“You two still aren’t dating?”
At Mistilteinn’s words, Hawkeye practically jumped out of his seat. His bright-red face laid his feelings bare.
“Yeah. Because a certain someone who lives somewhere happens to be a coward.”
“C-C-C-Crusher!”
“Good grief. Keep that up and someone’s going to snatch him away.”
In contrast, both Mistilteinn, who had brought it up, and Crusher, who had answered, calmly tilted their mugs as though nothing had happened. Cool beer washed down their throats.
“Kyaaaah. That hits the spot.”
“Right?”
“One more over here!”
In the end, Hawkeye was the one who surrendered completely. While his face, as red as a ripe persimmon, disappeared against the table, Mistilteinn and Crusher companionably emptied another mug of beer each.
“Come to think of it, how have you been lately? Income-wise. Work’s dropped off a lot these days, hasn’t it?”
“Ah, completely dried up. At this rate I’m wonderin’ if I’ll even be able to marry all my sons off.”
“Hmm.”
The moment money came up, Mistilteinn grew animated. Foam splashed slightly from the wooden mug he slammed onto the table with a bang.
“You even worry about your subordinates getting married?”
“What else am I supposed to do? Every last one of ’em is such a hopeless mess I can’t help worrying.”
“But it’s not as if they’re your blood relatives. Can’t you just leave them to manage their own lives?”
Crusher’s words sounded merciless, but they were true.
Strictly speaking, there was no reason Mistilteinn had…