A Great Gathering of People Who Don't Listen

"Damn, I knew I should've brought at least the hilt for a magic sword..."

Antony muttered under his breath as he slammed the ice sword against the ground, snapped it, and removed his glove.

"Ngh, this is a lost cause..."

Seeing the ice-encrusted glove, Antony sadly drooped his shoulders. A hint of melancholy hung over his broad back.

(A sword that gives you frostbite when you grip it... Isn't that a bit too impractical?)

As Lana searched for something to say, Antony quickly seemed to regain his composure and turned to face her.

His eyes beneath his thick eyebrows widened just a little.

"Oh? Now that I look closely, aren't you the lady I met yesterday? What a coincidence."

"Y-yes, thank you for your help the other day..."

"A young lady shouldn't be out alone at this hour. Don't you have an attendant nearby? If not, I'll escort you home."

Lana faltered and lowered her gaze.

After nearly being attacked by a drunk, she no longer had the energy to find Mr. Pollock and thrust a new design proposal at him.

Now that her head had finally cleared, Lana realized just how reckless and foolish she had been.

Above all, her exhausted body felt heavy, her legs were like lead, and she was hungry besides.

(...I'm going home for today.)

There was, however, still the problem of the man in front of her: Antony.

She was grateful for his help, but being escorted home by a stranger whose background she knew nothing about frightened her a little.

Even so, Antony already looked determined to escort her home.

"Now then, my lady. Feel free to take hold of my upper arm."

Antony held out his impressive upper arm, clearly visible even through his clothes.

(W-what should I do...?)

As Lana backed away with a twitch in her cheek, his upper arm advanced by exactly as much as she retreated.

"Come now! Come now!"

"...Um, well..."

Just as Lana's gaze began to wander, she heard several sets of hurried footsteps.

"Lana!"

At the voice calling her name, Lana's eyes widened.

When she turned around, she saw Monica running toward her with her face bright red.

Lana was surprised to hear Monica, who rarely raised her voice, call out to her so loudly.

"Monica!"

Monica ran toward Lana with a visibly clumsy gait, but even so, she hurried over desperately and clung tightly to her arm.

A little later, the young man who was always hanging around Monica's house, Isaac, arrived.

Isaac spoke gently to Monica, who was clinging to Lana's arm.

"I'm glad we found Miss Collet safe and sound."

Monica hugged Lana's arm tightly and nodded repeatedly, sniffling.

Antony was the one who looked troubled by this.

Raking a hand through his black hair, Antony lowered his brows, looking like a cat had scratched him when he tried to rescue it.

"Hmm, could it be I'm frightening her? This is a problem. I'm not suspicious in the least—not even a tiny bit—and..."

Antony's face stiffened in the middle of his sentence.

Clifford, who had somehow come to stand behind Antony, was pressing the muzzle of his handgun against the back of Antony's head.

"Get away from Lana, you pervert."

"A pervert?! Me, a pervert?! Wait, you've got it wrong! My lady, would you please testify that I'm not a pervert, but a kind, strapping, strong, and handsome traveler!?"

This man named Antony didn't seem like a bad person, but he was a little too pushy and overbearing.

Lana gave Clifford a wry smile and chided him.

"Cliff, lower the gun. He rescued me from that drunk. He's my benefactor."

"So that means the drunk was in league with this man."

Suspicious as ever, Cliff ground the muzzle into the back of Antony's head.

Deciding that was taking things too far, Lana glared at Clifford.

"Cliff! I said lower the gun!"

"You should learn to be a little more suspicious of people, Lana. You're far too careless."

Lana made a strangled sound and fell silent. Since staying out this late had been entirely her own fault, she found it difficult to argue back.

"I-in the first place, why are you with Monica and Walker-san, Cliff!?"

Surprisingly, Isaac answered Lana's question.

"He barged into Monica's house because he was worried about you when you didn't come home."

"..."

Lana was left speechless.

It wasn't hard to imagine what Clifford had gotten up to at Monica's house.

Lana's cheek twitched as she patted the head of Monica, who was clinging to her arm.

"...I'm sorry for causing trouble."

"Lana's safe, I'm so gla-, so glaaad... Hic, sob... sob..."

As Monica sobbed, Lana vowed never to go out alone at night again.

Meanwhile, Antony, who still had a gun pointed at him, folded his arms and opened his mouth.

"Yes, it seems your friendship has deepened, which is truly wonderful. It is wonderful, but... in this situation, might I be mistaken for a bad person?"

"What, you only just realized that, bad guy?"

At Clifford's merciless words, Antony's eyes flew wide open.

"What are you saying! There is no man more upright and pure than I am, and..."

"Ah, Brother. I finally found you. You started talking about going to a brothel even though you're supposed to be working, and it was getting troublesome."

The black-haired, gentle-looking young man who had popped out of a side street spoke mildly to the loudly protesting Antony. He was Theodore, Antony's younger brother, whom Lana had seen yesterday.

Theodore's mention of a brothel froze the atmosphere.

While everyone struggled to think of something to say, Clifford, oblivious to the atmosphere, muttered under his breath.

"Would a man of spotless virtue go to a brothel during work?"

"No, it was just some necessary recreation... B-but more importantly, Theodore! You wandered off again... Just where have you been killing time!?"

"Yeah, an old drunk stopped me to chat, and before I knew it, it was this late."

Saying that, Theodore glanced toward the alley and pointed. "Look, that man over there."

In the direction he was looking, an old man with white hair and a braided beard sat on the ground, talking to a stray dog about something.

"Ah, these young whippersnappers nowadays... They always rush after anything flashy and neglect anything old. That's what's wrong with them. Huh? Are you listening? Say something—yes, no, or woof, why don't you, eh?"

When the stray dog replied with a woof, the old man laughed in delight and began complaining again.

When Lana saw the old man, her eyes widened.

"M-Mr. Pollockkkk!"

The man talking to the stray dog was the person Lana had been searching for: Mr. Pollock, the embroiderer.

Red-faced, Pollock glared at Lana with bulging eyes.

"Hmm? What's this? You're Collet's girl, aren't you? I took the job because Collet had done me a good turn, but his daughter hasn't sent me a single decent design proposal. Honestly, young folks these days..."

Lana instinctively clutched her head.

Everywhere I look, there are far too many people who need calling out!

Antony was pushy, Clifford wouldn't listen to anyone, and Mr. Pollock did nothing but complain.

Oh, come oooooon! Where do I even start!?

As Lana ground her teeth, Isaac offered a cautious suggestion.

"...Why don't we move somewhere else for now?"

Although he looked like a sensible person, the fact that the Second Prince was here was the greatest absurdity of all.

Lana chose to ignore that fact and follow Isaac's suggestion.