...
"Dance... dance... right now!? That's way too ridiculous." Mejiro McQueen instinctively clutched the seatbelt tightly.
"Hm? Isn't the winner's stage a mandatory course? So all those times McQueen danced on stage before weren't real happiness after all." Lucian's voice carried a teasing gentleness.
His elbow rested casually on the steering wheel. He wasn't in any hurry to drive off.
And speaking of which, Lucian suddenly remembered something—Mejiro McQueen's winner stage songs were always in that elegant style, never the lively and cute type.
"N-no, that's not it. I just think it would be too rude..."
"There's only me as the audience here. I don't think it's rude, and who else would say it is?"
Lucian could no longer tell whether the blush on her face was caused by the lingering alcohol-like substance in her cup or stemmed from genuine inner shyness.
But no matter what, he didn't mind playing along with her drunken performance—or rather, he was more than happy to. The awkward resistance paired with stubborn compliance from Mejiro McQueen was far more entertaining.
Mejiro McQueen turned her face away, raising her hand to wipe the beads of sweat that had appeared on her forehead, trying to dispel the embarrassment.
But when the cool breeze hit her face, she realized the car's air conditioning had already been turned to the lowest setting.
"Alright, if McQueen doesn't want to, then let's just go home." Lucian's voice carried just the right amount of regret.
He made a show of reaching for the gear shift, though his hand merely rested on the lever. But Mejiro McQueen had already been fooled.
"Wait..." No one could remember how many "waits" this was for her tonight.
"Torena-san is always so good to me..." Mejiro McQueen repeated the sentence in her mind, searching for a reasonable excuse to convince herself. "It's just a small request like dancing. It really isn't a big deal."
Besides, she was still drunk right now—so being a little bolder was perfectly reasonable, wasn't it?
But when she tried to numb herself with this reasoning, clear awareness surged over her like a tide, washing away the hazy drunkenness...
That single glass of alcohol-like substance seemed to metabolize rapidly inside her body.
"So, you agree?" Lucian asked.
"I... I'll just do a short segment. Really just a short one." Her tone still carried a faint plea.
"Do you need background music? There's no stereo, but my phone can substitute. The sound quality is clear enough." Lucian had already thought of everything.
"No need desuwa."
"What about lighting? There's a streetlamp right there. The light is faint, but it's even enough." Lucian had already considered the makeshift stage in full.
"No need either... I'll just do a short segment. Torena-san only needs to look at the clothes." Mejiro McQueen opened the door handle and stepped out of the car.
She was already shy enough. If there were lights, or if a passerby happened to witness this... she would suffocate from sheer embarrassment.
Lucian also got out and leaned against the car door, quietly waiting for the dancer to take her position.
Mejiro McQueen's figure melted into the dim night. She took a deep breath to arm herself with courage. Then she moved her coordinated limbs, her pinched fingers as though grasping strands of the night's breath.
It was like a beautiful shadow play, performed solely for Lucian.
Her wooden clogs struck the ground—"clack, clack"—the sound amplified infinitely in the silent night, becoming the only accompaniment to this wordless drama.
In the blurry darkness, movement itself became the sole language, leaving only pure appreciation in the watcher's eyes.
Lucian propped his head with a smile, completely absorbed—until he realized Mejiro McQueen's dance had already ended.
"Was it pretty..." She slowly emerged from the night, walking straight up to Lucian.
"The clothes really suit you. They match your aura perfectly."
Mejiro McQueen bit her lip lightly, leaving a faint mark.
What she wanted now was clearly not an answer about whether the clothes looked good. "What about the dance?"
"The dance was beautiful too." Lucian met her gaze. "I originally thought the dance wouldn't be beautiful."
"Why?" Mejiro McQueen's curiosity was piqued.
"Because McQueen was drunk. When your head is all fuzzy, dancing should have some stumbles and bumps, right... So, it was, com, plete, ly, un, ex, pect, ed." Lucian deliberately dragged out each syllable.
His narrowed eyes overflowed with even thicker amusement, but it only made Mejiro McQueen's expression grow more unnatural—as though her supposedly perfect disguise had been completely torn apart.
Torena-san must have seen through it!?
What should I do... He's deliberately not saying it because he wants to watch me get flustered!? What a wicked sense of humor, just like Teio!!
A mortified flush rapidly surged across Mejiro McQueen's pretty face.
She lowered her head, yet she could almost imagine the playful glint sparkling in Lucian's eyes right now—leaving her both furious and with nowhere to escape!
"Torena-san... I-I'm going back to the izakaya to use the restroom!" Mejiro McQueen hurriedly fled from this dangerous place. At that moment, the small izakaya felt like the only gap she could slip into.
"Alright. I'll wait right here."
Lucian's gentle chuckle sounded like a beast hidden in the darkness, making Mejiro McQueen unconsciously quicken her steps again.
"Clack-clack-clack-clack—"
The trailing sound appeared abruptly. So the dance was only truly over now.
...
Mejiro McQueen went to the restroom and splashed cold water on her face, using the chill to dispel the heat from her cheeks.
She looked in the mirror, straightened her clothes, and adjusted the position of her hairpin.
Her outfit today... really did look quite nice.
No—that wasn't the issue right now. The problem was how to face Torena-san when she went back out... He definitely knew everything.
Just as she stepped out of the restroom, the voice of a server calling to a customer reached her ears. "Sir, you'd like a refill, correct?"
"Yes, thank you."
"Understood. I'll prepare one for you right away. Please wait a moment."
Mejiro McQueen watched the scene thoughtfully.
...
Lucian waited outside for quite a while. Seeing that Mejiro McQueen wasn't coming out and wasn't replying to messages, he had no choice but to head back into the small izakaya.
The familiar seat. The familiar figure.
The only thing different was that this time, there were no tears hanging from the corners of Mejiro McQueen's eyes.
"Mejiro McQueen..." Lucian called her name directly and sat down beside her.
He sighed and teased, "Are you eating oil cakes or what?"
"Hic... no."
"You're really something else. You said you were going to the restroom, then snuck in here alone to secretly drink... milk." Lucian said irritably. "And you didn't even tell me."
"Because... I trust Trainer. A knight can entrust their back to their squire, can't they?"
"Fine, fine, fine. I'm taking you home now."
"Shoes... help me put my shoes on first, Torena-san~" Mejiro McQueen swung her small feet. Her pair of wooden clogs had been kicked to the side of the chair.
"I can tell. You only dare make demands at times like this." Lucian crouched down and patiently helped her put them on.
Just as he was about to stand up again, Mejiro McQueen rested her hands on his shoulders and moved behind him. "I can't walk anymore... Torena-san."
Without waiting for Lucian's agreement, she had already climbed onto his back and wrapped her arms around his neck.
...