A bird flies across the sky.
As I open the window to take in deep breaths of the unpolluted morning air, the bird with the sapphire-blue wings and long orange tail crosses right near the balcony. A pretty bird with a awful cry of ‘baaad omen!’
Apparently breakfast can be taken on one’s own, and I cram down the bread and cheese brought to my room until I’m totally stuffed. The only time when quantity trumps quality is when it comes to sports food. I’d rather have all-you-can-eat 100-yen sweet buns over the highest grade malt bread. Besides, last night’s rare steak wasn’t enough fuel at all.
As I’m inhaling enough staple foods for about three people, a disheartened Günter appears. His hair and clothes are perfectly groomed as usual, but there are dark circles under his reddened eyes. I lift my right hand at him in greeting as I add milk to my fourth cup of black tea. “’Morning.”
“Good morning, Your Majesty. You appear to be in high spirits, and that is more important than anything.”
“You appear to be in low spirits. You look like you didn’t get enough sleep last night.”
“Yes, I was thinking...of today’s duel, and though I lay awake until dawn, I could not come up with a good plan....”
“About that—I’ve been thinking a bit about it too.”
It was the only strategy I could come up with after pummeling my brain over the problem. If I’m still defeated, then there will have been no event in which I could have won; you could call it my ultimate weapon.
“I wonder if Conrad’s up? There’s something I want to borrow from him.”
“He went out early this morning saying that he needed to get some supplies, but he should be back before noon. But anyway, Your Majesty, what are you planning to do? Wolfram is more delicate than his two older brothers, but despite appearances, he is also quite skilled at the sword. He inherited fire-magic from his mother’s blood, and is one of the kingdom’s leading practitioners. To challenge him in a careless manner would be...” Günter chokes. He sounds more pained than the actual participant.
“You don’t have to look so serious. I mean, you said yesterday that people rarely die, right?”
“I did, yes, I did say that, but...”
“No matter how I look at it, there’s no way I can fight with either sword or magic, so I’m not going to use them in the match. That means I need tactics—yup, tactics. I have to out-smart him.”
“Then what in the world will you use for arms...?”
In the blink of an eye the sun advances overhead, and some wind instrument announces noon. I tinker with my analog G-Shock to have it match the time. I waste a bit of time doing it, then hurry out of the room, accompanied by Günter. I still have something to borrow from Conrad, who’s returned from the city.
When I emerge as promised into the courtyard, the sentries have been reduced to a minimum, and the inward-facing windows have been shut—guess they don’t want details of this private match leaked out. Madam Cäli is encamped in a box seat in the balcony, and she smiles and waves when she spots me. Gwendal is leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, and my opponent in this duel, Wolfram, is reclining arrogantly in a chair.
Since he’s an edgy guy, he‘ll be pretty irritated at having to wait on an opponent. The irritation will disturb his concentration—it’s called the great ’I’ve been waiting for you, Musashi!’ strategy. It’s really quite petty.
“I’ve been imagining you blubbering and begging me for mercy after I beat you to a pulp. Such thoughts make even waiting sweet.”
Guess he’s not very irritated at all. Miyamoto Musashi Strategy: massive failure.
“It’s not like I’ll lose for sure. Maybe this duel will awaken the instinct for hand-to-hand combat that’s been sleeping inside me for fifteen years.”
Oh dang, now I’m irritated. Calm down, calm down.
I draw a circle with wax on the stone pavement, then start making preparations on the outside. Wolfram’s face changes color.
“Why are you taking off your clothes?!”
“What’re you talking about? Take yours off, too.”
“Me?!”
“Yeah. In sumo wrestling your uniform is your ‘bare skin’.”
That’s why I borrowed new underwear from Conrad. The common people wear trunks, but apparently the rich people and the aristocrats wear thongs like that thing from earlier to show off their status. Wolfram the gung-ho aristocrat is almost certainly in the thongs faction. Not that I want to see him in his underwear, but something as flimsy as that should be easy to get off in a bout. The match’ll be in the bag if I can do that. In the arena, the wrestler who’s stripped loses on the spot. That’s totally a legit rule.
“Sumo is the super heavyweight martial art where men face each other in their loincloths. If you take even one step out of this sumo ring, or touch the ground with any part of your body except for the soles of your feet, you lose. It’s a sport with a long honorable history!”
“Sumo? Sumo ring?”
Even Günter in the Yuuri camp is bewildered. Only Conrad understands: “Aaah, Japanese sumo wrestling, hmm?” He probably heard a bit about it when he was in America.
“So hurry up and strip.”
“Men face each other na-na-na-naked?!”
“Yup. Leaping bodies, flying sweat.”
“Don’t mess with me! You’re challenging me to a contest that barbaric and indecent?!”
“Indecent? That’s pretty rude, calling Japan’s national sport indecent! It’s a lot better than trying to kill each other, isn’t it?”
Lady Cäli waves exaggeratedly from the balcony.
“I looooove this contest!”
She throws us an ardent kiss.
“...No help for it, I guess. You can keep your cloths on. Hurry up and get into the ring.”
Maybe he thinks now it’ll just be an ordinary boxing contest—Wolfram struts arrogantly inside. Without the normal ceremony or announcement, I also cross the line, having taken off only my upper clothes.
“You won’t get it even if I try to explain about things like ‘miatte hakkeyoi’, so...let’s take that bugle from earlier as the start signal. This’ll be a decisive fight, all right?—er...Wolfram...san.”
I’m a total chicken. I can’t even drop the honorific when I address him.
Instructions are hurriedly passed to the watchtower, and a sonorous “commence!” sounds.
I’m crouched low from the start, so I move forward quickly; my thrust takes Wolfram in his unguarded waist. I grasp his belt as a substitute for the sumo wrestler’s loincloth. The match is decided in an instant. We don’t even have time to grapple.
“Uryaa!”
“...!”
Though I had no intention of taking him off his feet, the enemy tumbles backwards to the ground.
“...Huh?”
The sky is a clear unclouded blue directly above the handsome youth sprawled stupidly in the dirt with his mouth hanging half-open in complete incomprehension of what’s just happened. I can sympathize, maybe because I felt the same way the day before yesterday? The Wolfram who in his daze has forgotten all about hatred and hostility looks more like an angel deceived by a demon than a Mazoku elite. Whatever, this is no time for sympathy. My true feelings slowly surge out of me. Can it be that I actually...won? According to the rules of sumo, if any part of the body...if any part other than the soles of the feet hits the ground...
“Woo! I won, right?! I won!”
The wrestling umpire’s fan says: YOU WIN.
“I won I won I won I won—! Oomph.”
“You Majesty! What a splendid fight that was!”
Günter, who’s already crying, loses his composure and clings to me like a limpet.
“So my strategy won! Brains brains brains, if you don’t use this thing up here—”
“This duel born of Your Majesty’s benevolence, in which neither party spills a drop of blood, will be legendary among our legends and handed down through the generations.”
“I have a feeling it’ll be told as a comic story rather than a legend.”
“It’s fine either way if it settles matters,” Conrad, the one person who seems calm, murmurs while extending a hand to his younger brother, who’s still sitting where he fell. The vanquished one’s white skin reddens in the blink of an eye, and he brushes his brother’s hand away.
“How can such stupid contests really exist?!”
“Wolfram.”
“We’re deciding matters based on another world’s game?!”
I lose whatever sympathy I had for him. He hasn’t learned anything at all. It looks like humiliation has poured oil on the fire of his anger and burned away even the reality of his defeat.
“Look, you! You want to be king of this country, don’t you?! Then fight as we do! If you’re the Maou, then fight a Mazoku duel as the Maou would!”
“Wait a minute, didn’t you say that we could fight any way I wanted to? So now that you’ve lost—what? At least try to show a little class in the face of defeat. This isn’t very manly of you.”
“Shut up! Someone, bring me my sword.”
One of the soldiers comes running. I’m so panicked that even my voice gets all jumbled.
“Hey hey hey, wait, wait a minute, seriously wait! We could die if we fought using a real sword like that!! Stop being all serious just because you lost!”
“So that means you weren’t serious in that worthless contest just now?”
“Stop calling it worthless—!”
This is starting to sound more and more like a married couple comedy. Günter tries to mediate.
“Wolfram, was the duel not by the terms you presented? I will not stand idly by if you press your selfish demands further.”
“So what will you do? Take up the duel in his place? The man calling himself the new Maou is going to rely on his underlings for a one-on-one match?”
Even while I’m thinking that he’s an ass with a comeback for everything, a strange calculation that I’ve never seen in myself before begins in a part of me separated from my emotions. Where is this sagacity bubbling up from?—I don’t even know whether it’s the left side or the right side of my brain that’s doing it. Just that before I realize it, these eyes looking around me...no, I’m not even clearly conscious of having changed. Without taking my eyes off my opponent in this duel, I ask Conrad, standing beside me, “If I become the Maou—ah, I’m saying if. If by any chance that happens, will he be one of my allies?”
“Of course.” Conrad nods firmly. It’s not just because Wolfram is his younger brother.
“What kind of a guy is he? Would he stab me in the back out of hatred and resentment?”
“No.”
“Then he’s the type who can work with even someone he hates for the greater goal?”
“When it comes to Wolfram, I believe that he will agree to compromise in the end if it’s done for the sake of the Mazoku, no matter how much he may dislike the other party. He has much pride in being Mazoku. And he wants the Mazoku to continue standing at the summit of this world. He would obey even someone he hates if he recognizes that such is their intent.”
“Huh, I see.”
“May I add one thing more, about Gwen? He loves this kingdom more than anyone. He is more earnest than even I. But his love and devotion are directed only at the Mazoku and Shinma Kingdom.” He seems to be holding in some aching wound. “...And that is the problem.”
If I’m to believe those words, then Wolfram is my ally. Though we’re fighting an intrasquad battle against each other now, one day he’ll be on my team. My calculations are consistent with my feelings.
“All right, let me borrow that practice sword. He won’t be satisfied until I do this, so the only thing I can do is get it over with as quickly as I can.”
His wounded pride won’t recover unless we go at it with real swords.
“I’m a total newbie at the sword, so I have no chance of winning. But even if I lose this round, we’ll draw at one win one loss each. Since I never had any chance in this duel anyway, coming out even would still be pretty good, right?”
If we can declare a ceasefire at a draw, then there won’t be quarreling within the team.
“I thought that it might come to this.”
Conrad hands the sword and shield leaning against the wall to me and calls Günter. Then with a clever word from the elders, the other side’s weapons are exchanged for practice-use ones as well.
“Your Majesty, please set your mind at ease. Though their size may cause them to look quite intimidating, in actuality they have no edge and cannot cut through anything. Your head may cave in if you are hit there, but they cannot gouge out your heart.”
“Having your cranium cave in would bring you pretty close to heaven, I think...”
Conrad unfastens two of his shirt’s buttons and pulls out the cord hanging from his neck. Attached to it is a silver-edged round stone about the size of a 500-yen coin.
“Your Majesty, here.”
It’s a blue deeper and darker than the sky overhead.
“That’s Lions-blue, isn’t it?”
“It’s something a...friend of mine gave to me. I had heard that it’s a type of charm, but when I inquired in the city this morning, I was told that since it is a magical stone by nature, only someone with magical powers of their own would be able to use it. Though it can be useful for anything, from luck to defense or offense.”
“You’re giving it to me?”
“Yes.”
The tutor force-clears his throat and cuts in, “Please use caution when you take anything. Though Your Majesty may have no such intentions, to accept someone’s offering means that you accept their loyalty as well. It doesn’t matter for me or Conrart, but please do not add to your circle of loyal retainers in strange places.”
“So don’t accept things carelessly? Geez, it’s just like an election, huh?”
The part of the stone lying against my chest is slightly warm. Rather than some kind of miracle, it feels like sitting on a toilet seat warmed by the body heat of the previous occupant. I stand up against the hard, gray earth with the sword I held for the first time last night in my right hand, the shield in my left.
Wolfram, shield-less, has a double-handed grip on his sword. He aims it at me like Ichiro in the batter’s box.
“I wonder if that’s really a practice sword...”
It’s actually a really lively scabbard fish. Or maybe frozen salted salmon. One blow from something like he’s brandishing about and you’d get an out-of-the-stadium home run. I’m backing away before I’ve started.
“I’m p-planning to cry uncle as soon as possible, but if I’m clobbered and can’t speak, throw in the towel for me quick.”
“What’s cry uncle? What’s throw in the towel?”
Conrad unexpectedly adopts an American manner: “Roger that, Yuuri.”
“Are you done with your preparations, Other-Worlder?!”
Stop coming up with stuff like that, that’s no way to refer to someone.
“My name is Shibuya Yuuri. You can add Lord to that if you like.”
“Stop messing with me!”
The match abruptly begins. Wolfram rushes me, brandishing the frozen salmon, and takes a big swing at me. My reflexes drop me straight down, and I bring up the shield to cover my middle. The impact is like being hit with an iron ball, and the shock travels all the way through my body. The outfield shouts frantically.
“Your Majesty, please step out of the way, step out of the way! It’s too dangerous for you to take him straight-on!”
“Stop giving him unnecessary advice, Günter. Someone untrained would end up with broken bones on the first blow if he took it on his arms alone. Though it’s probably instinctive, His Majesty’s judgment is correct.”
It’s nothing so rational as judgment—simply the habit of many years. Just: take it with the front of your body; even if you drop it, make sure it falls in front of you; never let it pass you. After all, it’s the job of someone playing in my position.
He strikes again immediately without even giving me time for a return toss. Another straight from above. The shield can’t absorb the entire blow, and my left arm and elbow and shoulder go numb. Another from the right, again from above.
“Well? What are you carrying a sword for?! Your right arm is hanging useless! Or are you so scared that you can’t even move it?”
“Shut up!”
Calm down, don’t get irritated, Shibuya Yuuri.
The heavy iron weapon comes right at me. It sketches a glittering silver line in the midday sun. Be calm—hurting arms—keep your balance—keep your center of gravity low—don’t blink—no time—bend forward—take the opening as he turns for the blow—in kendo terms that’d be face, face, torso—sweat coming into my eyes—face, face, torso—stinging.
I’m not afraid. But it’s still scary having the thing coming straight at my face—blows from above—you can already...
You can already catch a pro ball. So are you still scared of the junior players?
Just like that day.
Once again there’s no roof.
I’m no longer afraid.
“Your speed is nothing to be afraid of.”
“What did you say?!”
I boldly toss aside the shield, destroying my opponent’s stance. I take the opportunity to grip the hilt of the sword with both hands and swing it protectively in front of me.
“Aaah, he threw away the shield. Aaah, I can’t watch anymore, Conrart. Hurry up and toss the owl or towel or whatever it is.”
“Not yet. His Majesty is reading Wolfram’s rhythm. Though his offensive rudiments are exemplary, that also means that one can read the course for his next strike. There, it was a near thing, but His Majesty stopped the sword. And besides, I didn’t bring any towels.”
“Eeeeh?!”
As Conrad pointed out, I read the spot he was targeting next. But it’s not because of his rudiments or exemplars, but because I understand my enemy’s personality.
He eats in sequential order, without any deviation at all. And he’s been coming at me with the same rhythm. Pitching that never varies will get broken, and eventually the other team will get a home run. This is the same thing.
Metal clashes right in front of my face, and though sparks fly, I hold steady. The numbing vibration travels right down to my pinkie at the end of the hilt.
“...If I were your coach, I’d totally farm you out, ’cause your timing’s been the same ever since we started! Having such an unaccomplished pitcher would be...!”
Recovering from a side blow should take him several fractions of seconds longer. I pull back my right foot and shoulder at the same time, square my posture, and bring my sword down to a forty-five degree angle.
Dig back, time the movement of your left foot to when your opponent steps back, put your strength in your thumb when your bat—no, when your blade strikes his blade, and never draw back—but don’t rush your swing, and with the axis of your body fixed—
“...!”
—Swing through to the end!
The clang sounds like the familiar ring of a metal bat. Both my arms hurt violently right down to the shoulders. The vibration from the shock gradually travels throughout my body to my ribs and hips like Morse code.
Wolfram’s gigantic weapon goes flying and stabs into the ground with a muffled thud.
“....Woohooo!”
I feel like I’ve suddenly scored a home run with all bases loaded, but it’d be more like a two-base run from the distance. Either way, the enemy is unarmed, so now I have to find some kind of compromise to call a cease-fire.
“...I’m totally worn out, so I feel like I should ask you to cut me some slack. If it’s all right with you, why don’t we just call it a draw for today...uwaaah!”
I leap back, horrified. Wolfram’s face is pale. His hand is curled as if he were holding a basketball, with the middle finger pointed slightly outward. Sitting in it is an orange fireball.
“Wolfram!” Günter shouts, “His Majesty has not yet been given any instruction in Majutsu! To use your forte in Fire Sorcery just because you lost would be—”
“I never lost!”
“I-I told you, let’s just call it a draw.”
“No draws either! We’re continuing until one of us can’t fight anymore.”
His beautiful face distorted by hatred, the Mazoku prince thrusts out his right hand.
Günter shouts some kind of incantation, but the only thing that happens is a small explosion going off above their heads. They seem to be fighting in some way that ordinary me can’t even begin to understand.
“Gwendal! Why are you interfering?! If I don’t stop Wolfram, his Majesty will be—”
“You are the one interfering. This is a good opportunity to ascertain the truth. If that is the true Maou, he will not be beaten by the likes of Wolfram.”
“But His Majesty has not yet created a covenant with the elements...”
“Magical power is—” Gwendal interrupts, stepping away from the wall and turning. The usual ill-humored beauty. “Magical power is intrinsic to the soul. It cannot be obtained through study or desire. If that is the true Maou, he will need pursue neither covenant nor knowledge to have every element obey him. They will kneel to that noble soul.”
That’s all I hear of that far-out conversation. I’ve run out of time. Even if I’m the true Maou—no, if by any small chance that’s true, playing fire-dodgeball is a bit outside of my...
“O particles of flame, obey ye the Mazoku who slew the Soushu, one and all!”
If I can remember those lines, maybe something good will come out of it in the distant future. Now’s not the time. I break into a run. Run away, run! There will be time for a counteroffensive, but right now, get away as far as you can to where that fireball can’t reach!
“Read my will and obey me!”
It’s quite by accident that I fall forward. But the gigantic fireball skims over my head and hits the wall. The peculiar disgusting smell of burnt hair assaults my nose.
I’m gonna be killed. If I’m hit with that, I’ll be dead as dead!
Why? Why me? I made up my mind to go with them until the END mark is in sight, but then why am I gonna be foully murdered by these scientifically impossible flames?
Conrad draws his sword and points its silver tip at Gwendal.
“Gwen, cast a barrier. If you don’t, I will kill you—I’ll stop Wolfram even if it means killing you.”
“Even if it means killing me? Just how serious are you, Conrart?”
“I am completely serious.”
Wolfram seems that serious, too. This time it’s not a fireball; the air begins to shimmer with the slight bend of his middle finger. A reddish light the color of blood glows at the tips of his fingers, then suddenly becomes a beast as big as a wolf. Still flaming.
“What the hell is that?!”
Wolfram releases the ferocious beast with a cruel smile.
What the hell? What good were the sumo wrestling and sword victories?! If there was going to be this last challenge, what good was everything I went through before?!
The beast covers the distance that I‘ve desperately sprinted in three bounds, and I can only stand there staring at it. I can’t move. Because no matter how much I dodge or run, those four legs will probably catch up with me. My mouth hangs stupidly open, more with a feeling of ’I can’t believe this’ than fear.
I suddenly duck my head just before the forefeet of the dangerous weapon strikes me. It skims over its prey, and the force of its jump carries it unstoppably forward. Towards what should have been a wall.
Unfortunately, there’s a corridor there, and someone crossing it at a trot. I twist my neck so fast it hurts, shouting a warning at her. She looks familiar—it must be the girl who brought me my clothing yesterday.
“Watch out!”
“...Ah!”
All of us are too late. Günter and Conrart and I.
The still-burning beast dashes straight ahead, and the girl is sent tumbling without even a scream. The wolf disappears at the same time. The wrong target has been knocked down.
“...Is this—”
A nearby sentry hurriedly rushes over. A part of my right ribcage aches sharply, as if it were broken. It hurts to breathe, and my heart beats low and heavy in my ears.
“...Is this what you consider a match?!”
From the depths of my body, somewhere not the hips or stomach, a hot sensation spreads. It runs through all the way to the tips of my nerves, and an alarm sounds in the back of my head.
“To involve a girl who’s entirely unrelated—this...?!”
Pure white smoke disperses before me.
I can’t tell if she’s still alive.
Inside my ears, someone murmurs in a low voice.
At last...
At last, what?
That’s when my consciousness...