Hangover
“Uuuugh. My head…….”
So this was what it felt like to have your insides turned completely inside out.
My skull throbbed. My stomach churned. The burning thirst finally dragged me upright so I could at least drink some water—only for some rough-mouthed warrior to take an axe to my cranium. The body that had just started to rise collapsed straight back onto the bed.
I buried my face in the pillow and simply blinked.
Why was I lying here?
I still remembered the viewers piling on missions about getting a health checkup. That much was fine. I also remembered finishing the chicken and declaring that drunk League of Champions was the sacred rule of the land before booting up the game.
……And then the film cut out?
Even when I was a guy I’d drunk plenty. Whether I was naturally strong or just wound tight every time I drank, I’d never blacked out once. There had been nights when I could barely stand and I’d crashed in the practice room for a nap before heading home, but even then there’d never been a blank in my memory.
I rolled my eyes weakly around the room. Cool sunlight was spilling through the curtains onto the floor—morning, then. If it were evening the red sunset would have been licking the walls. So an entire day had simply vanished.
The computer on the desk was quietly powered off. The chicken remains had been cleaned up completely, so at least it didn’t look like I’d thrown a full-blown drunken tantrum.
……Or had the next-door sister come by and tidied up?
No. That woman never went that far. Even when my room was a disaster and dust piled up in the living room she only nagged me to clean; she never actually helped. No way she’d suddenly start cleaning just because I’d been drinking.
……Would she?
Maybe I’d begged her while drunk and she’d given in. Either way, I could ask later.
The real problem was this: I remembered queuing up before the blackout, but I had zero memory of the results. That was the part that scared me most.
The queasy stomach would settle if I just rested. First time drinking since becoming a woman—my body simply wasn’t used to it. Once the headache quieted down I could drink some water and kill the thirst.
But if I’d played while blackout drunk, that could be catastrophic.
Viewers watched my stream for simple reasons. My rank was high, and I gave them the kind of play they wanted—clean decisions, win conditions calculated, opponents dismantled. Even before the blackout I’d already felt my judgment slipping. And I’d kept playing like that?
The outcome was obvious. I’d lost.
It wasn’t just decision-making. Alcohol slows reaction time too—that’s why drunk driving is illegal. And if I’d lost, would I have stopped? No. I’d have stubbornly kept rematching until I won, and the loss streak would have stretched forever.
“Haaah……. Why did I have to insist on drinking more…….”
I’d regretted it the moment the buzz felt good and I poured another. The chat had told me to stop and just finish the leftover cola, but I’d stuck the vodka in the fridge only to chug it straight from the kitchen, rationalizing that if I was having fun the viewers would have more fun too. Ridiculous self-justification.
If I’d gone on a loss streak like that, I’d have thrown away the only value I could offer on stream. Viewers would leave. I’d be back to playing alone in silence the way I used to…….
With that gloomy thought I groped around the head of the bed. Even blackout drunk I must have had enough sense to lie down properly—my phone was neatly charging right beside the pillow. Still lying there, I pulled up my League of Champions match history.
Against every expectation, the entire previous day was a win streak.
The KDA wasn’t anything special, but that was just the usual top-lane tax unless you completely stomped the enemy top.
“……Do I only play well when I’m drunk?”
The situation made so little sense that I sat up at once. My head threatened to split open, but compared to getting beaten by my father it barely counted as pain. I could still move.
I powered on the computer first, then washed my face. My hair wasn’t greasy, so somehow I’d managed to shower while drunk. I hadn’t dried it properly—it was a mess—but when had it ever not been? I’d never used a hair dryer in my life.
After washing up I felt a little more human. The mirror showed a face more hollow than usual staring back. My eyes already looked unfriendly on a good day; with this complexion the unpleasantness doubled.
Come to think of it, the next-door sister looked a lot like me. Same snow-white skin, same red irises. How had she managed not to look as unpleasant as I did? Same red eyes, yet hers had been so pretty…….
I stared blankly at my own face, overlaying hers on it, then flinched and covered my face with the towel.
I normally couldn’t even meet people’s eyes. Had yesterday’s drunken stare at her stuck that hard in my memory?
……Just picturing that face made my chest tremble. Was I actually starting a crush, completely unlike myself? The feeling was unfamiliar, but I knew what it was—liking someone. The same flutter I’d felt as a kid when Gabi joked that we’d get married when we grew up.
Ah—wait. I’d said it and Gabi had agreed.
Anyway.
Obviously neither Gabi nor the next-door sister would ever see me that way. Romance, marriage—between two women it was still rare. So this trembling was something I had to keep to myself. Tell no one.
I braced myself against the wall, drank some water in the kitchen, and came back. First things first: game and stream on.
Whether they’d already been waiting or the notification pulled them in the second I went live, chat lit up immediately.
“Ah, so that’s when I went to sleep…….”
Judging by the chat, I hadn’t looked all that different from usual. A little higher energy, sure—but I remembered feeling pretty good right up until the blackout, so I’d probably just kept streaming in that state. Then at three I couldn’t hold on anymore and crashed hard, sleeping straight through until seven this morning.
“Mmm, anyway I should probably cut back on drunk League of Champions. I don’t remember a single thing about how I played. Looking at the match history I luckily didn’t lose any, though.”
“From your reactions it doesn’t sound like I made any huge mistakes on stream……. I didn’t say anything weird, right?”
I remembered that part. Watching the chat obsess so hard over my health still made me laugh, though. A small smile slipped out before I could stop it.
“Thank you so much for worrying about me. You all take care of yourselves too. Ah, but my head still hurts and my stomach’s a bit off, so I’m going to rest from League for a little while.”
Ah, right—there was a lunch appointment. Celesty had asked me to go buy a wheelchair together and grab lunch afterward. ……And once we bought the wheelchair, Gabi would come along to buy me underwear too.
Thinking about that made hangover food tricky. I only ate one meal a day; if I filled up now I wouldn’t be able to eat lunch later. Having such a small appetite was inconvenient at times like this. Before, a single cup ramen a day had been plenty. Now that I had a little more room to breathe, my empty stomach felt like a waste.
But there was still a workaround.
“Full hangover ramen might be too much……. What if I just pull the noodles out and only drink the broth?”
“Hmm. Even if she likes raw noodles I don’t think she’d eat someone else’s leftovers…….”
Still, I couldn’t just throw the leftover noodles away like the chat suggested. Later, when whatever I ate was short on carbs, I could nibble them piece by piece. Something to figure out later.
Today I started the day sipping ramen broth instead of coffee.
I felt like an absolute bourgeois.