What does a person need to survive?
A modern person would answer without hesitation: money.
An Imperial citizen might occasionally answer honor or status.
Or perhaps there's one last romantic of this era who would answer love.
Ain Magnolia clearly belonged to the last category.
*Glug glug glug*
However, in the plaza of Lumen, called the heart of the Empire.
A place filled with lights and sculptures befitting its name, cheerful buildings with whitewashed walls.
A place with lovers holding hands walking along the riverbank, and gardens decorated with roses as red as their passion.
A few blocks away from there, in a secluded alley, sitting in a run-down tavern with cobwebs hanging and reeking of piss—what I need is alcohol.
You say you can't buy alcohol without money either?
Yeah. Just kill yourself and be done with it.
After regressing, even my pockets were refilled.
Still not a generous amount, but how grateful can I be.
It must mean I should drink until I'm broke, then kill myself.
Perpetual motion has just been completed.
Please welcome the next Nobel Prize winner with applause.
Though I probably can't return to the modern world anyway.
"Ugh. One more."
I set down my glass on the bar table and ordered another drink.
How many glasses was that? I counted on my fingers and forgot.
Of course, I only counted on one hand.
The first noticeable change since abandoning Ain:
I can now distinguish the taste of alcohol.
What nonsense is this, when I drank enough in my past life to rot my tongue?
Back then, whether it was cheap beer from a wooden barrel that looked like it had a dwarf's beard dipped in it, or Bronzebeard 27-year whiskey going for dozens of gold coins per glass, I didn't give a damn as long as it got me drunk enough to lose my mind.
My sense of taste was gradually fading due to drugs anyway.
I'll never do drugs again.
The interior of the tavern was exactly as one would guess from its exterior.
A beggar lurking at the entrance begging with a voice that sounded like a saw on vocal cords, and an owner with a sullen face who seemed to have no interest in doing business. They and I were the entire clientele.
How many people drink from this hour when the sun is high?
Though judging by the creaking ceiling, there seem to be plenty of rats.
It's actually fortunate—it drowns out the bustle from the plaza.
I picked up a chicken leg from the plate and took a bite.
Savory juices spread in my mouth with a crispy texture.
I gulped down whiskey with a subtle honey aroma, washing away the remaining grease cleanly.
Isn't this sex and a happy ending?
I reached it as desired, so I wish they'd send me home quickly.
I'm still dependent on alcohol like in my past life, but if you're going to do it, do it right.
With the thought of drinking expensive stuff to my heart's content before departing this life, I'm freely drinking alcohol I wouldn't have glanced at before.
*Creak*
The saloon door opens, and the sunlight I so detested dazzles my eyes.
A fat man with a reddish complexion, clearly already having had a drink, enters the tavern.
The man turned his bloodshot eyes toward me and shouted loudly.
"What's this? Some dandy guzzling alcohol in broad daylight?
Owner! Aren't you running your business properly?"
I was thinking of making this my regular tavern since it's close to home, but fuck, this shithole isn't even as good as a dog's front yard. Never coming here again.
The man didn't sit in one of the many empty seats, but deliberately came over and sat next to me as I was just pouring alcohol down my throat.
Dressed in an Academy uniform and stuck in a tavern from this hour, I suppose it's inevitable I'd stand out.
"An adult is talking to you, you little shit... Are all you young masters like this?"
The second noticeable change:
I became cheerful!
I turned my empty sleeve and the scar near my eye toward the man who greatly resembled a jar of desire and answered.
"You try becoming a cripple, you fucking bastard. See if your personality doesn't turn to shit."
Self-deprecating humor.
One of the ways to quickly close the distance with awkward strangers.
If he gets pissed off and charges at me, I'll just brawl with him.
I've become able to flexibly handle subtle provocations.
In short, I don't hold back anymore.
Jar-man seemed angry, tapping his fingers on the table before opening his mouth.
"...I didn't recognize a war hero and misspoke.
At such a young age, tsk. As an apology, the next round's on me."
The man, who despite his appearance had an unexpectedly pure heart, held up two fingers toward the owner to order.
Though these scars only got me mocked by the high-born, never once praised.
See? I changed my attitude toward life and good things are already happening.
Maybe it's more livable than I thought.
Well, either I'll live like this until I can't bear the nightmares of knocking on doors every night and slice my wrist with a knife from the dinner table instead of steak, or my liver will pickle in alcohol and rot like a specimen, or the family will send an assassin to permanently erase me from all records and I'll disappear without a trace while walking a back alley at night, or the person I picked a fight with while drunk happens to be a fucking powerful Archmage passing by and I'll get roasted golden brown like the roast chicken served as a side dish.
The end is obviously predetermined.
I gave up on optimism about the future long ago.
The fact that even if I die I'll just regress as a cripple was the biggest shock to me since realizing Santa doesn't exist in elementary school.
'That sadness was indescribable... It was Dad in a Santa suit.'
As I tilted my glass lost in melancholy, a familiar shadow blocks the table.
"Why didn't you come to school...? You even put on your uniform...."
A shadow left by Ain, clinging like candy melted in sunlight.
"There's a student council summons tomorrow regarding your disciplinary action.... Please come.... For Unnie's sake at least...."
Features that have nothing in common with me even if you wash your eyes and look—except for iris color.
A woman who entered the mismatched tavern with light blue flowing hair neatly braided and tied, wearing a crisply ironed uniform without a wrinkle.
Iris Magnolia. Ain's half-sister.
The person I believed without doubt was on my side when I was still under the family's shadow.
Though when the disownment actually happened, she left my side before anyone else in the family.
The true nature of her interest in me was only sympathy and a sense of duty toward a blood relative.
Come to think of it, she named the stray cat she picked up Ain. Haha. Crazy bitch.
When I stood up, the jar uncle next to me had vanished.
He must have gotten scared seeing the magnolia embroidered on Iris's clothes.
Aside from Giselle, he might have been my first friend.
He even bought me a drink. Anyone who buys you drinks is a good person.
I pulled out a few gold coins from my pocket and scattered them in front of the owner.
"Use the change to buy candy for the kids."
"...? What kind of payment is this? Hey, hey! Stop right there!"
"Ugh.... I'm sorry.... I'll pay the balance...."
Ignoring the owner's cheers at my generous spending and Iris's following voice, I stepped outside.
"A-Ain. Wait a moment...."
However, the candy stuck to my feet showed no signs of falling off.
Iris had already caught up behind me, keeping only about two steps' distance.
"I'll go tomorrow."
I replied appropriately while turning the alley corner toward one side of the plaza, heading for a sunny spot where sunlight shone.
I pulled out a cigarette from my pocket, struck a match against the alley wall, and lit it.
A thin stream of sunlight aligned directly with the cigarette flame, stinging my eyes.
My vision, adapted to darkness, blurred upon receiving bright light.
In that blur, a form I could never forget wavered.
"......"
"...That's why I said wait a moment."
Iris sighed softly behind me.
A lovely pair of cockroaches getting off a carriage set up by the fountain.
The person in a fur coat unsuited for the season, clearly the rumored Grand Duke of the North, opened the carriage door and politely extended his hand.
Ivory-colored blonde hair carefully revealed itself, grasping that hand.
It's Giselle.
Our eyes met.
As always, just as I could recognize Giselle from miles away.
Giselle would surely recognize me at a glance wherever we met.
Blood-red eyes trembled slightly for just a moment as they collided with mine.
The Grand Duke, who was escorting her, seemed to notice what lay at the end of Giselle's gaze and approached me with quick steps to speak.
"Well, well. Who do we have here?
Isn't this the torn bastard child, the Empire's greatest spectacle these days?
Can you see properly ahead with those cripple eyes? Hm?"
A wonderful eloquence that makes me miss the drunk I met at the tavern.
...Fucking hilarious.
So you need this level of verbal skill to steal another man's woman.
Plus he's got that gap moe element of being cynical to others but warm to his woman, striking at women's hearts. I'm jealous to the point of madness.
However, the unfortunate thing about self-deprecating humor is that it can only be directed at oneself.
When someone else does it, it's just cursing.
'He wouldn't have put on protective magic for a walk, would he?'
I swung my remaining arm back and kicked the Grand Duke's shin with all my might.
Leaving the Grand Duke doing a somersault and lying face-down on the ground, I headed toward Giselle.
Giselle was staring blankly at the roadside—neither at the Grand Duke nor at me, but at nothing.
I smiled and murmured just loud enough for Giselle to hear.
"Better train that bastard properly, Giselle.
I like the rag-wiping motion, but he keeps biting."
I passed Giselle and headed toward the main road home. From sunny spot to an even deeper sunny spot.
Though at the end of the journey there's only my house, darker than a grave.
"Another disciplinary action added...."
Iris's small lament reached my ears as I left.
"...n.... ya.... in...."
I thought I glimpsed Giselle's lips moving to make a sound.
It's been ages since I last saw that mouth open.
Though it's no longer my concern.
The earlier commotion seems to have drawn a crowd.
I walked through the mountain of people with effort.
When I bumped shoulders with someone, the cigarette dangling from my dry lips went out.
When I entered the tree-lined street along the river with few people, I lit a new cigarette.
The tree shade blocked the sun, making my steps lighter.
I walked for a long time down the road stretching below the hill and arrived at my dear home.
Though in truth, neither "our" nor "dear" could be found anywhere.
*Creak*
The door opened with the familiar sound welcoming its owner.
I sat on the bed and struggled with my empty sleeve for a long time to take off my uniform.
Why did I even put this on in the first place?
Ah, I was thinking of going to the Academy.
But my phantom limb pain made me irritable, so I headed straight to the tavern.
I opened the window to air out the stale interior, went to the cupboard, and took out alcohol and a glass.
Because of Iris, my perfect plan to stay glued to the tavern all night was ruined.
It's okay. The night is long; I just need to drink diligently from now on.
*Glug glug glug*
I filled my glass and entered the bathroom, thinking I'd wash my face.
Standing in front of the sink, I looked into the mirror, the source of my rage.
The cracked glass with obvious signs of being struck represents my state of mind.
Facing the distorted form with misaligned focus, another unfortunate aspect of self-deprecating humor came to mind.
I could never become a person with masochistic tendencies.