What's Your Ideal Type? -3-
Alcohol makes people drunk. It loosens tongues for grievances left unsaid, and sometimes lets you voice the things too hard to say sober. I did the same in my past life. When a friend I never heard from suddenly bought me drinks and, borrowing the buzz, asked to borrow money and urged me to get insurance. I still remember it. That fucking bastard.... Anyway. Alcohol makes people honest.
A warm campfire flickered softly near the summit of the Hamel Mountains. Olivia stared at her glass, brow furrowed, her eyes full of doubt as if questioning whether this was truly a drink for humans. Lost in thought, she eyed me strangely as I downed mine in one go.
"Bitter."
"That's how it is."
"Incredibly bitter."
"Of course."
Olivia, having discovered the harsh bite after knocking back half a glass, gazed at it with the expression of someone who'd sworn off booze forever. But my taunt—She's still just a kid—drew her glass back out.
"One more."
"Didn't you say it tasted bad?"
"No, it's good."
"Liar."
A faint blush crept into Olivia's ears. I hid the bottle behind my back and refused, but she puffed out her chest proudly, boasting of her healthy liver like she could handle anything. Her eyes were already a bit glassy. I didn't buy it for a second. She growled at Gomtangi even sober—drunk, she'd probably turn into a real dog.
"Any more and you'll turn into a dog."
"I already am a dog."
"A rabid one."
"Why! It's a shame to stop at one. Just one more."
"No."
"Gimme! If you don't, I'm not going home tonight."
Olivia huffed stubbornly. As her butler of thirteen years, I knew she always kept her word. To prevent her from sleeping rough, I let out a long sigh.
"Haa.... Just one more."
"Heehee. Okay."
Olivia shyly took the glass and sipped. The buzz was rising—for her and for me. Maybe because it had been ages since I'd drunk, the hazy alcohol warmth slowly broke down the filters in my mouth.
Mikhail, you fucking bastard.
—Why curse Mikhail!
He's annoying, isn't he? Looks like a parasitic brother-in-law.
True. Then you're a fucking bastard too, Ricardo!
Why curse me?
You stole my chocolate.
No snacks tomorrow.
"Hiek... Ricardo angel!"
Too late.
Meaningless banter flowed. Thoughts spilled straight from our heads, we laughed like idiots, seriously debated if orcs or bears were tougher. Plain, ordinary talk. Not heavy stuff like politics or the academy, but trivial things we found fun, fueled by the booze.
"I was called the flower of high society back in the day!"
"That flower wasn't the fly hell, was it?"
"A rose! They called me a rose!"
"Thorny as hell, then."
"Eek! Don't tease!"
"Puhaha!"
In my past life, three bottles of soju were nothing.... Maybe it was the pricey stuff, or drinking with a pretty girl, but it tasted sweeter than usual.
Slurp.
"Ugh...."
Slurp.
"Oh...?"
Slurp.
"Uhihihi!"
Olivia was slowly getting the hang of the taste. Crackle. By the dancing campfire, she held her glass, hesitating. Wondering what to say next. As she pondered, tilting it, her face turned serious. Cautiously, she spoke.
"Ricardo."
"Yes?"
"You know...."
Her eyes, deep in thought, the buzz deepening them, looked strangely alluring. Olivia sighed long and tossed the question at me.
"Will you get married, Ricardo?"
The out-of-nowhere query drew a hollow laugh from me. Marriage? Never crossed my mind. Life had been too hectic, and women? Hanna, Yuria, Olivia—that was it. None of them would ever like a commoner like me. They were all stars, surrounded by better options.
I gave a wry smile. "Why ask about marriage?"
"Just... You're at that age now."
"Hm... Yeah. Never thought about it, so I don't know."
"You won't?"
"Who knows...."
Olivia fixed on her rippling glass, not looking up, so I couldn't see her face. But I could guess her heart behind the question.
I don't want us to part.
She'd worry I couldn't stay by her side forever. Selfish and stubborn on the surface, but Olivia could envision the future and stew alone. The booze coaxed out her hidden fears. Me, nearing the end of my early twenties, no fiancée, barely any women to call—half worried, half terrified I'd leave the spot I'd always filled.
I met her gaze firmly, answering to dispel that worry, with a small smile.
"Marriage... Probably not, right?"
"Eh...?"
Her face chilled at "not." She looked guilty, like she was holding me back. Good thing she never went into acting—too obvious. Teasing, I added,
"A guy like me staying single is a crime against the world, though."
"...Could be a blessing."
Honest where it didn't matter. I flicked her forehead and continued.
"My eyes got too high from seeing the world's top beauty every day."
"Beauty?"
"Yeah, the one with snow-white hair who loves chocolate. Half-pretty girls don't even register."
Olivia blushed, mumbling "That is true..." with a shy smile. Grinning mischievously, I said,
"Said it to the mirror, though."
"...Not me?"
"Yep."
She squealed and chucked a fork, her innocent smile easing my worries at last. Inwardly, I thought,
How could I ever leave you?
Couldn't if I tried. With a soft smile, I turned it back.
"Then will you marry?"
"Me...?"
Her face fell. Oops—but too late to take it back. Forcing a bright laugh, I said,
"If your legs heal, that is...."
"Yeah."
Olivia smiled faintly, looking at me.
"Maybe just marry you, Ricardo."
"What, picking a husband this casually? Think of my side too."
She pouted, glaring. "Don't want to?"
What man could refuse? Picturing sons, daughters, great-grandkids, I replied confidently.
"How many kids you want?"
"...Pervert."
Rejected again today. Booze turned heavy talks light, letting us laugh off what would've left her sulking sober. We brushed away worries with easy chuckles. Fights, politics, friends, accidents—plenty of drinking snacks, but romance might pair best with booze.
As future talk shifted to love, I cautiously repeated my old question.
"Lady Olivia."
"Yeah?"
"What's your ideal type?"
"Me?"
"Yes."
"Hmm...."
Brow furrowed, deep in thought. Romance brought out her focus. Olivia held up three fingers, folding them one by one.
"First, handsome."
"Hey, that's me."
"You're ugly."
"Handsomer than Ruin."
"That's not a person, that's a lizard."
I clenched a fist—unintentional win for Ruin. Grateful she counted me human at all. Olivia folded the second.
"Second, kind."
"That's me. Where else you find kindness like mine?"
She eyed me suspiciously.
"You stole that homeless guy's money and ran...."
"You saw?"
"Yeah."
I snorted. "Bought you chicken skewers with it, didn't we?"
"Oh... Then you're kind. Pass."
Stamps of approval from Olivia. As she bent the third,
"This one's something you can't do, Ricardo."
"I'm a man who can do anything."
"Liar."
Too perceptive. "Third is a sturdy third leg...."
I clamped her mouth shut. My face burned. Ears ringing—what did I just hear? Olivia blinked innocently, clueless why it was wrong.
I demanded, "Wh-where'd you learn that?!"
"Philosophy book you gave me. 'Daddy, You Can't Do This!' It said that."
"No... Haa...."
Sobriety hit like lightning. The buzz cleared. Saved from drunk rickshaw driving, but her pure eyes meant re-censoring those books from page one.
Olivia asked innocently, "Why? Book said bigger the better. Yours small?"
"Huh?"
Striking a man's pride. Face red, deep sigh. "No... It's not... but."
Irony—the asker unfazed, answerer dying of shame. Olivia nodded, satisfied.
"Book said men's third leg needs to be huge and sturdy."
Unintentional dirty talk. She pressed, "So what's your ideal type, Ricardo?"
"Mine... b...breasts..."
The moment I started—
"Hieet.... I'm drunkkk!"
Olivia collapsed.
Rehabilitation's Touch
"Eek! Uhihihit!"
Olivia was wasted. Spinning with her glass like a pendulum, left then right.
"Eek? Ricardo. The world's spinning... I'm flying!"
Like a maniac.
"Ricardooo... Why aren't you drinking? More!"
She was in bliss. Grabbing Gomtangi, calling it me, sniffing, declaring it smelled good, nibbling his head.
Struggling up, she banged her empty glass. "Ricardo, your glass is empty."
"That's enough for me."
"Hey!"
Tilting the bottle into my glass like a bossy manager, she grinned dopily, scolding the empty one. I gently pried it away.
"You're really drunk, Lady."
"Am not... I'm fine!"
Drunkard's denial—zero credibility. Her eyes were spinning.
"Eek... Hands off."
Like office nagging. She'd be the ultimate boomer at work. Reluctantly, I accepted. She overfilled, spilling everywhere, oblivious, jiggling her shoulders: "Drink. Drink." Any more and she'd out-dog sleeping Gomtangi.
Carefully snatching her glass, she blinked wide at her empty hand.
"Huh?"
Shocked. "What's wrong?"
"Someone stole my glass."
Tears welled.
"Haa..."
Never again.
*
Back at the mansion. Olivia slept soundly on the bed, drooling on the pillow. I stroked her hair softly.
"My ideal type is...."
A faint glow from my hand. A hazy blue window flickered.
"Cough...." Blood trickled from my mouth, but the smile stayed.
"You, Lady."