Chapter 10: !@~!!@#~!*%$~!@

“Damn it!”

How long do I have to wait for my paycheck?

If I have to wait more than 24 hours from now on, should I bang my head against the wall until my brain turns to mush?

If I don’t remember waiting, does that mean I didn’t wait?

If I erase my memory just before the day ends until the paycheck arrives, doesn’t that mean I only waited one day?!

You’re saying I only have to wait one night for my paycheck?

Even ginger isn’t that exciting~???

“Holy crap!”

I only have to wait one day for my paycheck!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Why!!!!!!!! Because!!!!!!!!!! Heeheeheeheeheeheeheeheeheeheehee!?!?@?@?!?>@<!!!

My heaaaaaad¡!!!!!¡¡!!¡!¡!¡!!!!

One day, one day!!!!!¡¡!!!!!!#^#¤♧☆¥¥°$^¿¡!?!!?!¡¿¡?¡

Yippee~~~!!!!~~~!!~

――

People who can drink well and those who can’t.

Which category do I fall into? Probably the former.

Back in my college days, at a semi-forced MT gathering, I realized I was quite strong when it came to alcohol.

While seniors who boasted about being heavy drinkers and having alcohol instead of blood in their veins were passing out in all sorts of embarrassing ways, I alone remained sober amidst the chaos of inhuman screams and convulsions.

In the middle of that hell, I thought to myself… At least I won’t make such a fool of myself in front of others – how fortunate.

After that, drinking became one of my hobbies.

Not drinking for the purpose of getting drunk, but for the taste – gastronomic drinking, you could say. That kind of direction.

Matching my alcohol tolerance, my palate turned out to be quite compatible with alcohol. Before I knew it, I had become a regular at bars, periodically sipping classic cocktails.

However, I never really thought deeply about other people’s drinking capacity.

For me, drinking was just a personal hobby, and I had never drunk with anyone else.

Company dinners? I avoided them all. I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve had meals with other people.

Even if I did attend such gatherings, I didn’t drink. For someone like me who drinks for the taste, the domestic soju and beer often consumed at such drinking parties are… honestly, less flavorful than carbonated barley tea with artificial sweeteners or North Korean Beer.

I drink alone at bars, with simple snacks like nuts or fruit, or garnishes.

Having a drinking session with others was something I couldn’t even imagine.

“….Hanbyeol?”

“Hehehe…”

That’s why I had forgotten for a while.

That my alcohol tolerance is several times, even dozens of times higher than that of an average person.

“Hueee….he~.”

And also that the average person’s liver isn’t as robust as mine.

I knew he was someone who disliked bitter tastes to the point of adding extra water to his iced Americano.

If you add to that the strong scent of alcohol and the burdensome swallowing, he might have spat out the drink instead of swallowing it.

So I deliberately recommended cocktails that didn’t have a noticeable alcohol scent and were smooth to swallow, like juice. Things like Screwdriver, Blue Sky, Tequila Sunrise, and Balalaika.

The problem is… alcohol content doesn’t always directly correlate with taste.

There’s a term called “lady killer.”

It literally means cocktails that women get intoxicated by, lured by their pretty appearance and sweet taste – cocktails that “kill” women, so to speak.

The cocktails I recommended to him were all lady killers. Sweet, without an alcoholic taste, but large in volume and high in alcohol content.

I swear, it absolutely, absolutely wasn’t intentional, but…

..I had sent him over the waves of intoxication.

“Hanbyeol, are you oka…”

“No, I’m fine~.”

His face flushed red, he hugged me tightly and shook his head.

“Call me like you used to~like before~.”

“Like… before..?”

What does he mean by “before”?

Amusingly, I know the answer. There was only one time when the way we addressed each other changed.

“Han…byeol?”

“Hehehe, Older sister~.”

During the time when we were having an extremely dry relationship.

He called me “Older sister,” and I spoke informally to him. He said it felt too stiff to use formal speech with someone older than him, especially a lover.

“It feels so much better without the ‘ssi’ at the end. Always so stiffly calling me Seo Hanbyeol-ssi, Seo Hanbyeol-ssi…”

“…”

Even now after breaking up, it seems he was secretly hurt by my businesslike treatment.

Before he became a woman, I did it so he would hate and resent me, and after he became a woman, I did it to scold myself not to harbor futile feelings.

“But it’s nice~. Is it because it’s been a while~?”

“..You’re very drunk, aren’t you.”

“Hic, drunk? No, I’m not drunk. Not drunk.”

Insisting that he wasn’t drunk while clearly showing signs of intoxication was a common drunk behavior, so.

“….I’ll be going now. Here, the bill please.”

“Okay―, come again―.”

I hurriedly paid the bill and then supported her, who was mumbling unintelligible nonsense, as we went outside.

“I told you I’m not drunk, really I’m fi- urk.”

“…”

The warm breath on my ear and nape, and the strong scent of alcohol.

Today, that scent seemed several times more stimulating than usual.

That aside, I came out in a hurry, but… a problem arose.

“…Where to…”

Where should I go?

I don’t know where this person lives. And he probably doesn’t know where I live either.

We’ve never visited each other’s homes, so how would we know which apartment and unit number the other lives in?

“Hanbyeol s…Hanbyeol, what’s your home addre…”

“Home, home? The com, company is home. I spend more time there than at home, so the company is home, right?”

Of course, asking a drunk person for their home address won’t yield a proper answer. I didn’t expect it to in the first place.

But unless he tells me directly, there’s no way for me to find out his home address. The words of an unconscious person are the only clue.

If that’s not the case, if there’s somewhere else to go besides his home.

That would be a much more realistic and safe option than waiting endlessly for him to sober up, but…

“….Ugh.”

At this hour, this late at night, the only place I could go was…

..There was only one place.

――

The all too familiar sound of the door lock disengaging.

Meow―

Maru, who came out to greet its owner returning late, seemed bothered by the strong smell of alcohol and retreated back to its favorite cushion without coming closer than 3 meters.

“Huff….huff…”

“Neh~.”

Although the living room was pitch dark without a single light on, I could clearly see its layout even in the darkness.

It would be stranger not to remember the layout of a place I’ve lived in for nearly 5 years.

“…Haah..”

Yes, I ended up bringing him here after all.

To my home, my private space where no one but me and Maru had ever set foot.

I didn’t harbor any strange thoughts or ulterior motives whatsoever.

There was no way to know his home address, and I couldn’t just dump a drunk person at the company. I had no choice but to bring him to my place. There was no other intention.

“Heave….ho..”

“Mmm…”

Thankfully, he was relatively well-behaved for someone completely drunk.

He kept mumbling something and squirming, but not enough to hinder bringing him here.

Above all, he didn’t show any beastly behavior like vomiting or wetting himself, unlike what my seniors had shown at that MT long ago.

If he had shown such behavior, it would have been quite troublesome. Besides the smell, I would have had to wash him. Directly, with my own hands, undressing him…”

“…”

Let’s not think about it. Just thinking about it makes my face burn. Why am I recalling such embarrassing things…

“Older sister.”

“!”

At that moment, someone’s hand overlapped mine as I sat on the edge of the bed.

Actually, it’s pointless to say “someone.” Who else could it be here besides me and the other person? It’s not like Maru placed its small paw on the back of my hand.

“Hehehe.”

“….!”

And as I turned my head reflexively at his call, I couldn’t help but gasp.

Because he was smiling. A smile that he might think is the same as usual.

But that smile was… clearly different. From the usual one.

Flushed cheeks and unfocused eyes from the alcohol, parted lips.

The nape and collarbone slightly visible through his disheveled clothes.

“…..”

It was an expression he had never made before, and an appearance he had never shown before.

To me or to others, his usual smile was as bright as sunshine, not this sensual.

“….No.”

I mustn’t cross the line.

Absolutely, I must not cross the line.

Absolutely, absolutely―

“….Hee.”

But the moment he smiled with his eyes.

The moment his eyes crinkled with a playful whimper.

“….I’m sorry.”

At that moment, I felt something snap in my head.

The rope called self-control, already taut and stretched to its limit.

――

Meow―

“….?”

What’s this?

Did I have a cat? No, I shouldn’t have.

Then what’s the identity of this chubby cat looking at me?

No, in the first place.

“….Uh..”

Where is this?