People bustle busily among lines of countless shops just beginning to come aglow. A gigantic door is opened for us by guards who stand quietly at attention as we pass.
Günter, riding next to me, proclaims, “Welcome home, Your Majesty. Indeed, to this city, the capital of this our kingdom which is yours, founded by the mighty Shinou and the powerful, wise, and courageous Mazoku who—ah, it must not be forgotten are the origin of everything in the world—defeated the Creator and his army to their eternal glory...”
Is that supposed to be the national anthem?
“...you are very much welcome.”
—But no, it turns out to be the country’s name. “Just abbreviate it Shinma Kingdom,” Conrad tells me in a whisper. Right, I’ll just remember it that way.
My impressions upon entering the capital are easy to state: “A Huis Ten Bosch
on an entirely different scale.” The buildings and people all look like they’re from a foreign country. But I can no longer deny that this is not a theme park. No theme park this humongous or elaborate exists in Japan. And even if this were an overseas country, I don’t think anyone would have reason to use such fiendish methods to deceive one person.
At least, to deceive somebody who was just your average high school student until yesterday.
Starting today, you are the Maou.
If I’m not being deceived, then there’s only one explanation left: “I’m in a dream.”
“So until I wake up, I guess I have no choice but to go with them.”
Once you get on a boat, you can’t get off until it arrives at port; in baseball, most of the time the game isn’t over until you’ve played nine innings. Which means I’ll tag along until the END mark or goal is in sight.
“Did you say something? Now, Your Majesty, let us proceed. Conrart and I shall ride on either side of you.”
I got it, so let’s get going.
There are nine riding in front of us, the rest following behind; the entire company rides in three columns down the capital’s main street. The residents lining up on both sides of the street all bow deeply towards me.
“Ah, thanks. Ah, um. Er, cheese. Ah, you don’t have to be so polite.”
I conscientiously return their greetings, but the senior tutor looks utterly scandalized.
“Your Majesty...please stop bowing your head to the people. You need to be more dignified.”
“What are you talking about? Greetings are the foundation of interpersonal relationships. That’s a universal rule.”
This city looks more prosperous than the villages we’ve seen along the way.
At least the parts facing the main street.
I look down at the town from the back of the gracefully-pacing horse who’s now behaving almost like an honors student. You’d never imagine that it was the terrifying black demon horse which threw its master twice.
The fleet-footed horse prepared for the king is from a rare jet-black line, called blue-haired in Japan, ebony-haired in this country. It looks shorter and stouter than the racehorses I’ve seen in paddocks, and its legs are thicker. It seems to have all the deposition of a warhorse as well. They say that it’ll continue running with its master on its back even after its heart has stopped. The reason: it has two hearts. That’s pretty convenient.
I’ve named it “Ao” because it’s easy to remember. It’s like the “John” sup:“Tarou” (太郎) in Japanese of horse names, and it’s been popular in Japan for a long time. It appears a lot in historical dramas.
People’s hair and skin color are really unbelievably diverse here. Like I’ve been told, there’s no one with black hair. But gold hair, brown hair, silver, white, red, chestnut, orange (maybe it’s dyed?), purple (must be a popular dye), green (as if it contains chlorophyll)...green?!
“Hey hey hey hey hey, Günter!”
“Yes?”
“There’s a green person over there—it’s a s-s-s-space space space alien!”
“Ah, it’s one of the Healers. The color of their blood is somewhat unique, which makes their skin very pale, but they possess the special power to improve the healing of their patients. They immigrated here two thousands years ago because they were being persecuted by humans. And it’s thanks to them that we have such long lives.”
“Then, then, what about that person with purple hair? The little girl from before looked like that, too.”
“They are the People of the Lake Shore. There are many among them who are born with strong magical powers, and they act as teachers and guards here in the capital. As your Majesty has probably already noticed, I am also descended from the Lake Shore People.”
So that’s where the lilac eyes come from.
I breathe a sigh as I ride along.
“Horses with two hearts, living model skeletons that fly, people born with green and purple hair. All things you’d never see in Japan. We’re not going to have to deal with things even glitzier than this, are we? Like a girl with bunny ears, or a sexy black panther girl, or a three-eyed birdman?”
I’m starting to get flustered just imagining it all. Conrad, suppressing laughter, exchanges looks with the tutor. “There are an unbelievable number of races in this kingdom, and some that even Günter and I, who have lived long lives, and the scholars cannot confirm. For example, the human-shaped population is about fifty million, but we can’t even begin to count the population of the Kotsuhizoku, the Flying Skeletons Tribe and the Kotsuchizoku, the Land Skeletons Tribe, or the Aquatic and Rock Bird Tribes. And besides that, if you think about the spirits who dwell quietly in the forests and mountains, the Mazoku live everywhere: from the skies to the vast earth to the rivers and trees. Your Majesty, those who live by your will are scattered everywhere throughout this kingdom.”
A little girl with gold eyes who is evidently one of this number runs a little way alongside Ao with a bouquet of flowers. The pretty, freshly-opened flowers are a light pink with multi-layered petals. Günter takes it and turns it once in inspection, then reluctantly passes it to me.
“They’re ordinary decorative flowers, without either poison or thorns. That little girl probably wanted to give them to you rather than me.”
“That’s not true. You seem way more popular than me.”
This is the first time in my life I’ve gotten flowers from a girl, so I’m totally not as annoyed as I might sound.
We march forward without incident, and finally reach the ramparts of a real-life castle.
The gates open ponderously.
“...Woah.”
I definitely hear theme music flowing through my head right around then, along with narration by Ogata Naoto. World Heritage, aaah World Heritage, World Heritage. A one-line ode to the magnificence of the castle.
The road paved with white stones continues straight into the distance, and overflowing aqueducts follow its course on both sides. The waterway splits into two branches towards the east and west of the city. Looking up at the front of the castle, I’m reminded of the European castles you read about in stories—not the German old fortress type, but the English large-scale symmetrical country manor type that bam! appears right in front of you. It’s impressive in both height and width, in full wide-screen glory. A rich green mountain guards its back, and the aqueducts pour out of hillside tunnels.
“...Um, you know, I don’t really know what to say right now.”
“You need say nothing; after all, this is the royal castle of the Maou, the ‘Blood Pledge Castle’.”
Blood Pledge? In Japanese history terms, that‘d mean something like the horrible vow ’one in life and death!’ that some organizations took—not a very gentle name. There’s probably a reason best left unheard for a beautiful, magnificent castle like this to have a name like that...but even though I tell him that I don’t want to hear it, the tutor launches into an explanation.
“When the Shinou chose this land to become the capital of his kingdom, he evidently promised the earth spirits that they would not be harmed. In gratitude and friendship, the earth spirits vowed that should this castle be occupied by any save the Maou, their blood would be taken in compensation for their crime. A pledge of blood—in other words, the Blood Pledge Castle will obey no one but His Majesty the Maou. It’s said to be the royal castle which is impregnable—no, which is flawless.”
“Phew, then I guess that means the castle and that king didn’t make a blood pact or anything.”
Conrad, looking inordinately pleased, nods down the center of the path. On either side, stretching out in front of us as far as the eye can see, is a line of soldiers standing at attention. They’ll almost certainly bow their heads to us as we pass, like a reverse stadium wave. The last time I saw people standing like this was the attack of welcoming bows when I passed through the grand opening of a store while taking a shortcut.
I can hear a tune coming from somewhere that sounds like a cross between Ravel and Elgar. It’s probably the national anthem.
“From the looks of this reception, Lord von Spitzweg has failed in his wheedling, hmm?”
Who the heck is the guy who owns such a jaw-breaking name? And why is it that everyone in this country has both ‘von’ and ‘Lord’ attached to their name? Is ‘von’ maybe like the Japanese ‘yama’, which is just in a lot of people’s family names—like Yamada-san and Yamamoto-san and Yamakawa-san? Or... Conrad, seeing my questioning expression, explains. As we finally step onto the grounds—yup, there’s the welcome to hell salute, just as I expected.
“This kingdom is divided into areas that lie directly under the Maou’s control and those that are territories of the Ten Aristocratic Houses who obey the Maou. ‘Von’ is attached to the surnames of those ten Houses. At one time, they styled themselves with ‘von’ added to the names of the land they governed, and over time it became the name of each House. Günter, for example, is from the noble House of the Lords von Kleist which governs the Kleist area. The addition of Lord or Lady denotes one who will go to the battlefield in an emergency. So basically both men and women of all the Aristocratic Houses have military ranks. Those who are prepared to fight are given that title when they reach adulthood.”
Hmm? I seem to remember that the macho I met in the beginning also had a ‘von’ in his name.
“Lord Stuffel von Spitzweg is the older brother of the previous Maou, a man who wanted to gain power by becoming the regent. The previous Maou...who has already resigned her position and is now Her Prior Majesty the ex-Maou—when she declared her intention to resign, we moved immediately to summon Your Majesty. But he may possibly have attempted to repeal her decision. Because if he can persuade Her Prior Majesty, he can protect his own position. But in any case, he seems to have failed.”
Eh? But Conrad’s name doesn’t...
“Now he must be contriving to get on Your Majesty’s good side by throwing a grand celebration in honor of the new king’s entrance into the castle.”
There’s an expression of something like hatred on the face of this good-natured Lord Weller for the first time, but it disappears in the time I transfer the bouquet to my right hand.
I don’t know whether it’s because he immediately suppresses it himself, or because Günter quickly adds, “We must no longer allow that man to do as he pleases. If nothing else, in this both Gwendal and Wolfram must certainly agree.”
“I hope so.”
There’s something going on. Anyone, no matter how slow, would have noticed. I lean forward. My right hand, still carrying the flowers, nears the seemingly-docile Ao’s ear.
“Um, so this Spitz something Spielberg person...”
How many Oscars has he won? I can’t finish what I’m about to say. Because suddenly the black demon bursts forwards as if it has a V8 engine attached to its behind going full throttle.
Even I, her rider, don’t know what caused the dire displeasure that prompted this wild run. What I do know is that escaping unscathed is out of the question if I’m thrown. Shouting incoherently as I cling desperately to the horse galloping full speed straight ahead, I reach the castle all alone in bizarre unceremonious abruptness.
The lines of soldiers preparing to salute probably don’t even recognize the black hurricane passing in front of them as their new king. I can hear advice trailing me.
“Your Majesty! The reins, the reins—!”
“Conrart! That horse must be insufficiently trained!”
Günter’s words are cut short as he kicks his horse into pursuit.
“I wouldn’t have thought that something like that could set her off so. I trained her quite thoroughly, but of course not on what to do if a horsefly flies from a flower into her ear. Yooour Maaaajesty! Pull on the reins and tighten your legs—!”
As for me, all that’s going through my head right about then are headlines about runaway trucks plunging into stores and customers and clerks covering their heads and running every which way. Ao skims over the uneven ground lightly and is rapidly approaching the front entrance of the castle. The soldiers lined up by the side of the road suddenly move into position to block our path, but Ao smoothly outruns them. At the center of the dumbfounded soldiers is a handsome middle-aged blond man.
She clears more obstacles, and the worst scenarios play out in my mind in the short time we’re airborne.
I fall from the horse and ask Conrad and Günter to take care of the rest with my last breath before my head falls with a thud to the ground. What rest?! Why with a thud?!
Ao suddenly rears just before the closed door barring the front entrance. I’m being thrown! —Panicking, I grab not only the reins but her jet-black mane and close my eyes in anticipation of the impact. But five seconds pass, and I feel no pain.
“...She stopped...”
And I fall as soon as I lower my guard. Unfortunately, this time there’s hard, cold, expensive marble beneath me. I’ve learned the hard way that it’s important to roll with the fall, I think vaguely, lying face-up where I fell.
Ooh, the ceiling is so high up. It’s almost like I’m lying on the floor of the hall of the National Science Museum.
Ao stamps several times and lowers her head down right next to mine. “Hey, what’re you doing down there?” she asks with her clear eyes, as if she’s clean forgotten what terrible things she was just guilty of. Her muzzle is covered with white foam.
Somebody’s feet are standing next to my shoulder. My gaze shifts slightly, and a face comes into focus from its lofty position. It must be a really outrageously tall person. But this man neither speaks nor lends me a hand. This is the first time I’ve seen such an overtly apathetic person since I came to this world. Maybe I really am dreaming that I’m the Maou and that I’m the master of this castle.
But if that’s true, then can’t it at least be more fun?
“Your Majesty—!”
I can hear Conrad and Günter’s voices. And the sound of hoofs striking against stone. The man seems to gain some sort of understanding from their shouts. From his great height he lets fall a few muttered words.
“...Your Majesty...this?”
This? What’s with this? But before I can object, the Love Theme from Godfather drifts into my head. Your theme song has now been decided. I get up without any help. In front of me, just as I predicted, is someone whose height I would never be able to attain no matter how many times I pass through the wheel of reincarnation.
And not just his height—I would never be able to attain his face either.
His longish hair, a thick gray which might almost be called black, is partially tied in the back. The pleasureless eyes scrutinizing me are a deep blue. His brows, set too close to those eyes, give him a generally displeased appearance, but my life experience is too short to tell me if it’s because he is displeased. But girls would probably fall right for that dour look.
Even though they keep calling me the Maou, both internally and externally I’m just a high school student who’s never been popular. At best my appearance and brains are both average. I’m not muscular, and I don’t have a deep, low voice. Worse, even while I was playing baseball, I was pretty much a bench warmer for three years.
His interest piqued, perhaps, he gazes at me with head tilted. His worry is becoming more and more apparent.
“Your Majesty, are you injured?!”
Conrad, who arrives first, nimbly alights from his horse and comes up to me. The handsome middle-aged man and his troupe (the one that tried to block us earlier), which he must have passed on the way, now comes galloping up as well. Günter also leaps down from his dappled gray, shouting something. Even I cannot believe that I’m at the center of such a huge group of people.
“Are you saying that this is the new Maou?!”
He even has a sonorant testy-sounding alto voice.
Even I am quite ready to admit defeat in the battle of physical form when faced with four such ultra-beauties. That long-leggedness is a racial trait and can’t be helped, and their height, shoulder-breadth, and weight are— Hey, when did I start caring this much about body builds? Probably from that day when the second pitcher said to me, “You’re too small of a target—I have a horrible time pitching to you.”
At least my physique is on par with his, but I’m utterly defeated as soon as I look up. This beauty!—what the heck! It’s enough to make him glow, as if he walks around with a halo on his head. Maybe it’s just because of his dazzling blond hair. He looks and sounds like an older boy from the Vienna Boys Choir. Transparent white skin, emerald green irises that remind me of the bottom of a lake, and he doesn’t even have a split chin. It’s an angel—though right then, an angry angel. But since he’s here, he must be one of the beautiful Mazoku instead.
“Gwendal...no—Elder Brother, are you going to welcome this human whose lineage we don’t even know, brought by the likes of him, as the new king?!”
Him—the girls-manga-style ultra-beautiful young man glares sharply at Conrad. I heard the name Gwendal earlier, but I’m also sure I heard something like Wolfgang or Wolfram. So the Godfather Love Theme guy must be Gwendal, and the Vienna Boys Choir OB is Wolfram?
“I’ll never be able to trust such a filthy humanoid. Judging from his appearance, he has neither intelligence nor dignity, and besides, to have tumbled down the highway in that area...”
“Wolfram!” It’s not Gwendal, whom he called his brother, but Günter who cuts him off. “What appalling—! If His Majesty were not so munificent, your life would be forfeit!”
Munificent? Is he talking about me? He must be thinking of somebody else.
“Please watch your mouth; even if you are the crown prince, I will not tolerate disrespect towards His Majesty. And stop speaking ill of Conrart as well; he is, after all, your older brother.”
Eh?
The relationship map between these people is jumbling me up just listening to them. The Godfather and the Vienna Boys Choir OB are brothers, and Conrad is Wolfram’s older brother, which means...
Gwendal, Conrart, Wolfram.
They’re three Mazoku brothers.
“...No way?! But, but you look nothing alike—!”
“Sorry about that,” Conrad says smiling as he walks across to me. His expression says that he’s already used to this. “All of us have different fathers. But, alike or not, we cannot deny the blood connection. Gwendal is my older brother, Wolfram my younger. Even though they would probably never personally admit to that.”
And you? I ask in my mind.
Conrad, how do you think of them?
But before I can ask that question, all attention focuses back on me at Günter’s next words: “You are in the presence of His Majesty.”
“Your New Royal Majesty!”
The handsome middle-aged man rushes over. Now that I’m used to beautiful forms, this man can’t even compare. Hmm, leeeet’s seee, he’s quite handsome for someone in his fifties, with dark blond hair and blue eyes. But in the depths of his eyes, behind a hidden door, lie cowardly schemes.
“I am Stuffel von Spitzweg, the brother of the previous king, now Her Prior Majesty, Lady Cäcilie von Spitzweg. I am serving in the position of Regent for the prosperity of this kingdom, and I am overjoyed at the safe arrival of Your Majesty.”
“Hey, you know, Lord von Spitzweg,” I say to him in a purposely casual tone, “who would you rather have as the Maou: me or your siblings?”
“Huh?!”
Moooron. Isn’t not replying immediately proof that you’d pick yourself?
“Ah, of course it would be Your New Royal Majesty! To have you become our new king during this propitious time is to the benefit of all our people. You are our savior, and you will pave the way to the new future of this kingdom. I have already heard of your great-souledness.”
“I think you’ve got the wrong person. I am not such a great-souled person.”
“What humbleness! That jet-black hair, those midnight eyes! You are the one who stands at the summit of the Mazoku.”
According to the standards of this country, black hair and eyes let me win over such handsome guys as you? So just by being an ordinary Japanese person, I can become heir to the throne of this country?
Ugh, that just sounds so fake.
I can’t really be the king if I can’t do anything to prove it.
“Where’s your proof?!” The blond angelic Wolfram demands with hostility as if he’s speaking my thoughts out loud. “Where’s your proof that he’s the real thing? I’ll never admit to this kid being the Maou until I see proof.”
“Kid?! Oh wait, I guess I’m bad at telling foreigners’ ages too, but. But! No matter how I look at it, you’re the same age as me! And if the average American high-schooler is more mature, then I may even be older than you!”
“How old are you?” The overbearing third son asks, arrogantly crossing his arms. Guess I won’t have to command him to stop being too polite.
“...Fifteen...I’ll be sixteen in two months...”
“Humph.”
“What’s with the ‘humph’? How old are you, then?! You’re not gonna tell me you’re an old man wearing a pretty boy’s wig, are you?”
“I’m eighty-two.”
“...Huh?”
Eighty-two? With youthful clear skin and a head full of hair?
“That’s totally impossible!”
You guys have more life experience than my granddad?!
My first bath in two days is in a room reserved for my private use.
The cream-tiled bathroom is the Maou’s private bath. The bathtub is as spacious as an Olympic-sized swimming pool, and hot water gurgles in streams from the mouths of five cows along one edge. I submerge myself comfortably into a corner of the first lane and ponder what’s happened to me as well as what the future will bring.
What are you going to do and what will become of you, Shibuya Yuuri?!
I‘ve been sucked down a Western-style toilet and expelled into a theme park-style other world, had rocks thrown at me by the residents, told that I’m the Maou, told that I have to kill the humans, forced to ride a horse that almost killed me, fawned over by everyone, brought to a castle with a scary name, called ’this’, told that I would not be recognized as the Maou, told that everyone’s real age is five times what they appear, and taken into the castle with the scary name.
It has two hundred fifty-two rooms on three floors (five floors in one section) with ceilings so impossibly high that even Godzilla would have a hard time hitting a ceiling serve.
Its stairs are breath-stealingly long, and there are more than one hundred ninety people working inside. The stables are modest, but there is a huge barracks with four thousand five hundred full-time soldiers. There are additional lodgings in other parts, now being used by Gwendal and Wolfram’s troops, brought from their own territories.
The room I’ve been given for now is as big as a basketball court, with a fire blazing in the fireplace and fabrics and furs strewn on the floor. On the white-coated stone wall is a picture like something I once saw when my mom took me to Ueno in elementary school. The remaining three sides have what look like national flags and tapestries. Surprisingly, there are also decorative plants in the nooks.
“No TVs, games, or MDs.”
What’s more, there’s no electricity, gas, or telephone.
“...The bed...is ultra-huge...”
The bed is humongous.
It’s lacking a canopy, but it’s so big that five junior high kids could sleep on it together no problem.
A handsome attendant wearing only a loincloth that barely covers his essential parts comes over with a gorgeous gilded bucket and proposes to wash my back. I turn him down flat. He just ticked off my inferiority complex.
I pour a light pink liquid into my hand from a nearby bottle. Oh, what a nice smell. This must be shampoo. I rub it in thoroughly, then pour water over myself from a bucket. There’s no conditioner! I’m a sports guy more than a manly man.
I thoroughly wash the rest of my body as well, and since this is the first real bath I’ve had in two days, I’m wavering between indulging in it more and getting out when—
“Oh my.”
From the entrance opposite to the one I used, a woman wearing only a bath towel appears. Not a girl: a woman. Is this supposed to be a mixed bath?! Wait, I’m sure Günter said that this is a private bath. So is she...some kind of free service for me? What kind of perverted service is this?! No, it’s probably just that I didn’t know because I’ve been a commoner until now, but kings and ministers and members of congress probably have them. But—wait wait wait—! Why of all things is she stretching out in the second lane in a pool this big?
This woman with golden ringlets reaching down to her hips, who’s way too sexy for my peace of mind, is submerged in the water up to her chest just one meter away from me. I can’t see very well because my eyes are hazy from the steam—or maybe from the mental strain and agitation—but she’s an absolute pheromone system. She’s a bombshell under the towel, and she’s even more beautiful as the heat flushes her cheeks and lips pink.
And she’s a ‘woman.’ Not a ‘girl’ my age.
“Ooooh my.”
“Ah, er, um, I-I-I-I wasn’t told that this is a mixed bath.”
“Oh no, it’s perfectly fine. This bath is for exclusive the use of the Maou. I only ended up here out of habit. Please don’t mind me, Your Majesty.”
“Urgh, ah, wait, no, don’t-don’t come any closer to me!”
“So you are His Majesty the new Maou, aren’t you? How unexpected it is to meet you here.”
Maybe because the blood is rushing to my head, heart, and lower body right about now, I’ve stopped being able to make any rational judgments. Oh no, this is bad! And since I’m a regular teenager going through puberty, the badness is ten times, twenty times worse!
“Look-look here, miss—I mean, lady. Isn’t it a violation of the rules to enter the bath without rinsing?! And coming in with a bath towel! Soaking in a public bath house with a towel is a serious breach of etiquette!”
My voices comes echoing back. I can’t say it like Mino Monta.
“Oh my, I’m so sorry. It’s been such a long time since I’ve bathed with a gentleman,” she says, gazing at me as I stand there petrified. “Teehee...you’re sooo cute!”
That’s when I bolt with a shout that’s not quite a cry or a scream.
What do you mean I’m cute, Miss Sexy?—why were you in the king’s bath, Miss Pheromone?—and finally, who are you, Miss Sexy Queen?!
I dash off with only a towel wrapped around my waist, and when I fly into the room that I think they told me is mine, I’m greeted with yet another cute young girl, and I shout incoherently.
“What is the matter, Your Majesty?”
“What’s wrong, Your Majesty?”
The two self-proclaimed members of the Yuuri Faction murmur in low voices as they arrive at a gallop, their blank gazes taking in the young woman with arms full of glossy black cloth trembling in a corner and their new Majesty the Maou cowering behind the gigantic bed. My butt is hanging out.
“Your Majesty, Your Majesty!”
“...I like girls. I like girls, but if they’re asking to see me, I’d rather not—I mean, it’s not like I’m not that big or impressive or anything.”
Conrad sends the maid away and comes towards the bed. That’s when I finally calm down enough to sit up and adjust the sheet around my waist.
“Goodness, it’s too bad that your posterior is now all tucked away.”
“Is there no privacy in this world?!”
“Your Majesty, it’s natural for a king to have attendants and maids. If you’re surprised by every little thing...”
“But they don’t have to come into my bathroom or my bedroom, do they?! I mean, then where would you hide your porn in this world? If a beautiful nude woman tries to pick me up in the bath, where can I run to to get a breather?”
“A beautiful nude woman in the bathroom? Aaah...”
Conrad looks up at the ceiling as if to say ‘Oh my god!’
“...She’s gone and done it.”
“I thought it was some kind of service and would probably have made a request if I’d stayed any longer...well, I’m not much of a big-shot right now, so I only ran away and came back here.”
“That’s good, I’m thankful for Your Majesty’s good sense.”
“Oh, oooh, Your Mabezy, preaze puh zus on,” says the Tutor through a stuffed nose, holding a black piece of cloth. His eyes are swimming with tears.
“What happened to you all of a sudden? Allergies?”
“My-my abologeez! As I see you standing here after going through all the hardships of coming to a world with such different customs for the first time and enduring such an extreme change in your circumstances...it’s too courageous and sweet at the same time...aaah, I’m so sorry! What outrageous things I’m saying! I-I’m so flustered.”
“What’s wrong, Günter? This is not like you.”
“If you have allergies, you should go rinse your nose. It always makes my brother feel better.”
My fingers brush against Günter’s arm as I reach out for the clothes. He back-peddles with incredible speed until he hits the wall. His face is so red it looks like he has a fever. I pick up the topmost piece of glossy clothing—it seems to be some kind of underwear.
“Even the underpants are black and glossy and—”
—It’s a thong. One of those things you tie on both sides. I turn to Conrad, who looks as if all of this were quite natural.
“I’m a guy! Why am I supposed to wear a thong?!”
“Hm? That’s quite the fashionable underwear right now.”
“No way! Then is he is he is he wearing a thong too?! You’re telling me that he can have that sort of expression on his face while wearing a thong?! Don’t tell me that even you—”
“Oh, no, mine are more plebeian...”
“Buuufft.”
We turn at the same time to see Günter at the wall holding his nose. Maybe he really is suffering from allergies—I’d be sure of it if he sneezed. He looks glassy-eyed, too, and—how do I say this—he sounds like he’s suddenly become an Italian. And he’s so fantastically beautiful too that if I were a girl I’d probably totally fall for him.
“Please don’t embarrass me by talking like an uptight old woman, Your Majesty. To reject easily-removable underwear is the same as rejecting me when I knock on the door...ah...huh?! What was I just...!”
It feels like he’s about to present me with deep red roses at any moment, but after spazzing out for a moment he comes back to himself.
“M-my deebez abologies! For having such in-in-insolent thoughts!”
“That’s why I said if you clean your nose with a saline solution and drink some...insolent—eh? what?”
“I’ll go cool off my head!”
“Clean, I said, not cool!” I shout after him as he dashes out, but I don’t think he hears me. But for now my problem is this underwear I’m holding gingerly with my fingertips. There’s only a scrappy piece of cloth in the middle—I can’t think of it as anything but embarrassing.
“But I guess even Japanese people have traditional ‘sumo loinclothes’.”
“That’s quite true, Your Majesty. And perhaps you’ll even enjoy wearing it, and discover a new self.”
I don’t want to discover a new self.
“But I wonder what in the world got into Günter? There, after the underwear comes— Eh?”
Conrad leans close to me as he passes me piece after piece of clothing that look very like my school uniform.
“...Your Majesty, you smell quite nice.”
“Oh, it’s probably the shampoo. The pink stuff that was in the bathroom.”
Though I have no idea who left it there.
The Shinou’s banquet is nothing like those programs that show you useful tricks or the ones that teach guest former pro baseball superstars all about wine.
“It’s a special, high-class dinner for only His Majesty the new Maou and those in his inner circle.”
Somehow, even with cotton stuffed in his nose, Günter is in strangely high spirits as he leads the way with shoulders thrown back. His hair falls smoothly down his back. His clothes look like a priest’s garments: off-white full-length robes with beautiful gold-threaded embroidery down the front.
“Excuse my lateness.”
Conrad, who changed in great haste before hurrying back, catches up to us in a trot. He’ll definitely be hailed as the cosplay king this year looking like that. I’m not kidding.
The snow-white navy uniform he’s wearing would be the yearning of any American girl. Setting off on a Journey of Love and Youth—original title: An Officer and a Gentleman—starring Richard Gere. With that familiar theme song as background music, he could easily be called an all-American numero uno. Even without the hat.
“So I guess that’s a uniform, huh?”
Mountains spread out beyond the window, and I can see lights at their summits. It’s already dark around us, and those lights twinkle brighter than the stars.
“Please look there—those are the lights of the holy ground of the Mazoku, the Shinou Mausoleum. The great Shinou, who is the origin of everything for us, sleeps there.”
Even the Mazoku have a holy ground? I put the question aside and look at the flickering flames at the summit. I wonder if it’s something like a temple in Japan? From the viewpoint of modern Japanese Shibuya Yuuri, the Shinou is something like a god to these people. Since he has a tomb, he’s probably already left this world.
But because of the Shinou’s oracle or command or something, I was brought here.
“...Though I don’t know about being the king or anything.”
"Your Majesty, please take a look here as well—this hall also serves as a gallery, and the gallant forms of the generations of Maous are all painted here. Though the portraits of the previous Maou and the one before that are not yet completed.
Twenty portraits wider than my outstretched hands hang in the endless corridor. All of them were drawn with painful attention to realism and detail.
“It feels like the time I went to see the Barnes Collection in Ueno.”
"They are lined up on this side starting from the most recent. This is the Twenty-Fourth Maou, His Majesty Beltran von Radford. The people revered him as ‘the Lion King’.
“Lion king, huh? I guess every world has a nickname like that.”
“This is the Twenty-Third Maou, His Majesty Jeannot von Karbelnikoff, called the Stern. And this is the Twenty-Second Maou, His Majesty Ropelewski Arsenio, renowned as the Mighty Warrior King. This is the Twenty-First Maou, His Majesty Dwayne von Gyllenhaal the Belligerent, and before that, His Majesty Henstridge Davidson the Slaughterer, His Majesty Basilio von Rochefort the Cruel...”
“These nicknames are getting more and more dangerous, aren’t they? Aren’t there any with more easygoing names like The Oil Magnate or The Newspaper King or the Brand King?”
“Well...we don’t have oil or newspapers or brands...”
“The Fifteenth Maou, Her Majesty Grisela Trintignant Yaft the Beheader. The Fourteenth Maou, Her Majesty Brittany von Wincott the Blood-Spiller...”
The character traits of the Mazoku are surfacing.
Some are seated in chairs with hands on their dogs, others leaning against swords thrust into the ground. There are also pictures of Maous on horseback holding poles decorated with the freshly-severed heads of their defeated foes. There are perhaps three women in the lot, as well as kings who look no older than boys.
But though they differ in the color of their hair and eyes, over time their beauty is comparable, and as we go further back in time, they seem less and less human. Well, basically you’d say that they’re not human. Their garments are much fantastically richer in color than that of the modern Mazoku, and they’re drawn wearing cloaks and armor.
“In the old days they all looked like they were in a RPG, huh? Guess this wouldn’t be a sword and magic world otherwise. Your military uniforms look too modern. Oh, what about him?”
“That is the Seventh Maou, His Majesty Forgeas von Voltaire.”
“He looks just like the Godfather Love Theme guy from earlier!”
“God...you mean Gwendal? That is his ancestor.”
“Huh?! Then why isn’t he the next Maou? If his ancestor was the king, then wouldn’t the descendants succeed him as the king?”
Günter puts on his teacher face and says with head slightly tilted to one side, “Your Majesty, the position of Maou is not hereditary.”
“But it’s not elected either, right? It’s so hard to understand, I can’t stand it!”
“That’s understandable, since you were raised in another world. Well, but you’ll come to understand it—after a year you’ll be a very kingly Maou.”
“A year?! I’m going to live here for a year?!” I ask Conrad in return, and the Tutor looks at me with astonishment.
“Your Majesty is the king of this country, so it’s quite obvious that you’ll be spending the rest of your life here. A year would be nothing, would it?”
This is becoming a major disaster. If this continues, I’ll definitely end up having to repeat a grade. And doubly bad considering that this is May of my first year of senior high, when school has just started—it’s too early no matter how you look at it. I’ll just have to complete this mission that’s been given to me quickly and aim at reaching the goal in the shortest time possible.
“And here is he who united the Mazoku, defeated the Soushu, and founded the Kingdom of Shinma: our first king, His Majesty the Shinou. Glory to his exalted soul.”
“Huuuh, now he looks just like that kid. It must be one of his ancestors. So what’s his name?”
“We must not speak his name without necessity.”
“You won’t even tell me his name? Sheesh, how selfish is that.”
“Your Majesty!”
“But it’s because of him that I was brought here and sent away before that, right? My soul was sent flying off to another world just because of something said by some dead guy? But still you won’t even tell me his name—that’s what I’d call selfish.”
“I’ll tell you later, Your Majesty.”
There’s suppressed laughter in Conrad’s voice.
A golden-haired young man stands with a naked sword in one hand in the conspicuously large portrait, arranged front and center. He looks very like Wolfram. Except that his eyes are the bright blue of a lake surface on a clear day, and something about him seems different from the Mazoku that come after him. From my amateur impressions, he’s looks like a “self-important big-shot born to be the Maou.”
“...Who’s he?”
In this single painting, the Maou is not alone. The person standing a little behind him is clearly different from the kings in the other portraits. He’s dressed in very ordinary, functional clothes, and is wearing neither sword nor armor. From the suggestion of a faint smile at the corners of his lips, he doesn’t appear to be a retainer or servant.
“He looks rather oriental, doesn’t he?”
Günter’s proud explanation conveys his heartfelt reverence and affection even to someone completely unfamiliar with this person.
“He is the Great Sage of the Twin Black, the only person in this world who is of equivalent status to the Shinou. If he had not existed, we would have been destroyed in the battle against the Soushu, and would have become wanderers without land or country. Though this world would probably have been destroyed before then.”
“So then he’s an amazing person?”
“Quite so. And more beautiful than anyone!”
“Huuuh?!”
I guess their aesthetics are completely unfathomable to a Japanese person. However you look at it, this serene Oriental can only be called refined. Actually, he looks more intelligent than beautiful.
“He and Your Majesty bear a great resemblance to each other. When they ascertain it for themselves, the people will also certainly joyfully extol your nobility!”
The cotton shoots out of Lord von Kleist’s nose. Hey, hold on, your nose is bleeding—there’s blood coming out of your nose!
“I don’t look like him at all! I mean, how! How are we alike?!”
“Come, come, Your Majesty, look at the color of your hair, your eyes. You bear a striking resemblance to an amazing person, Your Majesty. Now that’s charisma!”
“I keep telling you that most Japanese people have black eyes and hair!”
Other than that, he doesn’t look anything like me or my family.
Damn you, Shinou, I curse him in my heart.
Thanks to you, a dead person, I’ve been sucked deeper and deeper into this. And if I get kept back a year, I’ll go lay waste to your mausoleum or whatever it is.
I didn’t know then that these curses would all rebound back on me.
Günter, enraptured by his own intoxicated oration, goes off on a romantic rant.
“The Shinou is the Darkness and the Great Sage is the Light. They pursue each other, yearn for each other, and bear each other’s colors in their own bodies: Darkness to Light, Light to Darkness!”
“Let’s leave him here—this is going to take a while.”
Conrad’s apparently used to this.