The Morning After
What the hell is that?
“Aaaargh…”
Someone groaned as they opened their eyes, wracked by a splitting headache that felt like a bell being rung directly inside their skull.
Their mouth was parched dry, and their stomach churned as if they might vomit at any moment.
Moving even a little felt like it would bring everything back up, so they couldn't muster the will to get up and just lay there groaning in bed for a while.
Eventually their stomach settled somewhat, and only then could they barely push their upper body upright.
“Ugh… I'm dying. Seriously.”
The reason I was in this sorry state was, of course, that I'd been cornered into drinking by Chiara, the drunkard Saintess of the Diana Church.
The problem was, I remembered starting the drinking session, but from some point on, my memory went completely blank. In a word, the film had cut out.
...I worried about what on earth might have happened, but I decided not to think about it.
Reconstructing the previous night's memories after drinking yourself unconscious is never a good idea.
Because if you pull back the curtain and peek at the past, all you'll find there is pure cringe.
Still, my drinking habits aren't that bad, so there's no way I caused a scene...
And at that moment, memories that had been sitting there flooded my mind.
It was about the drinking session.
At first, I'd clearly been desperate to escape, hating every drop. The alcohol tasted good, but it was far too strong.
But after about two glasses, the buzz crept up on me, and before I knew it, I was laughing and clinking cups with Chiara.
Then Clarice woke up. She said she was an adult now too, so she wanted to try drinking, and asked for a glass.
Chiara's liquor was way too strong for a first-timer. So I asked Chiara to bring Clarice a sweet fruit wine instead.
The three of us chatted like that (I don't remember a single word of what we talked about), laughing and carrying on...
And after that, nothing.
Looking around the room, this seemed to be Septimoa Castle, but I had no way of knowing how I'd gotten here.
Wait, this isn't even my room, is it?
Well, obviously not—this was Septimoa, not the Eris Church—but the room's style was completely different from the Frost Palace where I usually stayed.
“Aaaah…”
“Hm?”
While I was still puzzling over where exactly I was, a low groan drifted past my ear along with the rustle of movement on the wide bed.
Maybe my hungover brain was too scrambled to notice, but I hadn't realized there was someone else in the bed with me.
I turned my head on reflex and saw someone squirming under the covers, pulled all the way up over their head.
I peeled the blanket back, and there was Clarice.
...Completely naked. Not a stitch on her.
“?!...!!?”
I almost screamed, but barely managed to hold it in.
I quickly rolled Clarice up in the blanket like a burrito.
I heard a muffled, uncomfortable groan, but nothing registered in my ears right now.
Drank until the film cut out, woke up to a naked woman in my bed?
My brain bleached itself white, leaving me incapable of a single thought.
And on top of that, checking now, I was stark naked too.
“...Nah. No way. Right?”
Wasn't this the textbook image of a man and woman who got drunk and did something regrettable?
Okay, technically not a man and a woman—we were both women—but still.
Anyway, it's not that, right? The thing I'm thinking of?
Because if it was, this wouldn't just be a disaster. It'd be a catastrophe.
A chill ran through me strong enough to make me forget my brutal hangover for a moment.
That was when the bathroom door creaked open.
“Oh ho, you're up already? I thought you'd sleep until at least midday.”
I turned to see Chiara stepping out of the bathroom, steam billowing around her.
Fresh from her bath, she was shaking out her damp hair, wearing nothing but a light robe.
How novel to hear her speaking clearly instead of slurring... no, wait, that's not the point.
Why the hell are you coming out of there?
“W-why are you coming out of the bathroom?”
Chiara looked at my flustered stammering, then curled her lips up in a smirk that made me want to smack her.
“That question is a bit off, isn't it? Is it a problem for me to be in my own room?”
“This is... your room?”
No wonder the bed seemed absurdly oversized. So this was Chiara's room.
Great, I'd figured out where I was. One problem remained.
“Why on earth did we wake up in your bed?”
Naked, at that? I couldn't bring myself to say the rest, and just swallowed dryly.
“Ahaha, don't you remember? You and Clarice came to my room asking for more drinks. I was so pleased.”
“We did that?”
With zero memory, I couldn't exactly deny it.
And asking for more drinks is classic drunk behavior, which made it all the more believable.
Ha, alcohol is truly the enemy.
“You and Clarice were both quite impressive last night.”
“...Impressive at what, exactly?”
“Hmm~? If I told you that, it'd spoil the fun.”
Chiara strode over with some kind of sly grin, picked up the bottle on the nightstand, and started glugging it straight into her mouth.
...Insane. After downing that much last night, she's hitting the morning bottle? Is she actually insane?
No, more importantly—
“What happened in this room last night? Tell me. All of it. Exactly.”
What had happened last night was the critical question.
In this world, there were all kinds of races besides humans.
Unlike humans, whose desires vary from individual to individual, each nonhuman race pursues very distinct values.
For example, dragonkin live to uphold their own sense of justice, while elves value living in harmony with nature and protecting the weak.
Dwarves are obsessed with building and inventing, oni live for battle and honor, and beastfolk will lay down their lives for family and tribe.
And dokkaebi? They live for pleasure and breeding.
...Yes. Pleasure and breeding.
The key point was that the person I'd drunk with wasn't just any race—it was a dokkaebi.
And word was, these creatures didn't even discriminate by sex when it came to reproductive activity.
How is that even possible? I set that question aside. What mattered was that it was possible.
I absolutely had to find out what happened during the blackout.
“Fufufu.”
Stop laughing like that. Please. You're giving me chills.
“...We didn't, right?”
“What do you mean?”
Chiara played innocent, but her eyes gleamed suspiciously.
“Did you... d-did you do anything weird to us?”
“Ahaha, are you asking whether I engaged in reproductive activity with you two?”
“S-shut up! Agh, my head.”
I barked at her blunt phrasing, then clutched my aching skull and groaned.
“Fufu, there's no crueler pastime than messing with a drunk. You two were so far gone I just washed you up and put you to bed in my room. I would've changed your clothes too, but sadly I had nothing that would fit you.”
“...Am I supposed to thank you for that?”
Yes, she'd looked after us while we were drunk, but she's also the dokkaebi who forced the booze on us in the first place.
Give a bottle, then give medicine—there was nothing to be grateful for.
“No need to thank me.”
“Right. Actually, I'm not grateful at all.”
I grumbled as I pushed myself up.
“Ugh…”
I'd let my guard down for a second and nearly threw up on the spot.
This was honestly the worst hangover of my entire life, past and present combined.
I tried cycling my holy power through my body to shake off the hangover, but—
“Oh, one thing you should know. A hangover from alcohol served in the Holy Grail cannot be cured by anything. Not even holy power.”
“Then what am I supposed to do?”
“Wait for it to pass naturally, of course.”
“Why does it have such a sadistic penalty attached?”
“If you drink, you ought to bear the hangover as well. Washing away that noble suffering with holy power—wouldn't that be a blasphemy against alcohol? Downright rude, I'd say.”
“Haah...”
Curses rose to my lips, but I didn't have the strength for it, so I just sighed.
“Well, if you like, I could teach you a good method.”
“What is it?”
“Drink more, so you can't feel the hangover. A hangover comes after you drink, doesn't it? Keep drinking, and it'll never arrive.”
“Get lost, you lunatic!”
The curse finally burst out of me.
Anyway, judging by my current state, today was going to be spent lying in bed groaning.
First priority: escape to my own room, fast. If I stayed here any longer, Chiara would definitely catch me and drag me into some insane “hangover cure” drinking session.
Ah, but first I need to walk Clarice back.
Clarice never came back last night, so the Justitia Church must have been in an uproar.
By now they'd know we'd been cornered into drinking by Chiara, so they probably weren't too worried... no, actually, they might be even more worried.
Either way, better to get her back quickly.
“...Clarice, wake up.”
After fumbling into the clothes I'd tossed off the day before, I shook Clarice awake.
“Uuuugh... Unnie, my head feels like it's going to explode...”
“...Mine too. Let's head back to our own rooms and rest. It's dangerous to stay here.”
Dangerous? How hurtful, she said—but I ignored Chiara, helped Clarice get dressed, and carried the still-dazed girl on my back all the way to the Justitia Church's quarters.
After that, I headed for the Frost Palace, the Eris Church's residence.
...Two days had already passed since I arrived in Septimoa, and I still hadn't set foot in my own room.
Day one, I'd passed out in the healing chamber. Day two, I'd drunk myself unconscious into Chiara's bed.
Clutching my splitting head, grabbing a pillar and taking deep breaths every time something threatened to come back up, I asked a passing maid for directions and finally found my room.
“...This is exhausting.”
Looking in the mirror, I saw a mess of tangled hair and bloodshot eyes staring back at me.
Anyone could see I was a person being thoroughly tortured by a hangover.
What should I eat to cure it? Maybe ask the head chef to make a spicy tomato soup with peperoncino and some seafood.
Yeah, I'd ask once the hangover had dulled a bit.
If I ate anything now, it would come straight back up the moment I swallowed it. Guaranteed disaster.
So there I was, lying blankly on my bed, rolling around pointlessly for a long while, when a knock came at the door.
I dragged myself up and opened it to find Cassian and Leonid standing there.
...What do you two want at my room? Skip the pleasantries and get to the point.
“Saintess.”
“What.”
The two of them wore grim, resolute expressions, as if heading off to war.
“Could you teach me the sword?”
“My head is killing me, so get lost, you lunatic.”
Cassian's out-of-nowhere request made my already aching head throb even harder.
Did these two get drunk last night too?
Why are they spouting nonsense first thing in the morning?
And does this kid not realize I can't stand him?
He could just ask Leonid or one of the other knights, but no, he has to come bother me with this crap.
...Ah. Right, none of the others are actually qualified to teach him.
They all use completely different weapons, and Leonid—the closest thing to a candidate—knows how to work someone to the bone but has zero talent for teaching fundamentals.
“Just the basics, then—”
“I hate repeating myself. Get lost. Now.”
With that, I slammed the door shut right in their faces.
“Ah... I'm dying.”
I spent that whole day suffering through the hangover, and the next day doing some light stretching and stamina training.
...Cassian kept training nearby, sneaking pitiful glances at me, which was irritating, but the training grounds were wide, so I just moved far away and trained alone. Not a big deal.
Since he wasn't touching a sword, Leonid must have said something to him.
Well, sure—if he kept drilling those clumsy basic movements, bad habits would get baked into his body, so banning him from the sword wasn't unreasonable.
Still, he listens well, huh?
He completely ignored me when I told him to stop kneeling and stand up.
Is he playing favorites with people?
Somehow I got the feeling that if I'd been the one to say it, he'd have dug in his heels and kept swinging anyway.
Another day passed like that, and finally the day of the Holy Council dawned.
I dressed in my full Saintess robes and headed to the council chamber with Lord Bartholomew.
“Trixie unnie!”
On the way to the Holy Council, we ran into the Justitia Church delegation: one escort knight, one high priest I'd never seen before, and Clarice.
Clarice waved at me with a delighted expression and came running over.
“Hey, Clarice. How's your stomach?”
“Uuu... It's fine. I'm never drinking again. Ever.”
“Good. Smart choice.”
Hangover survivors always swear off alcohol forever.
Whether that vow actually holds is another matter entirely.
“A pleasure to meet you. I am Nilheim, High Priest of the Justitia Church.”
The elderly dragonkin standing beside her greeted me. He had black hair and striking, gleaming golden eyes.
“The pleasure is mine. I am Beatrice, Saintess of the Eris Church.”
I returned the greeting with a slight bow. Nilheim smiled warmly at my greeting, then turned his gaze to Lord Bartholomew at my side.
“Bartholomew, have you been well?”
“Quite well, thank you. I'm glad to see you look none the worse for wear.”
“Kukku, cooped up in the temple all day—what trouble could possibly find me?”
It was my first time meeting Nilheim, but he and Lord Bartholomew were clearly old acquaintances.
And so we exchanged the usual formalities.
Then, mid-conversation, a prickling feeling on my skin made me turn my head.
Behind Clarice stood a blond, blue-eyed knight, staring holes straight through me.
...Huh? What's with him?
Why is he looking at me like I'm dirt?
As I frowned at him, a certain person suddenly came to mind.
The male lead of the original story—the Hero of the Justitia Church.
I'd never met him, and I couldn't even remember his name, but I distinctly recalled he had blond hair and blue eyes.
So is that guy the original's protagonist?
...No, I don't think so.
The protagonist was a growth-type character.
The original story hadn't started yet, or was only just beginning—there was no way he'd be that strong at this stage.
That blond knight looked far stronger than Leonid, at the very least.
Besides, the protagonist was a classic, justice-loving hero. No way he'd have eyes like rotten fish.
Eyes like those were the bone-chilling kind that only someone who'd cut down countless monsters, demons, and humans—someone numbed to killing—could possess.
When our eyes met, the blond knight lowered his gaze, and I quickly lost interest in him.
“Only the High Priest and the Saintess may enter the council chamber. Please be aware that weapons and holy power are prohibited inside.”
I nodded at the priest's words as we stood before the council doors.
And so Lord Bartholomew, Clarice, High Priest Nilheim, and I entered the chamber where the Holy Council would convene.