Chapter 28: Down It in One Gulp

At that moment, March 7th’s curiosity had already overwhelmed his initial shock.

He watched as Sister Himeko’s coffee-brewing technique unfolded, a display of professionalism and grace that was utterly captivating.

A fragrance drifted to his nose, subtly different from Uncle Himeko’s usual brew—this one was clearer, with a deceptively sweet top note.

He had long since been unable to restrain himself.

Seeing the two Himekos clink their cups together, he eagerly followed suit, picking up his own enticingly colored espresso.

“I’ll toast to the Trailblaze, too!” he declared grandly.

Then, before anyone could stop him, he tilted his head back and took a massive gulp, draining half the cup in an instant.

Gulp.

March 7th swallowed.

Time seemed to stretch thin, drawing out the moment into an eternity of regret.

The look of eager anticipation, the excitement, the grand expression of an adolescent mimicking an adult—it all froze on March 7th’s face.

His eyes were still wide open, but the light within them dimmed at a speed visible to the naked eye.

The hand holding the cup paused in mid-air.

His entire being became like an exquisite statue that had suddenly been robbed of all vitality.

Only his trembling lips and the suspicious, watery sheen that instantly welled up in his eyes proved he was still among the living.

“M-March?” Dan Heng called out softly, a terrible premonition blooming in her heart.

March 7th offered no reaction, still locked in that petrified posture.

It was as if that single mouthful of coffee had violently ejected his soul and sent it sailing to a distant, desolate shore.

Dan Heng’s heart sank.

She glanced at the cup of coffee in her own hand, then at the frozen March 7th and the composed Ms.

Welt.

Finally, her gaze shot toward Chen, who was still smiling serenely.

Yet, driven by a certain sense of responsibility, she still raised the cup.

Cautiously, she allowed only the tiniest drop to touch her lips.

The moment it entered her mouth, an indescribable, complex catastrophe erupted on her tongue.

It was as if all the over-roasted dregs of burnt beans, the slickness of aged engine oil, the sharp acidity of unripened berries, and the coppery bite of metallic rust had been crudely blended together.

The flavor didn’t so much unfold as it did forcefully stamp itself onto her taste buds with brute strength.

But she didn’t freeze like March 7th.

Nor did she immediately spit it out or otherwise lose her composure.

Powerful self-control took over everything.

She didn’t even move the cup away, instead relying on her astonishing willpower to force herself to slowly, deliberately, swallow that single drop of liquid.

After completing this monumental task, Dan Heng finally set the coffee cup down on the table.

Her movements were steady, seemingly calm, though her speed was a fraction of a second faster than usual.

She silently turned, walked toward the water dispenser on the other side of the carriage, and filled a cup with fresh water.

With her back to everyone, she began to rinse her mouth in small, discreet sips.

On the other side, Ms.

Welt’s posture was a masterclass in forced endurance.

When she received the coffee, her face still held the polite anticipation and calm composure befitting an elder.

She picked up the cup and, with her usual elegant posture, took a careful, small sip.

Then, for the first time, a flicker of blank stagnation appeared on the face of the former Sovereign of Anti-Entropy—a woman so self-possessed it was said she could calmly adjust her glasses even if the sky itself were falling.

But she was, after all, a woman of deep experience and vast travels.

After that briefest of pauses, she swiftly regained control of her facial muscles, showing no sign of pain or distortion.

The only evidence of the ordeal was that her usual gentle smile had vanished completely, replaced by a tightly pursed, straight line.

“…”

She was silent for two seconds, seemingly struggling to assemble her thoughts into words.

“The…

flavor composition of this cup is very…

unique,” she finally managed, her voice impeccably even.

“It has almost…

reconstructed my entire perception of the flavor boundaries of coffee as a beverage.

In terms of impact and…

memorability, it has undoubtedly reached an extremely high standard.”

The only one left out of the loop was probably Caelus.

She saw everyone’s strange reactions and then looked down at the cup of milk coffee in her own hand.

Softened by the addition of milk, it looked far less intimidating.

She hesitated.

But seeing Chen’s encouraging smile, she decided to try it.

She took a tiny sip.

“Ugh…”

Caelus’s small face immediately scrunched up, and a layer of physiological mist clouded her eyes.

She put the cup down, stuck out her little tongue, and panted, fanning the air in front of her mouth with both hands as she whispered indistinctly, “…Bitter…

weird…

hot…”

Although her reaction wasn’t as destructive as the first three, it was clear the drink did not fall into the category of “delicious.”

As for the instigator of the incident, Chen looked at her companions, who appeared as if they had been collectively hit by a petrification spell and a ‘Mask of Pain’ debuff.

The smile on her face didn’t just stay; it grew even more brilliant, now carrying the distinct, childish glee of a successful prank.

She also picked up her cup of coffee, but she only brought it to her nose, elegantly sniffing the aroma.

Then she gave the cup a gentle swirl, showing absolutely no intention of drinking it.

“Oh my, oh my,” she said, her voice a lively echo of Himeko’s, feigning surprise.

“It seems my craft…

is a bit unique?

Perhaps it’s not quite the same as Uncle Himeko’s?”

She blinked, looking at Uncle Himeko, who had already, unobtrusively, swallowed his own mouthful and was now staring at her with an extremely complex gaze.

Uncle Himeko set down his cup, which was still more than half full.

He let out a soft breath, as if trying to dispel the indescribable aftertaste lingering in his mouth.

He looked at the female version of himself and finally spoke.

His tone was still gentle, but every word seemed to be squeezed out from between his teeth.

“Chen…

or rather, Miss Himeko.

I must admit, you have an amazing…

talent for reproducing a certain specific taste impact.”

He paused, choosing his words with care.

“The complexity of this coffee’s flavor profile and its…

unforgettable mouthfeel indeed exceed my conventional understanding of coffee as a beverage.

In a sense, it is…

unique.”

“Cough…

cough cough cough—!!!”

March 7th ‘came back to life.’

He stumbled back a large step, nearly crashing into the sofa behind him.

The coffee cup in his hand tumbled onto the carpet, but he couldn’t have cared less.

He clutched his own neck with both hands, his face flushing a deep, painful red.

The physiological tears that had been welling in his eyes finally burst through their dams, streaming down his cheeks in torrents.

Combined with his distorted expression, he looked both pitiful and hilarious.

“Wu…

blegh…

cough!

Water…

Water!!!” he screamed indistinctly, his gaze darting around wildly.

Finally, his eyes locked onto the cup of fresh water in Dan Heng’s hand, and he lunged toward it as if it were a holy relic.

Dan Heng almost instinctively moved the water cup to the side, avoiding his desperate grasp that might contaminate the precious water source.

At the same time, her other hand quickly filled a clean cup from the dispenser and stuffed it into March 7th’s flailing hand.

March 7th grabbed the cup, tilted his head back, and chugged the entire thing down in one go.

He then continued to cough and retch violently, as if trying to expel his own internal organs to wash away the memory of that taste.

“Huff…

huff…

I-I’m alive…” After a good while, he panted heavily, barely finding his voice again.

He raised his tear-streaked face, his normally high-spirited eyes now filled with a raging fire of pure anger.

His gaze was fixed firmly on Chen, who was visibly shaking as she tried to stifle her laughter.

“…Chen…” March 7th spoke one word at a time, each syllable squeezed from between gritted teeth.

“You…

is that what you call coffee?!

That’s basically…

basically just energy waste fluid from a Voidranger mixed with the footbath water of the Antimatter Legion, isn’t it?!

My tongue…

is my tongue broken?!

I can’t taste sweetness anymore!

There’s only a…

a taste of burnt screws soaked in low-grade engine oil having a party in my head!!”

The more he spoke, the more agitated he became, waving the empty water cup as he accused her with a face full of tears and snot.

“Do you know what that half-gulp felt like?

I felt like my soul was being dragged out of my mouth by that taste to be whipped!

I saw my life flash before my eyes!

I almost thought I was going to meet Akivili!”

“Ahem,” Ms.

Welt coughed lightly from the side.

It was unclear whether she was reminding March 7th to watch his wording or merely hiding the same residual discomfort deep in her own throat.

“March, mind your metaphors.”

[Elysian’s Note:

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