Chapter 94: Salon 2
Chapter 94: Salon 2
Dozens of people hurried back and forth, barely catching their breath.
Only the Constellations seated at the table and the attendants standing behind them seemed at ease.
Aside from me and the Giant Tree that Does Not Wither, everyone accepted the service with practiced calm, as if such treatment were nothing new.
"Gentleman, is something troubling you?"
"No, not at all."
The moment I shifted my body, awkward in my suit and unaccustomed to being waited on, the attendant behind me whispered the question with uncanny speed.
Even after I said I was fine, attentive gazes still drifted my way.
It was a large table with four women and two men, yet all the focus seemed fixed on exactly two people.
Myself, and the brown-haired man with the curls.
Maybe because I'd already decided to seduce the Giant Tree that Does Not Wither,
my Clone kept the shape of a small elven boy,
and that seemed to draw even more stares.
A delicate boy made for a softer target than a reserved young man enjoying his tea in silence—was that it?
'Right. A world with flipped gender roles. Experiencing it firsthand like this, it really is pretty fucking obnoxious.'
The pompous formalities kept coming—pulling out my chair when I sat down, someone trying to kiss the back of my hand during introductions. Goosebump-inducing rituals that dragged on forever before we finally got to names.
They handled me like I was some delicate young lady, and the whole thing felt cloying as a butter-soaked pastry.
It honestly made the Martial Epic that Sings of Romance seem preferable, and she came off like an opera singer.
First was Humanity's Last Hymn, in a neat nun's habit.
Then Canvas of Destruction, in a blue after robe.
The Martial Epic that Sings of Romance, in a black uniform trimmed with gold thread.
And finally, The Unfading Flower, in a white shirt and ash-gray suit.
Humanity's Last Hymn introduced herself as a nun who had protected children in a cathedral and ended up a Constellation by chance.
The woman in the after robe—the sort of thing you'd see in a fusion historical drama—said she'd been a Taoist practitioner who left behind a single painting before her life ended, watching a holy city be trampled by a horde of monsters.
The Martial Epic that Sings of Romance introduced herself as the Knight-Commander who rode out to sever the Demon King's neck.
Then I listened as The Unfading Flower introduced himself—a prince of a fallen kingdom—and as the Giant Tree that Does Not Wither gave her short introduction as "a World Tree caretaker" and awkwardly averted her gaze. After that, every gaze that fell on me was soaked in self-interest.
Only under those sticky stares did I truly feel what a gender-reversed world meant.
When Incarnations looked at me, they saw a Constellation first and a man second.
The treatment I received and the attitude they showed me—you could call it courtesy toward a Constellation before courtesy toward a male.
So of course I could expect my fellow Constellations to treat me as this world treated "men."
Which made the gooey way those Constellation women watched me almost startling.
'Looks like these bastards have a pretty rough idea what a Dream Demon is...'
Yeah. Those two Constellations had a very rough idea indeed.
Dirty dreams. Sexual debauchery. That I didn't exactly avoid women.
They'd sized me up with the rumors—that I was approachable and easygoing with women through my Clone—plus whatever common knowledge they had about incubi in fantasy worlds.
They had no idea that their curiosity and lust hit me as raw, sloppy emotion, completely exposed.
"You mean to say your world destroyed itself through human conflict?"
The atmosphere wasn't exactly right for "I was just scraping by in an underground shelter and got dragged here," so I dressed it up a little.
It wasn't as if some evil dragon had shown up and unleashed a world-ending breath on my world—humanity had genuinely wiped itself out like idiots.
"Oh, dear. How could such a thing happen."
The Constellations who'd fought and lost against Demon Kings, monsters, evil dragons, and interdimensional invaders all jolted at my words.
Apparently, the idea of humanity destroying itself was genuinely shocking to them—enough to clear the air of the oily lust that had been aimed my way moments before.
The stories that followed were a little too grim for a sunlit garden salon.
Savage demonfolk massacres that reduced holy cities to ash.
Monster processions that devoured children.
Brave tales of leading cavalry out to chase down demonic scouts.
These were Constellations who'd spent long years on bloody battlefields, and their faces never once wavered as they traded brutal stories with haha-hoho laughter.
Through it all, The Martial Epic that Sings of Romance and The Unfading Flower took care to keep me and the Giant Tree that Does Not Wither included in the talk.
The tea the servants poured—they must have had a talent for it—was as good as what the Giant Tree that Does Not Wither prepared herself, and the sweet desserts never lost their appeal.
At some point, soft music began playing, and the sweet wine replaced the tea.
If not for two female Constellations who, warm with drink, kept sneaking glances at my groin mid-bloody-war-story,
it could have been a social party straight out of a fairy-tale book.
But the biggest win of all—
"I will take my leave first, then."
"Yes, I do hope you enjoyed yourself."
—was the sight of the Giant Tree that Does Not Wither pulling me by the hand as they waved us off with the usual exaggerated farewell.
※
The Martial Epic that Sings of Romance maintained her consistently theatrical air, still declaiming on knightly romance and fealty, but the other two—the nun and the Taoist—failed to manage their expressions.
Even I, who read emotions, wasn't the only one to notice. An innocent elf who knew nothing of the world picked up on their lecherous stares.
Maybe it was the high-proof wine, a glass or two in, but
the Giant Tree that Does Not Wither, her ears gone crimson, tightened her grip on my hand and led me on.
Past the branches of the World Tree, through the garden and the sitting room, all the way to her private chambers.
From the outside it looked like a bold woman taking the lead,
but after tossing back several glasses of wine, emotions she couldn't hide were wafting up thick around her.
Jealousy. Anger. Unease.
The Unfading Flower had been the quiet type through dinner, just nodding along to the stories.
So nearly all the tipsy attention—wine-warmed and loose—had been aimed straight at me.
Humanity's Last Hymn and Canvas of Destruction, who both patronized artists, kept striking up conversation as if trying to get on my good side.
Was it their blatant advances? Or did alcohol pluck up courage where none existed before?
Without saying a word, she led me on.
I, too, was faintly tipsy, and I watched her fragile bravery with quiet enjoyment.
The hand clutching mine quivered faintly with unease.
Worried I might shake her off and leave, no doubt.
My Clone could last over half a day, and we'd spent about three hours at the salon.
So I had roughly ten hours to spare.
I gave her hand a light squeeze, as if to say don't worry, and her trembling fingers squeezed back in return.
Click. The door opened, and that same bed I'd seen before greeted us.
She stood before it hesitating, so I did what I'd done last time—climbed onto the bed first and sat down.
Now we could finally face each other properly.
Had she downed a few more glasses while I was chatting, curious about how other Constellations handled their Incarnation contracts? Or was she just a lightweight?
A sweet, alcoholic fragrance wafted from her, too strong to be only a couple of glasses of wine.
Her pale face had flushed a deep, blazing red—deeper than when she was simply embarrassed.
Not just her ears, cheeks, and neck.
Her whole face was meticulously painted crimson, as if she'd applied makeup, and it was unbearably endearing.
Like a girl tasting alcohol for the first time.
'Come to think of it... maybe this really is her first time drinking.'
She was always serving leaf-steeped tea, fruit juice, or sweet sap.
She wasn't like me, cracking open cans of beer.
I was lost in that pointless thought when a gentle touch pushed against me.
I didn't resist the weak shove to my shoulder and let myself lie back on the bed.
"...Your name."
"Hm?"
"Tell me your name."
She whispered it in a voice as faint as a summer breeze you can't even use to wipe a drop of sweat away.
I smiled at those sweet, innocent words and started to open my mouth.
The name I hadn't used for nearly a decade in the apocalypse era—
"...?"
"..."
But we ended up blinking at each other, both confused.
So the people at the salon hadn't been using Constellation names out of courtesy—they genuinely seemed close, yet they still only used those titles.
Was throwing away the name of your previous life part of the role-playing here?
I couldn't begin to guess how uptight and crazy the Creator of this flat continent was.
Or maybe not a crazy man, but a crazy woman.
And if the one who built this world had locked it, I couldn't convey it through words or writing either.
As those thoughts ran through my head, I looked at her and she climbed onto the bed as if she'd made a decision.
Her dress slipping down off her shoulders.
"It's okay. Your name isn't what matters."
She whispered it softly and settled beside me in nothing but her pale white underwear.
Then she pushed my jacket aside and began unbuttoning my shirt, one button at a time.
With fingers that still shivered and shook.
The girl who once couldn't do more than link arms without blushing—how much courage must she have summoned to get this far?
A ticklish warmth filled a corner of my chest.
"I-I'll undress you."
I played along—shy, silent, nodding—and she stopped after a few buttons to take a deep breath.
If she undid any more, the shirt would fall open and my chest would be bare.
Her eyes traced the smooth, muscle-less skin of a slender boy's body, and I watched her swallow.
Inside her, unease was shifting into relief, and jealousy and anger were cooling.
With a soft rustle, the last shirt button came free.
A cool draft slipped between the halves of the jacket I still wore.
The liquor-born courage hadn't quite deserted her yet—she reached out again.
All the layers of the suit were cumbersome anyway, so I let her hands guide me as I shrugged off my upper clothes.