Chapter 66 — Constellations (1)

The most exclusive nightclub in town is situated halfway across the city and is known for having a line, typically comprised of at least a dozen guests, a third of whom are actually paid actors and actresses meant to maintain the establishment’s elite reputation. By the time we finally get inside, all the VIP tables are fully booked. Fortunately, I manage to secure one of the smaller, more secluded tables for a hefty price.

The place is spacious, with high ceilings that allow for plenty of breathing room. Unlike the nightclubs I’m accustomed to, which blasted the most ear-splitting rave music they can find, this one opts for tunes from the ‘70s and ‘80s, with a scarce few modern tweaks to evoke the classiness of the bygone eras.

The entire establishment feels more like a fancy restaurant, with its soft music promoting relaxation over wild partying, and a menu filled to the brim with a variety of enticing-sounding dishes I’ve never heard of or eaten before.

It’s almost a gospel truth that British cuisine is less than… Let’s say ‘developed,’ but in a venue as highly-regarded as this, I’m confident they wouldn’t serve anything bad; nothing too bland anyways, although given how my old British friend liked his soup, I don’t believe our definition of ‘bland’ matches.

To add to the ambiance is a full band playing live music, accompanied by a wig-wearing singer dressed like Walmart Marilyn Monroe performing on stage.

It is a sophisticated and rather nostalgic experience, I’ll admit, but the entry price is outrageously steep—most likely to keep the ‘peasants’ out.

Once we settle in, I decide to order the most expensive Scotch available to those of us who couldn’t make it into the VIP room.

“The Macallan 1926 is what you’re looking for,”

The waiter informs me, “A shot will cost you 3,000 pounds, sir.”

“How much for the whole bottle?” I ask.

“75,000 pounds.”

I wrinkle my nose in annoyance. “Wasn’t the market price just 50K?”

“This isn’t the ‘market,’ sir,”

The butler responds with a haughty snort.

“This is a gathering place for the most influential in London—lawyers; doctors; politicians… If you find it too steep, I have a more… ‘Reasonable’ option for you.”

He emphasizes like he’s doing me a favor, but I wasn’t born yesterday…

The way his eyes flick toward the girls, he’s obviously trying to bait me into spending more. “Can I get a different waiter?”

“Anyone you ask will tell you the same thing I did.”

“I know. I just don’t want you earning commission from my order.”

“Sir…”

“Enough, bring me a new waiter. You can even stay and watch him earn the commission that should have been yours.”

Waving the smug bastard off, I wink.

“Ta-ta, or I might just file a complaint with the owner and see which side they choose.”

Face darker than the bottom of a pot, the butler exits the curtain, mumbling a curt and clearly frustrated, “Understood.”

Once a new waiter arrives, I hand him my card, my tone smooth as silk. “Here is my card. What do you girls want?”

Predictably, I’m met with four different variations of ‘I don’t know, you choose.’

“Bring us your favorite dishes.”

“I’ve heard the—” The new butler starts.

“From your own experiences, what do you enjoy most?”

“Uh, I wouldn’t know, sir,” He admits, scratching his cheek nervously. “I’ve never tried anything on the menu.”

“Come on now… I worked in a restaurant once myself. You must have tasted a thing or two in the back, right?”

I chuckle, recalling when I was a part-timer on the night shift in high school, I would find unfinished plates which there were a lot of, especially since the restaurant I worked in was one of those fancy, high-end spot tailored for couples and feast on what was left.

Is it kind of gross? Maybe.

But did it save me a ton of money on dinner, satisfy my hunger, and give me the rare chance to taste dishes I'd never tried before? Absolutely.

“I- I…”

"Relax, I’m not gonna tell anyone… Just bring us what you think is the tastiest food,"

Whispering the instruction to the butler, I stuff 500 in his hand, free hand rubbing another 500. “Do a good job, and there’ll be a generous tip waiting for you when you get back. Here’s my card.”

With our expenses taken care of, I return to our table where the group of women are engaged in a lively conversation.

The cousins in particular are completely captivated by legends and myths, especially given that one such ‘myth’ is sitting just a seat away, never mind the fact they have both seen said ‘myth’ in rather… Compromising positions before.

In the meantime, the Einzbern homunculus quietly sips her drink, running her tongue over her lips to savor the alcohol and acting as if the entire outing has nothing to do with her.

Oh well, she'll learn how to socialize eventually… Probably.

Midway through our evening, several men begin to approach us. I don’t even need to turn around to understand their intentions, thanks to [Whispering Wind]’s quiet warning.

[Hostiles~!]

“How cliché,” I think, crossing my legs. “If one of them turns out to be a young master from a big Clan, I’m outta here.”

Next to me, Gil laughs. “You noticed.”

It’s hard not to notice with all the fuss, but I can’t admit that.

“Having fun doesn’t equate carelessness.”

“One bloke with four gorgeous lasses? Save some for the rest of us!”

“Ugh…”

I’m right there with you, Lily.

“Gentlemen, what can I do for you?”

There are three of them—just ordinary humans I could break as easily as I could a glass vase.

“Turn around

Every now and then, I get a little bit lonely

And you’re never coming ‘round~”

The music blares as one of the guys squeezes in between Gil and me, trying to drape his arm around her shoulders.

“Do it, and I’ll rip your arm off and feed it to your friends."

I rest my arm on his shoulder like it’s an armrest, giving it a firm squeeze. The three of them exchange glances and start laughing. “Well, well… Looks like we’ve got a hero—”

Before he can finish, I clamp one hand over his mouth to muffle his impending scream and dislocate his shoulder. Gotta give credit where it’s due, his friends are quick on their feet, but the finger pointed at his Adam’s apple proves quite the deterrent.

Locking eyes with them, I move to his elbow joint and, “Snap, and there goes his elbow.”

“HMM—!”

Agonized roars splash against my palm, alongside spits I’ll be sure to wash off later.

I aim for the wrist next.

"Are you out of your fookin’ mind?!"

“I don’t know, am I?”

With a smooth motion, the bones in his wrist too dislodge.

“I’m going to remove my hand now… Try your best to stay quiet, f you can’t, I might have to silence you another way, and I can promise you would not like that. As for you two, your lad is tired—been partying all night, get him home safely, will you?”

Flinching as though I had punched them in the face, the two quickly help their buddy away as I whisper, voice carried via [Vibration].

“Oh, if you call the cops, I’ll know!”

Watching the trio limp away, I grab the expensive Scotch and pour it over my palm to cleanse myself of their germs.

"First of all, that was a £75,000 Scotch, and you use it to wash your hands… Are you for real? Secondly, how do you do that—threaten people so effortlessly, I mean?"

"It's not that hard... It’s like… Reading off a script. I just say whatever pops into my head, and voilà. But this isn't over."

"What do you mean?" Stiff as a stick, Bailey prompts.

"He means those three were just bait." Gil explains, arms crossed, her eyes occasionally flicking to the VIP section on the second floor.

"They were sent by someone.” I elaborate. “A Magus.”

The moment we entered the establishment, I had already sensed faint traces of Od near the VIP section, however, since the Magus had not bothered us, I decided to give them the same courtesy… But no longer. Either they give me an explanation, or I beat them senseless.

“I don’t get it—what if those guys acted on their own?” Bailey asks.

Gil and I both share a look, chuckling at her naivety. “Bailey, sweetheart, do you know where we are? This place is as high-end as it gets. Do you really think the owner would let troublemakers in? And even if they did, if you saw a guy walk in with four gorgeous women, what’d you assume about him? Hypothetially, of course.”

“That he’s ‘hypothetically’ trying to hide deep-seated issues with a lavish display of women and wealth?”

“Oi!”

“No, no… My cousin does have a point.”

“What’d you assume about his status?”

“That he’s influential or rich?” Bailey muses.

"Bingo!" Just as the butler mentioned, this place mostly caters to the upper-middle class or the elite 1%. The balding guy in the corner might be MI5; the one wiggling like a worm on the dance floor could be Prince Philip's bastard son, for all we know and so on, so forth.

No one, no matter how reckless, would stir up trouble in the establishment without a sound reason, and said reason

“There he comes… Should we leave?”

“It’s best you do,”

Glancing at Gil and Stella, I whisper.

“Keep them and each other safe.”

“Have you forgotten who I am?”

“I have not,” I reach to pinch her cheek. “You could secretly be a God and I’d still worry. Kind of my responsibility as your… Boyfriend?”

The word feels awkward in my mouth even as I say it, but it’s not too bad.

“The proper term,”

Gil starts, leaning in to steal from me a quick peck.

“Is ‘consort.’ Get it right next time, mongrel.”

By the time the Magus is halfway to our table, they’ve already cleared out, leaving me to sip my drink on my lonesome.

“Good evening.”

“Good evening to you too! How may I assist a fellow Magus?”

“I noticed you were having some trouble with a few of the regulars… Thought you might need a hand.”

The Magus looks average, maybe in his mid to late 20s, with brown hair and dark eyes. But the small pin displaying his Title is all I need to recognize him.

“Titled [Fes]… Is someone more important sitting behind me?”

I joke, spinning around while keeping an eye on the polished wall's reflection, just in case he gets any funny idea.

“I doubt anyone could be more important than you besides the Great Lords. You are one of the first to match Lady Barthomeloi’s record… Talk of the town.”

“Oh, I’m hardly the first, nor the only one capable of such a feat.”

Most of the Magi I faced were lower-ranked, like [Count] and [Cause].

Keep in mind, Fujimura Ritsuka saved the world and only rose to [Cause] last I checked. Sure, it’s mostly the Servants doing the heavy lifting, but he played his part!

To be fair, the Tower’s ranking evaluates a Magus’s capability just as much as their contributions, and no one has ever called Fujimura a great Magus; promising, maybe. “You are underestimating yourself, Lord… Hangman, is it? My advice? You need to get yourself a better moniker.”

“I know, I’ve heard that a few too many times. What brings you here?”

“I wanted to see the new ‘royal consort’ in action. I’ve watched the recordings, but some things are best experienced firsthand.”

“You want to fight me?” I snort, leaning against the padded chair.

Shaking his head, the Magus picks up a glass from my table.

The tips of his fingers sparkle, forming a constellation I don’t recognize. “Of course not! Think of it as a little… Performance. I know the owner, and the band scheduled to play today couldn’t make it. We could step in and put on a show for everyone.”

“Are you serious?”

That might be the most ridiculous idea I’ve heard yet.

“Exposing Magecraft to this many people, this close to the Clock Tower? Have you gone lost your damn mind?”

Just then, the spotlight hits us, and the announcer’s voice booms. “Unfortunately, Oasis’s flight is delayed. For those hoping to see the band perform, we sincerely apologize, but Mister Athanasiou and his acquaintance have graciously offered to entertain us today! Give them a big round of applause, everyone!”

“Our turn.”

With a flourish, Athanasiou yanks the tablecloth without disturbing a single glass or plate, hands hidden as he stretches the cloth while motes of light glitter underneath.

“While most Astromancers prefer grand Rituals, I personally favor the smaller ones. They might not compare to your skills, Lord Hangman, but I think they’ll give you quite the challenge. We’ll not fight for real, of course… It’s just a little show for the ‘peasants.’”

Tossing the tablecloth aside, the Astromancer reveals two butcher knives—or at least their outlines—tied together by strings of light that dim in and out of view.

“The Big Dipper?”

I thought I was the crazy one, but here this motherfucker is, flinging Spells like candies right in the faces of completely ordinary people. “You crazy motherfucker!”

“It’s all good! They think it’s just the run-of-the-mill ‘magic trick!’ We told some it’s cutting-edge holographic technology.”

Whispering the response, Athanasiou dances toward the stage, bows to the audience thrices, then signals for me to join him.

“Yeah… I don’t think so.” I shake my head, ignoring the surrounding boos.

“I know performing for a big crowd can be daunting, but I promise you, these fine people are very supportive. C’mon, everyone! Give it up for Jasper!”

“””Jasper! Jasper—“”” They chant, hundreds of expectant eyes zeroing on me while I sip the Macallan nonchalantly.

I’m not one to shy away from a challenge, unless I’m tight on time, but I’m not reckless enough to do something so utterly senseless. Even if it’s for mutual benefit, the two of us are still engaged on papers, and I’m not shameless enough to cause issues for Lorelei this early into our ‘relationship.’

Besides, this whole charade reeks of a setup. “I’m outta here.”

After tossing the remainder of the tip to the butler, I head straight for the door, only to be blocked by the guards.

"You don't want to do this." I mutter, frowning as I catch the rapidly approaching footsteps behind me.

Judging by the sound, Athanasiou hasn’t shown physical abilities beyond that of an Olympic athlete, but at the speed he’s going, even a dull sword would have taken my head off, not to mention the oversized cleavers he’s armed with.

I grab the security personnel by the shoulders and hurl them in the Magus' direction, but it’s too late.

Tearing down the red curtain, I wrap myself in its crimson folds, concealing Senza Esitazione’s conjuration just as the 'Big Dippers' strike. The impact feels like several tons crashing into the Swordspear, but it holds firm, as are my arms and legs, even as the tiles beneath my feet shatter.

Motes of light follow, descending from the ceiling to shred apart the curtain and reveal me in full. "Tsk... You're a real fucking cunt, aren't you?"

“Forgive me, ‘Imperial Consort,’ but I'd like to gauge the skills of a Magus on whom my life might soon depend.”

"And why can't this wait until we reach the Tower?"

“What can I say? Patience was never my strong suit. Humor me, and I might just share a little secret about the upcoming expedition—you know, the one you were invited to?"

Brilliant sparks fly as our weapons clash, forcing the Magus to retreat.

"Let's hear it for the incredible Jasper, everyone!"

Ignoring the thunderous applause, I frown and mutter under my breath, “Expedition?”

I can’t remember anything except the trip planned six months from now. “To the Amazon rainforest?”

“That’s the one!” Athanasiou whispers back, waving to the audience with a shit-eating grin.

"How do they do it?"

"Maybe there's a false floor? The whole ‘he doesn’t want to participate’ thing could just be a ruse to distract us!”

"But pulling out the weapon that fast?”

Listening to their conversation, I cringe, glaring bloody-murder at the Magus while brandishing my Swordspear.

"Fine… If it's a fight you're after, it’s a fight you’ll get.”

"That's the spirit!"

He responds with a grin as we assume our battle stances.

"The loser covers the winner's tab."

"Get ready to part with a few hundred thousand pounds, then!"

Charging at the Magus while the adoring crowd beneath chants his name, I snort.

‘Talk about hiding in plain sight.’