The Devil Is a Part-Timer!, Vol. 3

by Satoshi Wagahara

  “Hang on, Suzuno. I wanna hit the stationery store.”

  Hitching his new bike at the side of the road and locking it up tight, Maou went into the small shop. The retail space was devoted more to cheap candy and kids’ trinkets than pens and paper, but Maou’s purchase was purely stationery, although still enough to make Suzuno tilt her head in confusion.

  “What do you need glue for?”

  “Hee-hee! How nice of you to ask. Behold!”

  With a greasy grin, he fished a small, red plastic plate from his pocket.

  “This is a reflector plate from my beloved Dullahan. The one you crushed into a pulp, if you recall. I pried it off after the cops called me over to haul it away. Kind of a memento, you know?”

  As he spoke, he used the glue to attach the piece to the shining metal bike basket.

  “With this, the soul of Dullahan, the noble steed who gallantly abandoned his life to protect his master, shall survive into the next generation! From this moment forward, you shall be named Dullahan…II!”

  “…How exciting.”

  Having an affinity for one’s accoutrements was hardly unusual, but a grown man giving a name to his mode of transport—his bicycle, no less—in this day and age was a pitiable occasion for anyone unlucky enough to witness it.

  “Are you quite ready then, Devil King? We should go.”

  That went double when the man in question was Satan, the Devil King, mortal foe of all mankind.

  The girl who went by the name Suzuno Kamazuki in Japan sighed a deep sigh as she proceeded on, not bothering to wait for Maou’s response.

  The clean, clear-glass hairpin stabbed into her hair shone a bright white in the afternoon summer sun as she dejectedly walked ahead.

  Satan, the Devil King. That was the name awarded the demon who mounted an attempt to conquer the faraway world of Ente Isla.

  Sadao Maou. That was the name of the young man living a shade away from downtown Tokyo, working an hourly fast-food job to keep himself fed.

  No one, neither man nor god, could ever have conceived of the bloodthirsty, ambitious Devil King going from world domination to eking out a part-time living in the Sasazuka neighborhood of Shibuya ward, Tokyo.

  It had been just over a year since he was defeated by the Hero Emilia Justina, and thrown into the alien world of “Japan.”

  He lived in Room 201 of Villa Rosa Sasazuka, a wooden apartment complex built sixty years ago in this neighborhood. The hundred-square-foot, single-room rental served as his temporary Devil’s Castle as Satan attempted to achieve independence through low-wage labor, even though the past few months had proven rather frantic for him.

  The first year was a constant battle with poverty and disaster, but he nonetheless devoted himself wholeheartedly to his work on a daily basis.

  Then, nine months ago, he found a long-term gig at the MgRonald restaurant situated in front of Hatagaya station, a single stop from Sasazuka. After that—in no small part thanks to being blessed by a talented, fast-track manager—he finally began to find some semblance of stability in his life.

  This humdrum routine began to rip at the seams the moment the Hero Emilia, still chasing after the escaped Devil King, appeared before him under the guise of “Emi Yusa.”

  Whether Maou’s completely lawful, high-fructose-corn-syrup-heavy lifestyle could really be described as a “humdrum routine” for a bloodthirsty space alien demon was a matter for debate, but that can be discussed later.

  Regardless, there was no doubt that “rip at the seams” is an apt way to describe what happened next, what with one of his ex-generals attempting to assassinate him and the Hero herself being double-crossed by the humans allegedly supporting her.

  But once it all passed and normalcy returned to his life, it was back to his old Joe Shmoe job, back to three meals a day and a warm floor to sleep on. Maou devoted all the strength he had to keeping this status quo…well, the status quo.

  Even when the Hero took the train three stops down in order to gripe at him on his doorstep, even when a chief cleric from the Church on Ente Isla moved in next door in an attempt to poison him with her allegedly demon-poisoning sacrosanct food, the Devil King stuck to his daily routine, doing what he believed necessary to jump-start his goals of world domination.

  Living a sound personal life, and faithfully building up his reputation in hopes of climbing the MgRonald corporate ladder, was what Maou believed would propel him once again to the throne of overlord.

  After Suzuno Kamazuki—known on another world as Crestia Bell, chief of the Church’s Reconciliation Panel and a girl currently attempting to poison the Devil King by being his private chef, to little effect—destroyed his bicycle, Maou made her pay restitution for it, exaggerating a great deal of its feature set in the process.

  She still looked peeved as they walked along, not entirely convinced Maou was dealing fairly with her.

  “…Did that, uh, cost more than you were expecting?”

  Maou tried to get back on Suzuno’s good side, even though the woman had pulverized his bike and attempted to kill him not long ago. Suzuno opted against returning the gaze, sighing listlessly under the parasol.

  “I think I am beginning to understand why Emilia allows you such leeway in this world.”

  “Oh?”

  “Are you on friendly terms with the owner of that bicycle shop?”

  “Yeah. …Well, not really at first. We both met when we kept volunteering for neighborhood cleanup duty. But his wife liked taking their kid over to MgRonald a lot. We’ve kinda come to know each other a lot more since.”

  The friendship, as Maou described it, couldn’t have been more run-of-the-mill. Turning a street corner to duck into the shade, Suzuno sighed—partly in relief that she escaped the sun, partly due to a sinking sense of disillusionment.

  “I had resigned myself to my fate once you said we were traveling to the bicycle shop today.”

  “What d’you mean by that?”

  Suzuno removed a thick booklet from her tote bag and handed it to Maou.

  “I am referring to the monetary figure that you, the Devil King, would attempt to extort from me. It sent shivers up my spine, to be frank, wondering what exorbitant sum you would ask for. I appreciated, after all, that I did owe you a substantial debt.”

  Maou thumbed through the pamphlet with one hand. It was a bicycle catalog.

  “‘Mountain bike,’ ‘road’—no, ‘load cycle’? Or even one of those wilderness galloping BM-whatevers! I was perfectly expecting one of those to come my way!”

  “…You don’t have to pretend you know anything about bikes, Suzuno.”

  “Diligent study is the key to life itself! My point is that, even with the antitheft registration, it was…disarming to be asked for only thirty thousand. I had withdrawn two hundred thousand yen from the bank earlier.”

  “Look, did you seriously think someone living in abject poverty like I do would ask for a top-of-the-line bike model? The Dullahan you destroyed goes for 6,980 yen brand-new at the Donkey Hottie Discount Store over in Hounancho.”

  Maou tossed the brochure back as he boasted of his cheap spending habits. It only served to make Suzuno further disconsolate.

  “The barbarous Devil King is given the chance to make a purchase with a human being’s money. I would have expected anything and everything from you!”

  “You could try trusting me a little, man. Or are you just that dead set on the Devil King being a total prick all the time? Besides, no offense to Mr. Hirose or anything, but he doesn’t really deal in, like, Tour de France stuff.”

  Maou inserted an indifferent laugh midway. Suzuno looked up, a woeful expression on her face. She quickly turned back down, though, as Maou realized something and dared a look at her.

  “But you withdrew two hundred thousand yen? You only just came here, you haven’t worked a single day, and you got that much in your account? ’Cause, like, I’ve been working this hard and I don’t think my balance has ever
gotten past two hundred thousand.”

  “Well, unlike yourself and Emilia, I had the time to make ample preparations.” Suzuno shrugged. She did not go into further detail.

  Not long ago, she had ventured into Shinjuku for the first time with the Hero Emilia, known as Emi Yusa to most here. The precious gems and other relics she brought into Mugi-hyo, a well-known pawn shop in the neighborhood, fetched a price that would have made Maou’s eyeballs pop out of their sockets.

  She had zero intention, naturally, of informing the personification of evil living next door of the exact number, but it offered Suzuno enough freedom that she could enjoy several months of modest living going forward without having to find work.

  “Huh. Well, neat. Better keep my pinkies up around you, I guess.”

  He pouted a bit as he spoke, but Maou’s attention was still more focused on his bike. He rang the bell on it, like a child with a new toy.

  “Anyway, though, thanks. I appreciate this.”

  “……”

  Suzuno looked up at Maou and his unexpected words of gratitude. This time around, their eyes successfully met. She hurriedly used her parasol to shield her face.

  The idea of evil incarnate so easily, guilelessly smiling and thanking people was nothing short of outrageous. In fact, when was the last time someone had offered her such meek and unadorned gratitude?

  “I-it was restitution. And only that. It is now yours, and you may use it as you wish.”

  “Sure thing.”

  They walked silently for a few moments.

  “D-Devil King?”

  “Yeah?”

  Suzuno, unable to remain silent for reasons she couldn’t verbalize, stopped and pointed to her side.

  “Wh-what is that? It seems that a great number of establishments have suddenly begun dealing in flowers.”

  She was pointing at the front door of a flower shop.

  Bundles of unadorned white tree branches were lined up in the middle of the shop space by the dozen, pushing away the colorfully blooming flowers to the side.

  “Oh, those? Those are ogara sticks.”

  “Ah, I see. So is that a dried version of the remnants you’re left with after preparing tofu?”

  “…What?”

  Maou had difficulty understanding what Suzuno was talking about before realizing that they had just passed by a tofu and natto shop.

  “Oh, uh… No, that’s called okara. I’m talking about ogara. O-Ga-Ra. Ogara sticks, all right?”

  Suzuno, a veteran officer serving the church’s Department of Diplomatic and Missionary Operations, was pretty well acquainted with Japanese culture and customs for an Ente Islan.

  In some ways, however, it often backfired. She had a habit of patching up holes in her knowledge with things she already knew about, which occasionally led to stumbles like her obsession over training wheels a few moments ago.

  “Ah, right! Perhaps we could have some okara croquettes for dinner tonight.”

  “Jeez, Suzuno, what are you, some kind of housewife?”

  “I have to hand it to the chefs and cooking experts of Japan. Croquettes are a wonderful cuisine indeed, but using the okara usually disposed of during the tofu-making process to create a lovely low-cost, low-calorie foodstuff was a stroke of genius!”

  As Suzuno reflected on the origins of her upcoming dinner menu, a housewife stopped by the flower shop to pick up a bundle of ogara sticks.

  “Look, the Obon holiday is coming up, yeah? Those ogara are used to light the mukaebi and okuribi, the fires that’re meant to welcome in and see off the spirits of the dead that visit during the holiday.”

  Maou pointed at another bundle as he spoke.

  “Obon… Ah, yes, the festival when families offer their respects to their ancestors, yes? But that begins in the month of August, does it not?”

  When it came to religious customs, at least, Suzuno had done her homework.

  “Yep. It used to be celebrated in the seventh month of the old Japanese calendar, which is August nowadays. But in the Tokyo area, people light those mukaebi fires to bring in the spirits in July. That’s what those sticks are for.”

  “Hohh! I had thought this nation was rather secular by nature. Perhaps these traditions are more a part of the culture’s fabric than I anticipated.”

  “But, why does the Tokyo holiday come sooner, then?”

  “Well, there’s a few different theories, but back when Japan switched to the Western calendar and the shogunate moved their ceremonies to the same dates in the new calendar, it was really just the Tokyo area that followed suit. The rest of the country didn’t so much. Kinda weird to do things the same time for hundreds of years and then get told you have to start doing it some other time from now on, after all.”

  “I see. Interesting.”

  “Wowww…”

  “Most people in Japan get time off of work around the middle of August for Obon, you know? But the government at the time had the strongest grip on power in Tokyo and part of the Kanagawa area, so only those parts switched over to the seventh month of the new calendar. Everyone else celebrated Obon the same time as before—the seventh month of the old calendar, or August.”

  “…You’ve done your research, I see.”

  “You sure know a lot for being Devil King and all, Maou!”

  “Yeah, I kinda read up on that stuff last year. Not that it’s much more than trivia these days, but…um?”

  “Hmm?”

  “Yes?”

  Suzuno and Maou slowly turned around, both realizing their conversation had gained a stowaway passenger at some point.

  “Aghh!! J-jeez, Chi, when did you show up?!”

  “Chiho! Since when were you there?!”

  Chiho Sasaki, Maou’s coworker and the only Japanese person to know the truth about Maou, Suzuno, and the world of Ente Isla, was there in her prim school uniform. There was no way of telling how long she had been standing there.

  She was carrying a silver-colored portable cooler instead of her school-issue bookbag.

  “Did I surprise you?”

  She smiled in triumph.

  “I got you back for what you did to me before, Suzuno! …Of course, all I got to hear was about how you were going to make okara croquettes for dinner, but…”

  “Ohhh… Ha-ha! Neat. But you’re out of school already? That’s kind of early.”

  Chiho answered cheerfully: “It’s all half-days ’til summer break. All our final exams are over, so…”

  Come to think of it, it wasn’t that long ago when Chiho was going on about this or that examination, although she never whined about her test scores or took special time off her scheduled shifts. The fact that her involvement in the vast conspiracy that seemed to be unfolding between Ente Isla and Earth didn’t seem to affect her test performance at all made Maou wonder if she had nerves of galvanized steel.

  As Maou pondered over this, Chiho’s eyes turned downward.

  “Ooh, new bike?”

  “Yep. Suzuno kind of trash-compacted my old one.”

  He lovingly patted Dullahan II’s saddle.

  “The Devil King said he had found a worthy bicycle. I have merely paid for it.” Suzuno spat out each word, trying to cover up her surprise at Chiho’s sudden appearance. “But enough of me. What brings you here, Miss Sasaki?”

  “Oh, I was about to buy just what you were talking about.”

  Chiho pointed between the two, toward the same flower shop as before.

  “Ogara?”

  “Yep! My mom asked me to. And I was planning to visit your apartment after that, so…”

  She raised a shoulder upward to point out the portable cooler hanging from it.

  “One of my dad’s relatives gave us some ice cream, but neither of my parents have much of a sweet tooth. But we have a ton of it, so I thought maybe I’d give some of it to you guys.”

  “Ice cream?! Seriously?! Are you sure?!”

  Maou’s eyes gleamed. Something cold and sweet,
tumbling down like manna from heaven!

  “Man, that’s awesome! We’ll take it, we’ll take it! Thank you so much!”

  Chiho smiled, watching Maou all but leap into the air in joy.

  “Oh, good! So give me just one second, all right? I need to buy that ogara.”

  From the side, Suzuno watched the Devil King see the high schooler off.

  “…Should I just leave him as he is? Would that hurt anyone?”

  The doubts she had begun to feel recently slipped from her lips.

  Shouts of glee soon echoed across the steaming Devil’s Castle, a groaning fan stirring the acrid, spirit-draining midsummer air inside.

  “Ice cream?”

  “Ice cream?!”

  Alciel and Lucifer, fellow Devil’s Castle denizens and two of the Devil King Satan’s former Great Demon Generals, gasped in excited surprise as Maou stepped in with Chiho.

  “And…and, and it’s a premium gift pack from Haggen-Boss?! Are—are you truly sure about this?!”

  Chiho removed her shoulder-bag cooler and pointed it in Ashiya’s direction. “Don’t worry about it, Ashiya. We still have more than enough back at home.”

  Alciel, the resident accountant and housekeeper at Devil’s Castle and a man who went by Shirou Ashiya more often than not these days, fell to his knees, the sight of the cooler seemingly framed by rays of brilliant sunshine.

  “I…I could hardly begin to thank you and your parents enough, Ms. Sasaki…”

  Ashiya bowed his head deeply, his tall frame almost kowtowing before Chiho. The sight was enough to fluster her.

  “Ooh, wow, look at all the flavors in there! C’mon, Ashiya, let’s do this! Get the spoons out!”

  “Urushihara… You know there’s something you need to say to Chi first.”

  To the scandalous youth whose eyes were already filled with nothing but the sight of frozen treats, Maou spoke with scorn.

  Hanzou Urushihara was the name adopted by Lucifer, the former general who now lived a leechlike lifestyle in Devil’s Castle. As such, he paid his former master no mind.

  “Oh, it’s fine, Maou. I know how Urushihara acts by now.”

  Chiho’s unhesitant castigation was delivered with a smile.