“How discerning you are, Your Majesty, to have noticed such minute writing!” Günter exclaims in wonder, peering at Morgif in his sword stand. Today my tutor is wearing an off-white priestly garb and thin-rimmed glasses, and has his gray hair tied behind in a tight knot. He really is beautiful.
The women would probably flock to line up outside the evil organization that employs him, not caring if they get remade into cyborgs if it’s done by a scientist like him. But you’ve been misled, ladies. If you think about the fact that he’s more than a hundred fifty years old, those glasses are probably not just for show.
“Yes, there certainly are sentences engraved on the back of the guard. ‘Call my name, and I will cross the world to you. My name is Willem Dussollier Eli de Morgif. Even if the stone on my forehead should be lost and I am reduced to an ordinary sword, let me yet accompany you to the battlefield as your loyal servant, O Maou, and together we will slay all who oppose us.’”
“Th-that’s how you’re supposed to read it?”
Wow, I really pared it down to the kids’ summary level.
“But I am deeply interested in the fact that even though Your Majesty cannot read, the words flashed through your mind at a touch. As I suspected, you are not just Mazoku, but one endowed with extraordinary power.”
“Maybe I’ve got psychometry! That superpower where I know stuff just by touching something.”
“Psychometry? Not that thing where you get asked a bunch of questions and someone tries to tell you your personality?”
Upon our return in the luxury cruiser, I presented Morgif, who has been downgraded into a completely ordinary sword, to Günter. He and Gwendal came to welcome us home, Günter waving so hard that it looked like his arm might fly off, and Gwendal with dark circles under his eyes looking like he’s lost weight. I wonder what happened to them in the ten days I was gone?
Josak, carrying the obsidian—the sword’s heart, I guess?—got off at Schildkraut. He didn’t tell me or Conrad about which way he was headed.
Speaking of which, Lady Cäli took struck-with-arrow Rick instead of Morgif and set off on another journey. Once he’s completed the handsome middle-aged beautician’s healing course, he’ll be a step closer to becoming a sailor. He’s going to be an apprentice sailor on the luxury cruiser with Chevalier to straighten him out and teach him the ropes.
Sorry, Rick, I couldn’t get you on board a giant shipping vessel. But I think it’s at least better than a pirate ship?
Though the ultimate weapon we went through so much trouble to get isn’t so ultimate anymore, Günter never uttered a word of blame. He only cried pearly tears, saying ‘It is enough that Your Majesty returned safely—that is happiness enough.’ I have this image of him as an overprotective mother, which has been completely confirmed.
He’s just like a doting grandmother.
But he’s flawless when it comes to his duties as the king’s advisor.
After I told him about the trip and my thoughts, he took action immediately.
He had the news that the Mazoku were unable to obtain the demon sword ‘leaked.’ If we were to announce it publicly, people would be suspicious and think it’s some kind of a scheme, but if we leak it like we don’t want people to find out about it, they would readily believe it. The advisors are cleverer than the guy at the top. That’s how statecraft is structured.
The master chef of Voltaire Castle stunned me with his display of talent at the welcome dinner, and I ended up with my head in my hands at the table, trying to figure out what to do.
“...So what am I supposed to do with this?”
“They told me, Your Majesty, that you wanted to eat something called boat-wrap sushi.”
“Okay, sure, boat-wrap sushi, but...”
A white boat has been set out in front of me, filled with a mountain of fish large and small. And they’re flapping their tails energetically. Yup, very energetically.
“But you said fresh fish.”
“I didn’t say live fish!”
And then there’s Cavalcade.
Cavalcade, which appeared to be on the verge of declaring war on us, thus precipitating all of these events. Since we can no longer hope for the power of the demon sword to deter them, we must find another escape route.
I fretted over the problem, seriously pondering if I should venture over there, lower my head to them and propose that we improve our relationship.
But though we had no hope of any diplomatic overture, they were the ones who leapt to a solution first.
“Your Majesty...we have an inquiry from Cavalcade about a state visit and audience...in order to express their gratitude for traveling Mazoku defeating a band of pirates who were menacing their fleet, thereby saving the lives of their former crown prince, his wife, and his daughter...did you do something like that?”
“It sounds like the pirates had a really bad time of it, though. Well, as usual, I have no memory of it. Could you ask Conrad or Wolf?”
“It is apparently a gentleman named Hiscruyff...”
“Hiscruyff...?!”
Isn’t that Mr. Shiny and his family?
“Hiscruyff, the eldest son of the current king of Cavalcade, was apparently engaged in an illicit love affair with a Hildyard merchant girl, whereupon he eloped from the royal family and left official service. But the current king’s second son died of illness without an heir, so the Cavalcade royal family had to write in a law giving Hiscruyff’s daughter the right to inherit the throne, and have just recently called them home...”
“Holy cow! Then Beatrice is a real princess!”
It’s Hiscruyff himself who’s the hot-blooded romantic, not me.
Conrad pokes me in the side with a triumphant expression on his face.
“Which means that Your Majesty danced with a possible future queen in her debut evening party! What would your reply be if she’s fallen in love with you at first sight and you get a marriage proposal from the Cavalcade royal family?”
“Conrart, how could you utter such ill-omened words? How could we allow a Human to steal our king’s lips from us?”
So lips are the problem here?
“Oh, but we should be getting interrogated in Cimarron right now—our doll-selves, at least.”
“It’s getting to be a case of ingratitude on an international scale—will Cavalcade come to the rescue of...ah, our doll-selves...?”
It’s funny just thinking about it, and even funnier if the air runs out of those Mr. Livesavers. Even Günter, who’s usually way too serious, has to hold back a smile betrayed by the crinkling at the corners of his eyes.
In any case, it looks like we’ll be able to avoid this war. I sink into my chair and breathe a sigh, staring up at the ceiling of Voltaire Castle.
“Chance is such a terrible thing.”
“How so?”
“I mean, because we were on the same ship by chance, we were attacked by pirates by chance, I happened to save Beatrice by chance—and that’s how we came to this peaceful resolution, right?”
“Not everything was by chance.”
He reaches out a hand and straightens my collar.
“You would have done the same no matter who was on that ship. That was inevitable, and not by chance. If someone devised this entire plot, their chance of success would be extremely high.”
“Plot?! Does someone capable of planning something like this actually exist?!”
“Probably not—at least, not in this world.”
My impulse to press the question fades away at his good-natured smile. There are a ton of questions I want to ask him, but the only thing I say is: “Conrad, which do you think is stronger: tiger or lion?”
“...Lion, I would guess?”
“Yup, me too.”
I think so too. There’s nothing stronger than a lion.
I finally reach the room prepared for me, with the first non-swaying bed that I’ve slept in for a long time. It’s way smaller than my bedroom at the king’s castle, but the bed here is still super king-sized. No, it’s demon king-sized. It can fit a hundred people no problem.
I shoo the servants out so that I can take my time.
I confirm that the room has its own bathroom, and turn on the hot water. It flows out of the mouth of a cow with five horns. Planning to stretch my legs a little while it fills, I head back to the bed to take off my clothes.
“...Aaah, so tired...wh-who’s there?!”
Someone is lurking beneath the sheets.
I boldly fling off the covers, and—
“Wolf...what are you doing here?!”
“What do you mean, what am I doing?”
Wolfram, lying on his stomach and dressed like a madam after her bath, kicks his legs.
“I sneaked over for a night crawl.”
“Night crawl?! A-as in, when a g-g-g-guy secretly crawls into a bed...”
“For a rendezvous?”
“Yeah, rendezvous...no no no no, that’s not what I mean! The guy crawls into a woman’s bed...!”
Now he’s got me going at his pace.
Wolfram half-rises, scowling, a hand placed imperiously on his hip. He looks like pretty boy who’s hit the mat after a knockdown, for those with the taste for it.
“If I had to wait for you, you’d never come to a decision.”
“Um, incidentally, what sort of a decision are you looking for...?” My voice trails off as he sways his hips closer.
The Mazoku ex-prince’s face brightens, and he pulls me down by the arm.
“Wah!”
“Are we any closer to a decision yet?”
“No!”
I’m terrified just thinking about what sort of decision this might be. I’m not going to lose my life or anything, but I do feel like there’s something else I’m going to lose. I desperately extract myself, fly into the bathroom and lock the door.
“Yuuri!”
“Wait wait wait! I gotta take a bath first, okay?! You don’t wanna do anything with a sweaty guy either, right?!”
Do...? I blanch at my own words.
My head and nose both prickle, and I stagger, suddenly dizzy.
“Yuuri! Hey, open the door!”
“No!”
Unable to keep upright any longer, I sit down on the rim of the tub.
“Blooploop.”
I fall in backwards like a diver and submerge myself up to the top of my head. Even the bathtub is king-sized, so it takes a while to reach the bottom...yeah, as if!
“Woah, I waff foo fuuprifed, iff I waff doodally naged bag dare...koff.”
I’m in a virtual reality whirlpool. Though it feels a lot more real than virtual. I curse my own stupidity as I’m sucked into the swirling flow of hot water.
I’m still wearing my underwear. Of all things, those underwear.
I’m crying on the now-familiar Star Tours journey, thinking:
This is way better. Rather than being stuck with a decision like that (or maybe having it made for me), going back to Japan is way better, even in this underwear.
It’s getting a bit chilly with the air brushing against my wet body.
Light blue fills my cloudy vision.
Light blue, light blue, light blue—that was the color of the pirates’ collar.
“...Sailor uniform...?!” The shadow crouched next to me mutters in disbelief, peering at my face. “Sailor uniform? That’s what he says as soon as he wakes up...?!”
Actually, his clothes are water-blue too. Since we have reserved seats for this game, I was the one who reminded him to come in the team’s colors.
“I was thinking that you were taking a bit too long, so I came looking for you. That’s when I found you asleep in the tub and going under. Didn’t you hear me? I was shouting that we were going to miss the start at the top of my lungs.”
I look around to find myself back in the public bath in my hometown with a smiling Hakone Hachiri no Hanjirou on the wall. The bathtub where I was pickling myself is empty. But I can’t find a hole anywhere.
“And I was gonna be the hero of Holland, too.”
“Hero of Holland? Which? Kluivert? The Wandering Dutchman?”
“Feh, you soccer nerd...I mean, forget soccer! Murata, what time is it? Has the match started?!”
“I don’t think so, but...I’m thinking about skipping out this time.”
“You can’t skip out! This is Coach’s day—Ito-sama is going to be starting! You’ve gotta go cheer him on!”
I leverage my aching body upward and is struck speechless by the sight of my lower body.
“...Oh dammit.”
“Shibuya, I’m not going to tell the bathhouse staff this time around, but next time you have to take off your underwear before getting in, you know? It’s a public bathhouse rule, even if they’re thongs and not many people wear them.”
Murata Ken looks away from my (black) thongs.
“Um, you know, there’s a story behind this. It’s a long story, but this is normal wear for my country.”
“Your country? Story from where?”
“A story from my country...”
“What are you talking about, Shibuya? You’re Japanese. Do you have another country?”
I think dimly: the match is starting at the stadium.
I remember a fight to the death with a boy in a coliseum resounding with cheers. I remember Morgif’s hilt fitting perfectly into my hands. All the reasons converge like a folding fan.
Japanese DNA and the soul of the new Maou.
“...I’ve decided on eternal pacifism.”
Anyone else would have taken a step back from me.
But Murata Ken only smiles vaguely and says, “What’s with you all of a sudden? Making such manly comments...?”
Well, that’s a given.
The Maou’s gotta be manly, right?