Chapter 92: Carbohydrates
In this world, taverns generally double as inns.
While standalone inns are rare, this place has a proper inn due to the high foot traffic. A well-equipped inn features guest rooms, a bakery, stables, a storage area for carriages, and outside the city, a slaughterhouse and brewery.
Wealthy patrons seeking comfort often send a notice ahead and may even bring their own bedding and carpets.
On the other hand, a less reputable inn might only provide a single bed for guests, with nothing else to offer. Regardless of the quality, it’s common for two or more people to be crammed into a bed or to find themselves sprawled on the floor.
What I dislike most about inns are the fleas, lice, and bedbugs that are often present. And here I am, crammed into a room with three people. With the subjugation squad returning, every inn is likely packed, but it seems the butler or Retze managed to secure a spot before the festivities began.
When the decision was made for the subjugation squad to set out, those who could escape fled to the western towns and villages, while others, willing to take some risks for profit, arrived in droves. The second wave of subjugation brought back many, and the influx of people included not just adventurers.
It’s noisy, and the security has taken a slight dip, but at least it’s good for promoting the water supply and bags.
The only time I found myself alone with Ash was when the butler ushered the three of us into the room, and I felt like he was teasing me.
With a serene smile or a blank expression, the butler conveyed information with a calm demeanor, but it was just a constant smile.
“Ash, can you walk?”
“No problem.”
He replied shortly and clearly, but it was obvious he was drunk. When I asked if he could walk, he should have stopped moving. Also, I questioned the wisdom of him leaning against the wall.
I guided the upright Ash, who was standing still against the wall, out of the tavern. The butler was kind enough to hold the door open, but did he have no intention of switching roles?
The main street still had a few people wandering about, but they subtly avoided Ash when they caught sight of his face… His eyes were completely glazed over.
If left to his own devices, Ash would have walked straight ahead indefinitely. I placed my hand on his elbow to guide him, and we made our way to Gray Fox’s Back Street. He had been walking straight, but he started veering toward me, indicating he was quite intoxicated.
The butler remained silent behind us.
“Jean.”
“What is it?”
“Hmm.”
Not “Hmm,” that’s not it!?
“Jean.”
“Yeah?”
“…Brothel.”
“What?”
“Hmm.”
Conversations with a drunkard don’t last long.
“Jean.”
“Yeah?”
“…Hair.”
“Hair?”
I looked closely at Ash’s face, which was much closer than usual. Our eyes met.
“Hmm.”
No, Ash’s gaze was unfocused. Had he drunk even more? His previously steady eyes were now slightly glazed over. His pale skin and red eyes were undeniably alluring, and his face seemed to have softened a bit. Had his shoulders gotten slimmer? And stop with the “Hmm.”
“Ash.”
“Hmm.”
“Don’t get completely wasted in public; it’s dangerous.”
“Hmm.”
After confirming that Ash and the others had entered their house, I headed home myself. I wanted to eat some chazuke—Sea Bream Chazuke, to be precise.
I filleted the sea bream, searing the fatty skin before plunging it into ice water, then drying it thoroughly. I set aside half for storage, planning to use the scraps for soup or sashimi later. Ideally, I’d want to make dashi from the scraps, but I didn’t want to spend too much time today.
I prepared dashi with plenty of kombu and bonito flakes, pulling rice from storage. A black bowl pairs perfectly with chazuke.
I arranged the pink sea bream on the white rice, generously sprinkling sesame seeds over it. Finally, I scattered some shredded perilla leaves for a touch of green. I poured the golden dashi generously over it and dug in.
Ah, bliss.
I should stock up on salted salmon, pickled plums, and mentaiko for chazuke. I also need to prepare for dashi chazuke. And ramen.
The next day, Ash, wearing a terrifying expression, apologized for last night’s drunkenness.
“What about breakfast? If you can eat, I can bake some bread.”
He looked like he had a hangover, but it was tough not being able to serve him clam miso soup or chazuke.
What else works for a hangover? Ginger and lemon, perhaps? Ah, that’ll do.
I took out a small bottle and poured it into a cup. The contents were fresh ginger, peeled and chopped, boiled with lime, lemon, and sugar to make a syrup. I poured hot water over it to dissolve. I had intended to make ginger ale by adding carbonated water.
“No, my stomach is a bit…”
As I handed him the cup, he declined.
“Ugh, spicy—sweet?”
“It’s ginger and citrus syrup. It’ll help your stomach move, so just drink plenty of water and take it easy.”
I sent the ailing Ash home. He should have waited to show his face until he felt better. I wondered how the three crammed into the inn were faring. They seemed used to hangovers, and the men could take responsibility for themselves.