"What about the other friends? Why haven't I seen them?"
Katon clearly found it hard to argue with the claim that he had a habit of drinking at night.
But Fu Qian's next words startled him, and he couldn't help voicing his doubts.
"Because they haven't arrived yet."
That was the carefree reply he got. Setting down the pot, Fu Qian wore an open-minded look, dreamlike and detached.
"...Are you sure they'll come?"
"Do I need to be sure before I can invite them?"
The retort left Katon speechless. Fu Qian lifted his cup and took a sip.
Hmm... his earlier judgment had been right. It really wasn't very good.
It couldn't compare to the cream soup Lady Lucy made, let alone the drink Loretta had prepared for Bernard.
That was right: though a friendship between gentlemen was as plain as water, even water called for courtesy in return.
He'd already sampled those two people's treasured drinks several times. On this long, long night, he might as well show his appreciation.
"Doing as you please, unconstrained by convention—or even by facts? I think I understand."
Watching Fu Qian savor his drink, Katon, who'd been left in an awkward position for a moment, didn't storm off.
On the contrary, after a brief silence, he even began to "step into the role" of a dying man, trying to understand Fu Qian's behavior.
Although it might sound like he was forcing profundity, that wasn't the case at all.
After all, Fu Qian's behavior might have been unexpected, but on closer thought, it was no different in essence from sitting alone by a window to keep a date decades overdue.
The affairs of the world no longer mattered. What mattered was only one's own feelings.
"It looks like you'll get something besides the