"It's an activation-type system," Yaoyorozu Chihiro said, a faint smile flickering in his eyes.
"So it has to be triggered?" Yaoyorozu Momo replied thoughtfully. "That's not bad. At least it can enhance part of your physical abilities, even if it can't compare to a continuously active mutation-type Quirk."
There was a trace of regret in her eyes, but her tone still carried encouragement.
For a long time, under Momo's persistent questioning, Chihiro only vaguely explained that his Quirk was related to recovery. He deliberately avoided going into detail, merely adding that its side effect was unusual—during activation, his body released an alcohol-like substance that caused intoxication.
Having said that much, Chihiro did not shy away from the issue. He spoke frankly.
"Big sister, help me make a hip flask."
"…Huh?" Momo widened her eyes, clearly not understanding.
"If it's a side effect, shouldn't I overcome it?" Chihiro said calmly. "Think about it—if I build up a tolerance to alcohol so it can't numb me anymore, wouldn't that turn the side effect into something usable in combat?"
Momo was no fool. She had always excelled academically, her mind sharper than most. After only a brief pause, she grasped Chihiro's intention.
She sighed helplessly. After enduring his repeated insistence, Momo finally created a jug that met Chihiro's requirements.
The bright white flask was no larger than two palms. A red cord was tied around its mouth, and beneath it were intricate engraved patterns. Upon closer inspection, several small seal-style characters could be seen:
"I have wine now; therefore, I am drunk."
Holding the flask, Chihiro lifted it eagerly to his lips. After a long pause, he stared at the empty container—not a single drop emerged. His expression stiffened, and he shot Momo an aggrieved look.
"I haven't studied wine recipes," she said quickly, waving her hands. "I can't create alcohol."
Before Chihiro could respond, she continued defensively.
"Big sister… you really are my big sister," Chihiro muttered, his eyes flashing with sudden resolve. Without another word, he rushed upstairs.
This world had the internet too—and search engines as well. Staring at the screen displaying:
"Romanée-Conti: Rare and precious, long reigning as the world's number one wine…"
Chihiro's eyes grew brighter and brighter.
In his previous life, he had enjoyed drinking. Unfortunately, enjoyment required money, and the truly famous wines belonged to a world far beyond his reach.
But now? Everything was different.
Turning back to look at Momo, Chihiro pointed excitedly at the formula he had pulled up on the screen.
"You're incredible," he said earnestly.
Momo stared at the search results, a vein twitching faintly on her forehead.
In the end, unable to withstand his unwavering gaze, she sighed. "The wine I make will be fresh. It won't have the depth or maturity of aged wine."
Chihiro shook his head, completely unconcerned. That didn't matter at all. As long as it could be drunk, it was enough.
After a long wait, a bottle of wine finally stood before him.
Its color was nearly black—almost like ink at first glance. Yet it released a sharp, rich aroma of blackberry and blackcurrant. The scent was smooth, lively, thick with fruit, delicate and refined.
This was good wine. Truly good wine.
Just smelling it felt silky and intoxicating. It was difficult to imagine how it would taste.
Chihiro licked his lips and took a small sip.
"Ha—!"
It was unmistakably wine, yet it carried the fiery burn of strong spirits. Perhaps because it had not been tempered by time, the flavor was wild and intense. Naturally, it fell short of perfection—but that was fine.
Chihiro was not an alcoholic. He simply enjoyed the act of drinking. More importantly, this was a way to counteract the side effects of his super-healing. Excessive alcohol would eventually build resistance. He even found himself wondering whether he might one day develop a drunken sword style.
With the flask in hand, Chihiro walked over to his bed.
He was a sword enthusiast. In his private bedroom, several long swords were neatly displayed.
Tachi, Shinto, Showa, and modern blades—four distinct styles rested quietly in their respective stands.
He drew one.
A cold, moonlike gleam flashed through the room.
"This feels good."
The most difficult aspect of swordsmanship was balancing power and speed. Strength dulled speed; speed weakened power. The two resisted each other. But when the feeling was right, balance could be achieved.
At the same time, a line of small text appeared in Chihiro's mind:
[Tachi: Chrysanthemum Ichimonji]
A general term for a series of Japanese swords forged by Norimitsu of Bizen Province after the Kamakura period, during the reign of Emperor Toba. The blade is exceptionally long and slender. Legends claim it cuts without drawing blood. The blade bears the sixteen-petal chrysanthemum crest representing the Imperial Family, with horizontal patterns carved beneath it—hence the name.
"So the 'smart chip' still works like this," Chihiro murmured in surprise. "It organizes known information into text and directly imprints it in my mind."
This famous sword had rested beside his bed for a long time. Chihiro already knew its specifications—the Chrysanthemum Ichimonji had a blade length of 128 centimeters and a width of 2.6 centimeters. It was an exceptionally rare weapon.
Yet for reasons unknown, the chip had never displayed its data before.