Chapter 419: The World of Nightlife
Merlin had his own "legitimate" reasons for opening the club. Even if he had dragged his former comrades-in-arms down with him into the hostess/host world, his moral character was quite questionable. As for his integrity, it had likely shattered into pieces over a thousand years ago; even if he wanted to pick it up, it had long since ceased to exist.
It was true that this place was part of the "dark world." Behind the glitz and glamour hid various dark elements—organized crime, drugs, gambling, and prostitution—operating on the fringes of the law and maintaining the status quo through violence. Compared to other establishments, at least the Knights of the Round Table weren't completely without bottom lines. As knights, they adhered to their own set of moral standards. While they might face various problems, they would never violate their vows of loyalty or moral righteousness.
Well, mostly... probably.
Shirou discovered that Lancelot and the others seemed quite satisfied with this work, which involved spending every day soaking with ladies; they were all enjoying themselves. As the "perfect knight" of the Round Table, Lancelot was besieged by jealous crowds wherever he went. Tristan, meanwhile, was a top-tier protagonist in the tragic stories widely circulated throughout Europe and America.
Following the rise of the British Empire, and with the light left behind by Shakespeare during the Renaissance becoming gradually better known, British opera experienced a second spring between the late 1980s and the 1990s, bathed in the glow of their predecessors. Beyond the pioneer of the women's movement, the Irishman George Bernard Shaw, who became famous across Europe and Asia, even Joan of Arc—whom the French had previously smeared alongside Shakespeare—was vindicated through his writing. The Englishman Oscar Wilde also flourished, becoming red-hot throughout the United States.
Many talented playwrights and actors emerged. Relying on genius ideas and acting, they improved and perfected centuries of drama to near perfection, achieving great success. The Knights of the Round Table and the Arthurian legends were naturally themes that European opera and theater loved to utilize. Of course, neither King Arthur nor Emperor Charlemagne was the only protagonist.
People often preferred the thrilling and occasionally tender adventures of the free knights over the aloof King. Thus, almost every well-known Round Table knight had their own spin-off stage play. Legends like King Arthur and the Round Table, Arthur and the legendary mage Merlin, Gawain and the Green Knight, the tales of Galahad, Percival, and Bors searching for the Holy Grail, the tragedy of Tristan and Isolde, Lancelot and Guinevere's forbidden romance, the ethics of Arthur and Morgan, and the rebellion ignited by Mordred—they undeniably possessed the charisma to captivate millions. Combined with their handsome visages, they were an unstoppable killing force. If not for the small scale of the club, it would have been easy for them to become the number one host club in Shinjuku's Kabukicho.
Though there was a purpose in earning funds to support Chaldea's cause, the Round Table Knights were, more than anything, the protectors of this place, using their own methods to comfort the ladies who came here. For the women who came to the Round Table Club, this place was, in a sense, a place of relaxation—a temporary harbor for the soul. It was just that the cost of staying was so high that ordinary people couldn't afford it.
Cruel reality doesn't change based on one's background; it's just that if you have power and money, you can often make certain problems cease to be problems. That is all. Ahead of these women, there was still a pile of even more troublesome matters waiting for them.
Even if they were rich or noble, they lived in Wako (Japan), a country where male chauvinism was severe and both the Gender Equality Index and the ranking of women's political status were in the bottom thirty of the world. It could be said that among countries in this world—excluding those that practiced religions like Islam or Hinduism, which were absolutely male-supremacist and permitted polygamy—it was one of the most unequal nations for women.
In male-chauvinistic countries, women who spent decades of their lives managing household chores and caring for children were often viewed as fulfilling an obligation rather than contributing. As long as a man worked and provided living expenses on time, he could comfortably live a life of eating and reading the newspaper. Even for working women, those in management positions accounted for less than 15%, the glass ceiling for promotion was several levels lower than for men, and even in the same job, the gender wage gap was about 25%. One could imagine the pressure women faced here was far greater than in other countries.
Of course, no matter how poor Wako was in this regard, it was still a developed nation. Look at the Philippines—which was once the second-largest economy in Asia, fully Westernized, and even respected women's rights more than the United States—yet it still couldn't shake off decline and poverty. Because it was a country whose official media was under strong U.S. control, the news released was mostly negative. Much like the image of the West in the news broadcasts of certain other nations, in the public's perception, China was constantly in dire straits—still backward, barbaric, and poor. Thus, even though it was close to the mainland and many Chinese bosses had taken root there, few Filipinos came to China for development. Those with capability tried every way to immigrate to the U.S., while those with lesser ability ended up as the millions of Filipino maids who snuck into Taiwan or Hong Kong.
Being content with poverty is not a simple thing. The more choices one has and the stronger one's desires, the more restless one becomes. People actually understand that beyond material enjoyment, there are more important things. Living in this world, money had long ago come to represent more than just wealth; it was a multiple standard—it was power, dignity, marriage, family, health, and the prerequisite for possessing those more important things.
But even if some people satisfied these prerequisites, they still couldn't feel happy. Even if someone suddenly came into a fortune and possessed a vast amount of money, they wouldn't necessarily obtain those important things. How to live a more fulfilling life was something
many people couldn't figure out; they didn't know what they truly wanted, and only money could bring their hearts a sliver of peace.
Shirou observed the outside through the glass on the lounge door. This was a specially installed glass; from the outside looking in, one would only see a mirror reflecting the colorful lights.
At that moment, a large hand suddenly appeared and slapped the mirror. Shirou was so startled he jumped back two steps. Then the door opened, and a handsome, tall man walked in. He carried that slightly rakish air women loved: a rugged profile between his brows and nose, thick eyebrows, and large eyes—very imposing. He was the "wild-style" strong-willed hunk type.
"Oh, Shirou, you kid, back from earning extra pocket money? What are you peeking at? This is a male host club, not a women's bathhouse." The man approached Shirou with an air of pressure.
Familiar memories surfaced in Shirou's mind. The identity of this man was self-evident: he was the one among the Round Table Knights most skilled at swimming, capable of holding his breath underwater for three days and three nights. If you put him in a pure black high-school uniform—a Japanese military-style jacket—and a black military cap, he would be the invincible, strongest banchō. Yes! That was the gentleman with the star-shaped birthmark, the one who beat all vampires to a pulp. Though, relatively speaking, he also looked like someone who could easily be ambushed by a priest and killed.
"The hundred thousand you owe me—can you pay it back now?!" the man asked viciously.
"I don't owe you money, and I won't borrow money from you. Just give up, Kay," Shirou said irritably.
"What's this? Merlin said you had amnesia, but it turns out..." The man laughed heartily, walked up, draped an arm over Shirou's shoulder, and said with great familiarity.
"Kay, I didn't see you just now. Did you go out, too?" Shirou asked the man hanging off his shoulder.
"Ah, after all, moving my body suits me better than moving my mouth," the man said, as if it were natural.
"Did that guy Merlin move all the Round Table Knights here?" Shirou sighed, annoyed.
Kay waved a hand, dismissing Shirou's thought. "No, no, how could that be? Counting that bastard Merlin, there are only seven of us. The other idiots in the Round Table aren't really suitable. The young ones are too young, or they're directly female. If Agravain with that bitter face were here, his sour expression alone would scare the guests away. If Galahad were here, this shop wouldn't be able to stay open."
"But those idiots are all unreliable guys anyway," Kay said, sweeping a scornful glance over everyone outside through the glass window.
"Eh? Really? I think they're doing pretty well?" Shirou said, not quite believing him.
"No, there's going to be trouble immediately," Kay said with utmost certainty, lazily bending his pinky finger to pick his ear.
Although the hosts of the Round Table Knights were all above average in both character and appearance—with Tristan being the most beautiful among the beauties according to current Asian aesthetics—they each had fatal flaws. For instance, Lancelot always fell in love with married women, only to have the woman's husband show up at the door.
And sure enough, a bearded man with the air of a mob boss—looking vicious at a glance—walked into the club with his dark-suited, sunglasses-wearing subordinates. They surrounded the sofa where Lancelot was sitting.
"Um... may I ask who you are and what you want?" Lancelot asked, blocking the noblewoman who had requested him behind his back and staring directly at the menacing newcomer.
"You bastard! Don't you know this is the boss of the Inugane-gumi (Dog-Gold Association)! Lower your head! I'll slaughter you!" the underling beside him said viciously.
"Inugane-gumi? Ah, the dark forces in this place are called... Yakuza, right? Then what business do you have with me?" Lancelot asked with curiosity, without any nervousness.
"What you're holding in your arms is the boss's wife, you idiot!!!"
"You punk, just how long are you going to hold my wife?!" The mob boss drew a katana, held it high over his head, and was about to bring it down on Lancelot.
"Shut up!! If you're going to be jealous, then actually keep me company! Is being with your idols every day really that fun~!!" At that moment, the lady delivered a sky-high punch right into the boss's chin, sent him flying, and roared in anger.
"Boss~!" the underlings shouted in panic.
The fallen mob boss raised a hand to stop his men, climbed up from the floor while trembling, and said affectionately: "Ah... even if I'm busy with work and haven't been able to accompany you, I do this work to give you a better life. The only person I love is you."
"Darling..." The wife's eyes welled up with tears, and she clasped her hands together in a very moved state.
The purple-haired man nodded to the wife, then turned to look at the boss on the ground and shouted loudly: "Hey, Boss!"
"What?" asked the boss, whose chin was swollen into a bun, impatiently.
"I, Lancelot, swear on my life that the lady and I have absolutely not crossed that line. It was merely an exchange on a spiritual level."
"Is that so...?" The boss turned his head in confusion and looked at his wife, asking.
"Of course. I was just too lonely, so I came here to have a drink. How could I ever betray you?" the wife replied affectionately.
"Husbands and wives shouldn't fight. You two are meant for each other in life and death; if you separate, you will absolutely regret it later," Lancelot said, his eyes revealing sorrow as if he had remembered something.
"Yes, we understand. See you later~!" The mobster and his wife embraced lovingly and waved goodbye to Lancelot.
Watching the dark mass of people leave the shop, Shirou, who had been peeking from inside, breathed a sigh of relief.
"See?" Kay, next to him, said gleefully.
"In any case, it's really good that nothing happened," Shirou said helplessly.
"No, the problem has just begun," Kay said, crossing his arms and watching the drama.
Tristan was the most popular and was happy to serve the ladies, but such behavior often caused "fires in the harem," leading to fights between guests or even turning friends and relatives into rivals who harbored jealousy and enmity.
As for Gawain, he was so insensitive in his speech that, despite looking like a bright, handsome blonde, what he said was always inappropriate. It was as if, just when people wanted to savor a delicacy, he would suddenly appear, swap away all the delicious food, and then serve a large bucket of mashed potatoes with a bright, cheerful smile.
Fortunately, the ladies, considering their super-high beauty levels, managed to fix all of this through various means.
As for Bedivere... he might be the truly hopeless one. In his seating area, a noisy commotion broke out.
"Bedi, I didn't come here to hear you talk about the past between you and that Miss King! I don't care if she's Chinese or British! Anyway, I spent money to come here—enough is enough! I'm going home tonight!" A wealthy businesswoman, about thirty-four or thirty-five years old, shouted angrily, grabbed her bag, and was about to walk out.
"Ah, can't be saved. Then it's your turn to shine. Out you go~! Shirou!"
"Eh, eh?" Shirou was pushed until he stumbled and jumped out the door of the lounge, just in time to block the path of the angry businesswoman who was trying to leave.
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