“Hmm. Should I look for new interview subjects at a bar?”

Glancing at the sign of a small tavern, Debbie’s thoughts took a different turn.

“The editor will hate it if I submit this interview.”

She had learned how to write proposals and followed the given format when instructed, but that didn’t mean she agreed with the content.

“Do I really have to write in such a standardized format? It feels like homework. I don’t even relate to it.”

What she truly wanted to write was poetry. Poetry didn’t put food on the table, but she didn’t want to give up writing it, even while doing other work. She didn’t need to announce to others that she wrote poetry—she simply enjoyed it for its own sake.

Yet someone had shared her poetry with others without permission. She had merely kept her poetry-writing private, but it was completely stolen by someone she had trusted as a close friend.

That was when she decided she must earn her living through writing. Even if her ultimate goal was poetry, she wanted to openly establish herself as a writer so that poetry would seem a natural extension of her work.

Working at an adult magazine wasn’t something she could proudly tell others about, but she had already signed the contract and started working, so that concern was settled. She told herself that the person working here wasn’t her but another persona called “Miss Patch.”

Yet even “Miss Patch” had her pride.

‘I don’t want to hide my writing out of shame. I don’t want people to say Miss Patch’s writing is terrible.’

Even if she eventually returned to being Debbie and writing poetry, she didn’t want Miss Patch’s writing skills to be belittled or ridiculed by others.

But this interview article, as Miss Patch’s first commercial piece, fell below her standards. Did she need s*xual experience to write properly? Did she even have the right to judge whether these opinions were right or wrong?

The common belief held by most men of the era was that while they could have a promiscuous past, women couldn’t—a wife should experience her husband as her first.

The school principal always said during assemblies: “A woman’s chastity is like porcelain—once broken, it cannot be mended. Therefore, you must preciously preserve your purity until marriage.”

Having learned this at school, she had thought it was natural.

But after joining the adult magazine and reading back issues, she encountered different perspectives that broadened her thinking. Why should only men be honest about their s*xual desires while women couldn’t?

Debbie recalled other columns she had read in “Troublesome” magazine for reference. The first one she had seen was written by someone named AB, a guest columnist. This person had been responsible for the column before Debbie, and one of their pieces had deeply resonated with her: “What is Chastity?”

Typically, chastity referred to not having s*xual experience, but guest columnist AB defined it as “faith in your partner.” Regardless of how glamorous or humble one’s past might be, what mattered was that the person by your side now was the most precious person, and not betraying their trust—that was chastity.

Even if partners changed due to death or separation, a person remained chaste if they had kept faith with their previous partner and continued to keep faith with their new one. Such a person would forever remain chaste.

The same applied to those in long marriages. If someone repeatedly gave opportunities to other potential partners and behaved in ways that caused their current partner to lose trust, they were no longer in a chaste relationship.

The content seemed obvious when read, but Debbie had heard that the publishing house suffered greatly because various organizations and interest groups protested, claiming the column spread sophistry that destroyed traditional notions of chastity and encouraged moral corruption. 

Guest columnist AB had to quit because of this, which was how Debbie got hired. Naturally, “Miss Patch” also emerged as part of a new project.

Perhaps AB’s column directly opposed Henrietta’s values. While AB stated that chastity wasn’t like porcelain that could break but rather about maintaining faith in one partner, Henrietta enjoyed relationships with multiple people despite having a partner. That was what repulsed Debbie.

She suddenly became curious about this guest columnist AB. A straightforward writing style. A guest columnist who wrote humorous and progressive pieces. Someone who handled heavy topics in an incredibly light and enjoyable manner. AB’s sophisticated sentences had changed Debbie’s perception of adult magazines.

How disappointing would this interview-based column appear to readers accustomed to such excellent writing? She really hated being compared. 

hough it was an unwanted column assignment, she didn’t want to hear that her work was subpar. Call it meager writing pride if you will, but she couldn’t help it.

Writing was like Debbie’s face or future. Even if no one recognized it, her pride wouldn’t allow her to submit sloppy work.

Eventually, instead of returning to the publishing house, she began searching for different interview subjects. After walking for quite some time, she found herself drawn to that small tavern’s sign again and entered almost in a trance.

“Welcome. I haven’t seen your face before,” the bartender greeted Debbie warmly. His voice was exceptionally sweet and gentle.

When Debbie stared at him with a surprised expression, he smiled and asked, “What would you like to order?”

“B-b-b-beer!” 

Debbie blurted out loudly in surprise. A brief moment of silence fell over the tavern before the noisy atmosphere resumed.

“Pfft.”

The bartender laughed. Debbie was ready to bolt if he mocked her, but fortunately, he turned away and focused on fulfilling her order.

She picked up the 500cc draft beer placed before her. Her throat parched from the interview, she immediately took a swig of the cold beverage.

The tavern was relatively quiet since it wasn’t yet peak evening hours, but this suited Debbie’s purpose of eavesdropping on people’s conversations perfectly.

“Are you troubled by something?” the bartender approached and asked again. Feeling both embarrassed and reluctant to answer honestly, Debbie simply shrugged.

“I just like beer.”

As evening approached, customers gradually poured in. By then, she still hadn’t overheard any gossip that caught her interest.

Incoming customers grumbled when they couldn’t find tables for their groups and glanced toward Debbie’s table. Somehow she had ended up at a table meant for four people but was occupying it alone.

Unaware of why they were glaring at her, Debbie sipped her remaining beer slowly while glancing at people. Shortly after, several customers approached her.

“Since you’re alone, let’s share the table.”

Debbie was about to refuse in confusion when she remembered she had come to this tavern for interviews. This might be an opportunity.

“S-sure!” she responded with a forced smile and began mingling with them.

They started with casual conversation. They exchanged names, but Debbie gave a pseudonym and fabricated identity.

“I’m an assistant at a nearby newspaper.”

They worked at places in the neighborhood. Though starting a conversation was difficult at first, viewing them as potential interviewees made it easier to respond.

“Did you come for a drink after work?”

Perhaps her stiff expression was the problem, because soon the people lost interest in Debbie and left.

Hmm? Had she bombarded them with too many questions upon first meeting?

After waiting a bit longer, different people came and asked to share her table, and Debbie agreed again. Yet the conversation similarly failed to progress.

Somehow they too left. While pondering the unknown reason, she heard a thud and looked up.

The bartender had brought a small bowl filled with various snacks.

“These are complimentary bar snacks.”

“Pardon?”

When she blinked in confusion, the bartender smiled and explained, “These are snacks that taste good with beer.”

Only then did Debbie realize, looking at her empty glass, that she had been occupying space for a long time with just one beer. Feeling embarrassed, she gave an awkward smile and said to the bartender, “One more, please.”

“What’s troubling you?”

Grateful that he didn’t scold her for taking up space with just one drink during busy hours, she felt compelled to answer.

With a deep sigh, Debbie spoke honestly. 

“Actually, I work at a publishing house nearby and got assigned a challenging task. I need to conduct interviews and write articles, but the topic involves primal desires, making it difficult to bring up. Because of that, I can’t even ask people proper questions.”

“What’s the question?” the bartender asked with a serious expression. Debbie’s face turned bright red. She felt more embarrassed than when asking Henrietta for an interview.

“S*xual experiences.”

As expected, the bartender’s expression turned skeptical.

I’m done for.

She was about to jump up, fearing he might mock her. But the bartender grabbed her collar.

“Oh, I see. I’m sorry for misunderstanding. I thought you were suspicious because you kept glancing around.”

Debbie let out a squeak at his words.

“No! I was really looking for story material!”

Instinctively, she held onto him and explained her situation defensively. Hearing her story, the bartender chuckled.

“So you were looking for new interview subjects here?”

Debbie nodded with her head lowered.

“True, awkward columns are usually assigned to the youngest employees. But this isn’t the right place,” the bartender said.

“This place is frequented by regulars. If you’re looking for someone seeking a one-night stand or willing to boast about their s*xual experiences, you should go to the alley two blocks behind here. You’ll probably find interviews more easily there.”

“What?”

“They wear masks at parties there, so it’s even less burdensome.”

Debbie’s ears perked up at the mention of masks.

“Oh, and they open at 10 PM. But I don’t recommend it. Who knows what might happen if a young lady goes alone without any security. With everyone wearing masks, who would even know if someone got kidnapped?”

Debbie flinched at those words, making the bartender stifle a laugh.