DBCR 07

Chapter 07

Irix handed me a napkin.
On it, written in elegant cursive, were these words:

“Central Line Express
…running together with your beautiful memories.”

The letters began to blur, as if soaked in water.
I waited.
Just as expected, clear new words appeared over the stain.

“Congratulations. You’ve finally met him.”

Yeah. Finally done with my ghost phase and met the mastermind. Thank god it really was the mastermind. Otherwise, I’d just be some creepy adult talking to a minor who was alone.

“We have prepared something for you.”

I was wondering what it could be when a waiter came over carrying a bottle of wine.
Isn’t there anyone else? Every time that guy shows up, something bad happens—
Bang—

Of course.

The table shook, and the red wine inside the bottle sloshed all the way up to the cork.
The lettering on the label blurred, and new words appeared.

“This is my gift.”

So… a kind of quest reward, I guess.

But how exactly did he give it to me? I looked around.
There was no one who looked like “him.”

A short, stocky man with his nose buried in the menu.
Two women who had already finished an entire bottle.
A noisy group of young men and women.
A couple reading different newspapers.

I looked back at the wine bottle.
The label had returned to normal.

Something about being raised in some castle, made from some grapes, a perfect blessing that evokes this-and-that emotion and this-and-that memory—
Whatever. The name was something like Waralala.

It sounded like the long-winded description written next to an overpriced perfume bottle. You have no idea what they’re even trying to say, which makes it exactly the same.

Irix asked,
“Did you order this, senior?”
“It does seem like it was placed here because of me.”
“That’s expensive.”

How do you know that? And why are you looking at me suspiciously while saying it?

I stared at the wine bottle. Normally, the waiter opens it for you, right? Or at least gives you an opener. I can’t exactly grab the neck and smash it—

That’s when Baemi wrapped herself around the bottle. Irix’s eyes widened and his shoulders jerked. Slithering up the bottle, Baemi examined the cork, tilting her head as if calculating the angle.

Irix pressed his back tightly against the chair.

“……”

Apologize right now—to a world that gets destroyed by the likes of you.
No, maybe I should curse the world for being weak enough to be ruined by the likes of you.

After inspecting the cork, Baemi sank her fangs into it—

Pop—

Oh. It opened.

Baemi flicked the cork away, then tried to crawl into the bottle, but I grabbed her.

What are you planning to do in there? Turn yourself into snake wine?

I pushed her away as she tried to climb back up, picked up the bottle, and asked,
“Irix, what about you?”
“I don’t like alcohol. You drink it, senior.”

So it’s not about being a minor—it’s just a matter of taste.
Right. If he can tell it’s expensive, he must know a thing or two about alcohol.

I poured the wine into the glass beside me.

Glug glug—

I pulled Baemi back as she tried to stick her head into the cup, then took a sip.

It was fragrant and sharp…
Warmth spread through my body, and my mood lifted.

“Senior.”
“What?”

Irix was pointing at Baemi.

“Is that okay?”
“What—ah.”

Baemi was swallowing a silver teaspoon, pushing it past her throat.

Why is she doing th—
Ah. That’s not okay.

I hurriedly grabbed the spoon and pulled. Baemi glared at me resentfully and clenched her jaws. For a creature no thicker than a finger, she was ridiculously strong.

Tug—

I lost. The teaspoon was hers, and just like that—

Gulp.

I expected her small body to take on the shape of the spoon, but nothing changed. She’d swallowed something thicker than herself and looked perfectly fine—just licking her lips, smacking them as if disappointed.

Do snakes here live on silver?
Or is that only for winged snakes?

I looked at Irix.

He was just frowning slightly. It was the level of reaction you’d have after seeing the neighbor’s dog steal meat from the next house’s kitchen.

“You’re paying for that,” Irix said.

So eating it wasn’t the problem. The price was.

And yeah—that is a problem.

“Why would I pay?”
“Because she’s your snake.”
“Irix, Baemi originally lived here.”
“And how does that change anything?”
“It means it’s not my responsibility—it’s a natural disaster that happened to the train. Like a wolf from the mountains eating a sheep. Just because the wolf was standing next to me for a bit doesn’t mean I have to pay for the sheep it ate.”

Irix looked like he was thinking, What kind of nonsense am I listening to?

I’m probably the only person in this world who gets looked down on by the mastermind over something like this.

“So no matter what a venomous snake does, you’re not responsible?”
“Don’t call her venomous.”
“That might just be stating a fact.”
“Do you have proof she’s venomous?”

Irix couldn’t answer. Of course he couldn’t. And usually, if you do get proof that a snake is venomous, you’re not exactly in a condition to present evidence.

“Irix, if you don’t know whether it’s true or not, then even if you say it, it’s not stating a fact.”
“Who says?”
“The law does. The law. And only about 15% of snakes worldwide are venomous, and they’re all wild—so unless you go poking around where they live, you’re fine.”

As far as I know, cobras are innocent. It’s humans stepping on their tails while they’re sleeping who are the problem.

While we were talking, the food finally arrived.

As expected, the waiter boldly set the steak plate down on the table.

No—he threw it.

Bang—

Sauce splattered everywhere, but the waiter didn’t even apologize. He walked off proudly.

Irix frowned at the plate.

“This isn’t what I ordered.”

I looked at mine.

I was supposed to get a massive steak, but instead there was a palm-sized filet. About a quarter of what I’d expected.

Terrible service, wrong orders—just bringing whatever they feel like.

How does that waiter even work here? Why is no one complaining? In my experience, the kind of jerks who come to places this fancy complain loudly enough for the railway company president to hear just because they don’t like the sound of a plate being set down.

…No. Maybe this is just the custom of another world.

“Guess we just eat it,” I said.

Irix cut straight through the center of the steak, speared one piece with his fork, and swallowed it in one bite. It happened in an instant. He’d only taken one bite, but half the steak was already gone.

“Eat. It tastes good.”

Is that how you’re supposed to eat?

I guess so.

Better not stand out as an outsider. Like a local, like a local.
I cut a big chunk of meat and put it in my mouth.

“……!”

It’s seriously good.

And it’s the first proper meal I’ve had since coming here. No—probably the first real meal in years. I’d have been happy eating meat that tasted like shoe soles, but this was genuinely delicious.

The letters on the menu the waiter hadn’t taken blurred, then new words appeared, trailing smoke.

“How is the meal?”

“It’s great.”

Irix paused before eating the rest and looked at me.

“I’m glad.”

I drank the wine. The flavors of the meat and wine blended together.

“You’ll have something to do soon.”

I knew it.
Just meeting this guy wasn’t going to save the world that easily.

I poured more wine, filling my empty glass, and waited for the next words.

“Go to school with him.”

…What?
School?

Why would I go to a place like that?