~Chapter 34~
“Whoa! You scared me!”
Yvonne, the physician, almost dropped her herbs when Apollyon suddenly barged in.
It was still dark outside—sun not even up yet. No one had ever stormed into the infirmary at this hour without knocking.
But Apollyon didn’t care. He strode straight to the table, grabbed a cup, poured water from the kettle, and downed it in big gulps. Thankfully, the water had cooled to lukewarm.
“W-what’s going on, Your Grace?”
Yvonne abandoned his herbs and hurried over. Apollyon’s face was damp with sweat, but he only answered flatly:
“I came to drink water.”
“…Excuse me?”
“Water.”
He lifted his cup again without a trace of irony. Yvonne just blinked between him and the cup.
“Water…?”
Nod, nod.
Still unsatisfied, Apollyon poured himself another.
As Yvonne’s shock wore off, his face twisted in disbelief.
“So you barged in at dawn… just for water?”
“Not just one cup. Two.”
“…”
Apollion looked dead serious. That made it even more ridiculous.
“I didn’t come here on purpose.”
“…Then?”
“I ran out of water while training. The infirmary was the closest place near the training yard.”
“….”
“So I came. Also—I wanted to ask you something.”
“…Ask?”
Yvonne’s expression soured. Last time, Apollyon had asked about his “heart condition,” which turned out to be nonsense.
“…Is it your heart again?”
“No.” Apollyon’s tone was unusually firm.
“When I move too hard or swing my sword with force… I get dizzy. Sometimes nauseous.”
“….”
Yvonne almost replied that this was normal—but then remembered: nothing about Apollyon was “normal.” If his body showed unusual symptoms, it had to be checked.
“…You weren’t with the Duchess, were you?”
“…Ah.”
Yvonne let out a dry laugh. Of course. He’d been right to check—this Duke had a sixth sense for spotting the obvious.
Yvonne stirred his herbs quickly so they wouldn’t burn, then pulled a chair close and examined Apollyon carefully.
Dizziness and nausea could mean a head injury, concussion, or even a brain bleed. He checked Apollyon’s eyes with a magnifier: pupils normal, no burst vessels, complexion fine. Everything looked healthy.
“Did you hit your head recently?”
“No.”
“No indigestion, no fever either…”
Yvonne frowned. What on earth was causing it? Especially since Apollyon hadn’t been with his wife this time.
If it was a brain issue, they couldn’t afford to waste time. He rubbed his brow, deep in thought—then suddenly, something clicked.
“Ah.”
His face shifted from worry to pure disgust.
“Your Grace… you had lunch with the retainers yesterday, didn’t you?”
“Yes.”
“And you drank… until you blacked out, correct?”
Apollion nodded. Yvonne sighed heavily, as if this explained everything.
“I already heard the rumors. Apparently, the Grand Duke turned into a slime after three glasses of wine.”
“…What do you mean? A monster?”
“It means you got so drunk you collapsed into a puddle—like slime.”
“…Me?”
Apollion blinked in disbelief. He tried to imagine himself oozing across the floor, leaving trails of purple goo behind. Ridiculous. Surely impossible.
“Absurd. Humans can’t turn into slimes.”
“If you don’t believe me, ask the Duchess.”
“…”
“Actually, no need. Ask any servant who passed by—they all saw you clinging to Her Grace like a sticky slime.”
At the mention of the Duchess, Apollion’s eyes shook violently.
Yvonne gave him the same exasperated look he’d worn the last time Apollion showed up with ridiculous complaints.
“They say you sang with her, put your arm around her shoulders, and even carried her up the stairs on your back.”
“….”
“In truth, my medical advice is useless. Clearly, the best cure for you is… alcohol.”
“Wh-what nonsense is this?!”
Apollion’s ears turned red. Him… putting his hands on Petunia? Acting shamelessly like that? Impossible!
He shot up to argue, but then—memories flickered. Petunia, stumbling, nearly falling… him lifting her onto his back to climb the central stairs…
His face drained pale, then flushed, then pale again. He looked like a squid changing colors.
Unbothered, Yvonne continued:
“Dizziness, nausea—you’re experiencing a hangover.”
“…A hangover?”
The word struck Apollion dumb. He hadn’t even recovered from the image of carrying Petunia, and now this. Too many shocks in a row.
“…Why are you so surprised?” Yvonne asked flatly.
Of course Apollion thought he was a good drinker. He’d blacked out, sure, but he’d woken up clear-headed. That had to mean he could handle alcohol, right?
Yvonne crushed his illusion without mercy.
“I can guess what you’re thinking, but let me explain.”
His tone was as dry as ever. Apollion swallowed nervously. Every time Yvonne looked at him like this, he felt like a child being scolded by parents—though he barely remembered his parents at all.
“If you drink too much, a hangover naturally follows. The main symptoms are dizziness, nausea, thirst, and vomiting. You, Your Grace, are simply experiencing textbook symptoms.”
“But… I feel refreshed…”
“You slept deeply for the first time in ages. That’s why. The only reason your hangover isn’t worse is because the amount you drank was too small to cause serious damage.”
Apollion’s eyes dimmed with embarrassment.
“Losing memory means you pushed your body past its limits. Your limit, apparently, is just three glasses of wine. Three glasses is nowhere near enough to cause a real hangover. So the fact that you already feel sick? Frankly, it means you should never drink again.”
“….”
“Compared to normal Imperial men, your alcohol tolerance is pathetically low. If this much leaves you hungover, then your body is…” Yvonne trailed off. “Well, I don’t need to say it, do I?”
“….”
“If you want to live long and healthy, stay away from alcohol.”
With that, Apollion turned his back and left. His broad shoulders sagged like a duck who’d just discovered it wasn’t really a swan.
At the door, he paused and muttered:
“…But my wife drank a whole crate.”
Yvonne winced at his own words before replying:
“Forgive me for speaking plainly, but… the Duchess is the strange one.”
“…I see.”
Apollion stared down at his hands. He looked utterly pitiful.
Yvonne thought to himself: Tall and impressive on the outside, but soft and foolish inside.
What was his master disappointed about? That he was an alcohol weakling? Or just that he had a hangover at all? Probably both. The Duke, despite appearances, was painfully sensitive.
“…If it bothers you, I can give you a potion,” Yvonne offered.
“…Potion?”
“One for curing hangovers.”
“…No.”
Apollion refused sharply. Yvonne was about to turn back when Apollion hesitated and added softly:
“…Better give it to my wife instead.”
