Chapter 50 Drinking Strong Tea
Edited by: Kanaa-senpai
I took a sip of the thin green tea, just enough to wet my lips, and when I felt my throat loosen, I forced myself to speak before his presence could crush me.
Maybe it was because he wasn’t from a generation that misunderstood male emotions, but my tone came out sharper than usual.
”Then let me say this—calling someone here just to judge them? That’s a pretty damn vulgar thing to do.”
Honestly, vulgar wasn’t even the word. He was just… nerve-dead. Maybe he wanted to provoke me on purpose, but I wasn’t the type to swallow shit quietly.
As my words hit him, his face twisted—deep lines carved around his nose, his expression wrinkling like an old, withered tree.
”My worth doesn’t need your assessment,” he spat.
Fine. But I wasn’t about to let him get the last word in.
”I don’t even get what you’re trying to ask,” I said, leaning forward. “If it’s about women’s devotion, then fine—men and women are equal in essence. We grant them grace; they protect us in return. That’s the system. That’s balance.”
It was something I’d learned in school, and I said it as it was.
I never cared about whether women were deceiving us or acting out of fake virtue.
The truth is simple: I love women. No profit, no reason—just love. And I believe they feel the same. They love men as I love them—without logic, without restraint.
And maybe that’s why, from their perspective, such affection feels confusing and even a little frightening.
”Hmph. I didn’t ask for textbook answers.”
”Yeah, well, it happens to be the truth.”
”Then tell me—how do you feel about this so-called system?”
”Uh…”
The man—Ichimatsu—might’ve been a misogynist. Talking like this was dangerous; my views were considered heresy here. Honestly, men get way too much out of this arrangement.
I rummaged through the mental drawers of what counted as “common sense” in this world. Best not to show too much of myself.
”I think we should accept women’s affection sincerely. It benefits both sides.”
”Pathetic. You really grovel to women that much?”
”That’s not it. There’s no point searching for hidden motives behind devotion. Our statuses differ, so our feelings do too. But we’re still human. We should show kindness when possible.”
I said it clearly.
It sounded like something a gentle medieval noblewoman would say—those who believed the powerful should bless, and the common folk should show devotion, yet everyone should coexist peacefully.
Whether a woman’s devotion comes from pure sincerity, sexual desire, or a sense of superiority over other women—I don’t know. Maybe she doesn’t either.
To me, it’s simply affection. If you seek ulterior motives in human emotions, you’ll never stop until everything seems corrupt.
That’s why I judge women by their actions. They feed, protect, and care for me. For that, they deserve full credit. I know how difficult it is to raise and educate even one person.
At my words, Ichimatsu’s already bitter face turned darker.
”Affection? Women have no hearts, only lust.”
His eyes clouded, something heavy swimming inside them.
”You’ve never seen it, have you? That disgusting look when they crave your body. When they press their filthy bodies against me, I feel only rage and humiliation. It’s like acid coursing through my veins.”
His expression twisted with pain. Whatever he was remembering wasn’t a lie—it was the face of a man who despised sex itself.
”You’ll learn soon enough,” he said, voice low. “You’ll find out why you were raised—for what purpose.”
He said it like men were cattle. And yeah, maybe part of us is—breeders, playthings—but even then, he truly hated being touched by women.
”Isn’t sex a sacred duty?” I asked.
”It is—or so I believed. But it’s merely their instinct. Show mercy once, and they’ll demand it repeatedly.”
Men are taught to feel neither pleasure nor pain during sex with women. It’s meant to be a duty—performed with restraint, without favoritism. That’s the rule, to prevent men from choosing.
He kept talking, almost pleading for me to understand.
”A woman’s greed is endless. Show compassion, and her desire intensifies.”
”I see…”
But even if that’s true for men, it’s not the same for women. For them, sex isn’t routine—it’s everything.
A woman might work her whole life dreaming of that one night, that one chance. And to tell her to be satisfied with a few minutes? That’s cruelty.
If she gets that night, she’ll cling to it like air—cling to him—and never let go. She’ll remember that man for life, maybe even beg for a second chance when she can’t endure the emptiness.
But Ichimatsu treated that kind of longing like it was filth.
After a pause, I asked, “Even if she desires it without wanting a child… is that truly wrong? If she desires it, shouldn’t we show kindness?”
Perhaps that means twice in one night or two nights consecutively. Even if it doesn’t serve the system, it serves the heart.
He likely saw only greed, but I understood those women’s feelings.
His eyes went wide, stunned.
”What? You actually believe that?”
”For instance, my Imperial Guard risked her life to protect me. I believe she’s earned some kindness, don’t you?”
The memory hit me hard as I spoke.
It’s not just her—any woman here would sacrifice her life for a man. I know this world values lives unequally, but taking their devotion for granted feels cruel. I want to honor their desires if possible.
It’s a statement from a woman’s perspective, but it still fits within what’s acceptable in this society. A line I could safely stand on.
But Ichimatsu didn’t look convinced. His face twisted, his mouth sour with disgust.
”And besides,” I added, “not every woman’s the same. They have different needs, different hearts. You can’t just lump them all together.”
I’ve always hated that thinking—that “they’re all the same,” that “they all think with what’s between their legs.”
That’s not logic; it’s self-perpetuating prejudice.
”Sure, my Imperial Guard might have a strong appetite, like you said,” I admitted, “but she’s still her own person, with her own mind.”
He sneered. “I suppose she’s precious to you. But don’t tell me you think all women have individuality.”
His tone dripped with mockery, and that was it—I snapped.
”Of course they do,” I bit back. “You just don’t see it.”
”Did you hear that?” he said with disdain, voice sharp as steel. “Ridiculous. Once you’re free from lust, your heart grows pure. That’s absolute. Those bound by filthy desires lose all grace, all individuality. What’s left is nothing but the beast inside.”
Ichimatsu lectured me with that same cold irritation that crawled under my skin.
What kind of man talks like that? Sure, not every woman is kind or gentle, but every single one of them is fighting just to survive. My Imperial Guard, the people in town, even that official who abandoned me—they’re all living, breathing human beings.
Perhaps to nobles, others are disposable, but treating them as subhuman is unacceptable. I may be unusual for a man, but I refuse to deny that feeling.
I won’t lose to this.
What’s “grace,” anyway? If you want to get technical, humans are animals too.
”When you’ve got food and shelter, you learn manners,” I shot back. “You speak nicely from a place where you’re fed and clothed. So tell me, where do your morals come from?”
”From me, of course,” he said, smug as hell. “I’ve made plenty of women earn their keep. Words like those—’proverbs,’ you call them—are the poison of the young. Stop using them before they rot your mind.”
We glared at each other over the tea, our expressions tense, the air heavy with contempt.
And in that moment, I finally understood something—
We were never going to get along. Not even close.
So whatever this meeting was supposed to be, I couldn’t let myself play into his hands any further. I didn’t know why he’d called me here, but there was no way I’d spill what I really thought.
He surely didn’t bring me to this strange tea ceremony just to mock me.
”So what the hell is this?” I demanded. “You went to all this trouble—some secret tea setup—for what?”
”Hidden motives,” he said easily, lips curving. “Of course. That’s what hospitality means, boy. Didn’t you find our talk amusing?”
”Not even slightly!” I snapped.
We sat longer, exchanging words as the tea’s taste lingered. Despite our conversation, nothing meaningful emerged. I tried changing the topic, but it always returned to nothing.
I mentioned the southern front, the war everyone whispered about, but he barely reacted. He said he didn’t care about war at all.
Instead, he claimed I was being used—that my Imperial Guard was manipulating me. He advised using my Psionic Power for myself, not wasting it protecting others.
Then, as if offering the kindest advice, he suggested returning north, hiding among the polite upper class, and living quietly.
Even the perfectly whisked tea annoyed me.
”Women can be selfless too, you know,” I muttered, unable to stop myself.
”Ah, selfless love,” he sneered. “For men, that’s wealth and glory. We love them, they give us nothing in return. Quite the perfect balance, don’t you think?”
”That’s not what I meant—”
He truly loved his own sarcasm.
We disagreed on everything. Every damn thing.
I argued without intending to—about how deeply hating women was twisted, how I preferred noisy southern towns to polished northern salons, and how I disliked luxury.
But the longer we spoke, the more it became a wasteland of words. I was cautious not to reveal too much, so we only clashed beliefs, never finding common ground.
Eventually, I just wanted to leave. I’d thank him politely, make an excuse, and depart.
But as I was about to stand, Ichimatsu’s words burned through the air and shattered everything.
”I,” he said, voice trembling with fury, “must service yet another nameless partner next month. Do you understand the humiliation of having to grant compassion to some mere townswoman?”
”What did you just say?” I blurted.
The air thickened. The conversation had heated up, dangerously circling the most fragile subject between men and women—sex.
”Wait—you’re forced to sleep with townspeople?” I asked.
”Even if I sire hundreds of children,” he growled, “they’re all the same. The same bodies. The same faces. The same desperate eyes begging for affection, stamped out like dolls from a mold.”
”That’s…”
”Like coupling with cheap puppets,” he spat.
His face flickered with regret.
After all, I was technically a child. Even if we were the same sex, that kind of talk was dangerous. If I broke under it, it could cause a scandal. He likely slipped because I seemed older—because I debated like an adult.
But when I didn’t flinch, he relaxed, snorted, and continued.
And then something inside me snapped.
He had no idea what it felt like—to ache for those so-called “ordinary” women. To want, to imagine, to burn with thoughts that never left you.
How could he call that ugly?
”Pathetic,” I said coldly. “If it were me, I’d be fine. It’s not that big a deal.”
”What did you say?”
”I said I haven’t tried it, but I don’t think being close with a woman is difficult.”
”You brat. You dare say that to me?”
Oh, I dared. I’d welcome it.
I couldn’t say it out loud, but if someone offered me that “burden,” I’d drop to my knees and beg for it.
But I wasn’t the only one ignited.
Ichimatsu’s pale face flushed crimson, veins rising like dark roots across his forehead.
”You’re mocking my suffering!” he roared.
”Yes, I am! Calling sex painful is a joke!”
”You little—!”
His voice cracked with fury and humiliation.
Until then, he’d treated me like a kid—indulgent, patient—but my words struck him deeply. The mask shattered.
Decades of forced service, years of humiliation—all dismissed by someone who’d never experienced it. It must’ve felt like blasphemy.
But I didn’t care. I was furious.
He’s been with hundreds of women, fathered countless children, and is praised for it—yet he sighs, claiming duty forced his hand.
What a tragic hero act.
I wouldn’t let that pass. I didn’t care about the world or system.
I’d never forgive that.
”Did you just say that out loud?” he hissed. “You really think you can swallow those words?”
”I’ll say it again—and again! I’ll take your next duty if you can’t handle it!”
”Watch your mouth, brat!”
His rage boiled over. His breath turned ragged, harsh wheezes escaping between clenched teeth.
His back hunched; both hands clutched his chest as his breathing became shallow and frantic.
I froze, alarmed. Was he hyperventilating? Having a heart attack? I almost called my Imperial Guard.
But before I moved, Ichimatsu laughed. Low, wet, eerie. His eyes gleamed with wild delight.
”Heh… I can read your mind,” he said, lips curling. “You’re thinking no one would dare force you, that until you’re officially matched, you’re safe. That the others would stop it, protect you.”
”I’m not afraid,” I said evenly. “I meant every word. No takebacks.”
”Still pretending, are we?”
He chuckled, calmly scooping matcha powder into the bowl. The green clumps hit the surface. He poured hot water and whisked. The mixture swirled thick and dark, like a bubbling cauldron. With his twisted smile, he resembled a demon over his brew.
I tensed, muscles ready.
I glanced between the bowl and Ichimatsu’s twisted face, pulse hammering. His presence froze the air, and sweat pooled in my palms.
He resembled a witch mixing poison—his motions deliberate, almost ritualistic.
Then his warped smile curved.
”Well then,” he purred, voice slithering, “there is a way to test whether your brave words were truth or mere noise. If you lend me your little attendant for a while, I might forgive your rudeness. You did say you don’t take back your words, didn’t you?”
Even hearing that, I didn’t hesitate. I wouldn’t hand Trash-san to him.
I wasn’t scared of his games. My fists clenched, and I answered through gritted teeth.
”No.”
No doubt lived in that word. If my feelings were a lie, I’d stop being myself.
Ichimatsu smiled again—slow, knowing, chilling. I felt a chill rise, my body tensing with fear.
Even I, who swore no takebacks, felt my stomach twist at that smile.
Then his malicious voice slithered through the room.
”You said women have individuality, that they deserve kindness. I remember.”
”I did say that,” I answered evenly.
”Then tell me—can you say the same about my Imperial Guard? That overripe woman—would you call that individuality?”
I paused, thinking. Then it clicked.
He meant his Imperial Guard—the woman from the Exploration Squad who gave me a toy.
Right—her name was Kaede.
”You mean Kaede-san, the Beheader?”
”You remembered her name?”
”Yeah. She greeted me once.”
”That cur acted on her own. I gave no permission.”
Disgusting way to talk about a loyal servant.
”Good. Then this’ll be quick,” he said coldly. “Would you sleep with her?”
The tea’s bitterness filled the air.
The bowl’s mixture was thick, dark, almost oily.
”An old woman—past her prime. A dying beast. Could you say the same if she were your first? If you can’t swallow your words…”
He raised the bowl high.
Thud.
The bowl slammed onto the tatami, shaking the room. The dark tea stared like liquid punishment.
”Drink.”
He shoved the bowl forward, serious. This was a challenge. He’d forgive my words only if I proved them. His stare was sincere, stripping away lies.
I glared back.
I grabbed the bowl and drank the matcha in one breath.
”—gh… cough!”
The bitterness cut my throat, seared my nose, and burned my eyes. I coughed, slammed the bowl, and tilted it to show it was empty.
”Cough—hack— ah… fine,” I rasped, wiping my mouth. “I’ll do it.”
Ichimatsu’s grin was triumphant, cruel.
”Splendid. Most amusing. Once preparations are complete, I’ll summon you again.”
Soon after, the tea ceremony ended as custom demanded. As the guest, I was to leave first. We stepped out together into the hall.
The wide white corridor stretched empty, silent. Only our Imperial Guards surrounded us—tall women in formation.
Ichimatsu stood like a statue, leaning lightly on his ornate cane, eyes steady, towering over me with practiced calm.
Among the line of tall female guards, it was just the two of us—staring each other down.
Their faces were tense, uncertain. Whatever passed between us inside the tea room had left no trace for them to read, only a heavy silence thick with unease.
Ichimatsu lowered his head slightly, his voice raspy, deliberate.
”Everything will be arranged properly. You’ll receive a special invitation. The spectators’ concerns don’t matter. Tell none of your guards. Break that promise, and you’ll regret it.”
”I understand,” I said quietly. “I’m ready anytime.”
”Afraid of waiting?”
”Keep talking,” I shot back.
He smirked, satisfied with my defiance.
I didn’t know how he planned to manage it—how he’d get me alone with his Imperial Guard—but he clearly intended to make it happen.
Normally, I’m never out of my guards’ sight. The only time they leave me alone is when I’m asleep, and even then, someone stands outside the room.
Even this tea room had been an exception. I’m never allowed alone with anyone who isn’t male—it’s considered too dangerous. Especially not with another man’s Imperial Guard.
My own guards would die before allowing it. Between Psionic Power, mystical relics, and plain political risk, anything could happen.
It seemed impossible—but he said he’d handle it. So fine. Let him try.
Because no matter what, I wasn’t forgiving him. Not ever.
We locked eyes one last time before parting. When I stepped away, he bowed—not out of warmth, just etiquette.
But as I moved, both sets of guards froze in confusion. Mine, of course—but his, too.
They had no idea what we’d just agreed to, only that something dark had passed between us. The tension was electric.
Finally, my head guard, Sow-san, stepped between us. Her voice shook with barely contained alarm.
”Lord Ichimatsu,” she said, bowing. “What arrangement have you made with the young master? And… why forbid us from speaking of it?”
Ichimatsu’s forehead throbbed, veins rising. The color drained from his face, then flared scarlet with rage.
His eyes bulged, bloodshot, and he bellowed,
”How dare a woman interrupt me!”
The shout crashed through the hall like thunder.
Even Sow-san—normally fierce as a lion—went pale, trembling.
”M-my apologies! Please… forgive me!” she stammered, voice cracking.
”Hmph.”
Tears welled in her eyes. Ichimatsu didn’t spare her a glance as he turned his back, stalking toward the tea room. The door slammed shut behind him with a violent crack.
Silence drowned the corridor.
Watching Sow-san shake, humiliated, something in me burned.
That bastard had just crushed her with nothing but his voice. For all her strength, she wilted under his anger—just like that.
”Young master…” she whispered.
”No,” I said firmly. “I can’t talk about it.”
Her tearful eyes followed me, desperate for reassurance, but I pushed past her.
As I turned, my gaze caught on Kaede-san—her silver hair glinting among the other guards, her expression unreadable.
Then I walked away, heading toward my private room.
The whole way back, my heart wouldn’t stop pounding.
Notes:
• Psionic Power – Mental energy concept in Chapter 35’s lecture. Trash-san teaches it to strengthen the protagonist’s mind after dungeon ordeals.
• Kaede – A female psionic explorer known as Necksplitter, is a veteran assassin and messenger of Lord Ichimatsu. Her appearance is both young and old, with gray hair streaked through black and vibrant, unlined skin. She is graceful yet carries the fatigue of a long life in war, resembling an old hunting dog. Her psionic ability is mysterious and potentially dangerous.
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Edited by Kanaa-senpai.
Thanks for reading.
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