The faintest clink of glass meeting wood was swallowed by the quiet murmur of the bar.
Beneath the glass, barely visible, was a neatly folded piece of paper.
'Huh...?'
Arthur didn't rush. To an outsider, he was simply reaching for his drink; his movements were unhurried, natural.
The moment his fingers curled around the stem, he subtly slid the paper free, palming it with ease before unfolding it under the cover of his sleeve.
A single word stared back at him.
Harrington.
A name bound to County, a family steeped in naval tradition.
A slow realization settled in his chest, cold and unrelenting.
The ship his father had been on, the one that had disappeared without a trace, wasn't simply an unfortunate accident.
The Harringtons were involved.
The glass in his hand felt heavier than before.
He exhaled slowly, setting the paper down as though it meant nothing.
"Haa... Thank you..."
A simple phrase, one that could mean anything. But here, it was an acknowledgment, a quiet acceptance of the truth that had been laid before him.
The man only inclined his head before turning away, resuming his work as though nothing had passed between them.
Shortly after, the bartender arrived with Demetrius' drink.
"Here is your drink, sir."
A crystal glass was placed before him with meticulous care, the amber liquid catching the low, flickering glow of the lanterns.
The soft clink of glass against wood rang louder than it should have, reverberating in the hushed silence.
Demetrius acknowledged the server with a slight nod, his movements deliberate, as if time itself bent to his pace.
He lifted the glass, swirling the whiskey in slow, controlled motions before bringing it to his lips.
"You haven't been here before, have you?"
"No. I haven't."
"Mm."
Arthur's gaze drifted toward the transparent window.
"What is this place anyway?"
'I already know but... I should act the part like he said, shouldn't I?'
Demetrius leaned back slightly, his sharp gaze flickering toward Arthur.
"As you can probably tell, it's an information guild. I thought to let you know earlier in case I were to disappear one day as well."
"Grandfather, you can't just disappear like Father. You have to hand me the head position before that. And I must remind you it's not even been a month since I was appointed as acting head, and it would take a year for that to happen. That is, if Father doesn't return by then."
Demetrius looked at Arthur with a surprised expression before bursting into laughter.
"Hahaha! You sure have a good sense of humor, don't you? If I were to disappear, doesn't it mean you will be handed the head position automatically?"
"Not necessarily. Who would prefer an immature young master over an experienced adult who has been managing his own domain for years?"
Demetrius took another slow sip from the liquor glass.
"Are you afraid that your uncle would take the head position for himself?"
Arthur shrugged.
"No, I'm not afraid. I'm merely overly cautious of what is mine, in case it is threatened by someone else later on."
Demetrius laughed again at Arthur's words.
"Haha! Alright, I'll be sure to write a will before that happens."
"I would appreciate it."
"Sure, sure."
Outside, the city of Westmere pulsed with life even as the rain poured continuously.
People moved through the streets in an unbroken current, their lives dictated by ambition, by hunger, by the unrelenting drive to carve out a place for themselves.
But Arthur was still unable to find his right place among them. He wasn't sure why he was here in this foreign world and what had happened with his remaining family in his past life. That is, if one could call them a family.
'I wish I belonged somewhere, anywhere.'
Demetrius' fingers tapped idly against the counter as he hummed softly.
"Alright then, shall we test your abilities?"
"P-pardon?"
"Take a look outside..."
Arthur did as he was asked, letting his gaze sweep over the streets beyond the fogged windowpane.
"And tell me the difference in behavior between the people of Westmere and Ashbourne."
Arthur frowned slightly, watching the scene unfold before him.
The noblemen passed by in their carriages, their faces obscured behind lace-draped windows, their presence fleeting, indifferent.
The common folk navigated the streets with a different kind of grace, one honed by necessity rather than breeding. They moved like a current, weaving through the labyrinth of cobblestone roads with an unhesitating rhythm.
Merchants called out in sharp, rehearsed voices, their cries rising above the din of clattering hooves and hurried footsteps.
Westmere was not ruled by titles alone. It thrived on movement, on calculated ambition. It belonged to those who understood that to slow down was to be left behind.
"Once you succeed, I will grant you a wish. Anything you require."
The promise, spoken so lightly, carried a weight beyond its words. There was no warmth to it, no indulgence, no sentimentality.
A detached offering, as if the fulfillment of Arthur's desires were nothing more than a transaction to be upheld.
Arthur did not respond immediately, his fingers tightening slightly around the cool surface of the bar.
"Alright. I'll try."
After a brief moment, Demetrius glanced at the glass of wine held in Arthur's hand.
"Ah, right. Who did you have your first drink with?"
Since it was a custom to have one's first drink with their father, Demetrius was merely curious to know how Arthur had spent his coming of age.
"I drank alone in my study. But why do you ask, Grandfather?"
Demetrius shrugged and said:
"It's nothing more than mere curiosity. That son of mine sure had to disappear at the wrong time."
'The people called him the cold-hearted father, but perhaps... he just didn't know how to show his care to his children.'
Demetrius' gaze didn't linger on Arthur any longer but shifted toward the new arrivals into the bar.
Instinctively, Arthur followed his line of sight.
And that was when he noticed them.
A group of two young men occupied the seats beside Demetrius, their polished boots resting lazily against the wooden floorboards.
"Haha, see? I told you we should have come here earlier."
Their laughter was quiet yet rich with arrogance, their hushed words threading through the space between clinking glasses.
They moved with the ease of those untouched by hardship, their privilege draped over them as naturally as the fine fabric of their tailored coats.
But it was one among them who caught his attention.
A young man, his crimson-colored hair cropped in the latest noble fashion, his piercing gray eyes gleaming with an air of practiced self-assurance.
There was an unmistakable sharpness to him, a kind of controlled arrogance that marked those accustomed to standing above others.
"Don't make it too obvious."
He took a measured sip of whiskey, his expression betraying nothing.
Arthur forced himself to lower his gaze, fingers curling against the glass in front of him.
Demetrius noticed him still looking their way. He then placed his glass down with a deliberate clink and spoke up.
"If you must observe, use the tools at your disposal. The glass, the bottles behind the counter, anything but direct observation."
A lesson, not just for this moment, but for a lifetime.
Arthur adjusted his focus, letting his eyes drift toward the bottles lined along the bar's front wall. He looked at the young men in the liquor bottles, their reflections distorted.
Their mouths moved, laughter spilling between words too quiet to reach him.
"Did you hear? Ashbourne's acting head has arrived in the capital for quite some time now."
"Yes. He hasn't been seen in high society, has he? What do you think? Is it because he isn't good enough to be presented?"
A quiet snicker followed.
"That doesn't seem to be the case."
"Do you really think so? I believe now that he no longer has his father to shield him, he's probably cowering inside his manor."
It wasn't the words themselves that stung Arthur. He had expected this, after all. Of course they would talk.
They would whisper behind his back, behind titles and careful pleasantries. That was the nature of nobility.
He was always talked about behind his back, be it in his past life or this one. The evil intentions of evil people were clearly visible to him.
But it wasn't the words that hurt him the most. It was the way they spoke of him so casually.
As if he was nothing more than a passing thought, an insignificant curiosity, neither worthy of fear nor respect.
Before Arthur could speak, Demetrius murmured in a low voice.
"Don't let them bother and distract you."
He reached for his whiskey once more, the movement as measured as his words.
"This is what it means to be an Ashbourne. I believe you should be used to this by now, shouldn't you? After all, gossip and envy will follow you wherever you go."
Arthur inhaled, slow and deep, letting the breath settle something within him.
"I understand."