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

by Satoshi Wagahara

  Emi chewed over this for a moment, her face suddenly troubled once more.

  “Well…um. You know. That was a freebie, all right? A freebie. You just got vital intel on your enemy for free. I don’t wanna hear you complaining about it.”

  The words came out haltingly. Maou couldn’t make heads or tails of it.

  “Uh, sure, but if that was a freebie, what’s the real reason you’re here for?”

  “Mngh…”

  Emi tried her hardest to say something. In Maou’s mind, she overlapped neatly with Chiho in front of the Shinjuku Alita big-screen display, asking him to hold hands.

  But there was no way Emi would ever be so friendly with him. For the first time in the conversation, she brought her hands to the forefront. They gripped a long, sticklike object, and now, quite suddenly, she thrust it toward Maou.

  Maou edged back, fearing another kitchen knife and/or holy sword.

  But then, realizing what the object was, he tilted his head, puzzled.

  It was the handle of an umbrella.

  Through her pained expression and bright-red cheeks, Emi had pointed the handle of a brand-new men’s umbrella toward him. It was wrapped in protective paper from a high-end department store, one even Maou knew the name of, and the logo of a famous menswear brand was stamped on the handle.

  “An…umbrella? Wha?”

  “I…you know, I threw out the one I borrowed from you, right? I thought that was…kind of mean of me, so…”

  She was right. The plastic umbrella he lent to Emi before realizing she was the Hero Emilia was tossed away once she realized he was Satan, the Devil King. So she was…repaying him?

  “Now let me just say one thing!”

  Emi glared at Maou, still debating with himself over what to do.

  “All I’m doing is repaying your favor! Borrowing an umbrella from you is a deep, deep wound to my personal virtue and honor! One that will never heal in thousands of years! But letting any favor go undone would be an even greater blemish upon my reputation! That’s it!”

  She jabbed the edge of Maou’s nose several times with the handle end of the umbrella as she half-shouted her diatribe.

  “So just take it! This thing’s getting heavy!”

  “Uh…sure.”

  He took the handle, and Emi dropped her end, all but throwing it at him. It was a firm, weighted wooden grip, one like nothing Maou ever touched. The fabric was thick and shiny, and the ribs felt reinforced and durable beneath it. Its simple charcoal-gray color was a decent match for any outfit, and it was large enough to comfortably protect a couple when open.

  “Hey, isn’t this expensive?”

  “You are such a thick Devil King. Is that all you can think of? Five thousand yen or so isn’t something someone your age should be sweating about!”

  Maou was shocked into silence. The price was completely beyond comprehension for him, yet Emi just tossed it out like yesterday’s trash.

  “F-five…?! You…you spent five thousand on some stupid umbrella?! I mean, I just gave you this old thing I found hanging off a mailbox!”

  “I don’t care! Shut up! I just couldn’t stand seeing my eternal nemesis going around with some half-broken piece of crap all day! If you call yourself Devil King, you could at least try to act the part a little!”

  “Uh…yeah. Good point. But…still, five thousand, huh? Wow. Funny to think this is even in the same category as the junk I was using. Mind if I take off the wrapping?”

  “I gave it to you. Do whatever you want!”

  Emi no longer even looked at Maou. Her back was turned, brows furrowed as she crossed her arms disgustedly.

  Carefully removing the tape, Maou neatly folded up the wrapping paper and placed it in his pocket before opening his new umbrella.

  “Whoa! It’s huge! Looks really sturdy, too! Now this is what I call an umbrella!”

  Maou’s excitement was sincere as he looked on in wonderment. Emi, catching this from the corner of her eye for just a moment, raised the edges of her lips, her look one of ever-so-slight satisfaction.

  “…Well, that’s all I needed to do.”

  With that, Emi turned away from Maou. He called back to her.

  “Oh? Well, thanks! Sorry for the trouble.”

  For some strange reason, the expression of thanks that escaped the Devil King’s lips planted themselves deep into Emi’s heart. They made her turn back around, just one more time.

  “I almost forgot.”

  “Hmm? Forgot what?”

  No one will likely ever know what lay behind the smile that crossed her lips.

  “Try to patch things up with Chiho, all right?”

  That was the last thing he was expecting from her. His eyes lit up in surprise, leaving him unable to answer. Apparently satisfied by this display, Emi smiled, then turned around once more.

  “See you later.”

  Then the Hero and Devil King turned their backs to each other, both of them heading for home.

  “Oh, good evening, Your Demonic Highness! I’ve prepared some egg pancakes for dinner.”

  “You could at least call it an omelet. I don’t care if you lie to me.”

  Ashiya, his strength (if nothing else) recovered, was waiting for him at the apartment, eyebrows twitched upward at the sight of the new umbrella in his hand. Maou preempted his question.

  “It’s a gift, okay? A gift! I didn’t use any money!”

  “A gift? My liege, you have a benefactor willing to give you such a fancy umbrella?

  “If you’re being sarcastic, Ashiya, then zip it! It’s one of those… you know, ‘what goes around comes around’ things, right?”

  Maou propped the umbrella against the wall on the front foyer. This wasn’t some cheap umbrella he could toss around with abandon. He’d need to buy an umbrella stand soon, he thought unconsciously.

  Suddenly Maou looked upward, feeling sullen eyes upon him. It was Lucifer, in the form of a typical short, long-haired Japanese man, kneeling in the corner and gnawing on some fried eggs.

  Their eyes met, but he didn’t say a word. Maou was nonplussed.

  “You got any place to go, or…?”

  “…If I did, I wouldn’t be eating fried eggs in this dump, would I?”

  “Probably not. Come to think of it, you’re a wanted man in Japan, aren’t you?”

  He had yet to hear anything about Olba, but if he were ever arrested for armed robbery, the archbishop would no doubt be ready to spill the beans about his accomplice Lucifer.

  It was doubtful that the Tokyo police would accept the story at face value, but either way, Lucifer was in a dangerous spot.

  “Hey, let me ask you something. How did you find your way into Emi’s workplace? Like, into her phone line?”

  “…What?”

  Lucifer blinked in puzzlement.

  “’Cause depending on how you did it, we might be able to use that for something. You help me get my power back, I’ll help you in return. How ’bout it?”

  Soon, the not-so-normal routine of Maou’s daily life in Sasazuka, part of the Shibuya ward of Tokyo, Japan, returned.

  The morning after Maou and Ashiya’s battle, they visited the home of Miki Shiba, their landlord. They felt the need to get to the bottom of this woman, one who had to know the truth about both of them; a landlord who, in multiple meanings of the term, seemed superhuman.

  If she had her pulse on everything that happened to them, there was an extremely good chance she was the mystery texter who sent that earthquake warning alongside Chiho’s.

  They were fully prepared for a heart-to-heart chat as they gingerly pushed the call button, but no matter how much they tried, the landlord never answered. After a while, Ashiya noticed a slip of paper tacked to the gate.

  From: Mikitty

  To: Villa Rosa Sasazuka residents

  Due to personal business, I will be based overseas for an extended period of time. Please contact the property management company below with any issues.r />
  That wasn’t what made Maou and Ashiya wince. What did was the crimson-red kiss mark she had closed the note with.

  If she went overseas, she likely wouldn’t be back for a while. For a moment, they wondered if she’d be held up at the security line. Her body and looks, after all, were patently lethal weapons.

  Maou was on the afternoon swing shift that day as well. Things were still a touch awkward between him and Chiho when she reported in that evening, but by and large, she was back to her usual self.

  And once he wrapped up the cleaning and laundry around the apartment, Ashiya was off on a grand tour of the museum, then the supermarket.

  “Mornin’, Emi! Hope nothing bad happens today, huh?”

  From the moment Emi reported to work, Rika was joking with her. Emi looked straight at her.

  “Listen, Rika, I…”

  In as apologetic a tone as she could muster, Emi explained that she got in an accident after leaving Rika yesterday, ruining the blouse she borrowed in the process. Rika let out a wry laugh, completely unfazed.

  “Ooh, you’re right. I can still see a couple bruises on you. I tell you, Emi, it’s a miracle you aren’t dead yet!”

  Emi had deliberately kept herself unhealed after the battle against Lucifer. It would raise too many eyebrows if she had completely healed up just two days after being scarred in the underground corridor.

  “Well, that blouse was pretty worn out anyway, so you don’t have to worry about it. Although, if you really wanted to make it up to me, you could keep me company while I stand in line for lunch, huh?”

  With a laugh, Rika patted Emi on the shoulder. Emi agreed, honestly relieved on the inside, and as they continued to chat about this, that, and the other thing, their work shift began.

  An incoming call suddenly arrived at Emi’s station, giving her barely enough time to skim the regular morning mail. She picked it up, mentally switching her brain to work mode.

  “Thank you for your patience! This is Yusa from the Dokodemo customer—”

  “Whoa! Dang! It actually connected!”

  “…Uh?”

  The voice on the other end was familiar to Emi, no matter how much she wished otherwise.

  “Yo! Emi! Can you hear me?”

  “Kkhhh—”

  The blood flowed into Emi’s head as she painfully groaned through her teeth.

  “Man, I had no idea you could really aim at people like that. This is gonna be a lot more useful than I thought!”

  “Look, what are you doing?! I’m at work right now!”

  “Aww, calm down. It’s just an experiment.”

  “What kind of experiment?!”

  “Hackin’.”

  “Ha… What?”

  “I mean, like, Urushihara got himself directly connected to your booth ’cause he went to an Internet café and hacked into your company’s main computer. So I figured if we had a PC at home, we could do a lot more than that…so I made the first big purchase of my life! Monthly installments on my credit card, baby!”

  Emi could feel her heartbeat thud against both of her temples. She was unable to stop it.

  “Well, there’s a lot I’d like to ask you, but first, who the hell is Urushihara?!”

  “Oh, I mean Lucifer. He’s, like, a total whiz with computers.”

  “Well, great! Fine! So what do you want?!”

  “Oh, I just thought it be safer if I tried it with someone I was pretty familiar with, so… Sorry to bother you!”

  Maou could not have sounded less apologetic. Emi irritably slammed her hand down on her desk.

  “Someone you’re pretty familiar with?! Don’t give me that BS! Why do I have to be your—”

  “Oh, chill out! You’re the only girl who could ever take me on! I’d call that ‘familiar’ enough, y’know? Sorry! Anyway, later!”

  Having said his fill, Maou hung up.

  Emi groaned, there being no place nearby to let her raging emotions explode.

  “Uh… What’s wrong, Emi?”

  Rika’s voice was anxious from the other booth.

  “Nothing!!”

  The screech was enough to unnerve the entire office.

  “Man, that was awesome! Anyway, I gotta go to work, so try to get used to that PC a little more in the meantime, okay, Urushihara?” Maou beamed as he removed his headset.

  “…This piece of crap?” Hanzou Urushihara—aka Lucifer, newly readmitted into Maou’s Devil’s Castle after agreeing to head up his new IT department—was plainly dissatisfied with the laptop Maou had purchased on the cheap in Akihabara; its OS was a good two versions behind the times. The computer he had at the Internet café was newer in every possible way.

  “Hey, I bought that for you, okay? You should be glad I got same-day activation on that Internet line, too! How much do you think that cost me?”

  “I thought they gave you a discount on net service once you bought the hardware! They didn’t give you any of that?”

  “Hey, you can stop whining once you’re not wanted for robbery, okay? If you want a brand-new PC, then how ’bout finding a way to recharge my magic power first? Then you’ll have the time to clear your name and work for one.”

  “This is ridiculous. Why must I be bound to the laws of these mere humans?”

  Maou and Ashiya glanced at each other, then laughed as Urushihara’s whining continued.

  “Remember when we said stuff like that?”

  “Indeed. Seems like such an oddly long time ago, doesn’t it?”

  Suddenly, Ashiya’s eyes darted toward the five-hundred-yen wall clock he had purchased at the hundred-yen shop.

  “Your Demonic Highness! It’s time for work!”

  He bowed deferentially as he opened the door.

  “Hey, I’m getting sick of those black-pepper fries, okay? Bring something different home with you!”

  “I will be preparing egg-drop soup for dinner tonight. Be safe on your bicycle!”

  Maou set off for work amid Urushihara’s selfish whining and Ashiya’s househusbandlike farewell. His resignation toward the role had risen to the point where it formed his overall philosophy in life.

  It would be another peaceful day for the hundred-square-foot Devil’s Castle, a mere five minutes’ walk from Sasazuka station.

  THE AUTHOR, THE AFTERWORD, AND YOU!

  When you sign a pact with the devil, you usually wind up paying for it with your life, or your soul, or something else that makes the wish you receive in return seem pretty pointless after the fact.

  Satoshi Wagahara, the Author, is a demon among demons, a writer who has forged a deal with the Devil King himself.

  Thanks to a Hero with the blood of an angel glaring at the hapless demon lord to the side, the Author was lucky enough to avoid having to hand over his soul on the spot. The price demanded, however, was just as dear: The Devil King and the Hero said “Give us your lifetime” in tandem.

  Thanks to this pact, the Author was able to write. He toiled in the craft, considering it fair compensation for what he gave up. But then the demands escalated. First it was the place he lived. Then what he ate. Then what he wore. Then the place he worked.

  Now well used to his profession, even granted silvery wings to propel him into the world of human expression, the Author meekly handed it all over, one after the other.

  As time wore on, it transpired that the Author, in the end, had given up his life as well. He had used up the entirety of his lifetime, all for the sake of them. That’s what a deal with the devil gets you. Before you know it, he’s got your soul anyway.

  But the Devil King is a greedy one, as befits the lord of all demons. As he explained to the Author, his mortal life was not enough for him to survive upon.

  Soon, he demanded the Editor, Mr. Araki, who acted as mediator for every demonic pact. He demanded the Artist, 029 (Oniku), who drew every bit of home, clothing, workspace, and physical corpus of the Author’s that was handed over to them. And he demanded the mortal soul of everyone
involved with Binding and Printing the Author’s work.

  Everyone graciously accepted his demands, signing off a portion of their lives to the Devil King and the Hero.

  Then, the Author spoke. “Surely,” he said, “this must be enough for both of you to survive on.”

  But now, it was the Hero who thrust another demand in his face.

  “Yet we lack the most important thing of all. Without it, one cannot say that we are alive at all.”

  The Author protested, asking what such a thing could be. The Devil King and the Hero responded as one.

  “We demand the souls of the Readers.”

  Without the very lives of the Readers, their world could never establish itself. Without them, none of the other things the Author had signed away would hold any value.

  And now I, the Author, have helped myself to a small sliver of time from all of my Readers.

  I can only hope that I have provided a world, a set of lives, and a story that stays in your heart long enough to befit the time spent.

  An impertinent, outrageous thing to say, no doubt, for an Author so new to the game.

  Also, on behalf of the Hero, I sincerely apologize for everyone named “Sadao” in the nation of Japan.

  The Author’s tale, one based upon his pact with the Devil King, is filled with people living frenetic, exciting, fun lives.

  And maybe, just maybe, that certain someone in your town is a visitor from another world.

  Thank you for buying this ebook, published by Yen On.

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  Copyright

  THE DEVIL IS A PART-TIMER!, Volume 1

  SATOSHI WAGAHARA, ILLUSTRATION BY 029 (ONIKU)

  Cover art by 029 (Oniku)

  Translation by Kevin Gifford

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.