The Man Who Remained — His Second Life Began with a Humble Bow of Apology. - Chapter 106: The Future of a Hopelessly Clumsy Man (Part Two).

The Future of a Hopelessly Clumsy Man (Part Two).

Though the servants had diligently cleaned it every day, the guest room had long since become an unused, forgotten space. It was there that Sourin stood—expressionless as always—holding a bottle of sake that had once been gifted to him, but never opened nor needed.

“I’m not particularly familiar with alcohol myself, but I’ve brought something said to be of decent quality.”

His face, usually unreadable, bore an even more vacant expression than usual.

At a glance, nothing seemed different.

Yet, it was as if something fundamental—his purpose—had gone missing.

“Oh, this looks good!”

Cross responded cheerfully, unfazed by any change in Sourin.

“I have no objections to drinking, but… to be honest, I’ve never understood the reason for it.”

“Well, I get what you’re trying to say, Sourin.”

As he spoke, Cross glanced around until he found a pair of red ceremonial sake cups, shaped oddly like small dishes, their bright color giving them a festive air. He poured a generous amount into both.

“I can’t even understand my own emotions right now. And yet, you claim you understand them?”

“I wouldn’t go that far. Emotions are something only we ourselves can truly know. But… I’ve seen someone else go through what you’re going through now. It’s like this—when you lose the job or role that defined you, you lose your sense of self.”

“Losing… oneself?”

“Yeah. You, especially, never thought about surviving, did you?”

“No. You’re right. I always assumed I’d be killed—either by my sons or someone else. I never imagined I’d live long enough to pass on the title… and certainly not to the most disappointing of them—no, forgive me. I shouldn’t speak ill of our new lord. Please pretend you didn’t hear that.”

“Man, you’re as stiff as ever. He’d probably be happier if you did talk trash about him.”

“Even so, I could never act with disrespect toward our lord.”

“Yeah, that stubbornness is so… you.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment. So… what do you suggest someone like me, who’s lost their sense of self, should do? To be honest, I no longer see any meaning in living. Not that I have any intention of ending it—there’s no reason to die either…”

Without waiting for permission, Cross handed Sourin the cup.

“Drink. Just drink. Trust me.”

“May I ask… why?”

“Do you need a reason to drink?”

“I’ve never done it before. I wouldn’t know.”

“Then just try it. For me, alcohol doesn’t need a reason. It is the reason. It’s the cause, the effect, the question, the answer—it’s the world itself. So, when you’re lost, drink. Unless you’ve got some medical issue?”

“I… I think I’ll be fine…”

Sourin stared into the cup’s surface, his expression still blank.

Truthfully, a part of him couldn’t help but wonder—what difference would drinking something like this even make?

But the man in front of him had been hailed as a sage.

Surely, there was some hidden meaning.

With that belief, Sourin brought the cup to his lips and let the liquid flow down his throat—

Just like water.

It wasn’t a gentle warmth like food.

It wasn’t soothing, like drinking a comforting beverage.

No—what he experienced could only be described as suffering.

His throat burned. His nose stung. Sparks exploded behind his eyes.

His brows furrowed, his expression twisted—his normally sharp features grew even harsher.

“How was it?”

Cross asked eagerly, clearly excited.

“…It’s hard to describe. I lack the words. But I can say this—it wasn’t pleasant.”

“Well, that’s a shame. To me, this stuff is life itself.”

Cross tossed back his own cup in a single gulp.

Sourin, watching him, quietly refilled Cross’s cup.

“Oh—thanks!”

“It’s nothing.”

Sourin then tilted his own cup again—just a sip, this time.

Not unbearable, but undeniably harsh.

Not something he could call delicious.

And yet… he did discover one thing.

“I lived my life by killing my heart, trying to be a blade. If there was light, I cut through it. If there was darkness, I carved it away. I vowed to keep living as a sword until I broke.”

“Yeah. That’s how it always looked to me.”

“That’s exactly how it was. But in the end… I wasn’t a blade. I was just a beast.”

“What makes you say that?”

“A true blade wouldn’t be pained by something as simple as alcohol.”

“Hah. As your drinking senior, I’ll pray for the day that pain becomes pleasure.”

To that, Sourin offered a rare, faint smile.

“Perhaps… something in me cracked. I, who felt nothing but emptiness, am now capable of doubt. Could this be the magic of alcohol? Cross… may I ask you something that’s been weighing on me?”

“Of course. I’ll take it as something to nibble on with this drink.”

Sourin refilled Cross’s cup and began speaking in a soft murmur.

“Why did I live the way I did? It’s only now I’ve begun to wonder. I don’t regret anything. I lived without allowing for such luxury. But still… why couldn’t I live like my son? Like our lord? If I had… perhaps my father and mother would still be in this house.”

“You call that not regret?”

“Yes. It’s not regret. It’s just… my son surpassed me without killing anyone. Yes, your assistance helped—but…”

“No need to flatter me. I know. I was just a side character in that moment.”

Cross chuckled bitterly.

At that final moment, Unyou had truly broken through.

He overcame himself, his father—even if only for a moment, he had surpassed Sourin.

Cross didn’t know exactly how.

But he knew that Unyou had defeated Sourin by sheer ability.

“Cross… do you know the meaning of the name Unyou?”

“No. What does it mean?”

“It describes a moment of time shorter than an instant, but longer than a split second. As fast as thunder tearing across the sky. That is Unyou. And my son… our new lord, struck me with a blade bearing that very name.”

“A strike worthy of the name itself.”

“Indeed. That’s what it means to break through the wall. The very wall you always talk about.”

“And you could see that?”

“Yes. Clearly.”

They stared at each other in silence for a moment, then each picked up their cup and drank.

Sourin still grimaced.

“I don’t regret it. But… I keep asking myself why I couldn’t do what my son did. I doubt I’ll ever find the answer.”

“That’s how it goes.”

Cross poured more sake into Sourin’s cup. Sourin, in return, did the same for him.

“One more thing. I don’t regret passing down the seat or being spared. Yet… there’s a fog in my chest. I don’t understand it. I shouldn’t care, and yet…”

Cross took a sip and gave a bitter smile.

“That’s frustration.”

“Frustration? At what?”

“At losing.”

“But… I lived with the intent to lose. I hold no regrets. So why—?”

“Because you loved the blade, Sourin. When you lose at something you love, it hurts. That’s only natural.”

The words hit with terrifying clarity.

It wasn’t losing to his son that hurt.

It was losing with his sword—the only thing that was truly his—that stung.

It was being struck down with the kind of flash he could never produce.

“I see… I loved the sword, didn’t I?”

Only now did Sourin begin to understand himself.

Because he loved it, he was able to live a life of emptiness and duty.

Because he loved it, his true nature—his race—revealed itself in the form of a blade.

Something so simple, yet he had never noticed.

“Why couldn’t I realize something so obvious?”

“…Do you think the world is unfair?”

Cross’s question hung heavy.

Sourin shook his head.

“The one who’s unfair is me. But I’m content—because someone surpassed that unfairness. …Only the swordsmanship still stings.”

He took another sip.

Only slightly, but he thought—maybe—he could begin to understand the pleasure in drinking.

Just then, the sliding door slammed open with a crash that nearly broke it off its rails, and Unyou stormed in.

“Hey! If there’s sake, count me in! What the hell, drinking the good stuff without me?”

With a glass, not a cup, in hand, Unyou marched in and held it out.

“You’re early,” Cross said, pouring for him.

Unyou threw it back in one go.

“Damn! This is amazing! Seriously—so good!”

He beamed like a child.

“Congratulations on your succession, my lord. It’s only been three hours, but… what of the rites?”

“Oh, everyone kept saying I wasn’t fit to be lord, so I beat them all until they shut up. That’s good enough, right?”

Sourin blinked in surprise, then smiled and nodded.

“Of course. Proving one’s strength is the true rite. In a way, you’re the most fitting successor of all.”

Unyou grinned, plopped down cross-legged, and relaxed.

“So, this isn’t the end of the party, right? Stay a bit longer. Let’s celebrate my succession. Though honestly, I’m not cut out to be the head—I’d quit right now if I could.”

“That’s not allowed.”

At Sourin’s stern reply, Unyou slumped, dejected. Cross chuckled aloud.

“By the way, I’m an outsider, so I don’t know all the customs. Can a gatekeeper, head of the clan, and protector of the village all be the same person?”

When Cross asked, Unyou turned silently to Sourin.

Sourin set his cup down and replied firmly.

“To be frank—no. A protector is someone who has forsaken national power. In fact, they must even stand against it when it becomes unjust. Thus, one cannot be both gatekeeper and protector.”

“…So what now, Unyou?”

Unyou looked to Sourin again.

“You may do as you wish. Resign as gatekeeper. Decline to be protector and remain gatekeeper. Or resign from both and focus solely on being head of the family.”

“Wait… what does a head of the family even do?”

Unyou asked, genuinely clueless.

“You guide the clan. You raise successors. You train protectors. To be specific…”

The conversation turned formal, and Sourin and Unyou spoke at length, indifferent to Cross.

Cross, disinterested in serious talk, quietly distanced himself and sipped his sake alone.

Even Unyou, who disliked such serious matters, couldn’t escape this responsibility.

So Cross avoided it for him, retreating into his cup.

“…By the way, when can I finally pass on the title to the next head?”

“Let’s see… when someone appears who can cut lightning, perhaps?”

“That’s impossible!”

Sourin chuckled.

“You seem worried about your future as head?”

“Of course I am! I’m not suited for this at all!”

“In that case, I have a suggestion.”

“Oh? Got an idea?”

“Yes. Something efficient, beneficial, and well-suited to your position.”

“Let’s hear it.”

“Marry Haku-sama of the Ryoneku clan.”

Unyou spat out his drink.

Cross froze mid-sip and silently turned his ears toward the conversation.

“Wha—why!? How does that make sense!?”

“You intend to align with the Ryoneku-style protectors, yes? Then involving someone familiar makes sense. Haku-sama, I believe, excels at things you’re terrible at. In fact, I hear she handles most of your duties already?”

“Ugh… b-but… we already broke off the engagement…”

“The reason for that was your desire to enjoy your freedom, was it not? Now that you’re head, that chapter should be closed.”

“Well… yeah, but… I can’t just ask her to take me back after that…”

“Then beg. Sincerely, with all your heart.”

“…I mean, it’s not like there’s love or anything between us—”

“But there is trust, isn’t there? You’ve supported each other for years. I believe she’ll accept. Though… you’ll be under her thumb for the rest of your life. But that’s a small price to pay.”

By now, Unyou was silent.

Precisely because it made too much sense.

Because it might actually work.

He broke into a cold sweat.

Cross, utterly uninvolved, kept his mouth shut—at least until Unyou noticed the teasing and protested. Until then, he continued eavesdropping, thoroughly entertained.