Alcohol Is Dangerous
Why had she made such a careless remark.
Should she take it back even now.
Rachel arrived at her bedroom, closed the door, and leaned her back against it.
She found it strange that she'd so readily accepted her employer's suggestion to raise a toast — and a little regretful as well.
It was a proposal she had heard countless times, and a refusal she had delivered just as often, day after day. As natural as two following one.
So why.
What reason had made her accept so freely.
She pondered for a moment, but nothing came to mind. Especially when she couldn't even remember the last time she had shared a drink with another person. Especially when that person was her employer — a notorious womanizer.
Well...
At least he wasn't clinging to wine and women the way he used to, as if settling some karmic debt.
"...Hmm."
First things first — she needed to get ready.
Rachel peeled herself off the door, unbuckled her sword, and removed her epaulets. She tugged off her knee-high long boots.
"..."
Sniff sniff.
She checked her feet for odor. Fortunately, there was none.
Having finished undressing, Rachel opened the wardrobe where her clothes hung, still in her undergarments.
...What should I wear.
She had lived her entire life for strength. Lived fiercely to cast off the shackles of womanhood.
Even so, she possessed one dress that might suit a "party."
She had prepared exactly one, for emergencies — a dress she had never once worn.
It's a party... so I should wear something like this, right?
Of course, she had never attended a party. As the young master's escort knight of a noble house, her main duty had been waiting outside the ballroom.
The young ladies who entered the party hall usually wore things like this, though...
Half-convinced, she took the dress out.
It was a red dress. She had chosen something understated, far from the usual extravagance. Wondering when she might ever wear it, she had bought it cheaply at the market — and now, at last, she was taking it out.
Just as the bangs she left free while tying her hair in a tight ponytail were the last lingering attachment to the femininity she had trampled and conquered, the dress was an extension of that same feeling. If you were born a woman, you were bound to want to wear a pretty dress at least once.
......
She stood before the mirror and held it against herself.
...It is... pretty.
But wasn't it a little much.
Thinking that, Rachel put the dress back. It was too much after all. She hadn't spent a lifetime hiding and suppressing her femininity just to show off in front of a mere employer.
If she ever met her destined partner — a man stronger than herself, a man of upright conviction — then she would wear this red dress. With that resolve, Rachel took out her ordinary clothes and put them on.
Instead...
Since this was a rare party — no, the first party of her life — she let her hair down. Having worn it in a ponytail, the ends curled outward naturally.
Ruffle. Ruffle ruffle.
Messing her hair into a natural volume, Rachel headed for the drawing room.
Why she had agreed to a toast with the man who always turned violent when he drank, why she had undone her hair — she didn't know. Perhaps it was a mentor's desire to confirm whether her disciple's change was genuine.
"...Why are you staring so intently?"
Rachel asked as she entered the drawing room. Elden's gaze, already there ahead of her, had settled on her hair — and that gaze was blatant.
"Ah. I don't think I've ever seen you with your hair down."
"Does it look... strange?"
After all, had she undone it for nothing. Had she done something she never did, for no good reason. Thinking that, Rachel reached for the hair tie she'd brought just in case —
"No. It suits you."
Came the casual compliment.
"Is that so."
Answering just as casually, Rachel pulled her hand from her pocket and sat across from Elden. Being told her loose short hair suited her didn't exactly make her happy, but she figured it was good news all the same.
"Why not wear it down more often?"
"So it doesn't obstruct my vision."
"I see. Thorough as ever."
"You flatter me."
Perhaps because she had been sharing meals with Lady Ariel these past few days, sitting face-to-face with Elden no longer felt particularly awkward.
That aside.
"What exactly are we celebrating?"
She was curious. The meaning behind the smile he had worn since returning from business with the central attaché, the reason he meant to tip a glass of liquor he hadn't touched in days. She had a rough idea, but to toast properly she needed the exact meaning — so she asked.
But the answer that followed left her more puzzled than her guess had prepared her for.
"An escape from an unjust life."
"...Pardon?"
It was an answer she hadn't expected. At least, the Elden Raphelion she had known seemed to have nothing whatsoever to do with the word unjust.
Unlike her, he had been born with innate superiority — living as his instincts dictated, seizing whatever he wanted without limit. That bitter word had no connection to him.
Power and status. Born without such innate superiority, she had had to shed blood, sweat, and tears to overcome that bitter word: unjust.
An escape from an unjust life. What on earth had been unjust about his?
She meant to ask, to grasp the meaning — but then Butler Rendler entered the drawing room, and a lavish drinking spread filled the table, and Rachel had to swallow her question.
All she could do was clink glasses for her rejoicing employer, her disciple.
Clink!
Gulp, gulp, gulp!
Clack!
"Khaah—! The beer's incredible today!"
"Hahaha! I do believe this is the finest beer I've ever tasted!"
"..."
Elden and Rendler downed their first glasses and burst into hearty laughter, overjoyed. Rachel watched them, then belatedly drank her beer. And her eyes widened more than a little.
...Was it always this good?
She murmured the appraisal inwardly.
A personal escort knight's duty ends when their charge falls asleep. Handing night watch over to other guards, then going to bed. It was grueling work, a lonely mission — but the honor and money a commoner could never otherwise enjoy made it bearable.
For her, alcohol was nothing more than a solitary comfort right before sleep. Even that she had to keep short, for the sake of the next day. She couldn't even remember the last time she had clinked glasses with anyone. She had lived so fiercely that she had never once felt a real buzz. Because a buzz meant danger.
"How is it, Rachel?"
Rachel, staring blankly at her empty beer mug, lifted her head at Elden's question. How did it taste. There was only one answer to give.
"It's delicious."
"Hahaha! See? Drink is always better enjoyed together. Tonight let's drink till our noses are crooked~!"
"Hahaha! Come to think of it, this is my first toast with Sir Rachel as well! An honor!"
A lively atmosphere. Unfamiliar, yet somehow warm.
For Rachel, who had stepped into a man's world in a woman's body and fought a lonely fight, who had blunted the sharp blade of loneliness forged by her father's death — the raucous night felt truly strange, and yet comforting.
That must have been why. Having lightly cast off the weight of her duties for once, Rachel gently overshot the alcohol tolerance she had forgotten she had.
Hic.
That she hiccuped with her face flushed red from the drink — that was the first drunken mishap she had committed since vowing to become an escort knight.
Of course.
"Wash... wha's the shelebration for?"
"I'm gonna leave to eat every monshter dish that exists in the world."
"Then am I unemplyed now?"
"Heheheh... You're gonna become the head of the Raphelion Count house after I'm gone."
"Pffhelhel... Then Elden, you, go, get... water."
She was still far more coherent than Elden and Rendler, who were losing all sense thanks to their natural drinking capacity.
A short while later.
Thud!
Elden, who had been bouncing on the sofa, toppled to the floor, and Rendler, bouncing alongside him, flopped over the sofa back like a half-dried squid.
"......"
Hic.
Pffheh.
Rachel laughed without meaning to. The sight of Rendler and Elden through her hazy gaze was so ridiculous that a silly laugh slipped out. It had been years since she had laughed like that, but she was barely holding herself upright against the alcohol and didn't realize it.
First things first. She had to stand, stagger over to Elden. She was his personal escort knight. Even if she had shed that heavy responsibility for the moment, Elden had gone down hard — she needed to check on him.
Shake shake.
Rachel shook the man lying on the floor. Fortunately, with his eyes closed, he smirked and mumbled.
"Spinning... spinning... damn world... spinning. Heheh."
"......Are you all right."
"I didn't fall... I lay down... when you're drunk... you gotta sleep..."
"If you sleep here you'll catch a cold. Please get up."
"Mmnya... I'm gonna sleep..."
......Hmm.
Well, if he wanted to sleep on the floor, there was no need to haul him all the way to bed. Thinking that, Rachel started to stand — then stopped.
The reason: she remembered an escape from an unjust life, whose true meaning she had wanted to hear. The question she had had to swallow earlier caught on her lips now, because she thought that if it was now, she might dig out the exact meaning.
"Young Master?"
"Wha..."
"An escape from an unjust life... what did you mean by those words?"
"......"
The smirking corner of his mouth fell. The high spirits of drink sank in an instant. The face that had been full of joy grew melancholy.
And then.
"Because it was unjust."
The true meaning began to come through.
"What... do you mean?"
"Having to live... miserably... to pay a debt I never incurred... that's... unjust..."
A voice that trembled finely, then threatened to break into sobs. The sigh steeped in deep regret told her this was the genuine meaning.
Had he lived a miserable life to pay off the declining family's debts? But he shouldn't have been that destitute. Since she had been hired as his personal escort, the house had been declining, yes — but not to the point of misery.
What sort of story did that scoundrel Elden Raphelion have. Little by little, Rachel found herself growing curious about what lay inside.
"A debt... you say?"
Something must have welled up in him. He covered his eyes with his arm. His tightly shut lips trembled finely, as if swallowing tears.
And that man.
"It was so hard... I really... wanted to die..."
The moment he spilled that it had been hard enough to want to die, Rachel recalled her own past self — the one who had endured by sheer grit, drinking the blood that burst from her bitten lips.
It was hard. With nowhere to vent, nowhere to find comfort, even begrudging the time itself — her past self who had endured alone rose in her mind.
Of course, Elden's story wasn't the true meaning Rachel had hoped for. It was about Lee Junuw of his previous life, who had lived miserably to pay off the gambling debts his father had incurred.
The wretched life of Lee Junuw, who never saw the light because of debt. The miserable life of Lee Junuw, who had been slapped countless times as the debt only grew no matter how much he paid — all of it spilled out as drunken rambling.
"......"
Unaware of that, Rachel looked down at him with a heavy gaze. Everyone lived swallowing their pain, but she had never imagined that even a drunkard like Elden had a private hurt. She had never once guessed he bore a wound like her own — a wound of having to fight against injustice, resembling hers.
Without meaning to, her hand rose to his cheek.
It must have been the alcohol. The late-night sentimentality. Surely the long-forgotten buzz had met the night's tenderness and clouded her reason.
That he looked pitiful. That he looked precious. That even though he had drunk enough to lose his senses again today, he showed none of his old habits — of course a mentor would find that endearing.
Had going to handle business with the central attaché been to clear that "debt"? Stroking the wound of a man who had swallowed a private pain and achieved that "escape" — that must have been the alcohol's doing. And that the touch felt like stroking her own past self — that, too, must have been the alcohol.
Rachel, who had once applied ointment to his wounds with her own hands, stroked the scar with her thumb and asked quietly.
"Does it... not hurt anymore?"
A question delivered by way of the wound. It was the same as a question to herself.
And the moment that question reached him, the way his melancholy face bloomed bright again was truly a fortunate thing.
"Yeah."
Rachel smiled contentedly and stood. Looking down at Elden, who soon began to snore and fall asleep, she left the drawing room.
The next day.
When Elden woke from sleep, the blanket covering him was Rachel's.
"Ugh. Alcohol really is dangerous."
Shuddering, Elden thus woke from a long sleep. It was a hard morning with the hangover still clinging, and yet somehow he savored a refreshingly pleasant morning.