Chapter 63 - Clingy Myrrh

How long has it been? Thirty minutes? An hour? I couldn’t tell anymore. The haze of alcohol was starting to lift from me—maybe because of the ridiculous “booby-softness contest” earlier, or the sheer number of restroom trips I’d taken to cool myself down. But the real culprit was likely the girl glued to my side. Myrrh’s unrelenting clinginess had turned every beer within reach into an unattainable luxury.

The room around us felt like a kaleidoscope of chaos. Dianca sat slumped in a karaoke-induced coma, clutching two mics like trophies, which explained the lull in music.

Across the table, Remuel and Neil were locked in a heated debate about Earth’s politics, passionately throwing around words like “communism” and “capitalism” as if they were solving the universe’s problems.

Cindy, her reddish-orange wild and untamed face, was clearly past her limit but still defiantly downing mug after mug of beer. Meanwhile, Fei, ever-determined, fought an uphill battle against the seemingly endless supply of bottomless fries, her black afro bouncing as she chomped away with exaggerated focus.

And then there was Myrrh.

Her arms clung tightly to my left one, her head nestled against my shoulder like we were an inseparable pair. The warmth of her body seeped into mine, and the sweet, faint scent of her greenish blonde hair tickled my nose.

We probably looked like a couple, the way her flushed cheeks rested so close to mine, the dazed look in her striking blue eyes locking with mine every so often. Those eyes—clouded, dreamy, and framed by long lashes—lingered just long enough to send a jolt of heat through me. And her lips—soft, pink, and slightly parted—seemed to dare me to lean in, to bridge the gap between us.

As if things weren’t already bad enough, my left arm was hopelessly sandwiched between the soft weight of her breasts. The heat of her body, her breath so close to my neck, and the involuntary pressure of her curves made my heart pound like a drum. My body reacted in ways I wished it wouldn’t, a telltale ache growing uncomfortably beneath the table.

I needed an escape.

“Myrrh…” I shifted slightly, trying to free my arm, but her grip tightened like a vice. She let out a groggy, discontented groan, nuzzling closer to me.

“Uh, Myrrh,” I tried again, forcing a strained smile despite the rising tension in me. “I need to go to the restroom.”

"Again? This is your fifth trip to the restroom, hic!" Myrrh groaned, her words slurring as she clung to me like a lost kitten. "Don’t tell me you’re hiding a woman in one of those cubicles!"

"The hell?" I muttered, raising an eyebrow as I stared at her flushed, slightly pouty face. "What kind of twisted soap opera are you imagining? And, honestly, why would that even be your business?"

Myrrh puffed out her cheeks, her lips curling into an exaggerated pout that only made her look more endearing. Finally, with a melodramatic huff, she let go of my arm and crossed hers over her chest. "Hmph! Fine then! Go to Michelle! Leave me, just like how Ephraim left me for that junkie bitch!"

I froze, momentarily stunned by her outburst. Slowly, I mouthed, What the fuck?—careful not to let the words escape audibly. Her sudden dive into this "dere" side of hers was catching me off guard, and though it was admittedly adorable, the sheer emotional whiplash left me scrambling for an appropriate response.

For reasons I couldn’t fully comprehend, I didn’t want her to feel jealous—especially not over some imaginary woman in a bathroom stall. Acting on instinct, I reached out and lightly patted her head.

"Ah~!" Myrrh let out an unexpectedly loud, suggestive moan, her voice echoing in the room like a warning siren for misunderstandings. Heads might’ve turned if the rest of our companions weren’t too far gone in their own drunken chaos.

I pulled my hand back quickly, my face heating up like I’d accidentally touched a hot stove. "I’ll be back, okay?" I said, forcing a smile to cover my embarrassment.

"Okay!" she chirped, her mood shifting with whiplash-inducing speed. Her smile was wide and genuine, her blue eyes sparkling like nothing in the world had ever upset her.

The moment I stood, Myrrh wasted no time sprawling across the sofa where I’d been sitting, curling into the warm spot I’d left behind as if to claim it. For the first time that evening, I felt a shred of freedom. I took a deep breath, adjusted my jacket, and made my way out of the karaoke room.

The hallway outside was quieter, dimly lit by the faint glow of neon lights filtering in through frosted windows. As I walked toward the restroom, I let out a sigh I hadn’t realized I’d been holding. Myrrh’s drunken antics were a rollercoaster ride, and I was barely hanging on.

I’d leaked a lot. As usual, my tolerance for alcohol was a double-edged sword—I could get drunk easily, but the tipsiness never lasted long. My fast metabolism burned through it like a furnace, giving me the stamina to outlast most in long drinking sessions.

After finishing my business, I zipped up and glanced at my watch. Eleven o’clock. Late, but manageable. Tomorrow is Sunday, which means nobody cares if we end up wasted tonight.

The drowsiness crept in as I walked to the sink, my reflection looking just as weary as I felt. A splash of cold water would do the trick. I cupped my hands, let the icy liquid jolt my senses awake, and repeated the process. By the second splash, I felt a little more alive—but the face I saw in the mirror beside me made my stomach drop.

A shock of reddish-orange hair, familiar as a bad habit, greeted me.

“What the hell are you doing here?” I asked, turning toward her with a frown.

“Oh, Zaft,” Cindy said casually, taking the sink next to me. She cupped her hands and splashed cold water onto her face with the nonchalance of someone who wasn’t supposed to be here. “You and Myrrh were really lovey-dovey tonight, huh? I even heard she got jealous over a bunch of girls back at the tournament. Honestly, you two should just get a room and get married already.”

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“Shut up, Cindy. You’re drunk,” I muttered, trying to keep my voice steady.

“I am not drunk!” she declared, puffing out her chest indignantly as if sheer willpower could override the slur in her words.

“Then what are you doing in the male lavatory?” I shot back, my voice rising slightly in disbelief.

“This is the female lavatory, you perverted idiot!” Cindy snapped, jabbing her finger at me like she was calling me out in front of a jury.

For a second, doubt crept in. Had I stumbled into the wrong bathroom? No, that couldn’t be right. I glanced around, taking stock of my surroundings. The tiled walls, the unmistakable row of urinals along one side—yep, this was definitely the male lavatory.

“Cindy,” I said slowly, barely restraining a laugh. “Look around. There are urinals here.”

Cindy froze, her wide eyes darting toward the wall of incriminating evidence. For a moment, her brain seemed to short-circuit. Then, with the confidence only someone thoroughly drunk could muster, she crossed her arms and declared, “Well, maybe you men should stop putting urinals in our lavatories!”

I stared at her, caught between exasperation and amusement. Cindy’s logic was as solid as jelly.

“You’re unbelievable,” I muttered, shaking my head.

“And you’re still a pervert,” she countered, sticking her tongue out before splashing her face with water again, as if that solved everything.

And then, all of a sudden, this idiotic friend of mine made a scandal.

"Aaah! Pervert!" Cindy shrieked, her voice reverberating off the restroom walls like an alarm.

“Shush!” I hissed, quickly covering her mouth with my hand. “You’re the one who wandered in here! Let’s just get you back to our friends before this turns into a full-blown scene.”

Cindy glared at me for a moment before slapping my hand away. She staggered to the sink, her face pale and clammy, and I realized too late what was about to happen.

With a heave, Cindy puked into the sink, the sound making me cringe as I took a step back. She stayed hunched over for a few moments, groaning softly, before straightening up with the sluggishness of someone who had just run a marathon in their head.

“You good?” I asked cautiously.

She gave a small, exhausted nod, her eyes half-lidded and unfocused. Without waiting for her to keel over, I grabbed her wrist and guided her out of the male restroom, keeping her upright as we made our way back to the karaoke rooms.

Once we reached her group, I helped her settle into a seat, grabbing a glass of water and placing it in front of her. “Drink this. Slowly,” I instructed, earning a weak grunt in response.

Finally free of babysitting duty, I returned to my room, only to be met with Myrrh’s icy glare. She was still sitting where I’d left her, arms crossed over her chest, lips pursed in a pout, and eyes as sharp as daggers. If looks could kill, I’d be six feet under.

“There you are!” she snapped. “I knew you had another woman! And it’s Cindy!”

I stared at her, dumbfounded. “What—no! Definitely not!” I raised my hands in defense. “I just helped her because she drank too much and—”

“Okay,” Myrrh interrupted, her entire demeanor shifting in an instant. Her pout melted into a soft smile, and she tilted her head slightly, her greenish blonde messy hair swaying as she giggled. “I believe you!”

The rapid switch from jealousy to blind trust was so disarming, I felt my shoulders slump in disbelief. Myrrh’s blue eyes sparkled with genuine innocence, her cheeks flushed from alcohol, and her adorably naive expression reminded me just how gullible she was when drunk.

Man, this girl could go from lethal to lovable in two seconds flat.

Myrrh patted the empty spot on the sofa beside her, her expectant gaze making it impossible to refuse. I sighed inwardly, knowing exactly where this was heading, and obediently took my seat. No sooner had I sat down than she clung to me again, wrapping herself around my arm like a vine.

Now that the alcohol’s haze had fully worn off, I was acutely aware of everything. Myrrh’s warmth pressed against me, her soft, curvy figure practically melting into my side. My left arm was nestled against her chest, the sensation of her supple figure sending a bolt of electricity through me.

Before I could process the situation, Myrrh grabbed another mug of beer and took a long gulp, her cheeks flushing an even deeper red. As she set the mug down with an exaggerated sigh, she escalated things further—lifting my hand and tucking it against her bare thighs.

The softness of her skin was impossible to ignore, the warmth radiating through my palm making my heart pound in my chest. My hand was only centimeters from the hem of her skirt, dangerously close to the forbidden zone.

“Myrrh…” I murmured, forcing myself to look at her face instead of letting my gaze wander where it shouldn’t.

She turned her head toward me, her blue eyes shimmering with a mix of vulnerability and drunken courage. “Zaft…” she whispered, her voice soft and trembling. Her face had grown even redder, and the way her lips quivered made her look impossibly cute—almost irresistible.

But I couldn’t let this continue. My conscience screamed at me to put a stop to it. No matter how tempting this moment was, I’d never forgive myself for taking advantage of her in this state.

I forced a grin, hoping to diffuse the tension. “Aren’t you being a little… touchy?”

Her expression faltered, her bottom lip trembling as her gaze dropped. “Do you hate me that much?” she asked softly, her voice laced with hurt. “You don’t want me to spoil you?”

Her words hit me like a ton of bricks. The vulnerability in her tone, the slight quiver in her voice—it was enough to stir something deep inside me. She wasn’t just being drunk and playful; there was something raw and honest in her question, and it made my chest tighten.

“I-It’s not like that,” I stammered, turning away to avoid her piercing gaze. I scratched my cheek awkwardly, struggling to keep my thoughts straight. “I mean, you’re clearly drunk. You might end up doing something you’ll regret later.”

Myrrh’s pout deepened, her blue eyes narrowing with a stubborn determination. “I’m just being honest with my feelings,” she replied, her voice steady despite the alcohol’s influence. “I’m not some idiot who spouts nonsense when I’m drunk. Don’t compare me to that buffoon.”

She jabbed her finger in the direction of Neil, who was now standing precariously on top of the table like a victorious gladiator. His tie was loosened, his hair was a disheveled mess, and his glassy eyes screamed too much beer.

“I have superpowers!” Neil bellowed, raising a mic triumphantly, one he must’ve snatched from the slumbering Dianca. “That illness you saw from me? It’s not a curse! It’s a gift! A gift! I wield the power of the Cosmic Tree, and I can delete this reality! Wooooo!”

“Woooooo!” came the drunken chorus from Remuel, Fei, and Cindy, their voices slurred and full of misplaced enthusiasm.

Myrrh sighed, clearly unimpressed as she leaned closer to me, resting her head against my shoulder with a huff. “See? That’s the kind of drunk nonsense I’m not talking about,” she muttered, her voice tinged with irritation.

I glanced around the room, taking stock of the chaos unfolding. Dianca was still passed out, the mic she had hoarded earlier lying forgotten by her side. Remuel and Cindy had taken to banging their mugs together, spilling beer everywhere in a show of camaraderie. Fei, meanwhile, seemed to be attempting some kind of interpretive dance, her movements dangerously close to knocking over the table.

It was clear that everyone was far gone.

I let out a long, resigned sigh, gently patting Myrrh’s head. “Yeah, okay. I think it’s time to wrap this up.” Reluctantly, I disentangled myself from her clingy embrace and stood up. “Stay here, Myrrh. I’ll go get the server and stop the endless beer train before we all end up in the hospital—or worse.”

She blinked up at me, her cheeks still flushed, but nodded obediently. “Hurry back, Zaft…”

I turned toward the door, weaving through the sea of drunken chaos with a single thought in mind: get everyone home safe and sound before this karaoke session turned into a full-blown disaster.