The Devil Is a Part-Timer!, Vol. 14

by Satoshi Wagahara

  “Wait, that outfit? The one that made him look a little bit nicer than usual?”

  “Yes. And they shall continue to make him look good, in their own way. Ah, Urushihara has been the enemy of our budget since even before he came to live with us.”

  “I was kind of your enemy period back then,” the fallen angel defiantly stated. Alas Ramus didn’t seem to want off of his back, so he trotted over to the computer on all fours to wake it up and launch the SkyPhone app.

  “It was good material, so it felt too valuable to simply throw away. I went to the library to see if there was anything I could do with it, and I found something about the traditional art of quilting, so I thought I could keep the remnants for that.”

  Quilting was said to be invented when people sewed squares of cotton fabric together for better warmth and strength, back when it wasn’t as cheap and widely available as it is currently. Now it was its own fully established handicraft, practiced all across Japan.

  “The book said it was a technique long used to keep fabric and clothing well cared for over a long period of time. My own pants were torn up during that incident as well, if you recall. So I practiced it a little, and it worked even better than I expected. Since then, I’ve been expanding my handicraft skills with socks and the like.”

  “Ah…”

  Unlike his master, Ashiya’s demon form came complete with a tail. That combined with human clothing would result in a rather large hole right on the top of the butt seam, which meant that Ashiya himself had, technically speaking, gone around with holes in his pants before Emi once. But that was in the past, and now, before Emi’s and Suzuno’s astonished eyes, Ashiya was beavering away at the patch he crafted.

  “Uh, hey, Maou?” Urushihara tangled with Alas Ramus and his headphone mic at the same time. “Ashiya just got back home, and he’s fixing up your jeans, so he told you to keep that in mind during your— Huh? Yeah, he’s mending them. And it looks like they’ll turn out pretty good, too. Yeah. Later. Hey, gimme those headphones back, Alas Ramus!

  “…Okay, so he sounded pretty surprised, but I told him. He said he’s comin’ back home now.”

  “Ah. In that case, we had best prepare for dinner.”

  Regaining her senses, Suzuno pulled up the hem of her kimono and stood up, returning to Room 202 to heat up a few of the plastic-wrapped dishes. It left Emi with nothing else to do but talk to Ashiya.

  “Alciel… Have you ever, like, wondered whether you’re really a demon or not?”

  “No,” he immediately replied. “Demons from our world don’t rely on machines, or the charity of other people. They have magic to work with, of course, but regardless, they live by doing everything they can by themselves. One will not survive long in the demon realms otherwise. When I arrived in Japan, I learned whatever I thought we needed by myself—cooking, laundry, cleaning, sewing, the whole of it. There is nothing more complex to the tale than that. Everything I have learned, a regular person could master the basics of after perhaps a week of training.”

  “That’s pretty extremely downplaying it,” Emi said, even though she couldn’t deny it. The human world was composed of people paying people for things and services they couldn’t handle themselves—but if everyone went too far and kept asking others for things they could do if they tried, that would make society as a whole lose something. Emi could see the logic to that.

  “But how did those holes appear in the first place, dude?”

  “That is a good point,” Emi admitted.

  “Even with your horse sense,” muttered Ashiya as he ran the needle back and forth, “you still fail to understand it? My liege is the only one of us who travels regularly by bicycle.”

  ““Oh!””

  Emi and Urushihara both stumbled upon it at once, exclaiming their surprise in a chorus.

  “He commutes to work on one, and he often uses it for other errands as well. At rather high speeds, too, it seems. With all the force he pedals with, I imagine the crotch section rubs against the saddle enough to wear out.”

  ““Yeah…””

  “And you be careful on your own saddle up there, Alas Ramus. Your diaper’s going to come off.”

  “Wheh?! Whoa! Ah, Alas Ramus, you didn’t do it yet, didja? H-here, get off for a sec…”

  “No! Not yet! More!”

  “No, uh, dude, if you didn’t yet, I’ll let you go around one more time, so just lemme check real quick…”

  The urgency was clear in Urushihara’s pleas as he flailed at the little girl above him.

  “It’s almost time to eat, Alas Ramus. Time to get off Lucifer the Pony, all right?”

  “Emilia! I heard you say that!”

  “A pity you fail to be more of a workhorse in real life.”

  “Stop berating me like that, Ashiya! You didn’t even look at me when you said that!”

  “Enough,” Suzuno stated, walking in with a new plate in her hands. “Chiho and the Devil King will return shortly. Will you lend a hoof to me?”

  “Hell no!” he shouted back, almost frothing at the mouth. But just as she predicted, they soon heard steps coming up the outside stairs.

  “We’re back!”

  “Hey, Ashiya, can you really get those fixed?”

  Maou looked almost giddy as he strode into the room, dressed to the nines in his new 3,990-yen pair of jeans.

  “Wow, Ashiya… You really did it.”

  The sight of Ashiya wielding a needle and thread to fix up Maou’s pants genuinely seemed to shock Chiho. Even as she settled down to her seat at the table, her eyes were pinned to the motion of his hands.

  “A simple case of monkey see, monkey do. Nothing very skillful about it.”

  Ashiya was always modest like that around Chiho, but to Emi—who had been watching from the beginning—patching up a hole in some jeans in the space of twenty minutes seemed pretty damn skillful to her. He took a break to eat with the rest of them, but by the time Chiho left for her own house, he had three fixed-up pairs of jeans, all mended to the point that you’d never know at a glance that there were holes in them.

  There was an unwritten rule among this group that sprang up organically over time: If Chiho is going home late, at least a couple of people have to escort her back. Thus, Emi and Suzuno had joined her on the sidewalk.

  “Something up, Chiho? You don’t look too happy.”

  Emi had reason to be worried. Chiho had been silent nearly the whole time, almost never taking her eyes off the ground.

  “I’m sorry,” she replied, eyes focused off to the distance. “I just kinda lost my confidence.”

  “Huh?”

  “There’s this wall I have to climb over, and it’s just a little too tall, and I dunno what to do…”

  “…I am very unsure I should ask,” Suzuno gingerly ventured, “but are you referring to Alciel?”

  Chiho quickly nodded. “I’m not sure I’ve ever had a day before where it felt like I could never win against someone.”

  “…”

  Emi and Suzuno had little to cheer her up with. Any girl in love would hope to be her lover’s number one by his side, after all.

  “I thought I could handle things like cleaning, and laundry, and cooking…but I totally overlooked sewing.”

  “Well, I mean… Yeah. Maybe.”

  It was rare these days for people to bother with that kind of thing. Emi was about to say that before she stopped herself; without a mastery of at least the type of household skills that’d let Chiho replace Ashiya, then regardless of any other obligations, if Maou accepted Chiho’s love, her inexperience might wind up causing problems in their daily life.

  “…I would note,” Suzuno ventured, “that Alciel is not on equal footing with the Devil King. He is his subordinate, and—”

  “Yeah, and I’m not entirely sure I’m equals with the ‘Devil King,’ either…” Emi added.

  “……Mm.”

  Chiho’s life skills were nowhere near as poor as she thought
they were. She was just comparing herself to the wrong person—but pointing that out wouldn’t be enough to convince her. When Chiho was like this, there was only one way to cheer her up.

  “I could perhaps give you some pointers. Would you be interested?”

  The invite from Suzuno made Chiho literally leap at her. “Oh, please teach me! I’ve only used a needle and thread in home-ec class, and my mom doesn’t sew very much, so I don’t know who else to turn to!”

  “Er… Yes. Yes, that is fine, Chiho, so settle down for a moment. But keep in mind, I would be teaching you from an Ente Islan perspective—or, rather, the eyes of a monk in service to the Church. I am sure my teaching differs from the language and techniques used here, so you will need to engage in some self-study as well.”

  “Oh, of course!”

  “Well, uh, that’s good, huh, Chiho? I guess you’re pretty talented in a lot of areas, too, Suzuno.”

  “I have had to learn through experience quite often, in my career.”

  As a cleric, and one who had to carry out a number of not-so-pleasant missions in her life, Suzuno had a past that often put her in situations involving spy or undercover work. The skills she learned proved quite handy upon her return to civilian life, no doubt. But, seeing this weird competitive drive against Ashiya plant itself in Chiho’s burning heart, Emi couldn’t help but think:

  “…A lot of those talents might seem pretty old-fashioned, to Japanese people…”

  In modern times, cooking, washing, and cleaning were no longer considered the exclusive domain of women. In the end, however, being able to perform those tasks beat not being able to. It made you seem like a more decent person, and it enriched your own life as well. Emi’s experiences as a child had made her confident enough when it came to general chores, but the brainwashing effect of modern Japanese life admittedly led her to cut quite a few corners these days.

  “…Hey, Alas Ramus?” she asked, softly enough not to interrupt Suzuno and the excited Chiho. She couldn’t have the baby appear from thin air in front of Chiho’s mother, so she had been instilled within Emi’s body this whole trip. All that romping around with Urushihara earlier had tired her out well enough.

  “Mmh… Yeah, Mommy?”

  Emi smiled at the slow, mumbled voice. “Sorry to bother you when you’re tired. Is there anything you wanna eat tomorrow?”

  “…Corn soup…mh…”

  “Corn soup? All right.” Emi nodded, took out her smartphone, and did a search for how to make corn soup from scratch instead of frozen. All the ingredients were available from whatever convenience or grocery stores she’d pass on the way back.

  But seeing Suzuno and Chiho in front of her made her reflect a bit. Chiho wasn’t afraid to make any effort needed for Maou’s sake, and Ashiya was the same. Suzuno followed her faith so that she could help the world at large around her. And Maou was eternally working hard for his own ambitions, and to keep Ashiya and Urushihara fed.

  “I’m glad you’re here, Alas Ramus.”

  If Emi had anything she could strive for the sake of, it could only be her daughter within her. There—after all those years of pushing forward for the sake of what she’d lost—she now decided to work toward someone she could care for in her current life.

  THE DEVIL LEARNS ABOUT HIS BOSS’S PAST

  The five-day weather forecast’s expected highs were starting to form a downward line on the TV news, but the buzz of an air conditioner was still a welcome sound for most people in the city. The same applied to Maou as he headed for his post at the MgRonald by Hatagaya Station, where he found Kisaki at the counter, scowling at a small notebook.

  “Good morning, Ms. Kisaki. Is something up?”

  “Mm? Oh, hey, Marko. Yeah, kind of…”

  She looked at him just long enough to say hello, then focused right back on her book. Taking a peek from the side, he saw it consisted of a sheaf of handwritten receipts.

  “Why’re you looking at old receipts?”

  “Oh, no major reason, but…have you seen Sarue around here lately, Marko?”

  “Huh?”

  Maou opened his eyes wide at the question. Mitsuki Sarue, manager at the competing Sentucky Fried Chicken across the street from MgRonald, was not actually from Japan—or Earth for that matter. He was the archangel Sariel back in the heavens that loomed above Ente Isla, and once upon a time, he had been out to capture both Maou and the Hero Emilia—Emi Yusa—back when she was still more openly hostile around him. After the intense battle that resulted and assorted subsequent events, Sariel one-sidedly fell in love with Mayumi Kisaki, manager at the MgRonald, and promptly lost all desire to carry out his heavenly duties. That was in his past now, and presently his days were occupied by (repeated, fairly off-kilter) attempts to win over Kisaki’s heart.

  “Mr. Sarue, the manager? No, I haven’t, actually.”

  Maou normally just called him “Sariel,” but with Kisaki unaware of any of their shared past, he had to treat him as simply a rival business employee from down the street. As far as he could remember, Mitsuki Sarue hadn’t paid a visit to the restaurant lately.

  “Ah. I thought maybe he was showing up when I was off duty, but I guess not. He always leaves a handwritten receipt for me when I’m gone, doesn’t he?”

  Aha. So that was why Kisaki was thumbing through her old receipts.

  Sarue’s approach toward her, if one was aware of the outright violent methods he used against Emi and Chiho, was a little hard to believe—but it wasn’t anything illegal. Not that anything was fair game as long as he didn’t break the law, but if you were really lenient with him, you would just barely be able to laugh off his behavior as a bunch of silliness. His activities were limited only to when both places were open, and he never attempted to pry into Kisaki’s private life.

  No, his attempts at wooing her generally involved bringing huge, oversized gifts, serenading her loudly with enigmatic poems of his own creation, ordering vast amounts of food to go, and usually spending no longer than around half an hour there, start to finish. This would happen three times a day—breakfast, lunch, and dinner—but, heck, as long as he wasn’t bothering other customers, he was just kind of an eccentric regular, nothing else.

  He had been banned from the premises once, following an assortment of misunderstandings, but no longer. He was reinstated now, and these days it was common to see him make his boisterous entrance, order a much saner amount of fast food than before, and head right out in a regular cycle.

  “It’s odd, though, Ms. Kisaki. Seeing you, um, wonder about Mr. Sarue like this…”

  “Why wouldn’t I? Don’t you?”

  “Huh? Um…?”

  Maou had no idea how to answer. Sarue’s hyperaggressive love for Kisaki was public knowledge to the woman herself, along with all of MgRonald’s employees and regulars, as well as most people staffing the neighboring shops and restaurants. Was there some ever-so-slight twinging in Kisaki’s heart after all, now that he hadn’t visited lately? No. There couldn’t be.

  “After all that passion, he just disappears. It makes me worry that he’s devoting his energy to some other target. You can tell he likes flirting with women a lot, y’know?”

  “Yeah, um, probably…but why ‘worry,’ as you put it?”

  “Well, not to put myself up on a pedestal or anything, but it takes a woman like me to dodge that crazy full-court press of his, I think. What if he’s pulling that nonsense with some other woman he sees? If he picks the wrong gal, he’ll have the cops called on the very first try.”

  Maou blinked helplessly as his deadly serious manager gazed at him.

  “You and I know what he’s like, but he’s still part of this shopping area. If one of us commits a crime, that’ll be terrible PR for the entire shopping arcade.”

  “Ah… So that’s why you’re worried…”

  Now it made sense. For a moment, Maou had fretted that Sarue’s approach was actually starting to make something come to life in Kisaki’s
heart—but she was concerned about a far more likely catastrophe.

  “But he’s really stopped showing up, huh?” Kisaki sighed and placed the book of receipts on a shelf below the counter. “Maybe I should stop by for an info-gathering session of my own. Then I can chat up the employees. If he’s been keeping a weird work schedule, I can bring it up with the local business association…”

  “I, um, I think you’re kind of jumping to conclusions there!”

  In Kisaki’s mind, Sarue was already either a felon or about to become one.

  “I mean, maybe they’re busy over there with trying to boost sales for the month or whatever. I think Mr. Sarue’s pretty aware of how we do business in here, so perhaps he’s just devoting himself more to his job?”

  Maou had to ask himself why he was defending his enemy so passionately. But it beat things going awry and Sariel being forced to do something truly desperate.

  “Hmm… Maybe so.” Kisaki nodded, appeased. “Well, if something comes up, we’ll think about it. For now, I’ll just make sure everyone on staff knows the number of the local police department.”

  There would be no overturning Kisaki’s view of Sarue as a troublemaker. Not today, anyway.

  “Oh! And one more thing, Marko.”

  “Yes?”

  “Don’t get the wrong idea here—I’m not waiting with bated breath for him to come back. He’s a great customer in terms of sales, but sometimes a location’s got to look at more than money when it evaluates its business.”

  “I can see that.”

  When it came to Kisaki, at least, nothing about Sarue’s approach would ever move her heart. Besides, it was extremely rare for her to express any personal feelings at all toward the people around her, good or bad. She was human, of course; she had placed some people ahead of others, but Maou had never seen her talk about someone outside of a work context…

  “Well, not so fast.”

  Actually, she had…once. It was about someone who Maou didn’t know, someone Kisaki called her “eternal nemesis.” For just a moment, the competitive drive she displayed while discussing her was ferocious. What’s more, this other woman was working for none other than Sentucky Fried Chicken. That was likely much of the reason why Sentucky’s opening across the street peeved her so much, and why she was always competing against Sentucky in her mind, in sales and otherwise.