Chapter 18: A Fun Day
Chapter 18: A Fun Day
On a crisp autumn afternoon, Mathieu, Napoleon, and I had come out to the outskirts of Paris and were resting in the shade.
“Hey, Guillaume, why do you keep bringing that guy along? No matter how I look at it, that bastard’s got something a little wrong in the head. Mathieu, what do you think?”
“Mmhmm. I also think Napoleon’s completely right.”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake—then why don’t you two look that grinning bastard in the face and tell him, ‘Please get lost’!”
“No, I mean… just keep some distance. That’s all.”
“Y-yeah… I’m not saying we should outright kick him out.”
After my jab, Napoleon and Mathieu started dodging the point with awkward faces.
What a pair of assholes.
Even if someone’s weird, you feel guilty telling them “I don’t like you” to their face, so you’re trying to dump it on the easy younger guy?
Ah, so future officers of the French army are already getting addicted to dumping grunt work on others while they’re still cadets. The future of France is dark. Good grief.
Does Grouchy—our shared awkward friend—even know how many people find him uncomfortable?
“Hahaha! My most precious friends! Sorry to keep you waiting! The stablehands didn’t want to lend me horses! What picky fellows. Hahaha!”
Speak of the devil. Grouchy showed up leading two horses.
From what he said, the stablehands hadn’t wanted to hand over the horses.
Well, if I saw some strange young man walking around sprinkling smiles everywhere, I’d think he’d suffered a major head injury too.
“Now! Guillaume! Get on quickly! Hahaha!”
“A-alright.”
With a warm, friendly grin, Grouchy shoved me up onto the saddle, so I had no choice but to climb onto the stirrup.
Once I was up, the horse seemed pleased my weight was lighter than the adults it usually carried. It snorted and started loosening up.
Ah.
I’m scared.
Like, fucking terrified.
There’s a reason I failed horsemanship as a tested subject.
To a college student used to 21st-century king-god-emperor transportation, being told to use a living, breathing creature—one that sometimes can’t be controlled—as a personal vehicle is genuinely horrifying.
Something could happen that I can’t control. If I slip and fall, worst case, I break my neck and die; best case, I break an arm and live.
Wow! Fifty-fifty! Even match! Lotte vs. Twins!
How am I supposed to ride this? I’m not riding! I can’t!
“I… I want to get down…”
I said as I tried to pull my left foot out of the stirrup.
But Mathieu grabbed my foot and shoved it back in.
“Hey now. You can’t just keep avoiding it.”
This time Napoleon grabbed my right foot.
“Mathieu’s right. Hey! Aren’t you a man?!”
Y-you bastards!
When you two are always stubborn and bickering, where does that go? Why do you only sync up perfectly at times like this?!
Just you wait—soon the god of hair will punish you and pluck every last strand from your heads.
“Hahaha! Guillaume! It’s fine, it’s fine! Everyone’s restless at first. I’ll teach you step by step, so just trust me!”
Ah. Right. This guy too.
Yeah—Grouchy did this to me! Aaaagh, if it weren’t for you!
Clutching my head, I recalled what happened this morning.
“But… Guillaume, there’s something I’m curious about.”
“Huh…? Don’t bring up something weird again and make my heart drop.”
“Ahem. It’s your riding score. In every other subject you’re similar to Napoleon—some you even surpass him—so why is it only horsemanship that’s a failing grade?”
“Oh, that? Honestly, I don’t know how to ride a horse. Hahaha.”
“W-what? What do you mean you can’t ride a horse?!”
“Well… I’ve never had a reason to ride one, and I don’t really want to—”
“A man can’t be like that! Come out at once! I, Emmanuel de Grouchy, the finest riding master in the school, will personally train you! Hahahaha!”
“Uh… I really don’t want to ride—”
“At least pretend you’re listening when someone talks!”
Seeing Grouchy like that, Mathieu and Napoleon decided it was the perfect chance to mess with me, so they dragged me outside even though I said I didn’t want to.
Especially Napoleon—once he saw a chance to mess with me, he even gave up studying for a day and came along.
You people really don’t listen to a word I say. Ugh, I feel my inner Joker coming out.
“Waaagh!”
But my train of thought shattered when the horse I was riding suddenly started doing a rodeo.
A massive horse weighing close to several hundred kilograms was bucking up and down—who could stay lost in thought through that?
“Whoa, whoa. Looks like this fellow really likes you, Guillaume! Hahaha!”
At some point, Grouchy had dismounted. Now he was gripping my horse’s neck and gently stroking it.
The moment his hand touched it, the heavy beast turned into a meek, sweet puppy, blowing contented snorts.
“Hmm… I was going to ride alongside you and teach you this and that, but it looks like I’ll have to hold your reins myself! Hahaha!”
Holding the reins, Grouchy led the horse forward, slowly, slowly.
The horse I was on moved its hooves exactly as Grouchy guided, so tame it was hard to believe it had been thrashing around a moment ago.
Since I no longer had to fight for my life just to avoid falling, I could finally sit on the horse with some breathing room.
Whew. I thought I was going to die.
Still, Grouchy—whatever else he is—really does know horses. He’s not just a flower-field idiot.
So, as expected…
He’s absolutely a terminal horse freak.
“Uuugh, I’m fucking exhausted.”
I said, collapsing onto the bed without even thinking about taking my clothes off.
From being tense all day, every muscle in my body had knotted up tight, and my fatigue-soaked body wouldn’t move the way I wanted.
Napoleon. Mathieu. Grouchy. Someday I’m going to get revenge.
Once I managed to find my balance and started walking the horse somewhat steadily, these lunatics immediately whipped my horse’s ass and told me to try running.
So for nearly ten minutes, I had to put every ounce of strength into not falling off a bucking, rampaging horse.
I mean, you don’t tell a brand-new newbie who just cleared the tutorial to go fight a boss mob out of nowhere.
What, did you guys come back from playing Dark Souls? Yeah, this era’s France really is insane.
What? “A nation of art,” my ass. Paris doesn’t even have the Eiffel Tower yet—what art? All I see are a bunch of macho assholes who look like they’ve built a wall against anything artistic.
“Seriously… home is the best.”
I said, burying my face in the pillow.
Ah. Should I just sleep like this today? It’s already late anyway.
Sleep is…
co…
ming…
Zzzk—
Bang bang bang!
“Guillaume de Toulon! Are you in there?!”
Bang bang bang!
F-fuuuck, who is it…
Just as I was about to fall asleep, someone started pounding on my door. Holding back a surge of irritation, I opened it.
“Who are you—ah, f… Ahem. Sorry. What brings you here…?”
But the irritation I’d barely suppressed burst out the moment I saw the face of the person knocking.
“Hm. No matter how I look at it, it seems you’ve underpaid your taxes, so I came.”
After saying that, the man’s eyes swept around my room through the gap past my shoulders.
You fucking bastard.
I once said that France’s tax office in this era wasn’t like the 21st-century one, and that’s true.
Except for one thing.
Whether it’s this era’s tax office or the 21st century’s, they can smell money like magic.
Sure, they might not catch 21st-century-level financial tricks, but—no, I’m not saying I did anything. I’m just saying.
Forcing down the anger rising from deep inside, I spoke.
“I’ve told you over and over. I paid everything.”
“Hah! If I’d only been fooled once or twice by the lies of people who run businesses, maybe I’d believe you. The merchants I’ve seen come in only two types: those who committed tax evasion, and those who will.”
No, for fuck’s sake—I really didn’t!
The only time I played games with money was when I was raising the initial capital for the business. That’s it. Seriously.
After that, I never once evaded taxes or messed around with money.
In the first place, I have no connections in Paris. If I get tangled up in a crime, it’ll become absurdly troublesome. I don’t want to take that risk, and anyway, committing illegal acts doesn’t match the moral sense of a model 21st-century citizen.
But this tax collector had found me suspicious, so for months he kept showing up and trying to trap me with leading questions.
Why are you doing this to an innocent man?!
This is beyond unfair.
“I’m telling you, I didn’t! I already opened the ledgers and showed you everything!”
“Ahem. True, but… you never know, do you? Maybe a gold bar will pop out of your desk and say ‘Hello!’”
Gyaaaah! Fuck it, now I can’t hold it in either!
“Get out. Right now! If you’re that suspicious of me, go apply to the High Court and come back with a warrant! Or bring the police!”
“…Tsk.”
When I came at him this hard, the tax collector smacked his lips like it was a waste, then turned and left through the boardinghouse door.
“I don’t care if you’re Lavoisier or Labo-whatever, even a tax collector has to know moderation! What’s in your head that you come barging in and making a scene at night when people are sleeping?!”
I snapped, slamming the door shut.