Thus began the drinking contest with Aslin.

Though it had started as a spur-of-the-moment idea, it was something I knew I’d have to face sooner or later. It helped that Aslin’s display during physical training today clearly showed her full recovery, leaving me with no reason to stop her from drinking anymore.

On top of that, when she responded to my suggestion of drinking with a gentle smile, I couldn’t help but silently pat myself on the back for making such a good decision. Not to mention, my inner noble-blooded self, still clinging to its aristocratic façade, took immense pride in the choice.

‘I think I can handle this.’

I wasn’t too worried, honestly. After all, what happened after drinking—whether she drank or not—was something to be cautious about regardless.

And during the drinking itself, I had a strange confidence that Aslin wouldn’t try anything untoward.

A few days ago, I had seen it clearly: Aslin drinking whiskey—so potent it could probably be used as disinfectant—without diluting it with lukewarm or warm water. She downed one straight glass after another, not getting drunk, but only showing a faint blush on her cheeks. Her calm composure and unshaken elegance had left a deep impression.

I also distinctly remembered how, despite the astonishing speed at which those bottles emptied, she didn’t cause a scene. Her speech remained sharp, her intellect and reason intact. For that reason, I didn’t believe Aslin would behave recklessly during our drinking contest.

…Still, just in case, I had prepared a sort of safety measure in my mind.

It wasn’t anything elaborate. The plan was simple: match her pace, subtly limit how much she drank, and, if necessary, cut her off under the pretense of having had enough for the night.

If things got out of hand, I even considered the extreme measure of ensuring she drank so much that she’d pass out, rendering her completely incapacitated.

‘Then again, considering what I saw of her drinking capacity, that’s a no-go.’

Recalling the great conqueror-like aura she exuded after finishing off all the strong spirits on the table without so much as a stumble, I quickly abandoned that idea. I didn’t want to die of alcohol poisoning trying to outdrink her.

In the end, I decided to keep her in good spirits by pacing her drinking session appropriately.

Just thinking of Aslin’s apologetic expression when she was caught with a bottle and said sorry, despite having no reason to care about my opinion, convinced me that my words could act as a suitable deterrent.

When the contest began, Aslin clapped her hands and summoned the servants. They hurriedly brought trays loaded with snacks—nuts and chocolates perfectly paired with hard liquor. At the time, I thought she was merely ensuring a proper setup for the event.

After all, no matter how strong one’s stomach and liver are, drinking such potent alcohol on an empty stomach was bound to wreak havoc on the next day’s routine.

Anyway, everything seemed to be proceeding smoothly for the first twenty minutes of the drinking contest.

Aslin handed me a glass of straight whiskey. I took a sip and immediately felt my throat ignite, as if it were on fire—a sensation so intense it nearly forced a cough or scream out of me.

‘Urgh!’

In stark contrast, Aslin, drinking the same whiskey from a similar glass, casually offered her thoughts on its flavor.

“Hmm… They say it’s aged using charred oak barrels. The smoky aroma and the harmony of the body filling the mouth are truly exceptional.”

Watching her calmly critique the taste while drinking, I could only feel a profound respect for her tolerance.

It’s not something I’d boast about, but before I even had my coming-of-age ceremony, I had outdrunk infamous drunkards in the capital, earning a reputation of my own.

Because of that, I had almost never encountered someone with a higher tolerance than mine—making Aslin’s drinking capacity all the more awe-inspiring.

Even the well-known drinkers in the Central Capital preferred to mix such potent alcohol with purified water in certain ratios to make it more palatable.

“Why would anyone need water or ice to drink alcohol… anyway?”

Aslin immediately understood the meaning behind the expression on my face as she boldly downed her drink, and her confident response only reaffirmed my earlier impression of her.

Yes, if drinking prowess determined social rank, then Aslin, you’d undoubtedly be the empress.

After marveling at her for a bit too long, I realized I’d been too focused on admiration. Determined to prevent her from overindulging, I poured myself a drink as well.

I downed it in one gulp.

The fiery sensation in my throat was as intense as ever. But once I endured the burn, every part of my being that could sense whiskey seemed to declare that this was indeed a fine spirit.

The heaviness and smokiness Aslin had mentioned earlier blended harmoniously, spreading across my tongue. Over time, a peculiar yet impressive combination of dried fruit and vanilla notes emerged, filling my mouth and nose simultaneously.

And as more time passed, a subtle yet perfect sweetness wrapped around my tongue, leaving a smooth and delightful aftertaste.

Without any artificial sweeteners, this high-proof spirit, refined through an advanced aging process, showcased its excellence in just two sips.

“It’s delicious,” I said, honestly. There was no reason to deny it.

Aslin’s shoulders visibly lifted in delight at my compliment, a stark contrast to her earlier cautious demeanor.

“Heh… This isn’t made from northern malt, but there’s a reason I drink it.”

Her joy was evident in the way her shoulders rose, though it puzzled me. Why was she so pleased about praise for a drink she hadn’t even brewed herself?

As if reading my mind, she explained with her usual clarity, “Didn’t you know? Not just the Whitaker Distillery on our estate, but even the Karl Distillery in the west—our family holds considerable shares in both. Compliments for their drinks are essentially compliments for me.”

That cleared things up. Considering the wealth of the House of Caladbolg—almost comparable to the Imperial Family—it wasn’t surprising that they’d run distilleries.

‘Surely, not all the famous distilleries in the Central Continent are influenced by the Caladbolg family?’ I wondered, an ominous thought flashing through my mind.

As if waiting for that thought, Aslin responded again, “We’ve yet to acquire stakes in the Windsor Distillery in the south or the Istana Distillery in the east.”

…How does she know exactly what I’m thinking?

“Heh, you didn’t show it on the battlefield, but it seems your thoughts are written all over your face in everyday life.”

“Was it that obvious?”

“Obvious enough that you might want to be more careful in formal settings.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

I nodded earnestly. Aslin’s advice didn’t feel like empty words, so I accepted her critique without hesitation.

“Indeed, alcohol is far more enjoyable when shared with someone who truly appreciates it.”

Pleased with my honest appraisal of the drink, Aslin poured another straight glass with practiced ease. Her fluid movements as she emptied the glass were so captivating that I couldn’t help but admire them.

Even the hardiest drinkers usually grimace when downing such strong liquor, but…

“Delicious,” she said, lightly swirling the drink in her mouth before flashing a satisfied smile. It was clear that even the harshness of the spirit couldn’t dull her senses.

“Is she a swordmaster or a drinkmaster?”

That thought crossed my mind as I watched her drink with the same overwhelming presence she displayed when wielding a sword.

“If I just sit here watching her, I’ll probably end up dealing with a fully intoxicated Aslin—not what I planned.”

Determined to intervene before she overindulged, I reached for the bottle just as she was about to pour herself another drink.

“…?”

But when I tilted the bottle, only a single drop came out.

Strange. This was a large bottle, and we’d only had two glasses each. Where had the rest of the alcohol gone?

Of course, I didn’t need to ask where. The culprit, who had been enthusiastically drinking, was sitting right across from me.

Rather than lamenting the lack of alcohol, I found myself genuinely impressed by Aslin’s extraordinary skill in finishing the bottle so gracefully in such a short amount of time.

I stared at her, my expression filled with awe and respect.

“…Ah.”

Finally, Aslin seemed to realize that she had consumed nearly the entire bottle herself. Her face showed a mix of embarrassment and regret.

When two people share a fine spirit, it’s customary for both to savor it equally. If one person finishes most of it, the other would usually voice some level of complaint.

But I had no intention of doing so.

Though it was a little disappointing that the meticulous plans I had made for handling the night’s conclusion had gone awry, I couldn’t really blame Aslin for finishing the bottle on her own—it wasn’t even my alcohol to begin with.

Instead, I expressed my pure admiration for her astonishing drinking capacity through my gaze.

The proper course of action would have been to boldly seize control of the situation, end the drinking session, and ensure Aslin got a good night’s rest. However, it seemed she misinterpreted my look of reverence.

“I guess… the taste of drinking again after four days was just too special.”

Her voice, soft as a mosquito’s hum, and her inability to meet my eyes due to her guilt, pulled my thoughts in an entirely different direction.

It was quite the contrast. Just moments ago, she had effortlessly deciphered my thoughts and responded appropriately. Now, overwhelmed with a sense of regret, she was blurting out her feelings without careful consideration.

Her vulnerability was a stark departure from her usual composed demeanor. But this clumsiness, coupled with an unintentional charm, completely unraveled my original plans.

“Could we have just one more bottle? I feel like I’ve barely had a glass.”

The words tumbled out of my mouth before I could stop them.

“Ah…”

The moment they left my lips, I regretted it so much that I wanted to smack myself.

“…This time, I’ll gladly yield to you,” Aslin replied, her flushed cheeks making her look even softer. There was no hint of reluctance as she offered to let me take the lead.

Realizing this was a rare opportunity, I decided to simply enjoy the moment. Forgetting my earlier reservations, I concluded that sharing the evening with Aslin wasn’t such a bad outcome.

Though my plans had slightly derailed, her unexpectedly deferential behavior put me at ease. For some reason, when it was just the two of us, she seemed determined to adjust to my mood, making the entire experience feel much safer than I had anticipated.

In hindsight, my judgment wasn’t too far off the mark.

After we finished another expensive bottle of whiskey together:

“I hope we can share a drink like this again next time.”

Her expression was calm, showing no signs of intoxication. Instead, she genuinely thanked me for spending the evening with her. There wasn’t a shred of danger to be found.

…Except for the heart-stopping power of her radiant smile. It was a bit of a risk to my sanity, but as long as I kept my wits about me, I could manage.

As the servants quickly cleared the empty bottles and leftover snacks from the table, Aslin suggested, “It’s getting late… we should call it a night.”

Her words trailed off slightly, as if revealing a faint trace of sleepiness.

‘This is the moment to be most cautious,’ I thought to myself.

Nodding in agreement, I braced myself for the next phase of the evening.

I was fully prepared.

Though Aslin’s voice betrayed no signs of drunkenness, there was a noticeable softness to her tone as she said, “I really enjoyed spending time with you tonight.”

“I think we could enjoy such good moments even without drinking,” I replied.

“Not every three days…” she muttered, her voice barely audible.

“…”

“…But once a week…?”

“I suppose that’s reasonable,” I conceded.

“Hehe… Alright, then I’ll look forward to next week.”

Having reached a compromise to gradually reduce the frequency of such drinking sessions, Aslin reclined onto the bed and murmured, “Maybe it’s the alcohol, but I feel so wonderfully drowsy. I’ll rest first.”

As she lay down, I noticed how her outfit—concealed by the table earlier—seemed to grow lighter and airier with each passing day.

It was peculiar, given the frigid northern nights. Though her attire was oddly unsuited to the weather, I didn’t have the luxury to dwell on such thoughts now.

“Sleep well,” I said softly, using the gentlest voice I could muster.

Once her breathing deepened, signaling she had drifted off, I carefully shifted her body closer to the edge of the bed.

“There, there…”

I muttered to myself, lying down on the opposite side of the bed, completely mirroring her position.

Unlike last night, when I foolishly left too little distance and suffered the consequences, tonight I made sure to create a wide enough gap that even if she moved in her sleep, she wouldn’t come near me.

“Perfect.”

Satisfied with my preparation, I closed my eyes. Tomorrow, I would wake to the now-familiar sight of the pristine white ceiling, as always.

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“I don’t know if I deserve to ask this, but I have one question.”

…Instead of the white ceiling, what greeted me were Aslin’s emerald eyes, tinged with hesitation.

Why was that the first thing I saw?