A Gentle Noble's Vacation Recommendation

Terrible headache. Nausea. Just turning my head to look outside makes me dizzy.

My whole body feels like lead, and I doubt I can even push myself up on my elbows in bed.

He has no memory at all, but the familiar symptoms make Lizel quietly sigh to himself, “Ah, I did it again.”

His memory cuts off from the moment he met up with Eleven at the tavern. There’s no way he wouldn’t have noticed if Eleven were plotting something. In that case, the proprietress must have been an accomplice. If Eleven had been trying to make him drink directly, he would have noticed, but there’d been no sign of that.

(“The proprietress probably won’t agree to it anymore after this. I guess I can relax.”)

Still, maybe he should give Eleven a little lesson.

Lounging flat on his back, Lizel idly turns things over in his mind until a sudden thirst breaks his train of thought.

What time is it now? If the landlady hasn’t come to call him for sleeping too late, then it probably isn’t that late.

He has no plans anyway, so he’s thinking he might just laze around a bit longer as he looks toward the sideboard.

“Nn…”

Just rolling over is enough to send the room spinning. Dizzy, he fixes his gaze on the glass water jug and tumbler sitting on the sideboard. The jug is filled with ice and water—one glance is enough to see it’s cold.

He wants it. But he doesn’t want to move. But he wants it. No matter how hard he stares, it’s not going to come to him on its own, so he gives up and slowly pushes himself up, doing his best not to jostle his head.

“Ow…”

He presses a hand to his head as the pain throbs in waves.

For some reason it feels worse than the last two times. Maybe that’s just his imagination. Or maybe he kept drinking even after he was already drunk.

You never really get used to this. It was one of the reasons he’d decided not to drink in the first place, he thinks with a wry smile, taking his hand away as the pain settles a little. In any case, he wants water.

He sits on the edge of the bed and reaches for the glass—only to be interrupted by a knock. The one who appears is Gill.

“Good morning.”

“Yeah. You look like a sick man.”

“My head hurts a lot.”

“That’s what you get for drinking like that when you’re a lightweight, idiot.”

“Oh, Gill, you were at the tavern too?”

So he really had been drinking that much, Lizel thinks as he takes the glass of cold water. The chill sliding down his throat feels pleasant.

Gill looks down at him and frowns slightly, suspicious.

“…You really don’t remember anything?”

“Sorry, did I cause you trouble?”

“Not trouble, just a whole lot of hassle.”

He stares at Lizel for a moment, then sighs, deciding he’s not pretending.

Amazing he can forget something that impactful. Then again, the “impact” had been Lizel himself, so it’s not impossible he doesn’t remember—but somehow it still doesn’t sit right.

Giving Lizel’s bloodless face a brief look, Gill walks over to the window and opens it. Lizel had judged it wasn’t late, but the sunlight and the noise from outside say people have been up and about for quite some time.

Most likely Gill had asked the landlady not to wake him, and had brought him water while he slept. Seems he’s been causing him trouble since last night.

“Sorry about all this.”

“It’s not like it’s your fault.”

Lizel gives a bitter smile, and Gill answers as if it’s only natural.

He calls it a hassle, but he’s oddly kind, Lizel thinks, setting the half‑full glass back on the sideboard.

“By the way, what exactly was that ‘hassle’ like?”

“Don’t ask.”

“Just a little. At least tell me which part was a hassle.”

“…The complete opposite side of you, probably.”

Lizel blinks at the throwaway answer.

In his original world, his father had laughed and said, “Nothing weird happened.” His former student had grinned and said, “You were the complete opposite.” And now Gill, with a bitter, loaded expression, has said the same: “The complete opposite.”