old would return.
By now they should have started the meal… right?
She would have to wait a full hour at the very least.
After such a long wait for this meeting to finally begin, there would be no shortage of things that needed saying.
And yet.
Click.
Suddenly the doors of the grand hall opened from within.
Huh? What?
Her lady had entered less than thirty minutes ago. Who could possibly be leaving already?
There should have been no one inside but the candidate and her lady.
Don’t tell me…
Is it Young Master Elden?
Unfortunately, her guess was correct.
The one who opened the doors and stepped out of the hall was Young Master Elden.
Eek!
The warning that she would die if she ever revealed she had helped him flashed through Marien’s mind. She scrambled to hide behind a pillar in the corridor, but she was already half a beat too late.
“...Looks like your ankle healed up nicely. You’re moving pretty spryly.”
Young Master Elden addressed her in that brusque way of his.
Marien had never imagined she would run into him like this, and the shock left her thoroughly flustered.
After all, her lady—the heroine—was supposed to enter last and leave first.
Marien edged out into the corridor, fidgeting, and bowed at the waist.
“Ah… y-yes. Thanks to you, it’s completely better. Thank you, Young Master.”
“Thanks to me? Please. You got hurt because of me.”
Marien lifted her head and looked at Elden.
And then.
…?
She saw the wound on his right cheek.
It certainly hadn’t been there during the first round of meetings.
A bead of blood had gathered at the edge of the cut, proof that it was fresh—inflicted only moments ago.
A sense of dread climbed up her throat and filled her chest.
She wanted to ask about it. She couldn’t.
“Well then.”
With that short farewell, Young Master Elden brushed past her without a second glance.
His stride was so resolute she felt as if she would never see him again.
As if these were the last steps he would ever take down the corridors of the grand hall.
If she didn’t ask now, she never would.
That was why she did it—why she risked discourtesy, why she overcame her fear and called out to him.
“Um… Young Master Elden?”
He stopped and turned only his head.
Summoning her courage, she asked,
“May I… ask where you’re going now?”
A question with all context stripped away.
A question that packed far too much into too few words.
It had tumbled out before she could think, clumsy and foolish, and she was about to correct it—
if Young Master Elden hadn’t asked a question of his own first.
“Marien, was it?”
“Pardon? Y-yes. That… is correct, but…”
“You broke our promise, I see.”
“…!”
Eek!
Marien flinched all over again.
Even though his voice was gentle and his eyes mild, there was something about Young Master Elden Raphelion—some demonic quality he radiated—that made her knees go weak.
Just as she was about to beg for mercy and confess her mortal sin, the atmosphere flipped.
“As the price for breaking that promise, I’d like to ask one favor of you.”
“Y-yes?”
Marien echoed him, face still half-afraid. When she heard what the favor actually was, she found herself unable to leave her spot for a long while.
“Take good care of Grand Duchess Lumiang.”
He answered with a faint smile, then once more strode firmly toward the far end of the corridor.
To a question packed with meaning and stripped of context, he had given an answer that held exactly the same things.
What on earth did it mean?
What had he packed into it?
What had he left unsaid?
Stunned, Marien could only stare helplessly after Elden’s retreating figure as he opened the great outer doors at the end of the corridor and stepped outside.
Toward a shaft of pure white light.
Vanishing into a dazzling halo.
Marien could do nothing but watch until the doors closed.
Boom.
Click.
I stepped out of the office of Gelwood, Central Aide of the Winterfell Grand Ducal House.
In my hand was a treaty bearing the Grand Duke’s seal.
I folded it carefully and tucked it back into my coat.
Sir Gelwood had worn a thick look of regret, but sadly the ending had been decided long ago.
Stubborn pride and self-righteous obsession had only delayed the inevitable.
A marriage tournament already hurtling toward chaos and catastrophe was, in truth, meaningless by now.
In the original story, the heroine would have driven every situation and development herself; the decision-making power would never have fallen into the Central Aide’s hands.
The heroine would never have shed tears, never have clung to a man who had withdrawn.
I felt sorry for her, but as someone who had been unfairly turned into a Hupijip character, all I could do was hope she would blame whoever had shoved me into Elden’s body—the true culprit behind this catastrophe.
Please.
I only hoped that, true to her genuine wish, she would find happiness once this marriage tournament was over.
That each of us would leave the past behind, walk the paths we were meant to walk, and live our own lives.
Well…
The face she had worn when she slapped me and sank into despair, the way she had collapsed like some tragic heroine, the voice that had begged me to understand her wounds as well—those things still sat uneasily in my heart…
I’ve done enough.
She might not accept it, but I had offered a sincere apology. She might not understand it, but I had hinted that I was a different person now.
Her anger wouldn’t be soothed, but I had also taken a good, clean slap for her trouble.
As a transmigrator who had become a villain without ever knowing why, I had fulfilled the greatest measure of duty and responsibility I could manage.
Anything more was simply impossible.
I’ll have to stay at least until the marriage tournament ends, though.
Sir Gelwood had pleaded with me.
He wouldn’t ask me to take part in the evaluation matches—just stay until the tournament was over, he said.
With one candidate already vanished into thin air, if another packed his bags and left in the middle of the marriage tournament, there would be no way to smooth things over publicly.
I understood, so I agreed.
It wasn’t even difficult.
I had planned to enjoy the monster cuisine festival that would be held after the tournament and look for a chef while I was at it, so I had no real reason to refuse.
Making an enemy of the Grand Ducal House wouldn’t do me any favors either.
Now that I had a treaty stamped with the Grand Duke’s seal, Doby was free. The moment the tournament ended, I could simply move lodgings and enjoy the festival.
The restriction that had barred me from leaving for the city in the evenings had been lifted as well, and I had escaped the Hupijip experience that was the evaluation matches.
With that plan in mind, I left the central castle.
The sky had already grown dark.
Plip.
Plip-plip.
Plip-plip-plip.
Fat raindrops were falling.
My escape from the Hupijip had officially succeeded.
The rain fell as if to celebrate it.
An old movie scene came to mind—one I had always sworn I would reenact if I ever climbed out of the grave of debts I never should have owed.
In this moment, at least, it was all right to savor the joy.
Part of me wanted to strip off my upper clothes like the protagonist in that film and revel in the rain, but my image—once rock-bottom—was only just starting to recover. I didn’t want to pour cold water on that progress.
I sank to my knees.
I spread both arms wide.
I closed my eyes and tipped my face toward the sky.
As if I were happy, I opened my mouth.
I tried to savor every single raindrop that poured over my face, my hands, into my mouth—
if the rain hadn’t suddenly stopped.
I opened only my eyes, still in the same pose.
An open umbrella came into view, and Rendler holding it.
Rendler, wearing a look of deep satisfaction.
“You’ll catch a cold, Young Master.”
……Tsk.
I wish I could have shown the old man a proper Shawshank Redemption escape.
I arrived at the annex with Rachel and Rendler.
It was late, yet for some reason I felt reluctant to simply go to sleep.
So I made them a proposal.
“I’d like to throw a little celebration party in the drawing room. What do you say?”
“A party, Young Master? Heh heh. You must be in quite high spirits. Then I shall summon the maids after so long and—”
“Forget it. Just the three of us. How about it?”
Drinking a toast alone would be far too bleak, wouldn’t it?
Tonight, I wanted to get properly drunk.
I wanted to drink cold beer until my stomach burst.
Of course Rachel would refuse, so I had suggested it only with the wistful hope of at least clinking glasses with Old Man Rendler.
In the original story, Elden had proposed countless toasts, and Rachel had refused every single one under the pretext of her escort duties.
And yet.
“Then I shall have the guards stand by.”
That same Rachel accepted without hesitation.
Surprised and delighted, I asked again.
“Oh? Really? What’s gotten into our Master?”
“……I will prepare and go to the drawing room.”
With that curt reply, Rachel entered the annex first.
I looked at Rendler.
He was openly excited.
…He also looked a little like he might cry.
“T-truly, Young Master—you would share a cup with this humble servant?”
“If you don’t want to, forget it.”
“H-how could I not want to! In all the years I have served you, this is the first time we are to share a drink—my heart is so full I hardly know what to do with myself…! Khhk!”
At this rate you’ll die of happiness in your old age, old man.
Before you die of bliss in your twilight years, maybe I ought to make you do a few moderately bad things first.
“This servant shall prepare the finest spread of drinks, filled with this joyful heart!”
“If you bring any maids, you’re in trouble.”
Rendler, who had been about to dash off, flinched at my words and asked,
“N-not even one?”
……Looking closely, maybe the old man just wants to party that badly.
I was tempted to have “death by overindulgence” carved on his tombstone instead of “death by happiness,” but I didn’t want to rob the people currently enjoying a peaceful night of their rest.
When I simply furrowed my brow without a word, Rendler bolted away at once.
Heh.
Amused by the old man’s antics, I started walking toward the entrance with a quiet laugh.
Right.
Tonight, at least, let’s raise a proper toast of celebration.
Thinking that, I changed clothes and headed for the drawing room—only to open my eyes the next day and find myself curled up sleeping on the drawing-room floor in a corner.
A fluffy blanket that had no business being prepared in the drawing room was draped over my body.
“Mm?”
And then.
“…….”
On the drawing-room sofa, Old Man Rendler was half-draped like laundry left out to dry.
Snot streamed freely from a nose that had lost the fight against the cold.
Rachel was nowhere to be seen.
I remembered drinking quite a bit.
A short while later.
…Achoo!
A single sneeze announced that morning had arrived.
Ugh…
What the hell happened last night?