WorldEnd: What Do You Do at the End of the World? Are You Busy? Will You Save Us?, Vol. 1

by Akira Kareno

  Copyright

  WORLDEND: WHAT DO YOU DO AT THE END OF THE WORLD? ARE YOU BUSY? WILL YOU SAVE US?

  AKIRA KARENO

  Translation by Jasmine Bernhardt

  Cover art by ue

  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.

  SHUMATSU NANI SHITEMASUKA? ISOGASHIIDESUKA? SUKUTTEMORATTEIIDESUKA? Vol. 1

  ©2014 Akira Kareno, ue

  First published in Japan in 2014 by KADOKAWA CORPORATION, Tokyo.

  English translation rights arranged with KADOKAWA CORPORATION, Tokyo through TUTTLE-MORI AGENCY, INC., Tokyo.

  English translation © 2018 by Yen Press, LLC

  Yen Press, LLC supports the right to free expression and the value of copyright. The purpose of copyright is to encourage writers and artists to produce the creative works that enrich our culture.

  The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book without permission is a theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like permission to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), please contact the publisher. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.

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  First Yen On Edition: July 2018

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  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Names: Kareno, Akira, author. | ue, illustrator. | Bernhardt, Jasmine, translator.

  Title: WorldEnd : what do you do at the end of the world? are you busy? will you save us? / Akira Kareno ; illustration by ue ; translation by Jasmine Bernhardt.

  Other titles: WorldEnd. English

  Description: First Yen On edition. | New York : Yen On, 2018– | Subtitle translated from Shumatsu Nani Shitemasuka? Isogashiidesuka? Sukuttemoratteiidesuka?

  Identifiers: LCCN 2018016690 | ISBN 9781975326876 (v. 1 : pbk.)

  Classification: LCC PZ7.1.K364 Wo 2018 | DDC [Fic]—dc23

  LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2018016690

  ISBNs: 978-1-9753-2687-6 (paperback)

  978-1-9753-2689-0 (ebook)

  E3-20180703-JV-PC

  Before This World EndsA

  -promise/result-

  It was the eve of the final battle.

  They decided they should at least spend their last night with the people they missed the most.

  The legendary band of heroes who had gathered to subdue the Visitor Elq Hrqstn, designated enemy of the Church of Exalted Light, temporarily dissolved for that very reason.

  “…So then, why’d you come here to the orphanage of all places?”

  For some reason, the “daughter” he’d come to see for the first time in a long while sounded annoyed.

  “I told you why. Tomorrow’s the last battle. There’s no guarantee I’ll come home safely. So in order to make sure we have no regrets, everyone decided to spend time with the people we—”

  She cut the young man, the “father,” off and spat, “I. Know. That. That’s why I’m saying it’s weird!”

  They were inside the administrative office of a small public children’s orphanage.

  The daughter, for some reason, seemed extremely irritated as she ran around the kitchen.

  “‘The people you care about most’ usually means your wife or lover or whatever, logically!”

  “Well, I think a few of the others are doing that.”

  Including the current Legal Brave, the band of heroes had seven members. Two were married, and two had partners… Well, one of them joked that he had “too many lovers to pick just one to visit,” so he was an exception in this case.

  “Why do you sound like you’re talking about someone else…?”

  “I am. At the very least, that story doesn’t apply to me.”

  Then a delicious scent wafted over.

  The man sniffed the air slightly, and the chatty monster in his stomach growled. Luckily, it didn’t seem the daughter had heard because she was concentrating on mixing the pot’s contents.

  “So you never had a woman like that, Dad?”

  Though she referred to him as a father, he was not this girl’s real father, of course. It was nothing but a moniker due to the happenstance of being one of the oldest in this orphanage. The head of the orphanage who most would’ve expected to bear the title was much too old for the nickname.

  “I don’t have the time for it. Ever since I qualified to be a Quasi Brave, I’ve been busy every day with training and study, then battle and war.”

  “Mm.”

  The reply was disinterested. It was clear she didn’t believe him.

  Well, there was nothing to be done. It went without saying that the Legal Brave was unbelievably popular as the one chosen by the church to act as humanity’s greatest warrior. But the Quasi Braves enjoyed incredible fame as well, even though they were second best in strength and prowess. If they went into any town and revealed their identity, they would be surrounded by squealing fans. Their appearance at parliamentary parties ensured that they would be introduced to daughters of nobility.

  But women who were drawn in and got excited about his title and whether or not they were people he could be friendly with in return were two completely different questions. In the end, no matter how any sort of woman called out to him, he’d lived his whole life just letting it wash past him.

  Though he was aware he was wasting good opportunities.

  “Last time we met, I saw plenty of amazing women around you.”

  “I don’t know who you’re talking about, but comrades are comrades.”

  “I seriously wish you’d just die because you’re saying that with a straight face, and it isn’t because you’re oblivious.”

  “You’re awful sometimes.”

  “I think that reminds me of a certain someone, don’t you think?”

  —While they reminisced, dinner was ready.

  “Are the little ones asleep already?”

  “Of course. What time do you think it is?”

  “Then what’s that useless master up to?”

  The master to whom he referred was the old man who ran the orphanage.

  While no one knew what he’d done before this, for some reason he was incredibly skilled with swords. The young man believed the master was the strongest in the world, the greatest swordsman, and the perfect example of how not to behave with regard to literally everything else.

  “He said he had something to do in the capital again and went out. Lately, whenever I think he’s finally back, he just goes out again. He never sticks around.”

  “What? So it’s always just you and the little ones here?”

  “Yeah. What, now you’re worried?”

  “That’s…well—”

  His daughter chuckled. “I’m just kidding. The guards sometimes come from town to check in on us, and Ted’s been coming by a lot lately to help us.”

  “Wait, hold on a second. I appreciate the guards b
ut not Ted. Kick him out.”

  “Why are you so serious all of a sudden? Did you really never get along?”

  That wasn’t it, exactly. But as someone who was called “Dad,” he felt he had the right and obligation to get fired up at times like this.

  “Okay, food’s done. Get your own bowl,” his daughter announced, removing her apron.

  She brought the entire pot over and placed it on the table.

  “Ooh, I can’t wait. Man, I’ve been starving since I set off on the road to come here.”

  “It’s late already, so I just warmed up some leftovers,” his daughter said with a little huff, but she was probably just hiding her embarrassment. This orphanage wasn’t lucky enough to have an entire pot of stew just sitting around as leftovers.

  Well, he would simply pretend not to notice.

  “Thanks.”

  “No need to thank me.”

  She sat opposite him and delicately rested her chin in her hands.

  Real talk.

  Even supposing I did have something like a lover at the moment, I would probably still spend this night at the orphanage. I would.

  The young man thought this quietly to himself.

  Five years ago, when he was still small and decided to take up the sword, it was to protect this place.

  Five years ago, he’d swung his sword incessantly even though he had no special talent for it, all so he could return here one day.

  Tomorrow, the Braves would face the Visitors, the greatest enemy mankind had ever known. Putting it that way made it sound like an extravagant adventure, but he wouldn’t be doing anything new or different.

  For something he wanted to protect…

  For a place he wanted to return home…

  He would swing his sword as he always did—and live.

  “But still. Shouldn’t you be saying something touching at a time like this, Dad?”

  Her chin still in her hands, his daughter complained idly.

  “Something touching…like what?”

  The father tilted his head as he mashed a large chunk of potato in the stew to bite-size.

  “Like, ‘When this war is over, let’s get married’ and stuff.”

  “…Nah, that’ll just jinx it.”

  When he was a little boy, back when he could only dream about the Legal Brave, he loved reading stories about grand adventures. From what he remembered, promises and phrases resembling what his daughter mentioned were often used to foreshadow the speaker’s untimely death.

  And of course, he didn’t want to die.

  So he didn’t want to do anything that would set the stage for his demise.

  “I know. The little ones are reading that book you left here. I remembered how the story went while I was teaching them how to read and stuff.”

  “You knew and still said it? Doesn’t that make you the one with bad taste…?”

  He blew on the stew to cool it, then brought a spoonful to his mouth.

  It was good. And nostalgic.

  There was almost too much spice in it. Made to suit the tastes of hungry children, this stew wouldn’t be found in any fancy store in the capital.

  “I know that, too, but I’m not convinced.”

  His daughter tapped lightly on the table.

  “What you and the others are doing tonight, to leave ‘no regrets’…isn’t that the same as making sure you’re ready to die at any time? I don’t like that. I mean, what do I know about fighting? But I still think that it’s people in a tight spot who aren’t ready to die at all who end up surviving. The ones who believe, no matter what, they’ll come back alive because they have a reason to go home.”

  She pouted slightly, then continued.

  “In stories, those kinds of people get killed off first because it’s more dramatic and exciting for the story… I get that logic, if you want to call it that. It’s so sad to see someone you want to live die. But I just hate it when someone dies because of some god’s random logic.”

  When he looked closer, he saw her fingers quivering.

  His daughter was strong willed to the point where she never openly showed when she was faltering on the inside.

  She would pretend she was unhappy and arm herself with complaints. Even if she didn’t do all that, she still wouldn’t allow herself to make a peep.

  “So you’re running off to fight with the gods. You should cling to something more concrete, not some pessimistic jinx. Tell me a reason, a simple reason why you want to come back here. If you don’t, I…I don’t think I could send you off with a smile tomorrow.”

  “Ah, now that you mention it…”

  He knew what she was trying to say.

  He also wanted to understand how she felt.

  While that might have been true, he still couldn’t talk about plans for marriage. Not only did he need a partner first, he didn’t think that was something he could decide by simply going with the flow.

  On the other hand, he wasn’t convinced saying something like, “Then I’ll think of a good name while I’m away, so get a baby ready for when I return,” would be satisfying. But it would absolutely earn him a good slap.

  He searched for another approach.

  “…Butter cake.”

  “What?”

  “I’m a big fan of your butter cake. I want a really big one on my next birthday.”

  “Ugh.”

  His daughter visibly dropped her shoulders.

  “You’ll survive and come back for something like that?”

  “Is that bad?”

  “No, well… It’s like you’re not taking this seriously enough…” She scratched her cheek. “Well, whatever. It’s a deal. Now that you’ve said it, I’ll make you eat so much cake next year, you’ll get heartburn.”

  So you have to come back—she couldn’t bring herself to say that much, though.

  She had wilted a bit, yet she still smiled for him.

  “Yeah, leave it to me.”

  He gave his word, then returned to devouring the stew.

  The night grew late.

  The dawn of battle drew near.

  Not even a year later, humanity perished.

  Of course, the young Quasi Brave could not keep his promise.

  —A long time passed.

  In This Twilight World

  -broken chronograph-

  1. The Black Cat Running and the Gray Girl

  The black cat ran.

  It was a spectacular dash.

  The cat slipped through narrow alleys, leaped over fences, and jumped onto the awnings of street stalls.

  This corner was nicknamed Market Medley—originally meant as a dedicated space for an open bazaar held once a month, but constant haphazard extension and reconstruction of the surrounding buildings had eventually rendered it a giant maze.

  For someone unfamiliar with the area, just walking through the neighborhood would get them lost, but the feline ran straight through with all its might.

  Why was it running? To escape.

  From what was it escaping? A hunter.

  “Hold! It! Right! Theeeeeeere!”

  The girl chasing her prey screamed.

  She pushed through the narrow alleys, passed over fences, tumbled from atop the awnings of street stalls (evoking the shopkeepers’ ire every time).

  Her chilly blue eyes were fixed relentlessly forward, focused on nothing but the black cat’s receding tail.

  The girl looked plain. She wore a large mouse-gray hat low over her eyes and a coat of the same color. The outfit had likely been selected so as not to stand out, but it wasn’t much use when she was yelling at the top of her lungs and running with all her strength.

  “I! Told! You! To! Waaait!”

  As she ran, her passing kicked up flurries of dust, knocked over empty paint cans, and had her coat flapping wildly in the wind behind her.

  An orc grocer, a lizardfolk rug maker, a lycanthrope passerby. So many kinds of people. They all turned wide-eyed to watch the girl
as she bolted through the town.

  Then the black cat suddenly stopped.

  “I got yooouuu!”

  Thinking this was her chance, the girl leaped forward.

  Perhaps the cat sensed her drawing closer, because in that moment, it turned toward her. Something in its mouth glinted silver.

  The girl outstretched both arms and collided with her quarry head-on, finally catching the black cat.

  But then she suddenly felt an unnatural sensation of floating.

  There was nothing below her.

  “Huh?”

  Market Medley was intricately tangled together, with no distinction between any directions. It was not odd for a flat road to suddenly arrive at the roof of an apartment complex.

  “What?”

  She could see the blue sky.

  White clouds dotted it here and there.

  Still clinging to the black cat, the girl flew through the empty space, nowhere to grab.

  Straight below her, she saw Tin Stalls Street, No. 7, West. There were roughly four stories between her and the narrow street below, lined with stalls that mostly dealt in pots and knives.

  “Nooo…!”

  The girl strained her body.

  A faint phosphorescence surrounded her small frame.

  Someone with the gift of Sight might have been able to see the venenum inside her trying to burst into flame. They would also have noticed that whatever she was trying to do with that magic would not be ready in time.

  Magic was like fire. Not much could be done with small sparks, but large, roaring flames meant it was possible to wield great power—that being said, it took time and energy to stoke a fire that big. Magic wasn’t well-suited for something that required quick reaction times.

  The girl and the cat began falling.

  The light peeled from the girl’s body, hanging fruitlessly in the air before quickly disappearing.

  There was no time for her to scream. The cobbled streets that had seemed so far below quickly grew larger in her vision. She unconsciously tensed her arms. The black cat cried in distress. She squeezed both eyes shut.

  As the ground drew closer—

  A girl was falling from the sky.