"Holy crap, so you just slunk away like that? You're such a damn coward! Why didn't you dare fight that 'Mother Superior'?"
Later that day, it was the same food stall and the same crowd as before. But this time, the friends who'd consoled Happy Stick were consoling Three-Five Dou, who'd drunk himself into a bleary-eyed stupor.
After listening to Three-Five Dou's halting account of what had happened in the game, the hot-tempered Brother Jie Chong started cursing on the spot:
"I knew you couldn't beat her, but at least we can lose without losing face! And she even tried to shut you up with a precious blade. Isn't this just the classic 'Here's five million. Leave my daughter' scenario?"
"That's not all."
Old Qu, calmly eating edamame with his chopsticks, said:
"Our friend here, who claims to be one of the 'Four Great Tanks,' got so upset by what she said that he logged off and came here to sulk. If I didn't know what was going on, he'd probably drink himself to death here tonight. Tsk. What kind of rotten luck is this? Why does this sort of thing always happen to one of our own?"
"All right, quit egging him on."
Happy Stick, sitting in his chair with a bottle of beer, shook his head.
"This isn't even the same situation you're describing!
They didn't throw their weight around at all. In fact, they were polite the whole time. Stop forcing that overused trope onto every situation. Three-Five Dou really couldn't answer the pointed questions that strict old Madam Duanmu had raised.
She's a powerful figure, practically the former pope of the Kingdom of Atlans. She's seen it all.
One sentence was all it took to shut down every excuse Three-Five Dou could have made.
And she's