MaruMA:Gaiden04:Chapter 3

Just Like the Color of Your Eyes

That rare color flashes past his eyes, and he can’t help but focus his attention and stare.

But the color that lingers on his retina doesn’t show up again, all that he sees outside the open door is spring flowers blooming, as well as butterflies and bees in their swarms.

Maybe she noticed his expression, because the woman who is hurriedly spreading out a piece of cloth asks,

“What is it, little pal?”

To be honest, he really can’t stand the mother that still calls him ‘little pal’ even though her son is almost ten, so he replies as he ties the red cloth onto his hand,

“I saw something black, but it disappeared immediately.”

“Something black?”

“Yeah, it flashed past my eyes, and disappeared in an instant.”

“Oh~~ Maybe it’s the eastern person that came to His Majesty’s side recently. Rumors say that their hair and eyes are both black, they’re a really rare race, y’know! Maybe she just happened to walk past you.”

“…It’s a woman?”

Mother smiles with a bright expression,

“Of course it’s a woman. After all, she’s the object of the king’s affections.”

Her beautiful golden hair flows down her back, those long-lashed large eyes are a bright and beautiful blue, just like his.”

“I heard it from a female officer, that she came from far in the east, and is travelling with the prince. I heard that everyone in that race is really smart, not only are they knowledgeable, they even know the rules of this world and the origins of the sky and earth. I wonder, does she understand foreign magic (mahou)? If she does, I would really want to ask her, because magic and dance are very deeply related.”

Her blue eyes sparkle with the desire of a dancer. That thin, almost transparent cloth, flying gracefully in the air with every movement of the body.

“But she really is pitiful, too, I heard she’s the only young girl in her entire village. In that case, who will give birth to an heir for her hometown… Little pal, pass me that hair ornament, His Majesty really likes that color.”

“Are you going to dance in front of the king again?”

“Yeah. Since the king agreed to let me live outside the palace, I also promised His Majesty that I would meet him and perform a dance whenever he’s in the country, otherwise he would worry that I’ve become someone else’s woman. Poor little thing, His Majesty.”

“Since you want to serve the king that much, why don’t you just stay inside the palace?”

“That wouldn’t do.”

Even though she’s beloved by the king, his mother is also a traveling dancer. She’s neither a princess of any country, nor is she a noble lady by birth. That’s precisely why she doesn’t have to be confined to the harem. To the young boy, however, all he knows is that his mother’s life is a lot harder than the other concubines who just play around all day.

His mother hugs his cheeks with her soft hands, gently putting her forehead to his,

“I have you, my beloved son, and my most beloved job, and even companions I get along so well with, so there’s no reason for me to stay in the harem where they’re all nobles. Besides, I want to travel alongside the troupe. I’m just worried I won’t be able to give you a royal life, please forgive me for that.”

“Don’t say that…”

“No matter what, a man cannot stay long in the harem.”

His reply is interrupted by a man’s voice. The young man standing at the door is blocking the sunlight, making the room turn cold instantly. Mother quickly leaves my side, falling to her knees and bending her head as she says,

“Your Highness.”

The man raises his right hand lightly, indicating her to relax,

“There’s no need to be so formal with me, my mother is simply a female officer as well, so she’s in about the same position as you.”

“Even so, you are the oldest prince, Your Highness.”

“I was just born earlier than my other brothers.”

As the king’s oldest son, he is a polite and modest character.

Although the color of his hair, eyes, and skin all are different, he’s still my older brother from a different mother. Add that to the ten-year age gap between us, and it may be rather hard to find any similarities between us. As I slowly grow older, maybe I’ll become just like him, who knows.

“Can I take my little brother out for a walk?”

“Of course you can, Your Highness. I just hope this child won’t cause Your Highness any trouble.”

“No, although this child is only ten years old, he’s already very smart, and is more capable than other children his age, so he would make a great playmate for me. To be honest, I’ve really gotten sick of playing games with those little sisters of mine.”

After saying goodbye to his mother, who was practicing in preparation for the banquet that afternoon, he steps out of his home with his much older brother. Underneath the spring sunlight, the two of them walk towards the stables. This deep in the gardens, there aren’t any guards to brush past them.

“What were you talking to your mother about?”

“We were talking about the black-haired woman. I heard she’s part of the race of wisemen, is that true?”

“Although I haven’t seen her, it seems to be true. Apparently their race naturally understands all the principles of the world, and can listen to the voice of nature as well.”

These words are all more solemn than what Mother said, but the contents are about the same. In any case, right now the one thing he can be sure of is that the entire race is really smart.

“In that case, she should be able to help the King, right?”

“Yeah. His Majesty has met with a lot of dejection recently, it would be good if she could comfort him slightly.”

“That’s not what I meant, I was talking about in wars and politics.”

“Politics? No way!”

Maybe this line of thought is too preposterous, for the young man is more amused than surprised. Feeling as though his words have been treated as a joke, he grips his fist and says unhappily,

“Why not? Even among women, there are those who are good at fighting, right? So there should also be people who like politics more than puppy love between men and women. Besides, she’s from the race of wisemen that everyone knows about, so she surely has a way to help the king.”

“His Majesty won’t listen to a woman.”

“Then wouldn’t he be simply wasting her intelligence for nothing… Besides, if he gave those women in the harem more work, wouldn’t he be able to reduce the bickering there?”

“There’s no helping it, since the king doesn’t like giving women power.”

The young man says with a smile, as though that’s how life is. But the boy doesn’t give up on this brilliant suggestion of his, telling his brother, the one destined to inherit the throne,

“You can use her, Brother.”

“Me?”

“Don’t you want to go to the battlefield?”

The young man can’t help but laugh, and he laughs as he pats the shoulder of his much younger brother,

“What an interesting thing to say. If anything happens to me, how I wish you would inherit the throne. You would surely break all the traditions and draft policies to make an era, bringing peace and security to this country.”

The boy bites his lip tightly, murmuring in a low voice,

“Nothing will ever happen to you, it’s impossible.”

But as long as one is alive, one will never know what will happen the next moment.

“A few years later, that polite brother died.”

“Died?”

Murata asks quietly, pretending that he wasn’t shocked by those words.

The person in front of him is the ancestor of mazokus, and also the man who founded Shin Makoku. No petty tricks could evade his eye. Bur Murata is relying on modern socializing techniques to make up for the difference in age and experience.

There’s nothing to be afraid of, he is indeed the one known as ‘Shinou’, the man feared by friend and foe alike in this world. But the one sitting opposite him now is merely a soul with no material strength. Since his soul has long since left his physical body, he doesn’t have fists to hit people, nor does he have fingers to grasp a sword.

Since he’s a bigshot, Murata will just have to face with mentality of facing the president. But even though the president has a button to launch nuclear weapons at hand, this man in front of him is still scarier.

If Shibuya were here, he would probably say hurriedly, “Wait a sec, the president is rather impressive too!” Thinking of that, Murata can’t help but smile to himself. He’s not sure if that man noticed, only to see that man putting two cards in front of him.

One is covered, while the other is facing upwards. Its surface is a bright combination of red and yellow, while a picture of what looks like a woman’s back. Sitting on the other end of the round dark green table, Murata also has cards in front of him, though both of his are covered.

“Although he was the son of a commoner, he was still the oldest son, and he was very much loved by the king, which is why I never expected him to die. Even if he got into trouble on the battlefield, there should be someone who would jump out to protect him.”

“No one protected him?”

“On the battlefield, he wouldn’t let himself fall to the point where he had to be protected, after all he is quite capable in his own right. But he was killed by his own hand. After he was accused of planning a rebellion, the king ordered him to take his own life. However…”

That man grasps his hands and puts them behind his head, closing his eyes as he leans backward. Although he’s just a soul, his actions and mannerisms are still very lifelike.

“There are also rumors that the head belonged to someone who died suddenly in a bar three days prior, and that the prince had already successfully left the country under the guidance of a dancer.”

“The dancer you mean is…”

“Well, who could it be? The truth is I didn’t witness it with my own eyes either, after all I had already left before the woman who gave birth to me returned to the country.”

And he continues with an expression of pity,

“If the brilliant oldest son had inherited the throne, that country wouldn’t have fallen so early on. At the very least, it would have held on to fight against me.”

“Even if the opponent is a man as good as a father to you, you still wouldn’t hesitate to fight—seems like you really are a battle-hungry man.”

The man laughs with an expression that says, ‘What’s the point of saying that now?’

“You should be very clear about my personality, right?”

“Those are all someone else’s memories.”

Murata places special emphasis on that, even pointing at his temple with two fingers. If he doesn’t express that ‘this isn’t my past’, it would be far too easy for him to get swallowed in the whirlpool of memories.

“Isn’t it really pretentious if I only told you the things you wanted to know now? That’s why I’m telling you the past you don’t know.”

“I still hope you wouldn’t confuse me with others, that’s the past of your important Kenja-sama, not mine.”

“But weren’t you always going on about finding the past you forgot? You even said that if you knew where your parents came from, you might be able to understand your own origins. Isn’t that right, O Kenja-sama who owns the darkness?”

“You really are very annoying, Your Majesty. Although I study in a famous school, I never publicly announced that I’m a sage, y’know. It doesn’t matter to me if you don’t tell me about someone else’s parents. And I have to tell you too, my mother’s hair isn’t black. She dyed her hair, and it’s short. Also, she can’t wear disposable contact lenses, so she’s still wearing glasses to this day. She’s a professional lady who works really hard, not a greenhouse flower that stays in the harem all day. In other words, I’m not the same person as that Kenja-sama you’ve beautified in your mind. Also—”

Murata knocks the cold stone table with his fist,

“—I have no interest in staying long in this Testuko’s room that doesn’t have lunch, or even a cup of coffee or tea.”

To think he would get angry at a person he’s not too familiar with. It’s such a rare thing that even he feels surprised.

“The guest you’re looking for is that wise and refined Daikenja with long black hair, who may very well be your little brother, right? In that case, you’ve found the wrong person, and I need to bid you goodbye as well. Don’t look at me like that, I have urgent matters to attend to.”

If that man still thinks of him as that His Eminence from way back then, even after all explaining that clearly, then there’s only thing to say—

…Grandfather, did you just have breakfast?

Going by age alone, he’s already a bona fide old man, so it can’t be helped if he forgot some things. But if it were those mazoku who worshipped him, they would probably pretend with him to the very end.

To Murata, however, that will only cause more troubles. He’s not a citizen of this country, neither is he a vassal or citizen loyal to Shinou. He only harbors hate towards this man, and not a shred of anything like respect.

“What a bother~~ The soul of His Majesty Shinou that all the mazoku idolize so much, is discovered upon meeting to have Alzheimer’s! That is just too sad, I don’t even dare to tell Shibuya.”

“What do you mean by guests and Tetsuko?”

“Testuko is a host who talks more than her guests. In our case, the guest or visitor is me. But since I was brought here forcefully, rather than calling it an invitation, it’s more like I was kidnapped.”

Thinking back on the impact he just encountered, Murata instinctively rubs his arm.

 

Calling him here by force, that’s practically doing something against someone else’s will.

He had been holding on tightly to the piece left behind by Hazel Grave’s Box, hoping to use it and fly to the world where Yuuri is. Since he used the theory that the engine would catch fire, he boldly let himself be surrounded in flames, risking everything on the property of the Box and its shard that attracts each other. If unfortunately he failed, he would turn into a fireball; if he succeeded, he would fly to where ‘Inferno on the Tundra’ is, in its original world, just like Hazel Graves did.

He was covered in the piercing stench of burning clothes and melting hair, then his body started burning. First was the surface of his skin, as though he was sunbathing under the hot summer sun, his entire body hot and hurting. The heat was suffocating, and even if he could take in a breath, it would only burn his throat.

Just as he thought it was all over, and was despairing that he would soon become a fireball.

His right hand was suddenly grabbed by a gust of cold air, and then he was pulled out of the flames. It was a beam of transparent, cool air, completely invisible to the naked air. Rather than calling it a rope of air, it was more like a hard pair of handcuffs made of ice. And it wasn’t enveloping him gently either, pulling so hard it nearly broke the skin on his wrists.

But he didn’t even have the time to scream before he was dragged from the hot and blinding place, by a force strong enough to dislocate his shoulder, into this cool and dimly-lit location.

The air entering his lungs was so cold it made Murata cough uncontrollably, but he still pressed his face and limb to the cool floorboards, cooling down the body he thought was going to ignite.

It was only when he could breathe normally that he noticed someone was looking down at him. The man on the chair propped his hands on the table, looking at him with the eyes of someone watching a fascinating animal from afar. He must find it interesting to see him struggle in agony on the dark green stone floor.

Murata couldn’t even bothered to stand, continuing to lie flat on the ground with his limbs sprawled wide open, so he could even cool down his fingers,

“Hi~~ Nice to meet you.”

“You cut your hair… and charred it too.”

Maybe it was because the other person’s tone was just too calm, but Murata was almost angry enough to say something self-destructive like, ‘That’s right~~ They’re all burned to a char! My clothes and shoes are all charred, and they’re emitting this piercing odor too, right? So what, I’m the challenger of flames! I’m so very sorry for disrupting your elegant teatime with a student charred black from head to toe!’

But that impulse disappeared the moment he saw who the other person was clearly. This isn’t the time to say such meaningless things, where is this? I was evidently supposed to fly to where the Box, so why am I here?

And why is he here in front of me?

He knew immediately that the person looking down on him now was the man people know as Shinou. It’s no wonder, since his appearance hadn’t changed in the slightest from Murata’s memories.

He was exactly the same as the last time Murata… not Murata himself, to be precise, but the same as the last time the person who used this soul a long, long time ago saw him, and he looked even younger now. Even in this dimly-lit room, that golden hair sparkled beautifully, and there was also those eyes, as blue as the southern seawater. That’s right, it’s that man. Although he looked a lot like Yuuri’s friend, Lord von Bielefeld, Murata could tell that they were completely different upon seeing them with his own eyes. Even the light hiding in their eyes was fundamentally different.

This comparison wasn’t accurate. Keeping his eyes trained on him, Murata carefully got up.

This was the person that sealed the soushu, united the mazoku, counter-used the humans’ terror, and founded Shin Makoku. The person that retained his power after death, even after many ups and downs in fortune, even as other countries weakened and fell, one after the other, the only one who rejected the fact that all countries must die, the person who protected this country continuously for the past four thousand years.

To Murata, it was also this person that tortured him and many other generations of his soul’s predecessors with that ridiculous curse.

It was because of this man putting a curse of his own accord, that caused dozens of innocent people to suffer needlessly. Among them were those whose minds were twisted by it, those who couldn’t stand it and so took their own lives, those who were wrongly accused by others and hunted down. To the mazoku, his position is as almighty as God, but to Murata, he is a detestable being.

That very Shinou was now right in front of him.

“…And completely naked, too.”

At first he thought he had automatically added a mosaic to the crotch, but then he realized his glasses were cracked. In any case, for his sake as well as for the other party, it’s best not to fix those glasses while they’re here.

“Uh—You could at least wear some clothes, otherwise it’ll really be ‘the Emperor’s New Clothes’.”

“Why should I wear clothes? Unlike you, I don’t have a physical body.”

“You don’t have a physical body? Ah~~ That’s right.”

Murata shrugged his shoulders like how foreigners do when joking,

“So you’re finally dead?”

“If the condition I’m in now is called death, then I’d feel so bad for the people who are actually dead.”

“You don’t have a body, right? Your soul’s detached, your body’s decomposed—isn’t that just like being dead?”

“My soul has just temporarily left my body. Since this space is too far away from the Shinou Shrine, I can’t use my body. In other words, my body is a door that connects this space and another.”

Once he said that, Murata finally took a look around at his surroundings. There were two entrances on the far wall. The doors weren’t human-shaped, but a commonly seen rectangle.

“Where did I come…”

“You didn’t come here through the door.”

The other man pointed to a blazing fireplace, completely out of place in this chilly room, with his chin. The flames, a mix of red and orange, almost reached the floorboard. A little ahead of the fireplace was a heavy, black, triangular piece of metal, the sharp edges still glowing in that red light known only to metal at high temperatures.

I came out of the fire? A cold sweat ran down Murata’s back, as he realized just how rash he had been.

“I paid you a visit through the fireplace? It looks rather hot.”

“Only you would think that. To me, that’s just a hole painted black.”

The man snorted with contempt at Murata’s unease, even using his long slender fingers to tap the table as he indicated for Murata to sit opposite him.

“This space should appear according to what you like. To me, it’s just a recreation of the room I once lived in.”

“Is that so? So it’s all my imagination?”

Oh~~ No wonder he’s fully naked. Murata finally comprehended this strange situation.

“There’s no light or darkness here, no cold or heat later, and time doesn’t flow continuously like it does outside, so you could say it’s one step away from where the dead go, Kenja-sama.”

“Why would I be in this sort of place…”

“What do you mean by ‘this sort of place’? That’s way overboard, this is the place I live now after all.”

Shinou opened his arms wide as though saying ‘Welcome to my new home’,

“I was just going to say there was this nostalgic feeling, and it was going to go right past without stopping in this country, so I reached out and pulled you back. Thank me properly, you heartless fellow.”

“There is no need for me to thank you.”

In that case, this wasn’t the place he wanted to go. It looked like his journey was suddenly interrupted by this man, and he was pulled into this space—that guy sure is a busybody.

“After so long, you won’t even greet me? Forget it, just sit down, Kenja-sama. There should be a lot of things you want to say, right?”

“Wait a sec, I’m not that Daikenja you’re talking about. Just as you wanted, I remember everything clearly, but I’ve lived a few thousand years on Earth, can you imagine how many lifetimes I experienced in that time?”

If he were to confuse me with Daikenja, that would be a problem. This man didn’t agree or deny what Murata said, so Murata got up, patted his burned clothes, and anxiously paced between the fireplace and the table,

“Pardon me, but I don’t have the time now. Although we finally meet, it’s really such a shame, but we have to save our chatter for the next time. If you don’t wish to send me to my destination, could you tell me where the exit is?”

“It’s simple, just leave from the way you came.”

The man’s attitude was high and mighty, and at the same time unhelpful, grinding on Murata’s patience. This is just too unlike me, even if I repeatedly told myself to keep calm, once I open my mouth my tone is like a rebellious middle-schooler.

“I say, no matter how wild our attitude is, you being completely naked just removes any sense of persuasion you had. And unlike Shibuya, I won’t get embarrassed around the same gender, even if you cross your legs like that.”

“Who is this Shibuya you speak of?”

“The maou you chose, of course, don’t tell me you don’t know him. You’ve been watching over everything that happens in this country from here, haven’t you? From this glass watchtower.”

As soon as he said that, the room became brightly lit and covered with windows. So that’s how it is, imagination sure is convenient. However, it was just too depressing to have a naked man sitting in the center of the glass house.

“…Sorry, let me correct that. It’s okay to stay dim. Even though there’s not much light, you’ve been watching everything your hand-picked maou did, haven’t you?”

“Not in the slightest.”

Shinou looked at Murata with an expression of interest, saying that he doesn’t understand what happens on Earth.

“I don’t even know that person is called Shibuya. But speaking of which, it wouldn’t be surprising even if he does have a name. I say, Kenja-sama, would you tell me what the maou is like in that other world?”

“What are you asking that for?”

“I just simply want to know. If I can find out, then I can predict what kind of ruler than young monarch will turn out to be in the future, and I’ll also give you what you want in exchange.”

He arranged four cards on the dark green table, each slightly smaller than a palm. Two were in front of him, and two were in front of the empty seat.

“That is your past. Sit, Kenja-sama. Your memories with the young maou will be shown on the cards.”

“Didn’t I say so? I’m in a rush.”

“And I said, that time here doesn’t flow continuously like it does outside.”

Reluctantly Murata pulled aside the heavy chair, and for a not very long period of time after that, he listened to the past that the person known as the Daikenja wanted to know so badly. Although it’s a fragment that doesn’t mean much, that only makes Murata more secure. Relax, you’ve never been swallowed by the personalities of your past. If he really had merged with that person known as Daikenja, he would also be receiving the information he always craved, and would surely be crying tears of joy now.

Murata stares at the cards in front of him as he takes that heavy weight off his chest, and now it’s Shinou’s turn.

“Your Majesty Shinou, this is the Shibuya Yuuri you wanted to know.”

He reaches out a hand for the card in front of Murata. With a flick of his thumb, the card flipped open is made of bright primary colors, swirling into an infinite spiral.

Just then, the memories slowly reach the other person, like the terminal that connects cables.

“I’m trying to make an algorithm that can analyze past lives.” Yuuri doesn’t say anything like, ‘here you go again’, just putting his hands on his hips as he cocks his head,

“Didn’t I say so before? I never thought of my past or future lives.”

“C’mon, don’t say that, this is an understandable, user-friendly, lightning-speed piece of algorithmic wonder. You just have to put in the date and time of your birth, and then press confirm…”

“What happens when you press confirm?”

But his friend still plays along with him till the end, his eyes trained on the plasma screen of the notebook-shaped calculator, the white summer T-shirt he just changed into smelling like it was freshly-laundered with detergent.

“See, the results are out. According to this data, in your baseball team line-up, there are the reincarnations of Himiko and Napoleon.”

“No way!”

“And then the outfield has two Oda Nobunagas… Hm—As expected of Shibuya, you actually sent the world famous Nobunaga to the outfield.”

“The eras don’t match, right? And there are two of them, isn’t that obviously cheating!?”

Buoyant on the momentum, Murata presses another seven buttons, lining out the numbers he does indeed remember,

“Let’s do your past life too then. Uh—put in your date and time of birth. What time were you born?”

“I never asked my parents, but I remember it’s in the afternoon.”

“Then let’s set it as afternoon. Start analyzing!”

Although he’s saying it’s ‘fraud’ and ‘cheating’, he still holds his breath, watching the results of the analysis seriously. But that’s where his charisma lies, isn’t it? Although he never particularly introduced them before, he must have lots of friends. Out of the members in his grasslot team, there should be quite a few that were pulled in by him—Murata can’t help but think things like that.

A few words appear on the aqua blue background on the plasma screen.

“Oh, my!”

“W-who is it?”

“This is great! This is the third Himiko today, the third.”

“It’s not like we’re playing cards… Don’t tell me this algorithm separates people into Himiko, Napoleon, and Nobunaga?”

“That’s strange—I know there’s everyone from the protector of the Nazca Lines to the person who discovered ‘old people odor’ in here, there’s the information of two thousand four hundred and fifty-two people in total here!”

“It might be because that person is still alive, right?”

“I wonder if I can sell this as an entertainment app—”

“You plan on selling it!? I think you’d better not, there are definitely problems with this!”

“Why--?”

Murata purposely expresses his dissatisfaction, raising his head to look at Yuuri. It’s not very hard at all to make him panic.

“You’re not going to say something like ‘high school students shouldn’t do business’ or ‘students should just study’, are you? Though I think you’ll be unhappy with what I do in the future… I get it. Shibuya, you said so much because you don’t trust me, right?”

“No, that’s not what I meant. Of course I would never be unhappy with you. I’m not unhappy, just uneasy. Ah--”

Every time he’s at a loss for words, he would throw his head back and sigh. He swings the plastic bottle he’s holding a few times, then presses it to his forehead as though trying to cool down his brain, before explaining his simple reason in not a lot of words,

“Uh—You’re talking about past lives, right? Although I don’t support the theory of reincarnation, but if I knew who I was a hundred years ago, Himiko would be better, right? Napoleon seems a little dangerous. What if I was someone even scarier, a brutal murderer? If I was a serial killer, should I apologize to the family the victims left behind? But that’s not quite right, is it? I’m busy enough as it is dealing with my own life, where do I find my own sweet time to apologize to the families? This’ll only make it harder to continue living. So I think it’s best not to know. If you spend all day talking about past lives or reincarnation, your life will be over just like that.”

“Shibuya.”

“I know, this is just a game, right? I know, people who take things too seriously are basically idiots, I know that very well. Maybe I’m not the only who thinks like that, there may be others who fuss over it endlessly. That’s why I said, as things are right now, it’s not too appropriate to make a business out of this, what do you think?”

Murata lets his shoulders sag with an expression of regret, sighing exaggeratedly before turning off the calculator,

“I got it, I’ll reconsider making this into a business. But Shibuya, it’s best if you don’t know about your past lives.”

And he snaps the calculator shut with a ‘clack!’

“But why would we choose this life we have now?”

“You’re asking me why… I don’t understand what you mean.”

“I mean, your life as a ruler that leads the masses, and mine as someone with better-than-average memory.”

Yuuri’s expression changes significantly when he hears the unusual term, ‘ruler’, worried that Murata had guessed that he’s the maou in a different world, but then he thinks of his baseball team, and quietly heaves a sigh of relief.

“Don’t you think so? If we weren’t influenced by our past lives, and there weren’t any coincidences, why would we turn out like we are now?”

“Hm—Isn’t it because I like baseball.”

“I think it’s not that simple, and yet I think, if this were an algorithm that was already set, then what should I do? For example… Let me just put it this way, what if there was a god-like presence, imprinting an irremovable curse on people’s brains… no, rather than brains, more like deep in their souls, what then?”

“Cursing— billions of people’s brains? Then wouldn’t that tire that god out?”

Yuuri puts the plastic bottle into his mouth, and the white liquid flows into his throat. Apparently that drink effectively removes fats and tightens muscles with amino acids. But when he tells me his dream is to become Alex, I just can’t tell him that it’s impossible from a genetic point of view.

And then we start talking about genetics.

“I don’t know if it’s a curse or not, and I don’t think it’s God’s will either. If I were to explain it scientifically, shouldn’t it be like DNA code? Like athletic ability, the length of one’s legs, the properties of their muscles et cetera. If that’s not a curse, then it must be genetic, right?”

“It’s not genetic—”

“But according to my brother—”

To think he would start saying something slightly knowledgeable as he twists the cap on his plastic bottle,

“He says that a person’s personality is a combination of one’s genes and choices, but all I think is, ‘What combination?’ Although we have the same genes, the reason Shouri and I have different brains, is because Shouri prioritizes the intelligence genes in his genetic code, while I prioritize my baseball genes. If I chose to study since young instead of exercising, I would probably have become a smarter high school student. Only I can’t imagine a smart version of me, either.”

Yuuri musses up his hair hard, as though to get rid of nonexistent sweat. Rather than saying he can’t imagine it, it’s more like he never even thought of it before.

“In any case, the real me is a forever benchwarmer even in the baseball team—”

Murata puts the calculator on the bench, his elbows on his knees as his hands prop up his head, his gaze meeting the other boy’s as he laughs,

“How very interesting.”

“What’s interesting? You mean being a benchwarmer? How is that in any way interesting! From the moment the team was founded to this day, as long as there’s a decent pitcher around, I won’t have any chance to play, and every weekend I worry if I’ll ever get onto the field.”

His face breaks into a satisfied smile in contrast with his words,

“But in order to make the team stronger, I hope a better pitcher joins too. This feeling is so contradictory, looks like my brain really is very bad.”

“You just haven’t gotten the hang of mathematics, it’s not that your brain really is bad.”

“Forget it, you don’t have to console me, the truth is chemistry gives me a headache as well.”

Murata knows that’s not what his headache is about, and it is only later that Yuuri finds out about his friend’s past.

  When Shibuya Yuuri’s daily life is transmitted into his brain, the man’s expression as he props up his chin is just like someone watching a boring movie, and nothing like a great maou.

“What an uninteresting brat.”

“Eh? To think opinions are so vastly divided. Those mazoku who idolize you so much have nothing but praise for Shibuya.”

Murata touches the flipped card with his fingertip,

“But that’s no surprise either, after all the one who led him to become that way was you. Back then, it was the soul that you prepared beforehand that was sent to the other world without any interference. Since he’s a maou that no one has ever seen before, not only does he have a sense of mystery about him, the people also have higher hopes for him. For example, Lord von Christ Günter is absolutely besotted with him, to the point where his Gün-juices flow like a fountain. Oh, yeah, since this country has no god, would you say something like ‘mysterious’?”

Even though he has an appearance that attracts mazoku and the perfect soul, this man’s demands for Shibuya Yuuri’s inner personality are very trivial. Something like passionate, determined, just, with a balanced level of intelligence, and other small conditions, but none of them are anything special.

In order to make a good leader, it’s true that level of intelligence is important. Somewhere in the past, he had thought that as well.

But after seeing what Yuuri does with his own eyes, that dissatisfaction has vanished. The rookie maou does his best, and it’s very good. Thinking to himself, ‘You’re such a busybody’, even Murata thinks that he himself made a huge mistake.

“But after seeing his every move in that world, I really don’t think he’s smart. It’s just that right now, he looks rather spirited.”

The man stares at the flipped card, completely focused, as though analyzing the spiral of life.

“Even if he was a murderer in the past life, what’s there to worry about in the current life? Maybe he could even become an excellent warrior who kills without hesitating.”

“You don’t seem to have understood the main point behind that littler interlude just now—which is don’t worry about your past lives at any cost, life isn’t just using your memories in your daily routine. Hasn’t anyone told you your level of comprehension isn’t very good? In any case, Shibuya and I both agree, be it the question of how your past life was or whose best friend you are, we won’t be confused by those sorts of things.”

His gaze moves from the cards to Murata’s face. That is a gaze with a special meaning.

“How is it now?”

“…What?”

“I’m saying, how is he like now? No matter what situation he finds himself in, can that young maou still be truly unaffected by his past lives’ personalities?”

“Has he met with some cruel misfortune?”

Murata puts his hands on the table and stands up abruptly, the chair behind him falling down with a heavy thud.

“Why didn’t you help him!?”

“Hey hey hey, what can I do from my glass watchtower? It’s not like I have a physical body to rush out of here.”

His tone is as if he’s lamenting his own helplessness, but at the same time it sounds slightly sarcastic, and happy.

“So that’s how it is… From the very start… You never planned on helping him from the very start, did you!?”

The change in his voice finally tells Murata that he’s angry, and he even slaps aside the card in front of the man. His sudden bursting out holds too many repressed emotions. Facing upwards, the card floats to a corner of the room, presumably out of each forever.

“…Don’t be jealous of Shibuya because no one loves you, that would be the biggest mistake you could make.”

“Jealous?”

Murata raises his head as he grips his fist tightly, the crack on his glasses suddenly in the way.

“Did I say anything wrong? Although it was your own choice, you’re now very uneasy. Nothing is happening according to your calculations, you never thought he was up to the task.”

“Indeed, this exceeds my expectations. I never thought that he would win over the people’s hearts so quickly, and secure his position as maou. But that’s a happy miscalculation, I’m very happy as well that he became such a good king. What reason would I have to be jealous of him?”

“In that case, why don’t you help him? If you’re not jealous of him, don’t tell me you just want to see him fail?”

“I don’t help anyone.”

Shinou leans his body onto the back of the chair, crossing his fingers and putting them on his stomach.

“I have never helped any maou. Be it Cherie or the maou before her, I never once helped them. If you insist that I help, then this time I could make an exception and interfere. Even if I can’t leave this place, I can figure out a way to help him. However…”

He points at the metal piece in front of the fireplace, and voices his terrifying condition,

“Collect the Boxes.”

“What did you say!?”

Murata suspects his own ears, hoping he’d misheard. But Shibou’s ocean-blue eyes sparkle with negative emotions, cruelly crushing Murata’s hopes.

“That piece of metal is part of ‘Inferno on the Tundra’, right? That’s why you could use it to reach this place. As for the complete Box, it should be where you want to go. I want you to bring that over.”

“Why do you want to do something so scary…”

“I never thought that it would be so easy to find ‘Inferno on the Tundra’. Although I could vaguely feel that it had returned to this side, I never thought I’d get an opportunity to lay my hands on it so soon.”

“You’re pushing your luck.”

The man’s attitude hasn’t changed at all. It’s exactly the same as when he fought with the past owner of this soul, the sage.

“Why do you still want the Boxes, even now! Did you forget how it was like when you separated with him? Didn’t you two cut off all your ties because you disagreed on how to deal with the Boxes? He was very smart, a sage indeed. In comparison, you seem very foolish, only satisfied when you’re greater than everyone else. You want to keep the Forbidden Boxes by your side because you won’t let anyone have so much power. Even if you don’t plan on releasing the power within, you just don’t want to let go of the soushu’s power.”

“You’re precisely right. Think about it, if those Boxes were to fall into human hands, or even be opened…”

“War would become singularly uninteresting.”

“That’s right.”

As he nods, a smile curls that man’s lips. Murata wonders how he can use his tightly-gripped fist, but he can’t think of anything, so he can only walk back to the table,

“…You’re just that kind of person. That’s exactly why you want to keep the Boxes and ‘Keys’ by your side, and control them.”

“That’s right. As long as the Boxes and Keys are all in my hands, who knows how much easier wars would be. And we don’t have to worry about humans finding out about these Boxes either. I heard that those guys are looking for those Boxes, and I have no reason to order a spark to cause conflict in the distant land just to move them away. The previous war, for example, wasted quite a lot of effort. And it’s all because of you—”

He sits up, his tone getting extremely agitated,

“—You simply tossed the Boxes everywhere without telling me. You wanted to bury them, and you didn’t even leave the four Keys on me, giving them to the other ministers separately instead, and finally you left without a word! If they were in my hands from the very start, we wouldn’t have to worry about the Boxes and soushu now, would we!?”

“It’s too dangerous.”

Murata shakes his head slowly, as though talking to himself,

“It’s too dangerous.”

“Why? What place could be safer than my place, here? Humans would definitely use the Box once they got it, but I would never use them. You know very well that I never planned on using the power of the soushu during wars. Don’t you believe me?”

“I believe that much.”

It’s true that he wouldn’t use the power of the Boxes, and that’s the only reason there is to trust him. But if he were to hold the things that could threaten the world, what would happen should this country fall? The four Boxes and Keys would fall into a certain someone’s hands.

“No, there’s no need to gather all the four Boxes in this country. At the very least, tell me where all the Boxes are…”

“I can’t help you.”

The man stops talking mid-sentence. Maybe those words were too unexpected, so he frowns and stares at Murata.

“I won’t help. Even if the Box is where I’m heading to next, the one who decides how to deal with it isn’t you, but Shibuya.”

“But isn’t my wish the maou’s wish? Our common goal is to not open the Boxes.”

“No, it’s not the same, you have nothing in common with Shibuya. There isn’t anything I wouldn’t do for him, but I have no obligation to help you. Great ancestor, I’m not your right- or left-hand man, neither am I your little brother. I have no reason to help you at all.”

The man falls silent for a while before finally speaking. Although it’s a question, his tone is convinced.

“In that case, you’re going to make me your enemy?”

“…If necessary.”

The truth is, Murata wanted to say, “If possible, I don’t plan on making you my enemy.” Although his own words bother him to no end, that man is still the king who founded Shin Makoku. He’s the great man that protects the people, brings prosperity to the country, and the people rely on him for emotional support. He has too many respectable qualities to count. But Murata can only reply thus,

“If you’ll become Yuuri’s enemy, I’d have no choice but to become yours.”

The man living alone all this time doesn’t seem traumatized, neither does he look angry. Only his hoarse voice suddenly sounds older, his words full of hope,

“But I need you.”

“If only you had said that to him, back then.”

If only he still had some of the Sage’s feelings in him—this is the first time he thought that. If there was just a tiny bit of that consciousness left, who knows how happy he would have been.

“Even if it was a lie, you should have said that. If you had, you two wouldn’t have separated under such circumstances, hurting each other.”

“Is it no use, saying it now?”

“It’s already too late, Your Majesty Shinou. The person who wanted to hear that line isn’t me, the one you’ve been looking for all this time isn’t me or Regent either, it’s the double black Daikenja. However… he passed away a long, long time ago.”

“Go.”

The man’s body leans onto the chair as he presses his forehead wearily. Golden hair peeked out through the slender, fair fingers. That must be… Murata thinks, those fingers must be his own imagination. His fingers are actually covered in scars, because his hands are always covered in blood.

“Go, go there and find your new king. Be it you or my little brother, you two must surely hate me. In your heart you must be thinking, rather than stay here with me, it’d be better to leave through the fire, right?”

Murata doesn’t reply, crouching down in front of the fireplace as he reaches his hand out for the metal piece, its sides glowing red. He can feel the heat just approaching it, and it looks really hot. Murata desperately pushes aside the image of burning his hands. Relax, it won’t turn out that way, all this is just in his imagination.

“Oh, yeah, as for my other card.”

That feared, idolized man just sits there motionlessly, like an ice sculpture.

“Before I vanish, it’s okay if you flip it over and have a look.”

He reaches out his hand and grabs the metal piece, stands in front of the roaring fireplace, and sticks his left hand with the piece inside. That requires quite a bit of courage, but Shinou does help a little here.

He said this is just a pitch-black cave, and it’s also the exit.

He knows the card has been flipped over, that’s why his memories were pulled out and transmitted to the other person’s mind, just like before, but he doesn’t have the time to wait for that last moment. Murata slowly takes a step into the tunnel of fire.

In order to reach the place he really wants to go.

 

His posture, lying sprawled on the ground, is just like when he first fell. When he gets up, two square things are just ten steps away from him.

It’s the Boxes.

The rope tied onto his body seems to have snapped from the impact of the transition. But the ropes tied into his right and left hands are still there, so he can’t help but heave a sigh of relief—‘Thank goodness I didn’t lose my way halfway through’.

Right above him is the sky, the blue sky stretching cloudlessly just like in his hometown, and around him are lush green plains. As the warm breeze blows past, the tall weeds sway in rhythm.

This is a beautiful world.

But in order to survive in a hot place like this, he’ll need to do quite a bit of preparation. Smiling wryly to himself, he grabs the long black hair draped over his shoulders and thinks he should just chop it off after all.

He raises his hand to block the sunlight on his eyes. At the end of the vast greenery is a white sandy beach, and even beyond that is the blue ocean. The line separating the ocean and the sky isn’t too clear, because the colors are too close.

Smiling softly, he murmurs to himself,

  Please look at that ocean.

It’s just like the color of your eyes.

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