Alcohol makes people drunk.

It coaxes out the words left unsaid due to past grievances, and sometimes, it lends one the liquid bravery to speak on otherwise difficult matters.

In my past life, I was no different.

When a friend, who never bothered to contact me otherwise, called me out for a drink. Under the influence, they’d ask for a loan, or to sign up for insurance.

I still remember. That damn Lee x-woo…

Anyway. Alcohol has a way of making people honest.

Near the peak of the Hamel Mountains, where a warm campfire burned softly.

The young lady frowned into her glass, eyes questioning whether this was truly a beverage for humans to consume. She, lost in thought, looked at me strangely as I down-shotted my drink.

“Bitter.”
“It’s supposed to be.”
“Incredibly bitter.”
“As expected.”

The young lady, having braved a half glass in one gulp, learned the harsh taste of the drink. She then glanced at her glass, her face suggesting she’d never touch alcohol again, but pulled by my mocking implying her youth, she pushed her glass towards me.

“Pour me more.”
“Didn’t you find it unpleasant?”
“No, it’s good.”
“That’s a lie.”

A faint blush began showing on the young lady’s ears.

I hid the bottle behind my back, refusing, while she proudly argued her capability, boasting about her resilient liver.

The young lady, her eyes slightly unfocused, didn’t inspire much confidence.

Normally, she would bicker and growl with Gomtang, and I worried that alcohol might actually turn her into a real dog.

“You’ll become a dog if you drink more.”
“I’m already a dog.”
“You’ll become a mad dog.”
“Whyyy! It’s too little for just one glass. Give me another.”
“I can’t.”
“Give me! Or I won’t go home tonight.”

With a huff, the young lady stubbornly persisted.
Knowing her as the lady who, as her dedicated butler for the past 13 years, always kept her word, I sighed long and hard to prevent her from sleeping outdoors.

“Alright… Just one more glass.”
“Hehe. Okay.”

She shyly accepted the alcohol.

The buzz was kicking in.

Both for the young lady and myself.

Maybe it was because we hadn’t drunk in a while, but the buzz of the alcohol was slowly dismantling the filters on our mouths.

-Michail, that jerk.
-Why are you cursing Michail!
-Aren’t you annoyed? He looks like a leeching older brother.
-That’s true. Then I also say, Ricardo, you jerk!
-Why are you cursing at me?
-You stole the chocolate.
-There will be no snacks for you tomorrow.
-Eek… Ricardo, you’re an angel!
-Too late.

Meaningless conversation flowed.

We blurted out whatever came to mind, laughed foolishly, debated whether orcs or bears were stronger – such idle talk, taken seriously.

We engaged in mundane conversation. Not heavy talks of politics or academia, but light-hearted chat about trivial matters, emboldened by the effects of alcohol.

“I’m telling you! Back in the day, I was known as the social circle’s belle!”
“Surely not the hell of flies kind of belle?”
“I was called a rose! A rose!”
“Quite a thorny one, weren’t you?”
“Eek! Stop teasing me!”
“Puhahah!”

Back in my past life, I could handle three bottles of soju with ease…

Maybe it was because the liquor was expensive, or maybe because I was drinking with such a pretty person – but the alcohol tasted sweeter than usual.

Sip.

“Eh…”

Sip.

“Oh…?”

Sip.

“Uhihi!”

She was slowly getting to know the flavor of the liquor.

Crackle. By the dance of the hot campfire, the young lady held her glass and hesitated a moment.

Contemplating what to say, deep in thought, she tilted her glass. Just then, with a serious expression, the young lady cautiously began to speak.

“Ricardo.”
“Yes?”
“You see…”

Eyes filled with profound thought.

Her eyes, deepened by intoxication, felt oddly charged.

The young lady sighed heavily and threw a question at me.

“Are you going to get married?”

The question was so unexpected I let out a dry laugh. Marriage? I’d never even considered it.

I had always been too busy to think about it.
There were no women around.

The only women I had contact with were Hanna, Yuria, and the young lady – none of whom would consider marrying me.

They were all thriving in their own right.

With plenty of better-suited people around them, why would they care for a commoner like me? I forced a bitter smile as I responded to the young lady.

“Why do you ask about marriage?”
“Just… you’re of marrying age now, Ricardo.”
“Hm… That’s true. I’ve never thought about it, so I don’t know.”
“Aren’t you going to?”
“Well…”

The young lady fixed her gaze on the trembling surface of the drink, not lifting her head, her expression hidden from me, but I could guess what she might be feeling.

‘Maybe she doesn’t want us to part.’

She must be worried that I wouldn’t be by her side forever; typical selfish and wilful young lady, yet capable of envisioning the future, she might be struggling with these thoughts alone.

The liquor was making her reveal the emotions she’d kept hidden.

As someone in their early twenties without even a fiancée or a woman he regularly contacted, she might be worried, yet also afraid of the possibility that someday the person who had been by her side would leave. Perhaps that’s why she brought it up under the influence.

I looked at her resolutely, a small smile mingling with my voice, assuring her to cast away the worries she held inside.

“Marriage… I might not be able to do it, you know?”
“Oh…?”

Her expression turned cold at my words, the suggestion that maybe she was the reason I was held back reflected on her face. I thought to myself how lucky it was that she never took up acting.

It showed too much on her face.

With a playful tone, I teased her.

“It would indeed be a sin, for someone like me not to marry.”
“…It might be a blessing.”

Her sincerity surfaced at the most unnecessary moment. I flicked her forehead lightly and continued teasing.

“Perhaps because I see the most beautiful person in the world every day, my standards have gotten too high.”
“Beautiful?”
“Yes, a beauty with a blank mind and a love for chocolate. Merely pretty women? They don’t catch my eye.”

The young lady blushed and murmured subduedly, “That’s probably true…” as she shyly laughed.

Continuing the playful banter, I quipped.

“I was talking about someone in the mirror.”
“…It’s not me?”
“No.”

Only after seeing her carefree smile as she playfully tossed her fork did my worries subside.

In my heart, I confessed my true feelings.

‘Where would I go, leaving the young lady behind?’
The thought of leaving filled me with worry.

With a small smile, I asked the young lady,

“So, are you not planning to get married, young lady?”
“Me…?”

Her expression fell.

Realizing my mistake but it being too late to backtrack, I put on a bright smile and said to her,

“Maybe once your leg heals…”
“That’s a good point.”

She smiled faintly at me.

“Maybe I should just go ahead and marry Ricardo.”
“How can you choose a husband so easily? You should consider my feelings too.”

The young lady pouted her lips and glared at me.

“Do you dislike that idea?”

Could any man reject such words? In my mind, I had already envisioned having sons, daughters, and even great-grandchildren, and so, fully confident, I answered,

“How many children would you prefer?”
“…Pervert.”

Today, as usual, I was rejected by the young lady.

Alcohol turned serious conversations into laughter. It allowed us to lightly skip over topics that would have otherwise lingered gloomily in our sober minds.

The young lady and I shared a light moment of laughter, tossing aside our worries.

Fights. Politics. Friends. Accidents. While there are various topics suitable as accompaniments to alcohol, it seemed that love might be the best of all.

As the conversation turned from future plans to romance,

I cautiously repeated an earlier question to the young lady.

“Young lady.”
“Hmm?”
“What’s your ideal type like?”
“Me?”
“Yes.”
“Hmm…”

She furrowed her brow and was submerged in deep thought. When it came to matters of love, she always became extremely focused.

The young lady extended three fingers, folding one for each point as she listed them.

“Firstly, he must be handsome.”
“Well, you might as well say me.”
“Ricardo, you’re not good-looking.”
“I am more handsome than Ruin.”
“He’s not a person, he’s a lizard.”

Having inadvertently scored a point against Ruin, I clenched my fist. I thought about whether I should thank the young lady for even considering me human.

The young lady bent her second finger.

“Secondly, he must be kind.”
“That sounds like me. Where else could you find someone as kind as me?”

She looked at me skeptically.

“You ran away with a beggar’s money last time…”
“Did you see that?”
“Yes.”

I snorted and replied to the young lady.

“With that money, we bought and ate skewers, did we not?”
“Oh… then you’re kind. You pass.”

I had earned the young lady’s stamp of approval.

When it came time to bend the third finger, she said firmly,

“This one might be something Ricardo can’t do.”
“I’m a man capable of doing anything.”
“That’s a lie.”

She was unnecessarily quick-witted.

“The third thing is that the third leg has to be…”

I quickly covered her mouth.

My face flushed with heat. I questioned whether I had really heard what I thought I just heard.

The young lady was looking at me with innocent eyes, wondering why I had reacted that way and what could be wrong with what she had said.

I asked her,

“Where did you learn that phrase!”
“In the philosophy book you gave me. ‘Father, You Shouldn’t Do This!’ that’s what it said.”
“No… well…”

It was as if I had been suddenly jolted awake.

The drunken haze seemed to clear entirely. I was thankful because this realization likely saved me from a wheelbarrow DUI, but looking at the young lady’s naive eyes, I knew I had to thoroughly scrutinize the books I had given her from now on.

The young lady asked with an innocent look,

“Why? The book says the bigger, the better. Is yours small, Ricardo?”
“What?”

She had touched upon a man’s pride.

My face turned red, and I let out a deep sigh.

“No… it’s not that… but.”

The irony was in the fact that the person who asked the question was less embarrassed than the one responding, causing my face to burn fiercely.

The young lady nodded with a contented expression.

“The book said so. A man’s third leg must be robust and colossal.”

She was unintentionally making risque jokes.

Then, the young lady posed another question to me.

“So, what’s your ideal type, Ricardo?”

“I like… b…breasts…”

Right at that moment.

“Ugh… I’m getting drunk!”

The young lady fell over.

***

“Hehe! Heeheehee!”

The young lady was drunk.

Holding her glass of liquor, she spun around, like a pendulum swinging left, then right, over and over.

“Hihi? Ricardo, the world is spinning… I’m flying!”

It was as if she had gone mad.

“Ricardooo… why aren’t you eating? Drink more.”

The young lady was in high spirits.
Mistaking Gomtang for me, she held on to the dog, sniffed it, and mumbled that it smelled tasty, pretending to eat the top of Gomtang’s head.

She somehow managed to stand up and called attention to her empty glass.

“The glass is empty, Ricardo.”
“I will stop drinking now.”
“Hey!”

As she attempted to pour more alcohol into my glass, she bore a sloppy grin and scolded the empty glass like a boss would chastise an employee.

I cautiously reached for the bottle in the young lady’s hands and said,

“You’re quite drunk, young lady.”
“Not… I’m perfectly fine!”

The denial of a drunk is never credible. As I watched her slightly cross-eyed face, I became more certain of it.

“Yikes, my hand slipped.”

The nagging I had overheard at dinner parties. If the young lady ever entered the workforce, I thought to myself, she’d likely become an unbearable elder.

Reluctantly, I accepted the drink she poured.

The alcohol filled the glass indiscriminately, spilling over its rim. The young lady seemed unaware of this, still cheerfully insisting, “Eat. Eat.” and nodding along, but if I had any more to drink, I felt I might end up worse off than Gomtang lying beside me.

Carefully, I took away the glass of liquor from the young lady’s hand, and she opened her eyes wide, looking at her now empty hand.

“Huh?”

The young lady was startled.

“Why do you do that?”
“Someone stole my glass.”

Tears were welling up in her eyes.

“Haah…”

I realized it wouldn’t be good to let her drink too much.

*

On the way back to the mansion.

The young lady was lying in bed, sound asleep.

She was drooling on the pillow as she slept.

I stroked her hair and whispered softly,

“My ideal type is…”

At that moment, a faint light shone from my hand.

A blurry blue window appeared.

[The Touch of Rehabilitation is activated.]

I coughed up blood, but a smile never left my lips.

“It’s you, young lady.”