The Man Who Remained — His Second Life Began with a Humble Bow of Apology. - Chapter 96: An Unprecedented VIP Guest Arrives (Part Six).

An Unprecedented VIP Guest Arrives (Part Six).

“Did you enjoy yourself?”

Vaahl turned toward the voice and offered a soft smile.

“Yes. Thanks to your hospitality, it seems I did.”

At his response, the speaker—Gyokuran—smiled, though a trace of regret lingered on her face.

“I only wish that not just your child, but Valeria-sama himself had found it more enjoyable… I apologize for not being more capable. Ah, I forgot to introduce myself. From this point on, I—Gyokuran, head of Hourai Village—will be your host in place of the night breeze who guided you earlier.”

With those words, Gyokuran bowed deeply.

“…No need. I’m not really one for those kinds of things.”

“I know. Which is why I, someone who cannot engage in such ‘entertainment,’ was sent to accompany you. So please, rest assured. No matter how much one may wish otherwise, those duties fall to someone else entirely.”

Vaahl responded with a calm, relieved smile.

“I see. Of course. A village chief can hardly engage in that sort of thing.”

“…Yes, exactly. I am the chief, after all.”

Gyokuran chuckled softly and poured a fresh cup of sake.

“Thank you.”

Vaahl accepted it without protest and gently tipped it to his lips.

The moment the liquor touched his tongue, his eyes widened.

It wasn’t about whether it tasted good or bad—the sheer strength of it sent a fiery jolt down his throat like a thunderclap.

“…If it weren’t me, wouldn’t this have turned into an emergency?”

Thinking how any other race might spew it in shock, mistaking it for water, he chuckled as he asked. Gyokuran replied with a faint smile.

“For someone of pure blood, isn’t this still no more than water? It’s said your kind can’t even get drunk unless the drink brings pain, isn’t that right?”

“Oh? From the way you say that, have you met others like me?”

“Yes. Quite a while ago.”

Vaahl was momentarily surprised, then smiled gently.

“Would you mind telling me about it? Tales of our kind are one of our few pleasures.”

“Certainly. Let’s see… It was around two thousand—no, perhaps three thousand years ago. I’m afraid my memory is a bit hazy.”

“I understand. Anything older than five hundred years tends to blur, doesn’t it?”

Vaahl nodded knowingly, his smile tinged with shared nostalgia.

“Yes, that’s true. Back then, someone wandered into the village… I believe he called himself Shirogane.”

“Hm. I don’t recognize the name…”

“Oh? Then perhaps it was an alias?”

“Most likely. I doubt anyone foolish enough to claim pureblood heritage openly would have survived. It’s not uncommon among our kind—to use another’s name and travel anonymously.”

“I see. Incidentally, he was quite fond of strong drink. Said anything under fifty proof was just water, and that true liquor started at one hundred, where it became a challenge to craft pain and pleasure into something exquisite.”

“…Ah. I think I know who you’re referring to. If it’s him, there’s no doubt—he was pureblood.”

“I’m glad to hear that. Do you know where Shriogane-sama is now…?”

Vaahl slowly shook his head.

“…I see. I had prepared a special bottle, just in case he ever returned.”

“Then allow me, on behalf of my fallen kin, to thank you. Thank you for treating him well.”

“Not at all… In fact, though it’s not quite a ritual, I was thinking—would you like to try that bottle, given our connection?”

“I’ll pass. That sake was meant for him. If I drank it, I might be cursed. And honestly, it’s so strong I doubt I’d even taste it.”

“I thought as much. Honestly, I’ve always believed it should be called an accelerant rather than sake,” Gyokuran said with a small laugh.

Vaahl couldn’t help but smile in return, her amusement rubbing off on him.

“Come to think of it, as village chief, I really must thank you formally, Valeria-sama.”

Vaahl, who had been calmly sipping his sake, set the cup down and looked toward her.

“Hmm? I don’t recall doing anything that deserves thanks.”

“Oh? Then how do you explain the three separate incidents where remains of unknown attackers were discovered, despite no one claiming to have fought them?”

“Well, who knows? Though personally… I think it was four incidents, not three.”

That answer clearly caught Gyokuran off guard. She bowed her head deeply, apologetic.

“Thank you. But since you insist you don’t know, I won’t press further.”

“Please do leave it at that.”

Vaahl appreciated her restraint and lack of flattery, and lifted his cup again in a good mood.

“By the way… Cross seems convinced those incidents were the work of a mysterious ninja force loyal to the village. He was very excited about it.”

Vaahl sputtered into his sake, barely avoiding choking.

“Th-That’s… hah. Then by all means, let’s say it was. Sounds more entertaining that way.”

“Understood. We’ll make it official village lore.”

“Excellent. By the way, do ninjas really exist?”

“Well… I couldn’t possibly say,” Gyokuran replied with a mischievous grin, sidestepping the question like a seasoned trickster.

“As a small token of thanks, may I offer you a song to accompany our drinks?”

She held up a biwa, the traditional lute.

“Oh? That sounds delightful. But do know—I may be a vampire, but I am still a pureblood. We tend to be very particular when it comes to the arts.”

Unbothered by his teasing, Gyokuran simply smiled.

“Of course. That’s partly why I came myself, despite no longer being a geisha. Please—enjoy it at your leisure.”

She adjusted the instrument, and Vaahl closed his eyes, cup in hand.

The song was old.

A legendary tale—so well known that children called it boring, overdone.

Yet when sung by Gyokuran, the story became real. And when heard by Vaahl, it became profound.

It was the story of a woman who ate mermaid flesh.

It began with hunger.

In a famine, she accidentally consumed the flesh of a mermaid caught in her net.

That single act made her immortal.

Her once frail body grew strong and unaging. She used her newfound power to help others.

She saved many, was praised, loved—and eventually, she found a man to love in return.

They built a life, had children, and shared happiness.

But then her husband died—of old age.

And then her child, too.

She grieved… but lived on.

Over centuries, she loved again. Had more children.

And lost them.

Each time, the pain grew duller… until one day, she could no longer feel love at all.

People came and went.

But she remained—unaging, unchanging, no longer even able to cry.

She became numb.

The joy and sorrow of life faded into routine.

She wasn’t truly alive anymore. Just not dead.

One day, she tried to recall the face of the man she had once loved.

She couldn’t.

And she couldn’t even feel sad about it.

That was when she realized what she had become.

Only someone who had lived through centuries could sing that sorrow.

And only someone like Vaahl—who had endured similar loss—could truly understand it.

“…You’re just like us,” he whispered.

“No. I haven’t lived as long as you purebloods. But in this village, I am the oldest. So perhaps… I understand a little.”

She smiled.

It was that kind of smile—the one his kind wore.

The kind that said, I smile because crying would be too much.

That song, and that smile, drew a single tear from Vaahl’s eye.

Was it empathy? Pity? Respect?

He didn’t know.

But that one drop held the pain of solitude and the weight of survival.

And that, he knew, wasn’t a bad thing.

The true tragedy… is forgetting how to feel.

Like the woman in the story.

That a pureblood like Vaahl could cry over a song—

It was nearly a miracle.

But it proved that, in that moment, he was healing.

“It’s been a long time since anything stirred me this much… not since the days of my kind.”

“Did even a pureblood find my performance satisfying?” Gyokuran asked with a teasing tone.

Vaahl gave a wry smile and nodded.

“Yes. So much so that I hate to admit it.”

“Thank you.”

Seeing her triumphant, satisfied expression, Vaahl felt not only gratitude and admiration, but deep respect.

In that moment, he realized—his emotions were still alive.

He wasn’t dead inside.

“Do you take encore requests?”

“But of course. What would you like? I’m not amazing, but I can also play more modern instruments like the piano or guitar.”

“No need. Play whatever suits you best. But this time… something cheerful. Dark songs weigh too heavily on the heart.”

Smiling, Gyokuran nodded and began.

A tale of a demon who slayed other demons.

A hero’s duel to the death.

A clumsy vampire father and his doting child.

A story of a radiant, beautiful sea.

As Gyokuran played, Vaahl forgot even to lift his cup.

He listened—utterly absorbed.

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