"Ah… I need a drink,” Tuk muttered to herself, staring blankly at the moon. She was slouched on a stone bench in the open-air garden, the cool night breeze doing little to calm the whirlwind in her mind. Her conversation with the prince still echoed in her thoughts, leaving her both stunned and exasperated. She had known Prince Michaelli was sharp, but this? The man was a genius in everything!

"Does he even have a weakness?" Tuk groaned at the moon, her frustration bubbling over. She leaned back, her spine curving against the bench as she threw her arms over her head in surrender. "Am I supposed to just keep up with him? What does he even want from me?"

She replayed his cryptic words over and over. He had said her appointment wasn’t just about teaching him ‘love.’ No, it was about positioning her close enough to see what others missed. Strategist? Tuk scoffed at the thought. I’ve been strategizing how to not get killed since I got here. How’s that working out for me?

Her head throbbed from all the thinking. She rubbed her temples, squinting up at the moon. "I need to stop overthinking and start drinking," she declared. But where? She couldn’t leave the palace grounds without permission, and the towering walls around her felt like they were mocking her. “Spider-Man wouldn’t even get up those,” she muttered.

Her eyes lit up. Wait… the kitchen! There’s bound to be something there!

Tuk made her way to the servant’s kitchen, weaving through the corridors like a mischievous thief. When she finally arrived, she shamelessly used the prince’s name to nab a bottle of liquor from an unsuspecting servant. But one sip of the harsh liquid made her gag. It burned all the way down, hitting her stomach like a fist. "Ugh," she groaned, setting the bottle down with distaste. "No wonder men drink this stuff. They’ve got guts made of iron."

She glanced at the fruit juice on the table next to the bottle and an idea struck her like lightning. A grin split her face. "Why didn’t I think of this sooner?"

With renewed energy, Tuk scrambled around the kitchen, snatching up a pitcher and a spoon. As she worked, she noticed a servant using some kind of mechanical device to ignite the stove. Her eyes widened in delight. It looked suspiciously like a lighter. "Oh, this is perfect!" she muttered, sidling up to the startled kitchen staff. "Mind if I borrow this for a bit?"

The servant blinked. "That’s... only for kitchen use, my lord."

"Well, it’s for the prince," she replied, not missing a beat. Before they could argue, Tuk swiped the small gadget and darted back to her table, grinning like a child with a stolen toy.

Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

“Welcome to the isekai world, shembot,” Tuk cackled to herself, gleefully mixing the fruit juice with the liquor. She worked with the reckless precision of a mad scientist, tossing in a block of ice after smoothly ‘borrowing’ it with another mention of the prince. As she shook the concoction, her mind buzzed. Is this the power the prince was talking about? she thought, barely containing her laughter.

Her wild cocktail-making was interrupted by the sound of boots approaching. Tuk didn’t stop her furious shaking as a group of warriors entered the kitchen hall.

"Hey, historian! What are you doing?" one of the warriors called out.

Tuk squinted at him, trying to place the face. "Who?"

The man laughed. "Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten me already! It’s Bucky, the machete. We fought together, remember?"

Recognition clicked in Tuk’s brain. "Ah! The red cape guy!" She stopped shaking the bottle long enough to bow her head dramatically. "Thank you for saving my life, mighty warrior."

(A/N: The one who saved her during the war)

Bucky waved it off with a laugh. "No need for all that. I’m more interested in what you’re doing. Celebrating something?"

Tuk grinned slyly, her eyes glittering with mischief. "Oh, just a little something. I’ve been assigned as the prince’s new love advisor. So, I thought, why not toast to that, huh?"

The warriors exchanged confused glances. "That’s… good news?" Bucky ventured, though the hesitant tone in his voice made Tuk chuckle.

"Oh, it’s something, alright." She slammed the ice block against the table, shattering it into pieces and sending a few shards flying. Bucky and the others jumped back, eyes wide. Tuk ignored them, dumping the ice into the pitcher with a flourish.

"Join me?" Tuk asked, her tone playful as she poured the liquor into the ewer, igniting it with the lighter. The flames danced momentarily before she blew them out, making Bucky's jaw drop.

"W-wait! You’re letting the spirit escape!" Bucky protested, his eyes glued to the smoldering bottle.

"Exactly." Tuk winked, smirking as she poured the concoction into their mugs. "I’m not allowed to get drunk, so I’m making it less potent. Genius, right?"

Bucky burst out laughing, slapping the table. "You’ve got a weird brain, historian! But sure, I’ll drink to that."

As the warriors joined her, Tuk raised her mug with a dramatic flourish. "Now, gentlemen, you don’t just chug it. You have to cheers for me first!"

They blinked at her, unsure, but slowly followed her lead. "Raise your mugs! Like this," she said, holding hers up high. "And say 'Tagay!'"

"TAGAY!" the warriors shouted in unison, their voices echoing through the kitchen as they clinked their mugs together.

Tuk took a hearty swig and sighed in satisfaction. "Ah, that hits the spot."

The warriors followed suit, and a chorus of exclamations filled the air. "This… this is amazing!" one of them said, looking at his mug in awe.

"The flavor’s richer!" another added. "What is this called?"

Tuk grinned proudly, standing tall like a queen addressing her subjects. "This, gentlemen, is called SHEMBOT!"

And so, the banquet begins! Plates are stacked, glasses are clinking, but... wait a minute... where’s the real party vibe? This banquet is missing some serious flavor: karaoke! And so, I step up, grabbing the nearest spoon (instant mic), and decide it’s time to turn this kitchen into a full-blown stage. The warriors look at me like, "Really?" but in no time, we're belting out "We Are the Champions!"—well, sort of.

Now, here’s the best part: these warriors? Absolutely tone-deaf. I’m talking every note being a journey to parts unknown. I’m laughing so hard I can barely get a word out, but no one cares! Who needs pitch when you’ve got passion? We’re a wildly off-key choir, and it’s glorious.

Forget the banquet formality—let’s party!