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

by Satoshi Wagahara

  The heavy rainstorm was a thing of the past by the time evening rolled around. That kept him from needing to “borrow” an umbrella from the store, but there was no doubt the foul weather kept customers home.

  But was there anything else? Yes, there was the fryer and the rain, but did they go wrong elsewhere at all? The question was all Maou could think about on the way home, as he reached the intersection where he had lent his umbrella out earlier.

  “…Huh?”

  It was now late night. The restaurant at the intersection had long closed, looking completely dark inside. The only light illuminating the deserted crossing was a lone streetlamp and the blinking traffic signals.

  There was someone lurking beneath the restaurant’s canopy.

  He hadn’t noticed in the darkness at first, but it was the girl he encountered on the way to work.

  “Hey, are you the…?”

  Maou stopped himself midsentence. Something was off about this.

  The woman was silent as she fixed her gaze upon him. There was something cold, almost hostile in her eyes.

  Her smile from before was like a rainbow arcing across the drizzly sky, and now her expression was like an Arctic iceberg, frigid enough to crystallize the sun itself.

  She was glaring at him, there was no doubt about that. Maou swallowed nervously, almost cowering at the sensation of her eyes upon him.

  Unable to take the woman’s silent leering any longer, Maou mustered up the courage to speak.

  “Um…did it work out okay? You didn’t get wet, did you?”

  “No, it did not work out okay.”

  “Uh?”

  Her voice was like a polar vortex in the middle of winter.

  “I went to your MgRonald today.”

  “Oh? Um. W-well, thank you.”

  Now seemed like an unsuitable time to take up the sales pitch. He didn’t remember seeing her while manning the register.

  The woman took a step toward Maou, almost making him lose his balance and fall to the ground. Flustered, he jumped off his bike and—for completely different reasons from before—positioned it between the two of them.

  “I was watching you. From the place across the street.”

  “Watching me?… You mean, the restaurant?”

  There was a bookstore that overlooked MgRonald from the other side. She was watching them from over there? Was she one of those mystery diners they kept hearing about?

  “No. You.”

  “M-me?”

  Now Maou was even more confused. She came to the store…but not to return the umbrella, at least? They had barely brushed against each other, and now she was stalking him? There was only one—

  “…You looked so different from before, I thought my mind was playing tricks on me. But after a while, I realized.”

  —only one woman who would—

  “At first, I doubted my five senses. I knew you were somewhere near, but not this near.”

  —who would be looking for him!

  “You can try to hide what little magic you have left, but you can’t fool me!”

  Impossible!

  “Devil King Satan! Why are you working part-time at the MgRonald in Hatagaya?!”

  The flowing jet-black hair; the beautiful, unblemished skin; the keen, magic-detecting eyes. She had to be—

  “Y-you…! Emilia, the Hero!”

  She was Emilia Justina, the Hero who snatched Ente Isla from the Devil King’s gnarled hands. The Hero glorified as the holy savior of her native land. Why was she in Sasazuka?

  “Yes! It is I, Emilia! And surely you must know why I am here!”

  “Y-you couldn’t be…!”

  “You and Alciel, your sole remaining general, may have just barely escaped us. But I have traveled across worlds in the pursuit! If I let you escape, our world will be enveloped in darkness once again! And before that can happen, I will destroy you!”

  “W-wait! Wait a sec, Emilia! We can talk this out!”

  “Never, Devil King! Prepare to die!”

  Suddenly, the Hero Emilia took out a knife and lunged for Maou, slashing at the air. Maou leaped backward, dodging the blade as it zipped past his bike. The once-proud Dullahan clanked to the ground, loudly protesting the unexpectedly rough treatment the entire way.

  “Whoa! Watch it!”

  “Enough of your cowardly evasion! Stand still and let me kill you!”

  “You gotta be kidding me!”

  He barely avoided the knife’s second swipe past Dullahan as it coursed just past the pit of his stomach.

  Maou took a moment to collect himself. He was weaponless. The trip home from the fast-food joint rarely called for any. That clearly put him on the defensive, but a sense of supreme confidence still filled Maou’s mind. One look at Emilia’s weapon was all he needed to know how this confrontation would end.

  “Uh…Emilia?”

  “Hmm? Begging for your life, is it? I shall never negotiate with my sworn enemy!”

  The forcefulness of her declaration did throw him slightly, but he still managed to croak out an observation—one that had a surprising effect on his opponent.

  “Where’s your holy sword?”

  “…!”

  It was enough to make her visibly gasp.

  “You bought that knife at the hundred-yen store in Sasazuka, right? I have that same one.”

  “H-how did you…!”

  Now Emilia was visibly shaken. The knife in her hand shone dully in the light of the red traffic signal.

  “You…you lost all of your holy force, didn’t you? Or even if you didn’t, you can’t afford to waste any, huh?”

  “Nnngh…!”

  The way Emilia gnashed her teeth in response was all the confirmation Maou needed.

  He had expected, to some extent, pursuers from Ente Isla would be forthcoming. But not the Hero herself from the outset. And yet here she was, across the Gate just like himself, sniffing out the trail of his magical force.

  “B-but…but you’re in the same situation, aren’t you? Your power feels so weak…so fragile! It’s nothing compared to before!”

  “Well…yeah, but…”

  Maou winced internally. But there was no point pretending otherwise.

  “With or without my holy blade, I have nothing to fear from a Devil King who’s a powerless fry cook! Die!”

  Emilia held the knife aloft in the air.

  Light flooded over the two of them.

  Ashiya, fresh from an ultimately disappointing trip to the National Museum of Western Art’s special exhibit wing, tossed the museum pamphlet into the mail holder. Snapping a four-hundred-gram block of expired discount udon in half, he began to boil the noodles in a pot as he waited for Maou’s return.

  There was no way either of them could survive only with the food left in the refrigerator. Ashiya had been saving his own money as well, in part to raise the funds for his museum investigations, so he was still able to perform a bare minimum of shopping. He kept this stash a secret from his liege.

  “Ugh. He’s bound to bring back more of those chili-pepper fries, I just know it…”

  Swatting away the bugs flitting inside from the open window, Ashiya took a glance at the clock.

  “Hmm…His Demonic Highness is late.”

  “So you’re Sadao Maou, and you’re Emi Yusa? Right. So could you tell me why you were arguing at that intersection?”

  “I was there to slay this man!”

  The Devil King and Emilia were seated on folding chairs at the Hatagaya police substation, a wizened officer in front of them.

  “Listen, ma’am, I don’t know what your friend here did to deserve this, but there’s no excuse for going around flailing a knife at him. You need to just calm down and talk things over, all right?”

  The officer’s advice was enough to send Emi Yusa, aka the Hero Emilia, into a rage.

  “I… Who do you think he is to me…?!”

  “Right now,” Maou interjected, an angry scowl on his f
ace, “I bet he thinks we’re having a lovers’ spat or something.”

  “Well, if I’m wrong, I apologize. You see that sort of thing a lot lately, you know? So just talk it over and… You know, if you’re gonna break up, try to be a tad more quiet about it, okay?”

  “I’m telling you, it’s not like that between us!”

  A local resident had called the police at the confrontation. Now the Devil King and his rival, Hero, were at the station, getting the riot act read to them.

  It took an hour or so of lecturing about the perils of domestic violence before the two of them were finally released.

  Emilia plodded wearily forward as they exited. The ordeal had apparently caused her some measure of emotional pain.

  “…I’m letting you go today. But next time…that’ll be it.”

  “Oh, what, you planning to bring a rolling pin next time?”

  Emilia chose to ignore the jab.

  “Hmph. I hope you’re happy you’ve been granted an extension to your life. And this evening hasn’t been a waste at all. I memorized your home address, I’ll have you know. Hope you weren’t expecting to get a full night’s sleep for the rest of your life.”

  “You’re sounding more like a mob boss than a Hero.” Even as Maou winced at her brazen threat, a question suddenly popped into his mind. “Oh, by the way, what about my umbrella?”

  For a moment, Emilia’s face betrayed her inability to comprehend the question. Then, she let out a haughty, nasal laugh.

  “You said I could toss it out once I was done. So I did! I made sure to thoroughly mutilate it before I did, too.”

  “Oh, that’s just mean!”

  The anguish was sincere, from the bottom of his heart. Thanks to all the neighborhood cleanup efforts around Shibuya ward, it was growing difficult to find abandoned umbrellas lying around.

  “And why would a Hero such as myself gleefully accept an umbrella from the Devil King himself? May my family be cursed for generations if I did! I’d never keep such a putrid, tainted cancer near me for even a second!”

  To prove the point, Emilia took out a handkerchief, one in a strangely cutesy pink color, and began to wipe her hands.

  “I am the sworn enemy of the demon race and all that take comfort with it. Starting tomorrow, you’d best watch yourself on the streets at night!”

  With this final, rather unheroic flourish, she disappeared into the Hatagaya night, her footing still a bit unsteady.

  “…Well, that’s all I need.” The Hero had pursued the Devil King across multiple worlds. But why? It hardly seemed like anything important had happened at all. His even still had work tomorrow.

  The day was already starting to break as he muttered to himself on the way back home.

  “Man, Ashiya’s gonna be pissed if he hears that girl is here. Maybe I should keep it under my hat for a while.”

  He found out the next morning.

  Since Maou’s shift began in the afternoon, this meant the secret was revealed as they were eating the plain omelet—no filling, no ketchup, no nothing—Ashiya made from the slightly distressed medium-sized eggs he’d purchased at discount last night.

  The two of them exchanged glances as the doorbell rang. MHK had just visited the previous day. The assorted newspaper salesmen had long since given up on the place.

  The rent and phone bill were deducted straight from their account. Which meant that it had to be some new door-to-door solicitor.

  Neither bothered to even entertain the possibility of any mail or packages addressed to them. That was reality for you.

  “Yes? Who is it?” Ashiya called out from behind the door. They couldn’t pretend to be out; the kitchen’s ventilation fan was running.

  “‘Who is it?’ Well, thank you very much for such a polite greeting! I’ve found you, Alciel! Last of the Four Great Demon Generals!”

  Maou choked in response. Scrambled eggs flowed down his windpipe, throwing him into a coughing fit that sprayed bits of egg up into his nose. It was both an agonizing and rather nonthreatening response.

  “Wh-who’re you?!”

  In an instant, Ashiya jumped away from the door, ready for battle.

  “Who? I believe the last time you asked me that, we were battling each other in Devil’s Castle. You haven’t forgotten, have you? The name of the Hero, Emilia Justina?”

  “The Hero Emilia!”

  Panicked, Ashiya turned toward Maou, who was tearing up as he tried to unclog egg fragments from his own nostrils.

  “Now, come! Open this door and prepare for your destined fate!”

  It was difficult to believe, but there was no one in Japan besides Maou who would know the name Alciel. He had had concerns about being pursued by potential Devil King assassins, but who could have expected the Hero herself to reach them first?

  The reality of the situation threw him at first, but even now, Alciel was the most gifted of the demon forces’ strategists. He had an insider’s knowledge of every one of Emilia’s moves, and he already boasted a full grasp of his enemy’s weaknesses.

  Checking the lock on the door, Ashiya slid the chain into place, shut all the windows that looked into the outside corridor, and turned off the ventilation fan. “Your Demonic Highness! It’s the Hero! The Hero is here!”

  “Ah…! Wait! Alciel, wait! I’m telling you, open up!”

  There was a tone of panic to the Hero’s voice, as she realized the nature of his tactic.

  “Yeah, I know, Ashiya. Hey, get me a tissue.”

  “The Devil King! You’re in there, too, are you? Give it up and open this door!”

  The doorbell rang incessantly, beating a predictable rhythm. Ashiya paid it no mind.

  “What should we do, Your Demonic Highness?! The Hero is right at our doorstep!”

  “Ugh, I can’t get this bit out of my nose. Yeah, we met yesterday. Sorry I didn’t tell you.”

  “Wh-what?!”

  Maou’s distracted remark as he pinched a nostril shut was enough to stun Ashiya into silence.

  “She attacked me over at that intersection on the way from work. Then someone reported us, so we got taken in by the cops. That’s why I was late last night.”

  “The most humiliating moment of my life! They…they thought I was the Devil King’s girlfriend!”

  They could feel the waves of anger radiating from behind the door. Ashiya’s eyes shot toward it for a moment, but quickly turned back at Maou as he half-shouted his response.

  “Why, my liege?! Why did you not tell me sooner?!”

  “Well, I mean…like, no one got hurt, so… Besides, she’s kind of in the same boat we are.”

  “The same boat…? Meaning?”

  Maou inserted a probing finger into his nose to clear out any rogue egg bits remaining.

  “She recognized me as the Devil King Satan yesterday, but she couldn’t bring out her sword. That’s made out of Holy Silver, right? The heaven-born metal that’s imbued with holy power? She couldn’t summon it. You know what that means?”

  “…It means she cannot afford to waste her holy power? So she’s lost the ability to recharge her own powers as well!”

  “Yeah. Not that she’d mind using up all her holy force to defeat the Devil King, though. However, we’ve got one decisive advantage on our side.”

  “Her…life span, right?”

  The ball of anger on the other side of the door began stamping her feet in disgust. It was loud enough to raise serious concerns about the cheap wooden floor giving in on her.

  “Even if she killed both of us, there’s no guarantee she’ll regain enough holy force to get out of this world before she dies. The humans on Ente Isla, they’re lucky if they reach fifty. Of course, women in Japan average a lot higher than that, so maybe her mideighties or so. But she’ll be old and frail by that time.”

  “So the Hero would lack the strength to control the Gate as well, then.”

  “Basically, yeah. Here, you mind letting her in? She’s starting to cry ou
t there.”

  The sniffling was loud enough to be audible from beyond the door.

  “What a dump!”

  Emilia’s first reaction upon entering was as heroic sounding as she could muster with a beet-red face and bloodshot eyes.

  Ashiya was ready to launch into an angry response, but Maou stopped him, knowing full well she wasn’t exaggerating.

  “Hey, at least it isn’t cluttered, right? We can’t even afford any stuff to clutter it up with.”

  “I find it hard to believe that two men could truly bear to live here…”

  “I like my Devil Castles more functional than comfortable.”

  Maou, nasal passages finally cleared, had returned to his omelet.

  “Not much of a breakfast there, either.”

  “Dude, Ashiya’s a genius at this. He makes breakfasts out of practically nothing. Like magic.”

  “I thank you for your praise, Your Demonic Highness.”

  Ashiya knelt meekly behind Maou as his liege sat cross-legged at the table, running his chopsticks against the plate to wipe up the crumbs. Emilia rolled her eyes in exasperation. What kind of ridiculous charade was this? The Devil King and his faithful general, savoring this meager slop?

  “Are you crazy? The Devil King, eating eggs and nothing else for breakfast? You could at least buy some bread to go with it.”

  “We’re poor, all right? Is that bad?”

  Maou’s defense was sorely lacking.

  “Yes! Yes, it is! I clawed my way over to a completely different world just so I could kill these two dirty hobos? This is horrible…!”

  The sight of Maou sitting cross-legged in front of his beat-up kotatsu table, enjoying breakfast in his boxers and sweat-stained running shirt, finally made Emilia break down in tears.

  Six tatami mats lined the floor of the apartment, bronzed over time by the rays of the sun. Against one wall, a cheap-looking three-level particle-board shelf, sitting on top of some cardboard to keep from damaging the tatami mats. On the other wall, a closet, the sliding doors similarly discolored by the sun.

  There was no balcony, no screens over the windows; just a few rusted iron bars welded to the other side. Bits of laundry—mostly shapeless, solid-color T-shirts, threadbare underwear, and socks—were draped over the window frame, taking every available inch of space. The washer that cleaned them was outside in the corridor, too large to actually install in the apartment. Looking around, Emilia spotted a single lonely door, the paint peeling off of it. A plastic plate reading “Toilet” hung from it, as if the occupants had trouble remembering where it was. The john was the old Japanese-style floor model, no doubt.