Old friends

Selina’s first visit to Leisen’s Tavern wasn’t for drinking. Her mentor, a notorious drunk in Kendall Town, had racked up a tab he couldn’t pay.

Known for his drinking habits, the barkeep didn’t beat the old man or throw him out.

Instead, they sent for Kant, his only apprentice and shadow, to settle the bill.

Truth be told, that first visit was mortifying for Kant. The curious stares from the tavern’s patrons felt like they were gawking at some oddity.

Initially, he thought his crippled right arm drew their attention. Only later did he realize their surprise stemmed from learning the old drunk had a kid.

More than master and apprentice, their bond resembled father and son. Legally, it was so—when the old man took Kant from the orphanage, their papers listed him as guardian.

Despite his love for liquor, the old man was sharp in other matters. But his earnings were squandered on drink, until Kant, fed up, staged a midnight coup, wresting financial control for the price of a single cup.

From then on, in their makeshift family of master and apprentice, Kant held the purse strings.

That first meeting with Leisen, in this very tavern, was born of necessity.

Rumor had it Leisen’s father founded the place, but he died young, killed by enemies. Everyone expected the orphaned boy to end up a street urchin.

Yet, Leisen, with unimaginable resolve, saved the failing tavern.

His will and tenacity subdued the rowdy patrons, turning it into Leisen’s Tavern. Those who killed his father paid dearly in time.

It was hard to believe a child could do this. But when Kant first met Leisen, he saw why.

Those dark brown eyes held a maturity and decisiveness beyond his years.

A skinny teenager in a barkeep’s uniform stood at the counter, yet his presence silenced the chaotic tavern. His eagle-like gaze made troublemakers quail.

“Are you Morrison’s kid?” Leisen asked.

“Yeah,” Kant replied.

Their first face-to-face exchange. Leisen’s maturity was startling, his aura stronger than many adults.

“Your master drank five mugs of ale, 55 coppers total. Since he’s a regular, let’s call it 50,” Leisen said, his steady voice reliable despite his youthful appearance.

Leisen proved more than dependable. After Kant paid, the boy even helped haul the drunken old man out, cementing their acquaintance.

After the mentor’s death, Leisen was among the few who paid respects at his grave. From then on, Kant claimed his master’s favorite seat, unchallenged.

Over decades, Leisen became one of Kant’s few close friends in Kendall.

Kant learned of Leisen’s struggles—a boy bearing a family’s burden, growing the tavern, and avenging his father.

Besides his mentor, Leisen knew Kant better than anyone, even more than his apprentice.

Now, meeting again, nostalgia flooded Selina.

Five years later, Leisen looked much the same, only his beard a touch thicker.

Noticing the complex look in her eyes, Leisen tapped the counter, the crisp sound pulling her from memories.

“Miss, your ale’s ready.”

He slid a wooden mug of frothy yellow ale toward her.

The familiar scent hit Selina, and under Cuibis’s worried gaze, she took a bold sip.

The alcohol stung her new body, unaccustomed even to mild ale. Her brows furrowed, but she forced it down.

As expected, this body struggled with alcohol.

After a few sips, though, the rich malt and slight bitterness brought back old sensations, easing her lingering worries with a refreshing calm.

Setting the mug down, she met Leisen’s sharp brown eyes.

“You don’t seem used to our ale, yet your ordering and drinking suggest an old regular,” he said, leaning on the counter, his strong fingers gripping the edge, casually probing.

Selina, knowing Leisen’s knack for gathering information, realized he’d sensed something despite her changed appearance.

“I’ve been to similar taverns with my father. Not quite familiar, just… influenced,” she replied with a polite smile, embodying a refined noble lady.

She longed to reconnect, to drink and talk of the past five years with her old friend.

But as a princess, her identity carried too many complications. Recognizing Leisen could bring trouble to his tavern.

She didn’t want one of her few friends entangled because of her.

Besides, she was no longer Kant. Let memories stay in the past—unspoiled, even if tinged with regret.

“Is that so? Influenced… I’m curious who your father might be. Your habits remind me of an old acquaintance,” Leisen said, still tapping the counter, his sharp gaze softening with a hint of reminiscence.