The Devil Is a Part-Timer!, Vol. 6

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The Devil Is a Part-Timer!, Vol. 6 Page 7

by Satoshi Wagahara


  “…You’re making no sense to me, either.”

  The words rolled out of Maou’s mouth and into nobody’s ears.

  THE HERO AND THE DEVIL WONDER WHAT THE HELL THEY’RE DOING WITH THEIR LIVES

  “Helloooooo! Welcome!!”

  Chiho’s booming voice echoed across the restaurant.

  Several customers looked up to see what her deal was. The couple just walking through the door stopped for a moment. Maou and the rest of the crew, meanwhile, froze on the spot and cautiously turned her way.

  Kisaki, the only person not thrown by the display, patted Chiho’s shoulder from her position next to her. “Right. Good. I don’t know where you learned that, but the more energy, the better. Make sure you know how to maintain a certain distance, though. You don’t have to scream that loud for customers to hear you.”

  “Oh. Um, sorry…”

  Chiho, her face reddened at her unintended prank on the entire store, quickly focused on helping the next customer at the register. As she did, Maou watched her with nervous eyes.

  A week had passed since Chiho unlocked the secret to activating holy force from Emi and Suzuno. As a part-time student employee, today was her first day at the newly renovated MgRonald in front of Hatagaya rail station. She arrived, for reasons only she knew, as a girl possessed. If she wasn’t shouting in abject glee at customers, she was sticking out from the rest of the crew in other not-so-positive ways.

  Chiho was sensible enough to pick up on this, of course, but something about the earlier screaming contest must have put her decibel limiter out of whack, all but cowing her paying customers into submission on several occasions.

  “I really appreciate her eagerness,” a disappointed-looking Kisaki said, “but I’m not sure I can let Chi up into the café space quite yet if she’s acting like that. We’re short-staffed up there, so I’d really love to, but…”

  Maou stewed in agony, unable to say anything in her defense. That shouting was thanks to her holy-force training, of course. The problem, though, was that there aren’t too many places in modern urban Japan where you can keep shouting at people all the time and not have them be a tad leery about sharing personal space with you.

  Her parents couldn’ t have been appreciating that much, either, to say nothing of the local neighborhood. The sound of a girl Chiho’s age screaming in a public park would be enough to summon several patrol cars all by itself. To say nothing of shrieking in a public bath. Everybody was already on edge enough in those.

  She couldn’t just test out her pipes every single day at the karaoke joint, though. So now, apparently, she was trying to get in a little practice wherever she could, at odd parts of the day. At this rate, though, it couldn’t last. Stories would get around.

  Maou accepted her efforts well enough, however, once Emi and Suzuno sat him down and talked it over. They had a good point. Whether they wiped her memories or not, at this point, Chiho was a collective Achilles’ heel to them—especially since Olba Meiyer, lurking behind the scenes in both Ente Isla and the demon realms, was liable to stab at them without warning. If and when that happened, having a way for Chiho to send out an SOS to Maou and crew while making sure her own memories stayed intact would be extremely beneficial to all of them.

  Still, Chiho also had her own social life. School, part-time job, the works. She couldn’t let her training mess that up.

  Once the stream of customers died down, Maou beckoned to her.

  “Hey, Chi, you got a moment?”

  “…I’m sorry. It’s about my voice, isn’t it?” Chiho turned her eyes downward.

  “Uhh…”

  This was awkward already. Maou didn’t need her to be this self-conscious about it. This was all part of an effort to keep her from becoming excess baggage for him and Emi, besides.

  “Well, I’m glad you know, at least. But just make sure you stay focused on your day-to-day life, okay? These are important times for you.”

  Chiho smiled, a few fatigue lines under her eyes. “Sure.”

  “’Cause, I mean, if that keeps up, Ms. Kisaki’s not gonna let you go upstairs, you know?”

  “Yeah… I guess, just make sure I have an on-off switch in my mind, huh?”

  “That’d be perfect.” Maou nodded broadly, spotting Kisaki signaling her approval out of the corner of his eye. “Go with that.”

  “But…ooh, I dunno. Even if I do, I’m not sure I’m gonna get up there anyway.”

  It was unusual, seeing Chiho have so little confidence in herself. Maou rolled his eyeballs down and to the right.

  “Welllll…yeah. I get where you’re comin’ from.”

  He scratched a cheek as he reluctantly agreed.

  “Up there,” in the context of this chat, meant the café space on the second floor. It was one week after the grand reopening, and if you accommodated for the fact that the local office-worker clientele was keeping tight reins on their spending after the August Obon holidays, the location was faring decently enough. Given their normal customer base, coupled with the fact that their prices were just that little bit lower than competing coffee chains, they were seeing noticeably more families and single women than usual.

  The location didn’t make a big deal of separating the regular MgRonald space from the MagCafé upstairs, so some customers would order downstairs and bring their food up to eat. As a result, the café’s customer turnover rate was one issue they’d have to tackle going forward. Still, between being the first day after a lengthy closure and the sheer confidence oozing from every pore of Kisaki’s body, the regulars were quickly coming back. More than a few were closeted (or not-so-closeted) fans of Kisaki. You could tell because they were the ones snapping cell phone pics of Kisaki’s portrait in the corporate “Store Manager” display hung by the café counter upstairs.

  So while the MagCafé launch was hardly any disaster, most of the crew—including Maou and Chiho—doubted they had the confidence to dare a shift up there yet.

  Why?

  “Boy, what do you have to do to make coffee that good, huh…?”

  Chiho could be excused for muttering it to herself from afar. Something about the coffee Kisaki herself poured up there made it seem to absolutely sparkle.

  The Platinum Roast coffee on the regular menu was one thing, but no matter what the crew was asked to prepare from the MagCafé menu, there was a world of difference between Kisaki’s work and anyone else’s.

  MagCafé made a point of giving customers actual coffee mugs for their java purchases, not the paper cups and plastic tops you were rewarded with downstairs. Otherwise, while still technically a café, it operated under fast-food principles—keep things fast and consistent while at a certain level of quality.

  To aid in that, MagCafé had its own dedicated coffee server, separate from the one serving up Platinum Roast. This wasn’t the kind where a fry jockey brews up a batch and dumps it once its shelf life expires, nor the sort you see in hotel breakfast buffets capable of grinding up a ton of beans in one go. The grinding might’ve been done with a machine instead of a hand-operated artisan thing, but since employees ground the beans for each individual order, there was room for differences in technical skill from one crewmember to the next.

  Kisaki was instructing each shift in how to use the server as they punched in, but somehow or another, no matter what MagCafé menu item Kisaki whipped up, it was either just as good as a traditional café’s offerings or better.

  “I mean, she’s grinding the coffee the same way we are, the hot water comes out at the same temperature, and we’re using the same milk for everything, aren’t we? What’s making it so different…?”

  Neither Maou nor Chiho were avid coffee drinkers, but even they could tell the difference in quality between the stuff they tried to make and Kisaki’s.

  Everyone on staff who tried it agreed: If they wanted their coffee to match Kisaki’s, that required a little extra something that wasn’t mentioned in the training manuals.

  “
Yeah…well, we’re gonna have to work up there sometime, or we ain’t gonna be too useful.”

  Kisaki was on staff nearly the whole day today to make sure the grand opening didn’t see any huge disasters. But, being a salaried employee, MgRonald couldn’t keep her in the store forever. And it wasn’t like they could shut down MagCafé when her magic touch wasn’t on hand.

  “I guess my question is, what kind of taste is corporate aiming for—Kisaki’s, or ours?”

  “Corporate?” Chiho said, not catching the aim of Maou’s observation.

  “Y’know, MgRonald is a chain and everything, so it’s got a vested interest in making sure the drink experience is the same no matter which location you visit. You think you can get Ms. Kisaki’s coffee anywhere else in Tokyo?”

  “Well, that’s not a bad thing, is it? It would be if it tasted bad, but hers tastes a lot better than normal coffee, even.”

  Maou’s eyes turned to a stack of fliers next to a nearby cash register. The back of them had a rundown of the MagCafé menu, clearly showing the 250-yen price point for the café au lait and caffe latte.

  “Maybe, but if you put it another way, if customers can’t have Kisaki’s coffee, we’d be asking them to pay the same price for an inferior product.”

  “…Oh.” Chiho got the gist after a moment.

  “When you’re a chain the size of MgRonald, there’s kind of a quality bottom line every location needs to abide by. If they don’t, that goes against the concept of offering the same quality menu nationwide. If it was just a matter of making the best coffee you can at the same price, then some employee could just bring in some gourmet Red Valley beans or whatever to make their location the best coffee place in town. If every location went their own way like that, it wouldn’t really be a MgRonald menu they’re offering any longer.”

  There were many restaurant chains that used their regionalism as a weapon to appeal to customers. MgRonald was not one of them. A fact that Kisaki seemed to be freely ignoring.

  “Right, but Ms. Kisaki’s using the same machine, the same beans, the same milk, and the same mugs, isn’t she?”

  Maou scratched his head. “Yeah, that’s the thing. That’s what I don’t get.”

  On the surface, it meant that Maou’s coffee wasn’t making the grade yet. But if doing it like the manual said wasn’t enough, what was?

  “It’s not really my field of training,” Chiho mused, “but maybe you have to put more feeling into it, huh? Like, ‘Come on, coffee, get more flavorful,’ that kind of thing?”

  “I don’t think saying that out loud in the kitchen’s gonna help much. It’s not like we’re farming the beans ourselves.”

  “Or, like, maybe Kisaki deliberately makes coffee only when Mozart’s playing on the PA system?”

  “Nah. Also, that whole ‘play Mozart to make plants grow more’ thing isn’t scientifically proven.”

  They could debate this until the cows came home, but no ready conclusion sprang to mind. What made Kisaki’s coffee so good?

  The stream of customers remained fairly steady until the postdinner hour. Soon the clock struck ten, Chiho’s mandatory clock-out time as a minor. She passed by Maou as she left the staff room in her street clothes.

  “Well, careful walking home.”

  “Sure thing. Thanks.”

  She gave a grateful nod to the remaining staff on hand.

  “If anything comes up, give me one of those well-trained screams of yours, ’kay?”

  “Huh? …Oh. Um, sure. Dunno how to answer that, really, but…”

  It took Chiho a few moments to realize Maou was poking fun at her. She turned red in the face, clutching at her cell phone.

  “Ahh, no worries. Just watch yourself. Also…”

  “Yes?” Chiho pouted.

  “I didn’t mention it yet, but thanks for working so hard at it.”

  Maou’s voice was just low enough so that only Chiho could hear. She turned red again, this time for reasons that had nothing to do with anger.

  “It-it’s not just for you, though!”

  She walked briskly out of the store, still a bit put off by Maou’s picking on her. On one shoulder was a large bag, a rarity to see Chiho carrying. It seemed doubtful that she was headed anywhere else tonight, since it was late; maybe she’d had practice for a school activity earlier. Maou shrugged, sighed, and decided to start on the store’s closing procedures for the day. But before he could get very far, he was interrupted by Kisaki, who was heading down from the second floor.

  “Oh… Did Chi leave already?”

  This confused Maou. She almost certainly would’ve checked with her before changing and clocking out.

  “How’d it go with her…shouting, then?”

  “Hey, um, are you feeling all right?”

  No one could blame Maou for asking his question first. Kisaki, for a change of pace, sounded spent, almost bereft of energy. Which was unusual, because the Devil King had never met a living creature with such seemingly boundless stores of endurance as she had. The nature of Kisaki’s job meant she might either get the whole day off or have to stay on-site from open ’til close, but—as if under a spell of some sort—her tempo never wavered for a moment around the crew.

  Seeing a woman like that with small rings under her eyes, a finger to her left temple, and a voice one could charitably describe as “zombified” would make anyone worry about her health.

  “Yeah, I am… Sorry.”

  The question made Kisaki come to attention. She quickly scanned the dining area, demonstrating a sense of panic that was also rare for her, and breathed a sigh of relief for reasons Maou didn’t follow.

  The regular MgRonald space was mostly empty, save for two pairs of what looked to be college students chatting with each other.

  “I guess I put in a little more effort than I should’ve. But, man, at this rate, this is gonna be seriously rough.”

  A further shock for Maou to hear. These sorts of complaints, Kisaki never gave out.

  She raised her head and looked at a brand-new LCD monitor on one corner of the register counter. It was set up so employees on the first floor could keep track of the free seating upstairs, but as far as Maou could see, things were empty up there.

  “What was the…um…deal?”

  Seeing Kisaki grumble to herself and rub her sore shoulders right in front of him was a sight Maou had never seen in all his time at MgRonald. It made his voice a little shaky. Kisaki, looking at him quizzically, didn’t answer.

  “So, what about Chi?”

  “Oh, erm… Well, after we had that talk, she was back to normal. A few danger spots before then, though, huh?”

  “…Huh.” Kisaki nodded solemnly, a hand kneading one of her shoulders. “You think she’s found a new goal for herself, too?”

  “Wha?”

  Maou focused his gaze more closely on her. Chiho had, of course, and she was vigorously pushing herself toward it. That shouting was part of it.

  It was just an offhand remark from Kisaki as she brought up the first-floor daily totals on a register screen, but Maou wondered what made her notice it.

  After that moment of concern, something else struck Maou’s mind.

  “What do you mean by ‘too’?”

  “…?”

  Maou noticed Kisaki gasping a little. The next moment, she shook her head, as if regretting the whole thing.

  “Ah, I’m just tired,” she said in a low voice. “Don’t worry about it.”

  That reaction was enough to make Maou’s curiosity do an about-face. Maybe Kisaki was facing more delicate issues than he thought. He wasn’t close enough to her to wade in further.

  “All right. Could I ask you about something else, though?”

  “Hmm?”

  “Me and Chi were wondering… Like, we’re using the same server and all, but how come your coffee tastes so much, uhhh—”

  “Ahhh?”

  “—different from ours…and stuff…”

  A
wave of terror overcame Maou for a moment. Kisaki seemed to prey upon the exact thing that unnerved him the most today. He asked the question in hopes of improving himself, but now there was something more sinister to her voice than ever before. She glared at him with a gaze so powerful that even the Devil King cowered under it. The entire exchange lasted no longer than a second, but to Maou, it may as well have been forever.

  Then, the next moment, Kisaki’s eyes immediately widened and looked off into the distance.

  Maou began to wonder if any day in his future would be as full of surprises as this one proved to be. Having Kisaki glare at him, then stare into space for a second or two, then lock right back onto his face left him in awe. He wondered if, for an instant, he had seen Kisaki at her most unguarded and vulnerable just then.

  “…I’m sorry. Gimme one sec.”

  Then she closed the results screen and marched into the staff room. She must’ve noticed that I noticed, Maou thought. But Kisaki was never one to dodge confrontation like that. It spooked Maou, seeing so much unfamiliar behavior from his manager in the span of five minutes.

  He found himself staring at the staff-room door as he heard the whine of an old printer. Kisaki came right out once it stopped, a sheet of paper in her hand. Their eyes met as she did, and she looked a bit awkwardly at him when he noticed yet another odd reaction.

  “Wanna take a look at this?”

  Kisaki handed the sheet to Maou, the look of awkward concern still on her face. Maou ran his eyes across it. The title immediately gave him pause.

  “MgRonald Barista?”

  Barista wasn’t a term he was familiar with. Ballistas, he knew all about. Large, arrow-launching installations placed on top of forts and bulwarks. He oversaw many a ballista post in his time. The image of one of them propelling hamburgers at high speed, splattering them against a castle parapet, made him snicker.

  “Do you know what a barista is?”

  “Um…nothing to do with arrows?”

  “What?”

  “N-no…um, I guess I don’t.” Maou just barely squeaked out the reply.

 

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