Chapter 34 – A Glass of Wine in the Rain
"Wandering the world… even the smallest encounter might be fate," Hideo Takumi said quietly.
His gaze lingered on the wine cup in front of him, condensation clinging to its sides. His eyes were half-lidded, thoughtful—not weighing the man across from him, but something deeper. Perhaps… himself.
He hadn't mentioned his name—not out of secrecy, but caution.
If this man knew he was that Hideo Takumi—the scandalous young noble with a sharper tongue than any blade, and a reputation for cycling through three fiancées in a single season—he might flee the shop barefoot.
"That's how it goes," the older man replied. His voice was rough around the edges, the kind worn down by time. "Drifting without a name, treating the world like a game. Sounds poetic. You could pass for a wandering monk… or a very charming con man."
Hideo smirked. "I'm not quite holy enough for a monk. And way too lazy to run cons."
The man chuckled. "Then what? A drunk poet?"
"Drunk poets are more honest than half the shopkeepers in this city," Hideo quipped, raising his cup. "At least we don't jack up prices just because it's raining."
They shared a small laugh. The wine shop remained quiet, but the silence between them had grown warm, not awkward.
"This wine's cheap," the man noted, glancing at his cup. "But… it's refreshing."
"That's because we're not drinking it for the taste," Hideo said. "We're drinking to forget something else."
The man looked at him then. His eyes weren't sharp—but deep. The kind that carried more questions than he had strength left to ask.
"You talk like someone who's lost big in life."
Hideo laughed, but there was no joy in it. "I've just… won in all the wrong defeats. And lost in all the wrong victories."
The man didn't push further. He simply looked at his cup, then took a quiet sip.
After a pause, he spoke again—more to the room than to anyone in particular. "Do you ever wonder… if we're just tools? Born to serve others?"
The question hung in the air.
Hideo set down his cup and leaned back. For a while, he said nothing.
"I don't know about you," he said at last. "But I hate being ordered around. Especially by people who don't even know my name."
The man turned to him, eyebrows slightly raised.
Hideo's voice stayed calm, but each word landed with weight.
"If someone calls you a tool… maybe it's because they're afraid you'll start choosing your own path."
The man went still. His lips parted slightly, but no words came out.
Hideo rose from his seat and reached for his bamboo rain hat.
"I'm just passing through," he said as he slid the hat onto his head. "Think of me as a breeze that happened to pass your window. If you open it again one day… who knows? I might blow by."
He walked toward the door without another glance. Rain still poured outside, the cobbled street now slick with puddles.
Just before he stepped out, the man spoke quietly behind him.
"…And if I open the window and you never pass again?"
Hideo paused at the threshold.
"Well," he said with a faint grin, "guess the wind was feeling lazy that day."
Then he stepped out into the downpour, vanishing into the curtain of rain.
Behind him, the older man stared at his half-finished cup—feeling, for the first time in a long while, a small warmth in his chest that had nothing to do with the wine.