The Devil Is a Part-Timer!, Vol. 1

by Satoshi Wagahara

  THE DEVIL FOCUSES ON HIS CAREER FOR MONETARY PURPOSES

  The bank account had been wrung completely dry.

  The reason couldn’t be simpler: He had used up all the money.

  On what? Well, first, there was that long-sought-after refrigerator. That was a mandatory purchase, he felt, given his qualms about the food-preservation situation, what with summer looming in the distance.

  Next, there was the bicycle. It was a record-breakingly cheap fixed-gear, but for the commute to and from his part-time job, it worked.

  That, and the washer he bought. He figured at first that the Laundromat would suffice, but the time and annoyance involved came to be too much. Definitely another appliance he wanted squared away before summer arrived.

  He had made all of these purchases with cash. And now, his remaining balance would barely cover a stick of gum.

  “You should be more careful with how you spend your money, you understand.”

  The condemning voice beat against his eardrums.

  “…What, did you want me getting sick off rotten food all summer, then? You want me to wear the same outfit every day?!”

  “I said nothing like that.” The calm, serene voice still had a chiding air to it. “But think about this. Your account might be exhausted, but you do have a job, yes? And a steady one at that. It would be simple to figure out your income for the next few months. You could have easily paid for all of this on credit.”

  “Don’t like taking loans.”

  “…I honestly don’t think you’re in the—”

  “Plus, there’s all kinds of fees and things for that! I don’t like paying for things that I can’t see and feel with my own hands.”

  “But—”

  “Never spend money you don’t actually have. I hate debt. If there’s no money, you shouldn’t use it. Buy stuff all at once with cash in hand, or don’t buy it.”

  It was a typical one-hundred-square-foot tatami room, the kind you saw all across Japan. In the middle, two men sat facing each other on opposite sides of an old, decrepit kotatsu table, the room’s only heat source.

  On one end, the lecturer. On the other, the lecturee.

  The lecturer, taller and thinner than his conversation partner, slowly rose and placed a hand on the door of the newly-purchased refrigerator.

  “Your Demonic Highness, let me ask you this.”

  The “Demonic Highness” being lectured was a man of average build, average height, and dark hair. His lecturer opened the refrigerator door, a twinge of resignation within his otherwise sharp eyes as he shot a stare back at his target.

  “How do you plan to survive until your next payday on a block of konnyaku gel, a cucumber, and a carton of milk?”

  “I…that…”

  The “Demonic Highness” being lectured remained seated, unable to formulate a response.

  “I-I’m not completely broke yet. There’s still some money in my wallet.”

  The taller man’s eyes seemed to say that this was not an adequate response.

  “I, uh, I could always grab some extra food from my job…”

  “Oh, so you plan to go all Super Size Me every meal from now until your next paycheck? Do you think that would be the best thing for your health?”

  To the side of the refrigerator was a city-provided garbage bag, bulging conspicuously on the floor. It was stuffed with a vast array of boxes and packaging from a certain famous fast-food chain.

  “It…it’s still young, this body.”

  “And I would wonder how young it would look after a decade of daily high-calorie, high-cholesterol cuisine! When we finally make our triumphant return, hopefully you won’t require a mobility scooter!”

  The sarcastic tone continued apace. “Also, you should know that time has different effects on this body from the one before. Ten years as a human being may not seem very long, but it is. Your health is a surprisingly fragile thing, Your Demonic Highness. Are you planning for that at all?”

  “All right, all right! Lay off me a second! I’m not, all right?! Are you happy now?! And anyway! It’s not only my fault I’m like this right now!”

  “Yes. Of course, my liege. There is no apologizing for the shame that has befallen us. But it was you, as our one and only Devil King, who decided we should bide our time and wait for the moment to rise once more. And in the meantime, you must be diligent in your work and in retaining your health. And I fear you are failing at both.”

  The Devil King fell silent. He turned his head to the side, apparently in regret for his behavior. Then:

  “Gah! It’s time for work!”

  Hopping to his feet, he tore out of the room, as if suddenly remembering he was inside a lion enclosure at the zoo. His lecturer, caught by surprise at this sudden flurry of activity, was left behind by the kitchen counter.

  “M-my liege! Wait! We still need to talk…”

  “Save it, Alciel! If it’s more complaints, I’ll listen to it when I get back!”

  Just as the man named Alciel caught up to him, he slammed the door in a huff. Mere inches saved himself from smashing his nose against it.

  “Your Demonic Highness!”

  As Alciel called for his companion, the door opened. The Devil King was there, a tremendous glare on his face as he extended a hand toward Alciel.

  “Rain! Umbrella!”

  The sky had been clear that morning, but ashen clouds now hung low in the sky. Raindrops had only just begun to fall. Before he could say anything else, Alciel wordlessly handed over the frayed, battle-worn plastic umbrella propped by the side of the front door.

  “Thanks! See you!”

  The door shut in his face once more, to the sound of the Devil King’s feet clanging as he stormed down the stairs.

  “Dullahan! My beloved mount! We’re off!”

  The so-called Devil King, his wardrobe betraying an obvious dedication to the clearance racks at UniClo, the monolithic discount clothing chain, heroically sounded the bell on his bicycle as he climbed aboard. Balancing his umbrella like a knight readying his jousting lance, he scurried down the alley in front of the apartment building.

  Alciel, the lecturer who was bedecked in a full UniClo wardrobe himself, craned his body over the stairwell railing as he saw his companion ride off into the rain. A long, deep sigh erupted across his lips.

  After a moment, he turned around and ventured back inside the apartment, a plain wooden placard with the household’s name written upon it in Magic Marker the only thing decorating the door. It listed the kanji to the left, and the English reading—Maou—to the right, with a dash in between the two. In effect, it read to any passing Japanese as THE TRUTH WITHIN to the left, and DEMON KING to the right.

  Closing the door behind him, Alciel shook his head and sighed once more. Why did all of this have to happen? The dark clouds and tinkling rainfall blackened the room, making it as gloomy and shadow-laden as his own heart.

  The dim scene was broken only by the somber sound of the doorbell. The doorbell? Oh. Right. This building was far too down-market to offer anything like an intercom to its residents. Alciel opened the door a second time.

  “…I’m sorry, we don’t own a television here.”

  The MHK TV-fee collection agent was a familiar presence in his life by now. It was no lie. There was no TV in the place. The Devil King and more-or-less master of the house reasoned that they could use a smartphone for their video-entertainment needs, but such a high-end device was nowhere near within reach of their strained budget.

  “Certainly. I just thought I would check. If you do purchase one, please bring this payment slip to the bank, if you could.”

  The collection agent h
anded over an envelope just as dull and unadorned as his businesslike tone of voice. Then he left, not bothering with even a perfunctory smile.

  Vast and sprawling as the yawning continents of Ente Isla were, there was not a soul in their world unaware of Satan, the Devil King. He was the overlord of the demon world and all the creatures that slithered and slavered within, his name all but synonymous with abject terror and cruelty.

  His sole motivation in life was to conquer Ente Isla, the divinely protected Land of the Holy Cross, and subjugate the foolish humans within as he transformed the continent into a paradise for his dark legions.

  Making the situation even more desperate for the human race were the faithful war generals by the Devil King’s side, each as overwhelmingly powerful as the master they served.

  They were Alciel, Lucifer, Adramelech, and Malacoda, and together they were called the Four Great Demon Generals.

  Ente Isla, the land protected by the gods, was composed of a large central landmass planted within the Ocean of Ignora, itself surrounded by four islands. These islands extended from the sea each to a cardinal direction, thereby forming a rough cross. The Devil King had deployed Alciel’s forces on the eastern island, Lucifer’s on the western, Adramelech’s on the northern, and Malacoda’s on the southern. They had deployed far and wide across the land, bringing both the humans and the godly forces that aided them to the very edge of annihilation.

  Then, something happened to Lucifer’s western forces.

  Word arrived from the west that the war-loving general’s armies had been routed by a single human being.

  This woman, referring to herself as a “Hero,” had rallied the few surviving human fighters together to stage a resistance effort.

  Lucifer was a former angel that had fallen from the world of the heavens, and the Western Continent was occupied by the resilient forces of the Ente Isla Church, the powerful ecclesiastical institution that was deemed the “closest to heaven” in the land. The Demon King had reasoned that Lucifer, well versed in the ways of the heavens, would be perfect for dispatching the Church and the divine assistance it received. This assumption had been dashed by a single human. A so-called Hero, at that.

  Of course, every long, drawn-out struggle has its setbacks. Lucifer had had a poor string of luck, perhaps. But, as Satan confidently concluded, the combined forces of his remaining generals would surely make easy work of this Hero.

  That was his first mistake.

  Satan had thought of humans as little more than grubworms, wriggling in and along the ground he trod upon.

  But think about it. Could one ever truly eradicate every single grubworm from the land? Even the mightiest and fiercest of lions could be felled by a single insect bite, if it proved poisonous enough.

  Within the space of a single year, first Adramelech, and then Malacoda, followed Lucifer down the path of defeat. Alciel, renowned as the Generals’ most gifted strategist, suggested abandoning the Eastern Continent and waging a defensive battle on the Central Continent in order to protect the Devil King’s central base. After years of waging war over the fate of Ente Isla, the battle had been turned upside down in twelve short months. Not even Satan could view the situation with optimism any longer.

  Soon the humans, on the rebound and campaigning in the name of the Church and their Hero, had pushed their way to the Central Continent, their vast forces descending upon the Devil King’s holdings. One had to wonder where all these grubworms had been hiding up to this point.

  In the blink of an eye, the central island was overrun. The demonic forces had been brutally crushed, all because he had underestimated the mettle of this single Hero, this mere maggot of a creature.

  Satan and Alciel fought back, battling the forces of the Hero and her three stalwart companions at the site of his Devil’s Castle on the Central Continent.

  The war wore on. Even the Hero faced difficulty against both the Demon King and his sole remaining general. But in terms of manpower and resolve, the Hero’s forces far outclassed Satan’s and Alciel’s.

  Eventually, once the Hero’s holy sword sliced off one of Satan’s horns, Alciel advised his ruler that retreat was in order. Continuing to wage war would lead not only to defeat but threaten their very existence as well.

  It was an agonizing decision for Satan to make, but one that even he saw the need for. The demonic forces would, to put it simply, flee Ente Isla. They would escape to another world and wait, rebuilding their strength until they were ready to return.

  The look of pained frustration on the Hero’s face as Satan plunged through the Gate to another world, just before she could pierce his heart with her holy blade, provided but little comfort to the demonic overlord.

  Satan’s final scream thundered across Ente Isla, as if he were attempting to address the heavens themselves.

  “Hear me, humans! Ente Isla is yours…for now! But I will return… and when I do, both you and this land will be mine!”

  But controlling a Gate to another world required a tremendous amount of magical force. Weakened and wounded by the Hero’s decisive victory, Satan and Alciel no longer bore the strength needed to fully navigate the portal.

  Sucked into the Gate’s torrential flow, the two powerful demons were soon astonished to find themselves marooned in a world with an advanced civilization already established upon it.

  It was filled with an intense, pulsating energy, the likes of which Satan and Alciel had never seen. Their infernal conquests had never prepared them for the towering structures and seemingly endless stream of shining, dancing lights that surrounded them now.

  They were inside a large city, it seemed, one filled with just as many dark, dingy alleys as glorious, massive edifices. They peered into the dim crevices between the buildings, listening in wonder at the unfamiliar, raucous noises that seeped from each one. Who could say what sort of intelligent life-form ruled this land, or what kind of insidious, ferocious monsters might populate it? Still not fully recovered from the shock, the pair of demons decided to find someplace to rest and heal from battle.

  Just then, a sharp, intense light shone upon them.

  “Hey! What’re you doing over there?!”

  It was a man’s voice, speaking what Satan could tell was a clearly defined, intelligent language. Turning toward the light, he saw someone there—a human, just like the ones that infested Ente Isla. The tubelike object in his hand emitted a blinding white light.

  “You guys okay? Have you been fighting?”

  Apparently the human race ruled this world. Another human was behind him, dressed similarly, eyes turned his way.

  Alciel was eager to avoid any further trouble.

  “Fall back, foul beasts! Who do you think stands before you?!”

  This bold declaration failed to have the intended effect on the man with the light. He furrowed his brows in apparent exasperation.

  Even Satan couldn’t hide his surprise at this reaction. There was pure, unadulterated magical force bubbling behind the noble cadences of demon speech. It was simply impossible for a human to ignore that domineering essence, treating it like the bleating of some animal.

  “Augh, great. Foreigners, huh? Man…”

  The first man tilted his head before taking out a small, boxlike object and muttering softly into it.

  “Uh, this is Patrolman Sasaki. I’m looking at a possible case of simple assault here. Victims are two non-Japanese Asian nationals. Location is—”

  The two humans were dressed in sturdy-looking, well-kept clothing, woven from some manner of leather or cloth. Weapons hung from their waists, their daggerlike hilts visible. The front of their headgear featured a golden emblem modeled after an unknown type of plant foliage. Knights from one of this world’s nations, then?

  That box must provide some form of long-distance communication. If these were knights, perhaps they had just called for reinforcements. A battalion of them could prove dangerous, especially in the demons’ current wounded state.
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br />   For now, it was two against two. They had their guards down. Seeking to eliminate these possible witnesses, Alciel transformed his remaining magic force into a ball of crackling energy, sending it flying toward the humans. Or he meant to.

  “What…?!”

  The magic wasn’t focusing, somehow, the way he expected. In fact, the more he tried to harness his magic skills, the more it seemed to drain harmlessly out of his body, something he was powerless to stop. He turned toward Satan to explain this anomaly.

  “My, my liege… That…that form…!”

  Alciel’s voice shook as he beheld the ruler of the demon world, bathed in intense white light.

  “Hold your magic, Alciel. We must learn of this world first.”

  Satan appeared serene in demeanor, but his teeth were clenched, as if fighting off some heavy weight acting upon him.

  As well he may have been. For the Devil King was standing there in human form—the form of the puny, weak creature he fought, his battle scars still plain to see.

  “Okay, so listen, guys… The car’ll be here in just a minute, so… If everything checks out, you can go home right afterward. Okay?”

  The men seemed blissfully unfazed by Satan’s presence. Still reeling from the shock, Alciel looked down upon his own hands. They were human hands, hands completely alien to him.

  Soon a carriage arrived with no horse driving it, colored black and white and topped with a mysterious device that drizzled red light across the area in dazzling patterns. More men appeared, each wearing the same outfit as the first, and Satan and Alciel were thrown into the carriage.

  “Do you speak Japanese? Aren’t you hot, wearing that in the summertime?”

  The first man spoke slowly to the pair of ex-demons, once noble, proud, with chiseled bodies that would far outclass any normal human’s. Now they were human themselves, their clothes as unnatural as a toddler wearing a bedsheet cape, the ominous-looking gilt meant to represent their lordly strength now catching against this or that part of their lanky frames.

  Satan and Alciel shared a look, but neither had anything to say to that. Even if they did, it didn’t appear the men could understand their speech.