Chapter 27
“Polygamy?”
Francesca said. Her voice brought me back to reality from the miserable past when I had awakened to machismo.
“That's right. Ah… but maybe that was a little inappropriate to say to a woman.”
Women in this world wanted to become the wives of handsome, capable men just as much as they wanted to build reverse harems with husbands who suited their tastes. I knew that from what I'd read.
But saying it so bluntly to her face felt a little strange. The Confucian dragon inside me was still wriggling around, alive.
Even after living in this otherworld for more than three and a half years, I was still like this. The road to becoming an otherworldly macho man was this long and arduous.
“No. It's a dream men often have. My mother was my father's second wife, too.”
Francesca's voice was exactly the same as usual. I didn't know whether she simply couldn't bring herself to say she found it disgusting to my face, or whether this really was an ordinary thing for people in this world.
“Thank you for saying that. …But your mother being a second wife—surely you weren't born to nobility, were you? Are you going to come after me later and say, Chop that bastard's head off~ because I treated you rudely?”
I asked, shuddering at the memory of throwing her into the sewer.
In this kind of fantasy, aren't stories about people who ran away from home actually being some noble's illegitimate child or one of their sons or daughters a dime a dozen?
“Hehe. No. My father was an alchemist. He was already over sixty when I was born.”
Fortunately, that didn't seem to be the case. Relieved, I joked in a voice tinged with laughter.
“Sixty? Hahaha! Your father and mother must have been very much in love.”
“Not really…. My father died before I was old enough to understand anything. To be honest, I don't even remember his face well.”
Her voice was a little depressed this time. No, fuck, why did I keep saying needless things? Nothing had gone right today.
“Hehe. Anyway, after hearing your realistic goal, Ms. Francesca, I feel like my dream is a pretty outlandish one.”
Francesca readily went along with my attempt to change the subject.
“So what if it's outlandish? When I was young, I had dreams that were much more nonsensical and stupid.”
“If we're talking about childhood dreams, I win hands down. When I was a little kid, I wanted to become a dinosaur.”
“Pffft. A dinosaur? You really are good at joking.”
I was serious.
Ah, right. To people in this world, dinosaurs were a type of monster. Maybe kids here didn't say things like, Hey, aren't tyrannosaurs fucking awesome?
It was fortunate she treated it as a joke and moved on. I rinsed the laundry, whose smell had almost disappeared, in fresh water and asked.
“What was your dream, then, Ms. Francesca?”
Francesca didn't answer. I couldn't tell whether she hadn't heard me or didn't want to answer, so I didn't ask again.
As it was, I already felt like I kept poking at her trauma switch this way and that.
But thinking about it that way felt a little strange. Francesca had been the one to bring up dreams first. Why had she brought up a subject like the past, one so perfectly suited to making things sensitive?
The innkeeper's words came back to me.
─Frang is only twenty-two. She's an adult, but that's still too young to get by alone in an unfamiliar land.
─Even though she must always be lonely and have a hard time with nowhere to turn, she's working so hard to get by. Do you understand?
Swoooooosh.
─Clatter.
I heard the sound of someone getting up from the bathtub, and the bathroom window opened a crack.
It was only a gap small enough to barely look outside through, but Francesca seemed to be peering out through it.
“The moon is beautiful tonight.”
It was an expression that literature majors would probably like. I felt like I'd heard it in some liberal-arts class.
I looked at the sky. The fat half-moon I'd seen on my way back from yesterday's ruins-guarding assignment had now become a full moon.
“Yes. It's a beautiful moonlit night. Come to think of it, back home we used to call autumn the season of the moon.”
“Hehe. That's an interesting expression.”
“Our traditional holiday was in autumn.”
Both Chuseok and Jeongwol Daeboreum—the first full moon of the lunar year—were full-moon holidays. Chuseok was also called the Eighth-Month Full Moon. The representative images associated with Chuseok were the orange moon hanging in the sky and persimmons hanging from trees.
Autumn was the season that made people sentimental. Did the moon look more beautiful because it was a good time to become emotional? I'm a science guy, so I dunno.
Anyway, full moons were loved by people in this otherworld too.
On bright moonlit nights, it was easy to walk without a light. Outside the established roads, it was frightening enough to make you reluctant to walk, since the lights of private homes and taverns didn't reach there.
In that sense, the bright light of a full moon shining high overhead was deeply reassuring when walking along an unfamiliar, frightening road. In the otherworld, the full moon was a moon that gave people courage.
Francesca spoke then.
“I wanted to become an explorer.”
I quietly listened to Francesca so I wouldn't make any more verbal blunders.
“I wanted to explore ruins and new worlds and find treasures from long ago that nobody knew about. I must have fallen in love with the wonderful adventures and treasures in the stories I'd read in books. I wanted to show the treasures I found off to my mother. It was that kind of naïve dream.”
I remembered what had happened in the ruins. So that was why Francesca had been interested in the inscription on the stone stele.
“But now, I can't remember anymore─ what I felt when I dreamed that dream.”
─Splash.
It was the sound of her splashing the water with her foot.
“Hehe. I must have forgotten it while remembering how to pick locks, make traps, and gather firewood other people had thrown away so I could use it again.”
“…When you grow up, life gets hard enough that you end up forgetting your dreams.”
People live by inertia. When I look back on myself, the reason one corner of my heart aches and I think life is fucked is that living is fucked for both Earthlings and otherworlders.
‘Life is fucked because life is fucked.’
That's a fucking profound saying. Once I became a professor, I would write it in huge letters on the back cover of my autobiography. Then I'd make my graduate-student slaves read it and write ten-page book reports. I'd keep throwing work at them too.
I might get stabbed by a sword more than a hundred times, but by then wouldn't I have become Grand Master Nord, an invincible professor whom swords couldn't pierce? If not, whatever.
“But I think that kind of thing might be all right in its own way. Dreams and goals are different.”
I said that while wringing the laundry by twisting it from side to side.
“There's no point in living while thinking only about the distant future. It's much easier and better to live with reasonable goals while doing both what you have to do and what you want to do.”
“What you want to do?”
“Yes. They say life doesn't let you live only as you please, but isn't it ridiculous to live doing only things you dislike? You never know what tomorrow will bring, no matter how hard you work. As they say, didn't both of us nearly die in the sewer and the ruins?”
This was my YOLOism.
This is what happens when you've lived in the twenty-first century, where saving a million won a month for ten years still won't buy you a single jeonse apartment. You start caring more about today's new convenience-store kimbap than worries about the future.
It's the same even now. Who could have imagined that the day would come when Kang Buk-ho, a fucking Korean veterinary student, would wash the poncho worn by a half-dwarf girl in another world?
If I'd known this was how things would turn out, back on Earth I would've confessed to my first love and made a serious move on the ex-girlfriend I'd broken up with without ever managing to kiss her.
I would've asked my parents if I could change this North-Korean-dictatorship-style name, and I wouldn't have gone to the fucking army. Damn, I would've done alternative military service as a physician after graduating veterinary school.
I don't know why I hated being treated like a bastard who had been born a man but never served in the army. I'd regretted enlisting three days after joining, and kept regretting it alongside my anchovy-thin senior squad leader until discharge.
“Hehehe. That's true. But wouldn't you definitely regret it later if you lived doing only what you wanted?”
Francesca said with an awkward laugh. As far as I knew, this was the first forced laugh I'd heard from Francesca. I could readily guess how she felt, so I asked in a way that would sound as casual as possible.
“How about now?”
“Huh?”
“Do you regret it now?”
The splashing stopped. There wasn't even any fucking insect chirping at this inn. Damn, I should've stayed here too.
“People often tell you to make choices you won't regret, but how many people actually live without regrets?”
I was living through this shitty survival story in another world, and I couldn't even properly do what I wanted?
If that happened, I'd lose my will to live and die suddenly, like a rabbit left alone at home.
“Even if it looks foolish to other people, isn't it enough if you can think you're enjoying yourself?”
At least, that's what I thought.
Though I still hadn't found a way to enjoy my life in this otherworld myself.
─Rrrrattle─.
That was when Francesca, who had been silent, opened the window all the way and stuck her head outside.
“Mr. Nord.”
Francesca grinned, steam rising from her head.
“Should we drop the formalities?”
At the sight of the exact same grin I'd seen in the sewer that day, I finished Vector-style laundry drying and answered.
“If you call me oppa.”
──And so.
In the otherworld, the genius scholar Nord made one more new connection in the rural city of Sargadis.
A 21-year-old half-dwarf, whose body and mind were still unbalanced─.
…Ah, for the record, I didn't actually make her call me oppa.
“Brother!”
“I'm sorry. Please just call me Nord.”
This fucking shitty Britannian language.
What the fuck is a bro-ther?
***
“Which clothes did you want me to alter?”
Francesca asked as she dried her hair with a towel.
After finishing the laundry and bathing, we came to the room where Frang was staying. I hung the washed poncho on the drying rack in the corner of the room. If I dried it outside, it would obviously be stolen.
After her bath, Frang was wearing something like pajamas. Her clothes revealed nothing, but her breasts, freed from all restraint, flaunted the majesty of lions that had escaped from a zoo.
I took the robe and mask from my bag while forcing myself not to look at her breasts.
“It's this… To be frank, it might be too difficult to call this a simple alteration.”
Now that I had taken out the robe again, the thought occurred to me.
I was asking her to alter it so thoroughly that nobody could tell where I'd bought it? Thinking about it seriously, wouldn't it be better to buy fabric and have her make an entirely new outfit instead?
“What are you going to use it for?”
“I'm going to stop by the Mage Guild for a moment. I want to ask what kind of magic the spell I obtained this time is, but it would be better to conceal my identity so there won't be trouble later.”
“Ah~ right. Mr. Paragon did that too, didn't he? He said it would be faster to ask a mage.”
“Yeah.”
“Got it. I'll take a look.”
Frang set down the towel, felt my robe, and said:
“The robe is practically just fabric, so it should be fine with a little work. But for the mask, it would be faster to carve one from scratch.”
“Ah, I figured.”
“Yeah. How do you want the overall design to look?”
At that, I took a notebook from inside my clothes. I thought it would be easier to show her with a drawing than to explain it in words.
Swish─ swish─.
The picture I drew with painstaking care was finished in just a few minutes. When Frang saw my drawing, she lowered her head and laughed.
“Hehehe. Nord, you really have no talent for drawing, do you?”
“Leave me alone.”
Fuck. Was it really that bad? I looked at my drawing. It didn't look that strange.
Then Frang took my pen and drew another picture on the back of my drawing.
Scribble-scribble-scribble─.
“Would something like this be all right?”
I shut my mouth, which had been babbling excuses, when I saw the sketch she'd made in less than a minute. The quality of my doodle made it look like a kid's vacation homework.
“Maybe I really was missing a finger on my right hand.”
Was this really drawn by the hand of a person like me? Looking at her gifted hand, I ended up understanding how mediocre artists felt when they became suicidal at the sight of a naturally gifted artist.
“Your drawing captured the distinctive features well, so it was easy to draw. The picture was a little strange, but the design was cool.”
Frang said that with a sidelong smile. Her heartfelt consolation moved me deeply. It felt as though the heart that had endured so much pain and hardship today was slowly melting.
“What do you mean, I drew it well? You gave it a great touch-up, Frang. …But can you really make it like this? Won't it be difficult?”
“No. This isn't difficult at all. The robe is easy; I just have to fold the fabric and stitch it together with thread. Here, like this.”
Frang folded the shoulder section of the robe and pulled it tight, reproducing the design exactly as in the picture. Just as she'd said, a little alteration completely changed its impression.
Wow, she looked at my god-awful drawing and visualized this? Dwarves really were a cheat-code race. If I was coming to the otherworld anyway, they could at least have reincarnated or transmigrated me as a dwarf.
Anyway, I was extremely satisfied with the robe's new shape.
“Amazing. Then please make it like this. How much will it cost?”
“I'll do it for free. I owe you a lot, Nord.”
Wow! Free!
“Ah, seriously, wow. Thanks so much.”
I said that while desperately holding back tears of joy. Fuck, who in the world disliked getting something for free? And it wasn't as if I was simply receiving charity; I was being repaid by someone I'd helped.
This was Korean affection, pumasi—the traditional exchange of labor. I never expected to see our traditional culture in another world.
“Ah, but are you sure you have time, Frang? I'm worried I might be interfering while you're supposed to be resting after a request.”
“Jeez, you're such a worrier. Don't worry. This doesn't even count as work.”
Frang said, clenching her adorable little fist. It was nice of her to be so enthusiastic.
“Good. Then drinks are on me tonight. Come on, let's go have a drink.”
When I said that and stood up, Frang opened her eyes wide for some reason.
“Huh? Wasn't altering the robe urgent? I was planning to start working on it right away today.”
“…It is a little urgent. Still, I feel bad making someone work again after she's just returned from an assignment. Just finish it within a few days.”
All that meant was that I would have to spend a few more days trembling while clutching my dick.
I couldn't exactly say, Frang!! I'm scared my dick will vanish!! Please hurry!! or anything like that.
“Hmm. Then I'll at least set the basic form first. You have to establish the shape when you get that ping! feeling, or later you'll forget and think, What was I going to do again?”
Frang gave an intuitive explanation, even using body language. Fortunately, I'd felt something similar while writing papers, so I understood her easily.
“Ah, I know that feeling well. If you put off the work until later, you end up thinking, Huh? Was this what I was going to do? The feeling you had when it first occurred to you is gone.”
“Right? Right? You understand!”
At my words, Frang bounced around with a bright expression. What the hell, she was adorable. Now that we'd grown closer, she was three times cuter than before.
But her breasts weren't cute. If anything, they were ferocious.
Did you know? Large breasts change not only a person's behavior but even their way of thinking.
That enormous volume and mass made it impossible to fold one's arms and brought pain every time one ran! It was an ever-present nuisance tormenting large-breasted women.
But not Frang. I wasn't even sure she was properly aware of the size of her breasts. Maybe it was because she was so sturdy? Even with those huge breasts, she moved around with ease.
“Do you have a sewing kit? Ah, you know. Needles and thread.”
I hurriedly changed the subject. Frang nodded, apparently without noticing my attempt.
“Yeah. I got one when I made the mask last time.”
“Ah, right. You did.”
She had said that she'd made the mask I'd borrowed for the request too.
“Then wait a moment. I'll just set the basic form and be done in no time.”
Saying that, Frang brought over a sewing kit and began altering the robe.
….”
….”
Once she started working, the room fell silent.
We weren't yet close enough to feel comfortable in such silence, and each realized the other had become a little uncomfortable.
“…Would it bother you if I talked to you while you're working?”
“No, I'd actually like you to… It's a little awkward. Hehe.”
We really were on the same wavelength. Somewhat relieved, I said:
“Come to think of it, can you hold your liquor? The innkeeper told me you pass out after just one drink.”
“W-what?!”
Flinch!
Frang jumped in surprise at my words. Her violent reaction startled me too.
“Ah! Ouch…!”
She must have pricked herself with the needle when she was startled, because Frang flinched. Quite a lot of blood flowed from her index finger.
“Ah, damn… I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said something pointless.”
“Ah, no. I was the one who asked you to talk to me.”
Then Frang, clutching her finger, suddenly scowled.
“But more importantly, what the hell did you mean by that earlier? I can't hold my liquor?”
Was that really more important to her than being injured? But I think it was almost the first time I'd seen Frang frown, so I flinched.
“I can drink just fine! I'm half-dwarf and half-human; how could I be unable to hold my liquor?”
“I get it, but stop the bleeding first. You're bleeding like crazy.”
There was no sign of the bleeding from her finger stopping. Either the wound was fairly deep, or she was getting worked up.
“It'll stop if you just leave it alone. More importantly─”
“Wait, don't. It could be a disaster if you get tetanus. Do you have any disinfectant?”
“…No. I don't.”
Looking at Frang's dissatisfied pout, I checked the contents of my bag and said:
“Wait. I'll rinse it with water first. Do you have a clean cloth?”
“I have some left over from making the mask….”
“Where is it? Give it here.”
So I took a clean cloth from Frang, held it beneath her injured finger, and poured water over it.
─Trickle trickle.
─Drip.
I'd rinsed the wound once, but there was no sign of the bleeding stopping.
Seeing that, worry welled up inside me. Wasn't there a scene in a famous Korean classic film where the protagonist's subordinate got a rusty nail stuck in his leg and ended up with one useless leg after contracting tetanus?
This world didn't even have tetanus shots. Aside from tetanus, I didn't know what other complications she might develop, so I couldn't take even a small wound lightly. I should've carried a potion or something.
“…Wait here. I'll go downstairs and ask the innkeeper for bandages and some alcohol to disinfect it.”
“You're making a mountain out of a molehill.”
“Please, just wait here quietly.”
I said that while staring into Frang's blue eyes. Frang opened her eyes wide, moved her mouth soundlessly, then nodded obediently.
Once Frang gave me permission, I went downstairs. Disinfecting alcohol needed to be as free of impurities as possible. In Korea, convenience-store soju would've been enough, but distilled spirits were hard to find in Britannia.
“Ma'am. Do you sell any distilled spirits among the alcohol here?”
“…Distilled spirits?”
The innkeeper, busy working on the first floor, became strangely interested when she heard me.
“Hehe. Sure. I'll bring you some. I happen to have a troublesome one.”
She said it with undisguised delight.
“A very strong one that some nice young lady took one sip of and passed out on her first day.”