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

by Satoshi Wagahara

  The two of them had established a foothold in their drive to find the bare minimum of work for themselves, but they had little time to rest. Money would be needed for other things, too—electricity, water, gas, essentials.

  A tear came to Satan’s eye as he recalled a time when he could gather the thunderclouds, summon mighty waves, and raze the land with punishing flame, all at the flick of a finger.

  Now, Satan and Alciel were just Maou and Ashiya, two slow-looking unemployed young men, neither looking past their early twenties.

  The Devil King and his erstwhile Demon General read through every job-listing magazine they could find. Soon they discovered the existence of something called “day labor.”

  All they had to do was sign up with a given company, and they’d then be assigned short-term work. They would receive payment daily, between five thousand and ten thousand yen depending on the work, perhaps more if they performed well.

  Tossing one of their few remaining ten-yen coins into the slot of a public phone, they set up an appointment time for an interview.

  Traveling to the office in Shinjuku, they found it was less an interview and more a work-orientation meeting. They signed up at once, found the directors less than picky about qualifications, and work was promised to them before the day was through.

  Since they were both inexperienced beginners, they were tasked with assisting a group putting up facilities for an outdoor event, performing their assigned work up to the salary agreed upon.

  Staring at the seven thousand yen each of them had earned for the day’s work, Satan felt reassured in his convictions.

  If they kept this up, they could earn the money they needed for now. And once they saved enough money, they could turn their focus toward finding part-time jobs to keep them working on a more long-term basis.

  That mission, however, fell apart in a short two weeks.

  They had performed their duties on a consistent basis, to the point where the salaried employees working up front were starting to remember their faces.

  Then the company received a stop-work notice from the government, forcing them to leave the work-assignment business. It was a complete bolt out of the blue.

  In poor spirits and with no money source, the pair made their way home. Passing by a TV playing the news, they took in more of the story.

  The newscast condemned the firm, accusing it of assigning workers to illegal sites and skimming an outrageous amount off the top of their revenue.

  Satan focused on the news report, wondering to himself why a great demon as himself had to lose his job because of some silly laws enacted by humans, of all things. Suddenly, he came to a realization.

  “Hey, Ashiya, wait a sec.”

  “I would prefer Alciel, please.”

  “Our mission here is to conquer the human world, right? Not to spend every day of our lives scraping up enough cash to survive.”

  “Y…yes. As you say.”

  “Then how about you just focus on finding a way to restore our magic? I can hold down a job instead. I may have more physical and magical strength than you, but you—you’re the one and only strategist I have. I need you to find a source of magic for me, here, in Japan.”

  “M-Maou…”

  “It’s ‘Your Demonic Highness.’ But anyway, even if it may be more comfortable for us if we both worked, we must never lose sight of our goals. Demons and magic may not exist here, but the concepts do. And every concept has an origin. If we can root out the origin, then perhaps…”

  “…perhaps we can find a way to regain that magic?”

  Satan nodded sagely.

  “Far preferable to the both of us stringing part-time jobs together, right? And there is no need to focus on just magic, either. Perhaps we could find some new power, something exclusive to this world. Then we could use that to dominate Ente Isla once more!”

  Ashiya…er, Alciel fell to his knees, deeply moved by the first truly motivational speech from his master in many days.

  “Absolutely, Your Demonic Highness! I will stake my very life to find a way back to Ente Isla; to find a method to restore my liege’s powers!”

  “…Will you get up, Alciel? We’re in the middle of a crosswalk. You’re embarrassing me.”

  Their fellow pedestrians stared as they walked past, not betraying a hair of emotion at the sight of Alciel suddenly kneeling down and shouting nonsense in the middle of the afternoon.

  The Devil King Satan, absorbing himself in the role of Japanese slacker Sadao Maou, gave every inch of strength to his work. He went through a lot of it. Traffic control at a road construction site. Order picking at a commercial warehouse. Assistant for a moving company. Rush-hour customer management at a train station. The variety, at least, was nothing to complain about.

  Meanwhile, as Shirou Ashiya, Alciel devoted himself to maintaining the household, ensuring that Maou remained healthy and able to devote himself to work. In his spare time, he investigated the world’s magical possibilities, as well as strictly managing the pair’s financial situation.

  Exactly six months after the two of them first touched down in Japan, Maou received an offer for his first long-term part-time job—MgRonald, the fast-food giant.

  He returned from his first day at work with a pleased look upon his face, the bags in his hands groaning with deep-fried miscellanea. As he put it, “From this day forward, we will never have to worry about our food drying up.”

  Ashiya, too, was glad to be rid of such concerns. At first. But eating all these burgers, all these French fries, all this fried chicken—all this high-calorie, additive-laden food, day in and day out, wore him out almost immediately. After a week, the heartburn was enough to make him never want to set eyes upon a fast-food container again.

  But Maou carried on with this questionable diet, apparently taking a liking to the “cuisine” on offer.

  Inevitably, Ashiya had to pay even more attention to their daily food habits in response. The result was that the demon’s valiant search for magic was getting absolutely nowhere. If he wanted to avoid a disastrous diet of junk food for every meal, Ashiya had to dash for the supermarkets just before closing time, keeping a careful eye on whatever day-old stuff was discounted the lowest each day.

  At least Maou was devoted to his work. Within two months, he had already received a raise.

  The day was one Ashiya would likely never forget. The sight of the Devil King, overjoyed at the concept of a one-hundred-yen raise in his hourly wages, was something nobody could bear to behold without their eyes tearing up.

  Several more line promotions followed in the ensuing weeks. And before long, Maou had become an A-level crew member at the MgRonald location in front of the Hatagaya rail station.

  His hourly wage was two hundred yen higher than when he joined half a year ago. This was, allegedly, exceptionally kind treatment on MgRonald’s part. Using any of his hypnosis magic would weaken him to a point that Ashiya would immediately recognize something was amiss, so everything Maou achieved must have been the result of honest sweat equity.

  Eventually, a customer feedback form made its way to MgRonald headquarters, apparently full of praise for Maou’s service. That earned him the Crew MVP award for the month.

  A marked change in attitude began to settle in. Here was the Devil King after work, talking about how right his boss was to praise him and how talented one of the new hires was proving to be. It was hardly the devious plotting of a would-be conqueror. His qualifications upon the Devil King role gradually shrank, to the point where he began claiming that surpassing his store manager would be the first step to world domination.

  For someone like Ashiya, whose sole pleasure in life was to support the Devil King in his illustrious triumphs, the sight was growing increasingly disquieting as of late. It was becoming difficult to think in depth about the future.

  Ashiya flung the envelope with the MHK payment slip into the mail holder, not bothering to open it. He willfully bottled up all his con
cerns and complaints—his oath of fealty rang just as true now as it had when he swore it—and today he had an art gallery and a museum to research.

  During his investigations, Ashiya had become convinced that magic either still existed, or had existed, somewhere on planet Earth.

  From England’s Stonehenge to the Egyptian pyramids and the Nazca Lines in Peru, the world was dotted with cultures and structures that seemed to ooze magic at the core.

  This was the result of countless hours spent in libraries, investigating every ruin site and relic the world had to offer. The Devil’s Castle Maou and Ashiya called home had nothing as convenient as the Internet available.

  The issue was figuring out the difference between true magic and magic-ish-ness.

  There was no money to travel overseas, and even if they used Maou’s hypnotic powers to make the trip, there was no telling which civilizations were magical unless they actually went to look for themselves.

  If a lead wound up going nowhere, he would be too ashamed to even look at his master. That, and who could say there was enough power anywhere in the world to refill his strength in the first place?

  Thus, Ashiya decided to start by examining antiquities closer at hand.

  The museums and galleries within the city apparently offered rotating displays from foreign museums on a regular basis. He wanted to see if anything on display resonated at the wavelengths of their own demonic magic.

  With that, he set off for Shinjuku. His target: the day’s special gallery at the National Museum of Western Art in Ueno.

  It was still raining outside, so Ashiya grabbed up another plastic umbrella Maou had fished from the side of the road, fumbled with the wobbly cylinder lock on the door to secure a room that offered nothing of value to steal, and set off.

  Suddenly, Ashiya was stricken with a gruesome thought. What, he asked himself, if this way of life went on forever? It was enough to make him tremble, even in the late-spring weather.

  “Hmm?”

  A moment later, he realized he actually was being shaken. An earthquake was in progress.

  It was nothing to panic about; he learned quickly over the past year that Japan saw quakes on a regular basis. But living in this popsicle-stick apartment that might set the world record for “oldest extant building with no work ever done to it” was enough to make any earthquake seem about 30 percent stronger, sickening him to the core every time.

  But nothing happened, again. The shaking ceased after ten seconds or so. In Ente Isla, any earthquake, no matter how strong or widespread, would send the humans into spasms of panic, blathering on about vengeful deities or advancing demon forces. But a quake this size wouldn’t even attract the notice of many Japanese. The trains wouldn’t even bother to stop for it.

  Not that Ashiya needed a train to reach Shinjuku. From Sasazuka, it was only one train stop away on the Keio line. About twenty minutes’ walk for any healthy man. Twisting the doorknob again to ensure the lock was still in one piece, he thrust the key into his pocket and gingerly walked down the staircase.

  It never dawned on Ashiya that he, himself, had fallen to the point where he gleefully made excuses in order to cheap out on a single stop’s worth of train fare.

  Sadao Maou, perched atop his trusty steed Dullahan, was on his way to work.

  From the Devil’s Castle in Sasazuka, it was less than ten minutes’ riding to the MgRonald in Hatagaya, assuming no snags. Thanks to the delay from Ashiya’s lecturing, however, the rain was now falling at a steady clip.

  It was strong enough that his beaten-up umbrella, with its bent ribs, rusting support rod, and clouded plastic that no longer offered full visibility, had no chance of covering for it.

  Yet Maou pedaled on, prodding himself forward as quickly as possible.

  It was the last day of the month, a Friday, one that always loosened the strings on his wallet a bit. An important day, too. His store was vying for the number one regional sales prize for the current special menu item. It made Maou burn with excitement. This was it. This would be the day when they would set a new record for Black Chili Pepper Fry sales!

  “I don’t need you yelling at me, Ashiya. I’m thinking about this, too…in my own way!”

  The lust was still there. His ultimate ambition, as always, was to conquer Ente Isla. But with no way to return home, there wasn’t much to be done about it. Even if he could teleport over right now, he would be cut down and defeated in the blink of an eye without his magic force.

  Meanwhile, in Japan, as long as you kept your nose clean, your chances of being slain on the battlefield were on the low side. And if you regarded this current routine as baby steps on the path to reclaiming the Devil King throne, it was even possible to retain one’s sense of demonic pride.

  For now, this was fine. Maou honestly believed that.

  He stopped at a red crosswalk signal, his brakes screeching as his front wheel plowed into a water puddle.

  Dullahan was a bargain, but its brakes, like the scream of an enraged mandragora, were one sticking point.

  At this intersection, cutting through a residential area a block away from the Koshu-Kaido road, there was a small park and a trendy restaurant, its walls covered with glass from floor to ceiling.

  Across the street, toward the direction he came from, Maou spotted a woman nestled beneath the restaurant’s rain canopy.

  The street was filled with passersby in search of lunch, but this woman caught his eye. She apparently had no umbrella with her. Even from afar, he could see her make a face as she wiped down her hair and shoulders with a small handkerchief in her hand.

  Her annoyed stare was pointed toward the sky as the light remained steadily red. She likely wasn’t expecting the rain. Even when the light finally turned green, she remained under the canopy, seemingly at a loss.

  Maou, ever mindful of traffic laws, dismounted his bike and walked it across the street. Once across, the woman noticed him for the first time, eyes turned toward his. He nodded lightly at her, then ducked under the restaurant’s canopy next to her, taking care to place Dullahan in between them to dispel any suspicions.

  “Um, if you like…”

  Folding up his plastic umbrella, he presented it to her, handle first.

  “Huh?”

  Her clear, refreshing voice sounded confused at first. She looked around her surroundings, unsure how to proceed.

  “Oh, I… It just started so suddenly, so I thought you might need it.”

  She had seemed like a mature woman, judging by how she looked and acted from across the street, but up close, she looked younger, perhaps even high school age. She was, at least, younger than Maou’s external appearance.

  Her flower-print, tunic-length top and tight, skinny denim jeans were a good match for her natural beauty. The rain in her long hair, slightly curled at the ends, gave it a sheen that made it all the more attractive. A pity she didn’t think to pack a folding umbrella inside the small purse hanging from her shoulder.

  Her strong, willful eyes were now clearly focused upon Maou, a whiff of anxiety on her face.

  “But…are you sure? I can’t just take this from you…”

  He had no spare on him, of course. This one had been plucked off the ground; actually spending money on one was an exotic concept to him.

  “Oh, no, I work right nearby here, so… It’s only about two or three minutes by bike. We’ve got more umbrellas over there.”

  Nervously, the woman took up the handle offered to her. As she did, Maou swiftly remounted his bike, not wishing to make her feel any more indebted.

  “Um, thank you very much! I’d like to repay you somehow…”

  However, the woman turned out to be more insistent than Maou was expecting. He held his hand upward in response.

  “Forget about it. It’s kind of junky anyway. You can go ahead and toss it once you’re done with it.”

  “Oh, I couldn’t just…”

  Maou turned toward the woman, who was still acting a
tad hesitant about the whole thing.

  “Well, how about this? I work at the MgRonald right nearby here, so why don’t you stop by for a bite to eat sometime?”

  “Right nearby…? You mean the one by Hatagaya station?”

  She nodded her understanding as Maou pointed out the direction. “Yeah. I’ll give you an upsize on the special fries we got right now, if I’m there.”

  It was this sort of grassroots marketing that Maou specialized in around the neighborhood. He saw himself as a MgRonald employee everywhere he went in public, and anyone could be a potential customer. The way he saw it, this extra effort was what led to his job promotions.

  “All right. I’ll be sure to do that. Umm…”

  The woman stood up straight, looking right into Maou’s eyes.

  “Thanks again.”

  With that, she bowed lightly.

  Her smile was like a beautiful ray of sunshine peeking through the distressing rainclouds of his heart.

  “Sure thing. Be careful.”

  Maou turned around, attempting to hide his pangs of awkwardness. Waving his hand, he plunged back into the rain, never turning back.

  “Brrrr! Cold!”

  Perhaps that exchange was too knightly for his own good. But it was all for a better tomorrow, better sales figures, and—let one not forget—a better chance at brutally dominating the world.

  Also, losing one’s umbrella for a valid reason should make Ashiya release his iron grip on their finances enough that he could purchase a new one, right? If not, he could always take his pick from the umbrella rack in front of the store.

  Back at the intersection, the light long since back to red, the woman remained motionless, until Maou was no longer in sight.

  In the end, Maou’s location failed to top the Black Chili Pepper Fry charts for the region. One of the fryers stopped working after the lunch rush.

  It took two hours for the repairman to show up, and those two hours made all the difference.

  A frustrating ordeal for Maou, to say the least, and one he dwelled upon as he lugged yet another bag full of junk food home with him.