Roselia's POV
Stagger.
"Lady… My cup isn't even empty yet, you don't need to refill it…"
"Drink more. Doesn't the liquor taste good?"
"Aren't you being too casual saying a martial artist doesn't get drunk easily… Hic."
His speech slurred as I kept ordering drinks and filling his cup. Just a little more, and he'd be completely wasted. Even now, his occasional odd noises showed he was well on his way.
"Seriously… My master's too much… If he'd let me out once in a while, I wouldn't have had to sneak out… Originally, we wanted to come together, but…"
"Here, here. Your cup's empty."
"Uuuugh…"
Gulp, gulp.
If he hated it, he could stop. But whether it was pride or love for liquor, he couldn't stand an empty cup. How much more did he drink after that?
"…"
Thud.
He slumped forward, head hitting the table.
"…Is that it?"
Tap, tap.
"Hey, snap out of it."
I prodded his limp body. No response—just faint groans, no sign of consciousness.
Glance around.
