"...I only like girls!" Turner blurted out.
Morin's words had made the atmosphere strange, and a terrifying guess flashed through his mind, forcing him to clarify immediately.
"I know! I only like girls too!" Morin rolled his eyes.
"I mean, there's still plenty of time. You can learn slowly."
"Learn?"
"It's just a few hundred kinds of wine. A few hundred words at most, and a lot of them repeat." Morin spoke calmly. "Even if your memory isn't as good as mine, an ordinary person should be able to remember the names and match them correctly in one night, right?"
Turner: "..."
Are you a little disconnected from what 'ordinary' means?
"I guess... maybe... perhaps..."
"Then let's begin."
Turner had no choice but to shut up and follow Morin.
What else could he do?
The boss had spoken. The employee obeyed.
The next day.
Morin's first pub officially opened.
After everything that had happened before, almost everyone in town already knew about Morin and his pub. And since Morin had deliberately-or unintentionally-mentioned the wine during those incidents, curiosity had spread everywhere.
What kind of wine was it?
Naturally, a crowd gathered outside.
Others saw the crowd, grew curious, and came over to ask.
Once they understood what was going on, even more people arrived.
Exactly as Morin had calculated.
Under everyone's gaze, the pub door opened.
A bleary-eyed Turner walked out.
He yawned uncontrollably.
For Turner's physique, staying up all night wasn't a big deal.
But it depended on what you stayed up doing.
Many people had experienced this-staying up all night gaming versus staying up all night studying.
Same time. Same body.
One leaves you energized. The other leaves you inexplicably exhausted.
Except for the last day of summer or winter break.
Turner was no exception.
Today was his first official day of work. He forced himself not to fall asleep.
Even so, drowsiness was unavoidable.
In that state, learning efficiency naturally dropped.
Fortunately, Morin had given him several magic spells to keep his spirits up.
He barely made it through the night.
In short, after being "tortured" by Morin all night, Turner had memorized several hundred wine names.
Sometimes, if you don't push yourself, you never realize what you're capable of.
Many students would understand this deeply.
Passing an entire subject in a single day-sometimes one you never paid attention to in class-wasn't unheard of.
Turner had no complaints.
Morin paid him generously. This level of effort was nothing.
Yawning, however, was a physical reaction he couldn't control.
As he stepped forward, mid-yawn, ready to stretch, he suddenly saw the crowd in front of him.
He froze.
The yawn died in his throat.
"Heh... hehe..." Turner scratched his head awkwardly and looked at everyone.
"It seems... everyone's really looking forward to the pub opening..."
"Mr. Turner?" someone asked in surprise.
"Why are you here? Weren't you always in the blacksmith shop?"
"I'm a pub employee now," Turner explained. "I'm not forging iron anymore."
"Why?" someone else asked.
"Because the wine here is extremely rare," Turner said with a smile.
He didn't elaborate.
Instead, he turned back inside.
When he returned, he brought out a table, several wine glasses, a few bottles, and a large bucket of water.
Only then did he speak.
His actions successfully hooked everyone's curiosity.
Especially the bucket.
What was that for?
"This is our pub's grand opening event," Turner announced, using a term unfamiliar but easy to understand.
"The wines I'm pouring today are Polish rectified vodka, Chinese Qinghai Japanese sake, American golden ale, and Grenada rum!"
As he spoke, he poured the wines into the glasses.
Each had an alcohol content of no less than eighty percent.
Clear liquid of varying hues flowed from the bottle mouths, catching the sunlight-
All nonsense.
No one cared.
What drew everyone's attention was the overwhelming aroma.
Just one breath made noses sting and heads spin.
"As long as you finish one full glass, wait five minutes, and then walk this entire straight line without help-"
"You can drink here for free. For life."
Turner sprinkled powder on the ground, marking a straight line about twenty meters long.
The crowd erupted.
Most people had come just to watch.
Some were still wary because of rumors about Morin being a "devil" or "magician."
But now?
Free.
Free for life.
That was irresistible.
As long as it wasn't theft, of course.
Interest surged.
"I'll go first!" A drunkard stepped forward loudly.
Whether free-for-life was real or not, at least he'd get one free drink.
"He drinks every day!"
"He can down several bottles of rum!"
"Looks like the first success is coming!"
"Is there a limit on winners?"
The spectators, suddenly all-knowing, began commenting.
"You can choose any one," Turner said with a slight smile.
"There's no limit. Anyone who succeeds drinks free for life."
He wasn't worried at all.
No one could handle that much high-proof alcohol and still walk straight for twenty meters.
"The rum!" the drunkard said immediately.
In pirate-infested regions, rum was the most common drink.
"Then this one," Turner said, pushing the glass forward.
It was full.
A fist-sized glass.
Around 150 to 200 milliliters.
Morin, the "conscientious" boss, clearly had no intention of letting anyone win.
That was money.
That was experience points.
Definitely not because he was petty.
The drunkard raised the glass.
"Wait," Turner said.
"What, backing out?" the drunkard sneered. Boos followed.
"Of course not." Turner raised a hand. "Turn your body."
"Your body, not the glass. Yes. Face the open area."
"What's with all this trouble..." the drunkard muttered, but complied.
"Is this fine?"
"As long as you're not facing me," Turner said, relieved.
He remembered drinking Morin's wine last night.
This event would definitely create multiple "human sprinklers."
He had no intention of being sprayed with flammable alcohol.
"Gulp, gulp-PFFFT!"
After two gulps, the drunkard spat everything out.
Alcohol sprayed into the air.
The scent intensified several times over.
People nearby swayed instantly, shouting in shock.
"What kind of wine is this?!"
They looked at the drunkard.
The so-called veteran drinker was choking, face bright red, tears and snot streaming.
"You've failed the challenge," Turner said calmly, pointing at the bucket. "Please wash over there."
Now everyone understood the bucket.
"So," Turner asked with a smile, "anyone else?"
"I will!" A muscular man stepped forward.
"It's him!"
"He's a-"
The crowd started narrating again.
Turner ignored it.
It didn't matter who stepped up.
No one would succeed.
"Rum," the man said confidently.
Turner poured another full glass.
"That idiot earlier drank too fast," the man scoffed. "He doesn't know how to drink."
"I can sip, right?"
"Of course." Turner raised an eyebrow.
"You have five minutes from your first sip. After that, you can attempt the walk."
"Hahaha! Easy!"
He took a small sip.
His face instantly twisted.
Neck veins bulged.
It took more than ten seconds to recover.
"Good wine!" he shouted, continuing.
Three or four minutes later, he finished the glass.
Gasps rang out.
"He did it!"
"That's incredible!"
"One more minute," Turner said, checking the time.
"After that, you can start-"
"No... need..." the man said, slurring.
Then-thud.
Silence.
"Why, that's your ru-" Turner started, then stopped.
The man was gone.
The sound answered everything.
Turner looked down.
The strong man lay sprawled on the ground, unconscious.
It was stronger than a sleeping drug.
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