“Yeah, the term hasn’t gone around in Japan much yet. Just think of it as someone with a lot of expert knowledge about coffee.”
“Expert knowledge?” Maou parroted back as he stared at the sheet.
The printout turned out to be a clipping from MgRonald’s internal newsletter. For Japanese franchisees, the main office was holding a special workshop to help employees handle MagCafé products and provide them more experience and knowledge to serve customers with. This was chiefly reserved for managers and other full-timers, but the MgRonald Barista program was also open to the hourly crew, assuming they had chalked up enough hours on duty and were willing to pay a class fee.
The workshop was mainly about MagCafé’s new coffee items. The daylong program went over handling the machinery, working with coffee beans, and the other fine particulars of everyone’s favorite deliverance of caffeine.
“Internal company rules state that there has to be at least one person with MgRonald Barista credentials in each MagCafé location.”
“Oh,” Maou replied. But he remained dubious. What was with this workshop that made it so different from the training manual he and the crew had at hand? He doubted a single day of instruction could make such a dramatic difference in taste—but even without the proven traffic record of Kisaki’s coffee, Maou could never turn down a potential chance at career advancement.
“The thing about being a barista, though, is that it’s not just coffee you have to focus on.”
“Huh?” Maou said, looking up from the course description.
“The word barista comes from Italian. What the Italians call ‘bars’ are really more like lunch cafés, and while bartenders specialize in alcoholic beverages, baristas at these places mostly deal in coffee and other nonalcoholic drinks. They’re kind of treated as masters of their craft, the same way chefs or sommeliers might be, although that way of thinking hasn’t really permeated Japan yet.”
The unexpected lecture piqued Maou’s interest.
“But not everyone who works behind a bar in Italy call themselves baristas. That’s because some are expected to run pretty much the whole place—drinks, food, restaurant equipment, customer service, the whole bit. Those people get called barman in Italy—they borrowed the English word for it. The idea’s that they’re totally versed in everything the bar offers, they’re totally focused on what they’re doing, and they can provide the best service possible to customers for any situation.”
“Uh-huh…”
Something about this speech seemed to impassion Kisaki. The previous fatigue was long gone. Maou couldn’t do much beyond nod at these freewheeling mood swings, but it was her rousing conclusion that made him gasp.
“That’s what I want to be someday. A true barman.”
“!!”
As far as Maou could recall, these were the first words he ever heard from Mayumi Kisaki as a person—not Ms. Kisaki, manager of the MgRonald in front of Hatagaya station. These were emotions from the heart that beat a rhythm behind her name tag. The fact that this shout from the heart was still about work reassured Maou that she hadn’t changed that much.
“Well, once you move up the ladder at the Mag, I bet you’re gonna accomplish a lot, Ms. Kisaki.”
She would, too. Her daily figures were consistently up from the same time last year. Maou understood, or thought he understood, how astounding a stat that was. There was no way Kisaki’s career would dead-end at this single location.
He always thought that she deserved a bigger playing field to shine in. But he had no idea that Kisaki—his primary role model, as he strove to attain the seemingly faraway goal of a full-time gig—was aiming for such incredibly lofty heights. It impressed him, despite the fact that his dreams of world domination were quite a bit loftier than that. But Kisaki was surprised at his reaction.
“What’re you talking about? I can’t accomplish that at MgRo—”
“…Huh?”
“Uh…”
Something told Maou he shouldn’t have heard that. His boss undoubtedly noticed, too. She really wasn’t acting herself today.
“…I’m not setting a good example as a manager, am I?” she intervened. “Chatting on and on about myself like this.” Then she fell awkwardly silent, eyes turned toward the paper Maou carried. “But, hey, if you want to get as good as I am, why don’t you start by taking that workshop? They’ll probably let you in for free, what with your shift-supervisor experience. Lemme know if you’re interested.”
“Um, certainly…”
“Anyway, I gotta get back upstairs. Hold the fort down here for me, all right?”
Kisaki may have looked no different from before as she whirled around and climbed the stairs, but Maou had the distinct impression she was speaking at a faster pace than usual. And more than that—more than anything—he didn’t miss the subtle nuances she dropped into that conversation. He could only pray that he was mistaken about them.
“Huh?”
Back at his apartment building, Maou was puzzled to find a light on in Suzuno’s upstairs room. As the ever-humble Church cleric she was, Suzuno always retired early at night. Her being awake after Maou worked the closing shift was unheard of. He decided to bring it up with Ashiya at the front door.
“Hey, what’s Suzuno up to?”
“Welcome back, Your Demonic Highness,” Ashiya replied with his usual flair. “Ms. Sasaki joined her a few moments ago, so whatever it is, it involves the two of them. More spell training, I presume.”
“Chi? I thought she went home after her shift ended. It’s past midnight! Why isn’t Suzuno letting her leave?”
The Devil King felt obliged to have a word with Suzuno about this. Letting a teenage girl walk around by herself in the midnight hours? Come on. Before Ashiya could stop him, Maou tied his shoes back on and knocked on the door to Room 202.
“Helloooo? You in there, Chi? It’s already tomorrow, you know. You need to head back hoooome…”
“Silence, Devil King!”
Suzuno stuck her petulant face out the doorway. The design on her kimono was far simpler than her normal wardrobe—leisure wear, or possibly the clothing she wore to bed.
Chiho, seated inside in pajamas, looked toward him, a conflicted look on her face.
“You fancy yourself her guardian, then? I have received permission from Chiho’s mother. She is staying overnight in my room.”
“…Oh. Is that all?”
“Yes.” Chiho bowed politely at him. “Sorry.”
That explained the large bag she’d been lugging around earlier. She must have planned this sleepover well in advance.
“Oh, not at all. I mean…you know, don’t overdo it, okay? Like, for real.”
“Of course…”
“I am wholly capable of providing for her safety, thank you. We have completed training and are currently engaged in what I understand is called ‘girl talk.’ You are not welcome.”
Suzuno shut the door, not bothering to wait for a reply.
“…Girl talk?” Maou parroted, pouting to himself as he plodded back to his castle.
“Umm,” Ashiya sheepishly replied, apparently listening in on their doorside chat. “Ms. Sasaki gave her greetings earlier, actually. She mentioned her mother as well.”
Maou brushed him off, focusing his attention on his MgRonald Barista info sheet as Ashiya reluctantly set off to prepare dinner.
“…It’s easy to fall into the trap of daily life, isn’t it?”
“Dude, what’s that about?” Urushihara asked, picking up on Maou’s passing utterance first.
“Hmm? Well, like, I just think it’s funny how everyone changes all the time, whether you notice it or not. It might seem like your life never changes, but it does—time’s zooming by, faster than you can perceive it.”
“Huh?” Urushihara snorted at the un–Devil King–like observation. “What’s with you, man? You gettin’ screwy in the head, too? That’s the whole reason why life’s fun. It’d be weird if stuff
never changed.”
“…Like I need you telling me that.”
Having an ankle-biting live-in bum sum up his sentiments for him did not make Maou a happy camper. Urushihara stayed on the offensive, chuckling at him.
“I don’t think anyone in here knows that any better than I do, man.”
“Well,” Ashiya said, appearing with a plum, a bonito, and a basil rice ball and a bowl of miso soup. “If you care to know more about how life changes, why not prove it by helping out with chores a little? Hmm?”
And thus, Maou’s sentiments were lost amid his appetite and the usual nighttime squabbling over the division of household duties.
“I am impressed, though. Such stable activation in a mere week’s time. It may already be time to begin with the basics of the Idea Link.”
“You think so?!”
Suzuno and Chiho sat windowside, each with a glass of barley tea in one hand and a fan in the other. A small mosquito coil burned away in one corner of the room, its incenselike scent adding a touch of atmosphere to this rather unorthodox session of girl talk.
“One of my coaches reminded me of that, actually. She said that, like, if you’re lifting weights or stretching and you’re really focusing on whatever part of the body you’re working, that makes a huge difference in the results. So whenever I was shouting, I always tried to focus on whether any changes were taking place within me.”
“Perhaps, but this is not something any man on the street can become proficient in. Once one reaches a certain point, after all, one’s mental capacities begin to play a larger and larger role. If you were born in Ente Isla, Chiho, I do believe you might have been a gifted spellcaster. Ah…” Suzuno, perhaps sensing this was too much praise, made an effort to harden her face. “But remember, I will teach you the Idea Link and only the Idea Link. Do you understand?”
“I do, I do. But thanks for the compliment.”
Chiho took a sip of tea and sighed as she looked out at the starry summer sky.
“I’m not trying to hurry things along or anything, but I’d really like to gain that Idea Link ability as soon as I can…I mean, before you and Yusa get too busy.”
Suzuno chuckled. “I may not appear as such, but my days grant me quite a bit of free time, let me tell you.”
On Ente Isla, she was a feared and renowned Church high official; in Japan, to an impartial observer, she was an unemployed young woman with eccentric fashion sense and a mysteriously large bank account. This situation was further exacerbated by the fact that, now that Maou was back at the MgRonald in Hatagaya for most of the day, the archangel Sariel, who worked down the street from him, was serving as a secondary deterrent once more.
Being within Sariel’s sphere of influence meant less worrying about rogue demons trying to approach Maou, which in turn meant, for Suzuno, less surveillance of the Devil King and more hours bumping around her apartment instead. There was still Ashiya and Urushihara to surveil / guard / take to task, but that hardly filled enough hours that she couldn’t help Chiho with her training.
“Oh, I didn’t mean thaaaat. It’s just, like…”
Chiho stared at the stars for a moment, searching for words.
“It feels like things are…different now. After the whole Tokyo Tower thing.”
“Different…?”
Suzuno paused for some tea, eyebrows arched high.
“I mean, we’ve had tons of trouble with, like, Sariel and Gabriel and the demons at Choshi and stuff, but…Maou and Yusa still haven’t fought each other yet, right? Like, mano a mano?”
A dirty look was enough to make them break into fisticuffs. But Chiho was talking about a more…final, potentially lethal, confrontation.
“But don’t you think Yusa’s been acting kinda…weird since then?”
“……”
Chiho explained the differing sets of memories she discussed with Maou and Emi during their hospital visits.
“Ever since then, it’s like Yusa’s…well, Maou, too, but…it’s like they’ve both been thinking about a whole bunch of stuff all the time. And…don’t get angry, all right, Suzuno?”
Suzuno shrugged, her face serene, as she motioned her to continue.
“Do you remember when all of us ate together in this room after they put that big hole in Maou’s wall?”
“Yes. It feels like quite a long time ago, given everything that’s transpired…but it hardly was, it’s true.”
The two of them looked around the room.
“I know this is selfish of me, but I thought back then about how great it’d be if, like, everyone could just forget about all the complicated stuff happening on Ente Isla and just let these days go on forever—Urushihara screwing around, Ashiya yelling at him, you frantically trying to take control of the situation… Then Maou does something to spoil Alas Ramus, and Yusa winds up starting an argument about it… I really don’t think you build that kind of chemistry unless you, like, really enjoy each other’s company. I know I’m not being realistic, but…”
Chiho shrugged, remembering an argument of her own she’d had with Suzuno once. Suzuno recalled it as well, but she had no intention of chiding her for it now. In fact, Chiho’s side of the debate deeply resonated with her now.
“Ah, how the mighty have fallen.”
“Hmm?”
“Nothing. You were saying?”
The bladeless fan stationed near the kitchen area circulated the air around the room, lazily sending the smoke from the mosquito coil outside.
“Well…I know Maou and Ashiya and Urushihara are demons who tormented people on Ente Isla, and you and Yusa have a mission to slay all of them…and all it’d take is some kind of trigger to destroy everything we’ve built up over all these days. It’d be really sad to see it happen, and it’d make all of you leave me…and that anxiety still hasn’t gone away.”
“……”
“And since Tokyo Tower, I feel like something’s really troubling Yusa. I think it’s got a lot to do with what I told her about when I was in the hospital. And, like, even when I look at Maou, he’d instantly react to me before, but now it’s like he’s thinking over whatever he says to me before he says it.”
Suzuno silently marveled at Chiho’s powers of observation. Judging by her words, neither Maou nor Emi explained to Chiho herself what the memories implanted into her mind truly meant. But given how much she cared about the two of them, she could obviously tell that the memories had triggered…something…that had changed their behavior.
“The war on Ente Isla, and the demon realms splitting into two parts… Yusa and Maou didn’t have anything directly to do with that, right? And yet, there’s this person who gave me that power; these memories I found in my head; Gabriel; that other angel that I hit… It’s like there’s something out there, gradually pushing Maou and Yusa and everyone back into the really rough place they started out from.”
Now Chiho’s face was tilted downward as she started at the tatami-mat floor. She must, Suzuno figured, still be working out all these feelings and thoughts in her mind, asking herself questions out loud and fumbling around for the answers.
“I feel, Chiho, that my sense of faith has greatly weakened since my arrival in Japan.”
“Oh?” Chiho raised an eyebrow at this unexpected confession.
“If our god is truly all-powerful and created everything that lives and thrives on our world, why is the land not teeming with people as kind and gentle-hearted as you, Chiho?”
“Oh, I’m really nothing that special…”
The sudden out-of-hand compliment almost embarrassed Chiho into spilling her tea.
“There is a story within Church mythology about a relic known as the Scroll of Holocrisus. It is a scroll the gods entrusted to a man named Holocrisus, but so unable was he to contain his curiosity that he eventually opened the scroll. Within the paper was imbued all the negative emotions of the world gathered together, and when he opened it, the emotions turned into words and wriggled their
way into the hearts of the people. But, right at the end of the scroll, there was a single word written that could contain those emotions. And that word was hope.”
“We have something similar here on Earth. About Pandora’s Box.”
“That story was the very first thing that made me doubt the omnipotence of our god. Why would a truly omnipotent higher being allow the creation of negative emotions in the first place? And why, in a world before negative emotions, would this man Holocrisus’s soul be infused with impulses negative enough to make him defy the command of his lord? And the fact that this god is entrusting a mere mortal with the custody of such a vital relic… It honestly disturbs me.”
Chiho looked on, eyes filled with kindness, as Suzuno ranted in very non-cleric-like fashion.
“Yeah… I wonder. But when you look at the world… There are a lot of people out there who need a god, or God, in their lives. Religion is an indispensable part of their daily lives, and I certainly can’t deny that to them.”
“Hmm. Retaining your own sense of self while tolerating others. A rare feat to pull off indeed. Perhaps I should be worshiping you instead, Chiho.”
“Wh-what are you…?”
“I simply mean that when the weak lose what they believe in, they need some sort of sign, some sort of path, to lead them forward.”
Suzuno finished her barley tea and looked out the window.
“I think, right now, Emilia has lost her way.”
“Huh?”
“Tell me what you think of this analogy. You are fervently studying, forgoing food and rest, even, in order to be admitted into your first choice of universities. When the fateful test day arrives, you arrive at the site in triumphant spirits, but at the last moment, they decide to change the test to a flower-arranging competition. What would you think of that?”
“What kind of analogy is that?!” Chiho nearly dropped her glass again. The story had turned out to be, literally, too much to swallow.
“Merely an example. But think about it. Everything you have passionately studied in your life, made countless sacrifices for, all for the sake of this ‘test’ you picture for yourself. And right at the end, you are faced with a seemingly impossible task, one wholly outside of your expertise. What would you do?”
The Devil Is a Part-Timer!, Vol. 6 Page 8