A Drinking Contest with the Squad Leader

The game Jeron had been transmigrated into was a cursed one, where crises sprang up without end.

The villains were more familiar to me than the side characters, if you could believe it.

Among the countless villains, a few had left a real impression on me.

And a memorable villain meant one thing: he was dangerous. Lethal.

Evelyn, the Republic executive, was one of them.

Evelyn was an exceptionally troublesome villain.

Her timing varied from playthrough to playthrough. Yet the moment you reacted to her even a beat too late, she would turn the entirety of Elysium Academy into a sea of fire.

The bigger problem was her affiliation.

The Republic was a nation of fanatics—people whose brains had melted into their convictions. They thought nothing of laying down their own lives. There was a saying in the game: never piss off anyone from the Republic.

Worse still, their lifelines were damned tenacious. According to the game's story, the one faction that survived even the Empire's collapse was the Republic.

Once the Republic marked you, you were tormented without relief until the end of that playthrough.

It would honestly have been more comfortable to die an Imperial soldier.

Even secretly disposing of Evelyn wouldn't have solved anything. The Republic never abandoned a goal once it had one.

If Evelyn disappeared, the Republic would simply fill her seat with someone even more dangerous.

Evelyn was a hornet's nest. Poke it, and the swarm would come boiling out—and you couldn't even clear it away afterward. A nasty, untouchable hornet's nest.

Keeping as much distance as possible was the best strategy.

Except that kind of complacency would never clear this game.

Which was exactly why I was about to go drinking with Evelyn.

Republic executive, Evelyn.

I stared across the table at her.

Evelyn was a woman who called fire to mind. Her razor-straight red bob alone was fire-like, but above all, those crimson eyes gleamed like oil-fed flames.

What struck me as odd was her outfit. She was wrapped up head to toe, a scarf even wound around her neck. Only her hands and face were exposed.

The polar opposite of Scarlet, who'd cropped her guard uniform so short her midriff was on permanent display.

Then Evelyn pulled a keg and mugs out of somewhere.

The keg was so enormous I genuinely wondered how she'd been hiding it.

When she cracked it open, a smell so vicious it made my head spin rolled out in a wave.

Lifting the massive keg in one hand, Evelyn poured liquor into a bowl big enough for stew. Not a single drop spilled.

She brought the brimming bowl to her lips.

Glug, glug. One shot. Gone.

Unhurried, Evelyn refilled the bowl—and then held it out to me.

"Don't you have any other cups? I do prefer to drink with a little dignity."

"Dignity? Want me to spit in it for you?"

"That won't be necessary."

I took the bowl and gave it a light swirl.

The reek stung my nose. Was this even legally alcohol? At this strength, wasn't it basically pure grain spirit?

I clicked my tongue and brought the bowl to my mouth.

The moment the liquor went down, it was as if my esophagus had caught fire. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠I didn't stop—I drained the bowl, my insides blazing hot, as though I'd swallowed a mouthful of flame.

I placed the empty bowl upside down on my head and shook it.

"What's that supposed to be?"

"It means I've finished."

"Funny."

Evelyn took the bowl back, filled it, and downed it again in one go. Then she topped it off once more and pushed it toward me.

Planning to drown me in liquor, is she?

I narrowed my eyes at the bowl.

"If you can't drink it, you quit the guard force."

Evelyn said it flatly, without inflection.

Force me to drink, and if I fail, I'm fired—.

Reasonably civil, for a Republic executive.

Compared to Milo, who'd thrown punches the moment we met, or Scarlet, who'd been trying to lace my drinks with poison, this was downright gentlemanly.

I accepted the bowl and tipped it into my mouth. The searing heat poured down my throat like swallowed fire.

I held the empty bowl out to Evelyn.

"And if you can't finish, do let me know."

The corner of Evelyn's mouth twisted. A sneer.

"That won't happen."

Her confidence in her tolerance seemed boundless.

Which made it a perfect opening.

"Shall we make a bet, then?"

"A bet?"

At the word, Evelyn's eyes lit up.

"Yes. First to concede or collapse loses. If I lose, I'll quit the guard force."

"Oh ho."

"And if I win—."

Those crimson eyes turned on me.

I met them head-on and added:

"Let's be friends."

The red eyes curved into a slow arc.

It wasn't a smile. It was the grin of a great beast baring its teeth and growling, moments before it sank its jaws into a prey animal's neck.

In the Republic, 'friend' carried a meaning far beyond the ordinary one.

The Republic preached universal equality—and it prized a bond forged purely through loyalty, a 'friend,' higher than family bound by blood.

True to form for a Republic executive, Evelyn didn't answer right away.

So I added, lightly:

"Feeling scared, are you?"

"Ha."

Evelyn let out a short breath.

"Fine."

She took the bet without hesitation.

Confident in her drinking, then. Very confident.

But there was one thing Evelyn had overlooked.

No matter how monstrous her tolerance—.

She can't beat God.

I traced a holy sign where she couldn't see it.

A pure-white shimmer rippled through my gut.

A sobering prayer—far more effective than any hangover soup.

Nothing beats holy power for sobering up. There was even a saying: never make a drinking bet with a priest.

I'd made plenty of drinking bets on the front lines, so I considered myself an old hand at divine sobering.

Or so I thought—.

I might actually lose this.

A low groan escaped me as I watched my divine power run dry.

Sobering up liquor normally ate through holy power by the bucketful. Add the care I had to take so Evelyn wouldn't notice, and it was bound to be brutal.

Even so, burning this much holy power just to sober up made no sense at all.

What made even less sense was that Evelyn was still holding on.

Her face remained perfectly blank. The only change was a flush on her cheeks.

And even that flush faded within moments.

Monstrous recovery, the woman had.

"You hold your liquor well."

Evelyn remarked it in her flat, careless voice.

"You know what they say. There's no bad man among those who drink well."

"First I've heard ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠of it."

"I said it just now."

"Is that so?"

"It is. You drink well, so you must be a good man."

I didn't answer. Evelyn studied me for a moment, then picked up her keg.

"Right—another round."

She refilled the bowl.

This isn't good.

If this dragged on, my divine power would give out first. I needed to force the issue.

"It's getting late—let's finish it in one go."

"One go?"

"Yes. One go."

I pointed at the keg behind her.

"Now that's manly."

"I do have a hearty streak."

"Very well."

Evelyn sprang to her feet and dragged the keg over.

Thud. The keg scraped against the ground with a heavy rumble.

"Here—take it."

Evelyn tossed the keg—practically the size of her own body—straight at me. I caught it with an aura-wrapped hand, and even sheathed in aura, the thing was heavy enough to strain my arms.

And she'd thrown that like it weighed nothing. Just how strong was she—.

"Right, cheers."

Evelyn thrust her keg forward. I knocked mine against it, and the two collided with a sound like a cannon going off.

We brought the kegs to our lips at the same time.

My divine power was already spent to its last drop.

But I still had one more trick up my sleeve.

"Gguga."

I called in a small voice, and a face poked out from my breast pocket.

Gguga met my eyes, clasped his little paws together politely, and bowed his head. What a well-mannered little greeter.

Sharp as ever, the quokka opened his mouth wide without being asked.

The liquor in the keg was slurped straight in.

The time it took for the entire keg to drain away: less than a second.

Does he get drunk, I wonder?

The thought occurred to me, and I studied Gguga—but he just looked up at me with a perfectly clear expression, as if to ask, anything else?

Not a lightweight, then.

When I nodded to say that would be all, he slipped back into my pocket.

I kept the empty keg at my lips, pretending to drink, and watched Evelyn.

By then, she had set her keg down as well.

Our eyes met. Her face was still blank as slate.

"Could've sworn there was some animal just now—."

"I beg your pardon? Are you drunk?"

"Hmm. Am I? Can't quite say."

I checked Evelyn's keg. A shallow pool of liquor still sat at the bottom.

"Cleaning out the bottom, are we?"

"The bottom. That's a fun way to put it. Yes—you win."

Evelyn conceded with a crisp nod.

"So the bet is mine, then?"

"Right. If I lose, we're friends. Yes. Friends."

Having admitted defeat graciously, Evelyn pointed a finger at me.

"Then I so declare it. From this day forward, you are my—."

She let the words trail off, then finished slowly:

"Boyfriend."

There it is.

I was nodding in satisfaction when something snagged in my mind.

"Hold on. What was that about friends?"

I hurried to ask again—but—.

Thud! Evelyn had already planted her face in the keg.

"Hey!"

I slapped the back of her head in a panic, but she didn't stir. My own hand hurt instead.

For now, I shook off the dregs of drunkenness with what holy power I had left and examined Evelyn.

She was completely unconscious.

I stared down at the defenseless squad leader and gave the matter serious, deliberate thought.

Should I kill her?

No. Killing Evelyn would only bring another Republic agent through that door, and everything would become ten times more of a hassle.

I suppressed the itch in my hands and stood up.

'The squad leader? Out of everyone, he goes drinking with the squad leader?'

Milo stared at the firmly shut storage room door, his heart in his ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠throat.

There was one ironclad taboo in the guard force.

Evelyn's ideal type was 'a man who could outdrink her.'

Plenty of guards had shot their shot because of it—Evelyn was a stunning beauty, after all.

The problem was that Evelyn drank far too well.

This wasn't a matter of being merely 'good at it.' Where liquor was concerned, Evelyn was a Sword Master, plain and simple.

Whoever those men had been, or whatever had happened to them, every single guard who'd gone drinking with Evelyn had resigned without exception.

And so the taboo was born in the Elite Guard: never challenge Evelyn.

And now that very Evelyn had taken Grave away.

By all rights he should have been worried sick—yet strangely, Milo wasn't. No, he was worried in an entirely different direction.

'What kind of trouble is he cooking up now?'

What unsettled Milo wasn't Grave's safety. It was what Grave might do.

Just then, Scarlet beside him curled her lips and hummed.

"Finally, he'll be cast out."

Milo's eyes sharpened on their own.

"Watch your mouth."

"……Excuse me?"

"What in the hell has Grave ever done to you?"

"Milo. You—."

Scarlet's eyes narrowed to slits.

Normally this was the point where Milo would yelp and back down, but this time he didn't budge an inch.

Every single time they deployed for support, Grave got a recruitment offer. And these people couldn't treat him right, let alone—no, instead they shunned him?

"Everyone here's the same. What are you all so desperate for, that you can't stand letting the new guy go? Eating him alive not an option anymore?"

"Ha. You two have gotten awfully close, haven't you? Well, too bad. The squad leader's already taken ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠him."

Scarlet's taunting turned Milo's face white as a sheet.

Just then, the storage room door rattled open.

The first thing he saw was Evelyn.

Seeing her, Milo let out a small groan.

Even Grave has limits after all—.

But something was off.

Evelyn's eyes were closed. Her body hung limp, as though she'd fainted outright.

Then Evelyn moved to the side—and Grave was standing behind her.

"Where would you like me to put her?"

The sight of the youngest member of the squad hauling their squad leader around by the collar—.

Everyone was struck speechless.

'Figures.'

Only Milo nodded slowly to himself.