What's Your Ideal Type Like? -2-
Alcohol clouds people's judgment. Sometimes it turns them into dogs. Sometimes it leads to accidents when they give in to the buzz, or conversely, it lends the courage to say things they normally couldn't.
Near the summit of the Hamel Mountains, renowned for their spectacular views, I spread out a mat while enjoying the cool breeze. I glanced at the young lady sitting in the handcart.
"Hmmm... ahem~"
Her lips curved into a smile, delighted by her first outing in ages. Holding a bottle of liquor in one hand and chocolate in the other, she savored the leisure while eyeing the heavily panting Gomtangi.
"Ricardo."
"Yes?"
"That one's trying to die."
-Hahk... hek...
Gomtangi, with two more legs than a human yet wheezing like a low-tier weakling. I figured sled-pulling for the coming winter was out of the question. Scooping up the young lady from the handcart in a princess carry, I replied,
"It's just fat."
"Oh... wonder if it'd taste good?"
I clamped my mouth shut at her earnest question. The mat was laden with various foods: fruits like apples and grapes, classic picnic fare like kimbap, and even warm soup. For something made with my lacking skills, the bento turned out pretty decent. But the young lady eyed the kimbap in the container with a sour expression.
"...This is weird."
She poked at the kimbap. Worried it might have gone bad, I lifted the container to sniff—no issues, just the nutty aroma of sesame oil. What was weird about it? I tried a piece; it was ordinary kimbap, nothing special. But her face soured further.
She jabbed it again with her chopsticks.
"Too much grass in this."
Now I got why she'd been pouting. The kimbap was stuffed with ingredients she hated: spinach, carrots, pickled radish, cucumber. Worst of all, the meat slices were thinner than pencils. No wonder the carnivorous young lady despised it.
Wearing a disappointed look, she started extracting the fillings. Tossing the spinach to the ground as "devil's weed" and hurling the cucumber far off as "the world's plague."
"Picky eating is bad for you."
"I'll die if I eat it."
"You won't die. Skipping veggies for health is what actually ruins it."
She glared at me sullenly.
"Feed it to that one."
She pointed at Gomtangi, resting in the tree shade. She fretted that at this rate, it'd turn from dog to pig. Shaking my head, I replied,
"If you don't eat that, no booze today."
"What kind of nonsense is that!"
"This kind."
I flashed a sly grin, dangling the sloshing bottle. She clenched her fists and flung her chopsticks. I dodged effortlessly, smirking arrogantly.
"That's why you're slow—not eating your veggies."
"Argh!!!"
Veggies: no. Booze: yes. The young lady stood at a crossroads. Kindly, I offered her an out.
"Scared?"
Tears welling, she devoured the bento deliciously.
The sun was setting. Lulled by the crisp breeze, the young lady had dozed off, pillowing her head on my lap, breathing evenly. The gentle wind rustled her hair, tickling her. She scrunched her nose and murmured, "Ugh... Ricardo, flies are trying to eat me... catch them."
Summoning her butler. Struck by mischief, I draped her fluttering hair over her face.
Flop.
Her face buried in hair, she flailed at the air.
"Ughhh... swarm of flies incoming...! Waaah!"
Thrashing wildly, she snapped her eyes open. Staring blankly. Spotting my impish grin, she balled her fists.
With a dazed look, she said to me,
"Ricardo destroyed Dreamland."
"I am the Demon King, after all."
"...Grrr!"
She yanked up grass and chucked it at me. Down below the Hamel Mountains, the nightscape began to twinkle. Nothing compared to Seoul's skyline from my past life, but the starry sky and village lights created a modest glow.
I pressed the cold liquor bottle to the cheek of the dozing young lady.
"Hiet!"
Her eyes flew open. Drool trickling, she whipped her head around, thoroughly startled. Cautiously, I asked,
"Young lady, want some booze?"
"Booze...!"
Shaking off sleep, she fixed excited eyes on the bottle. I fetched the prepared chair, seated her, then twirled a bottle of brandy we'd bought on the way.
"Hamel 12-year apple distillate."
Her eyes tracked the spinning bottle. Clenching her fists and snorting, she declared,
"Dunno what it is, but looks tasty!"
"Bought it for 1 gold at the market."
"...Cheap swill?"
Her enthusiasm deflated instantly.
"Kidding. Paid top coin. Can't give Lady Olivia cheap stuff for her first drink, right?"
"Heehee... really?"
"Yes."
She smiled shyly. I folded the mat, lit a campfire, setting a cozy mood. Warming her hands by the flames, she seemed to love this intimate vibe—just us, no fancy chandeliers or social whirl.
Gotta come more often. Skip winter though—too cold. Spring it is.
She looked expectant. Serene atmosphere. First adult drink. And a handsome guy like me. Wait, maybe not that last one. Anyway. Her long-overdue rebellion had her eyes sparkling like a girl's—academy booze bans and her wrecked legs had kept this from happening.
As expected, she fidgeted, snorting and clenching-unclenching her fists. I chuckled softly, etching her beaming smile in my mind.
"But, Ricardo."
She scanned around. Just chairs and trees—nothing else. Tilting her head, she asked,
"No snacks?"
"Snacks?"
"Yeah. Don't you need sides with booze? Learned it from books."
"Ah..."
Scratching my head awkwardly, she pouted.
"It's fine! Leftover kimbap from earlier!"
"Gomtangi scarfed it all."
I showed the empty container with an awkward smile. She glared furiously at the sprawled Gomtangi.
Pointing at it, she said,
"What about that one?"
"Pardon?"
"Looks tasty."
Still emergency rations in her eyes. Chuckling, I pulled a hefty side dish tub from the handcart's back. Treasure trove of red meats and sausages—for her snacks.
Past life glamping dream, cut short by early death. Late, but fulfilling childhood fantasy. I set a grill over the fire and eyed her.
For the first time, she gazed at me with admiration.
"Ricardo's so cool...!"
"I know."
"Oh...!"
The meat sizzled slowly. We poured for each other. Booze newbie, she winced, pouring tiny bits—"More...? Gotta fill it?"—while I half-filled hers, mindful of her tolerance.
Eyeing the half-glass, she scowled.
"Eghhh...."
Disappointed glare—like I was skimping. Shrugging with a subtle smile, I replied,
"Try that first. Might not suit your taste."
"...Still."
Sighing deeply, she sniffed the golden whiskey, wrinkling her nose at the truth serum.
Staring like she'd been handed spoiled juice.
"Smells weird. Stings the nose... feels like it'll kill me."
"That's booze for ya."
"Really?"
"Yep."
I'd been shocked by the smell on my first go too—could relate. Boozy fruit whiff, seemingly nice yet foreboding. Curious what face she'd make drinking lab-alcohol for real.
Hesitant, I offered her glass gently.
"Cheers. Shall we?"
"Cheers?"
Awkwardly clutching hers. No clue what "cheers" meant. Tapping her glass lightly, it chimed clearly.
"That's toasting."
"Toasting...? Why do it?"
"Uh..."
Didn't know myself. For her scholarly spark, I bullshitted,
"To ward off evil spirits, maybe?"
"You don't know either?"
"Nope."
At the lame reason, she giggled "Hiet!" and thrust her glass forward.
"Again! Again!"
"Already?"
"Wasn't proper!"
"Heh heh..."
Smiling faintly, I offered mine. Beaming vibrantly, she clinked and declared,
"To world conquest!"
"Pfft haha! What's that?"
"My dream."
Young lady with unyielding ambition. Impressive.
Gulp.
Downing it, she scrunched her face.
"Euuugh!!! Tastes awful!"
I burst out laughing.