CHAPTER 1
Girl hunting -- that was the bait with which I allowed myself to be taken in by Murata. Because of that, after the Obon Festival I wound up at the sea, which was teaming with jellyfish.
Actually, I'm a self-declared pacifist: one doesn't hunt love, it’s a gift one receives. In the end, the reason I agreed to it wasn’t my sixteen years of life without a girlfriend, but rather the prospect of a paid summer job.
"Summer, blue sea, radiant sun!"
"And jellyfish," I added.
"Skimpy swimsuits, fresh air!"
"...and barnacles."
"At the beach, everyone can come across super-cool!"
"Even you, because half of your face is hidden by sunglasses! Are you sure you haven't confused this with skiing?!"
Heading out to refill the vending machines, the two of us ambled in the direction of the parking lot. While the wheels of the handcart fought their way through the sand, I lodged my complaints with Murata in irritation.
"And furthermore -- 'pick up girls or let them pick you up' -- as if! We slave away the whole day long in the beach huts, and then in the evening we still have to help out in the guesthouse. Why don't you let me in on the secret of when exactly we're supposed to have time to flirt with girls with this workload?"
Murata slanted me a sideways glance.
"The time factor is completely overrated. The most important thing is passion, man!" He easily dismissed my grievances.
Ken Murata -- the glasses type who had been in the same class as me at middle school -- shoved all the physically demanding work off on me and had a cushy job for himself. And it was his relatives who operated the beach huts and the guesthouse "Family M." Their solid management practice was based on one simple principle: one can hire friends and family and pay them very little. In this case, their choice was the son of a second cousin twice removed, who was in his first year of high school. But the fact that he did nothing but laze around all day surely wasn’t what they had in mind!
"You know the two office-worker women staying in the Daisy Room?" asked Murata. "They saw it yesterday when you fell down. No, no, they think you're 'completely sweet!'"
The rooms at the guesthouse all had plant-based names.
"And the three old ladies in the Sugarmelon Room were talking about how they'd caught a peek of you changing clothes. And you got a full 100 point score from the four men in the Mandrake Room!"
"Stop!" I managed to interrupt. "You promised me hoards of girls, all of whom were waiting around for nothing other than to be my girlfriend. You didn't say anything about old women and definitely not about men! And this is all completely aside from the fact that I'm not interested in matters of love right now anyway. I'd rather concentrate fully on having a great vacation job and the potential for a fat wallet at the end of it. There is one thing I find extremely odd, though -- how is it that an upstanding worker such as myself earns exactly the same amount as the expert nose-picker, Ken Murata?"
"Oh come on, keep your cool. You'll see, any moment some girls will be coming around the corner, and they'll see us as super-cool high school students."
I had long given up the prospect of an amorous adventure this summer. Girlfriend or no girlfriend, it didn't matter -- as long as I could generate enough money to fund my amateur baseball team. As for the romantic hopes of my buddy here -- that train had long since left the station.
Sure enough, Ken Murata, who trudged along next to me in his beach sandals, had actually bleached his hair. It was his new image for the late summer season, so to speak. His hair was now almost blond, and his eyes were covered by blue contact lenses. He wore a pair of coordinating blue sunglasses with prescription lenses. People who are nearsighted don't have it easy.
"What are you looking at?" he griped. "You know, there are baseball players who dye their hair, too! That Matsui you think is so great, he's blond too!"
I almost answered: Well, that's the point, isn't it? He is good-looking, that's why he looks good with that hairstyle. But instead I just sighed. Murata isn’t actually ugly. He has shrewd and pleasant facial features that accentuate his intelligence and personality. If he had a little more confidence in himself, he could get a girlfriend without bleaching his hair.
"The colored contact lenses are really too much of a good thing, though. And don't forget that you go to an all male school. You'd better be careful that you don't end up with a boyfriend instead of a girlfriend at the end of the summer."
"So what, who cares? In that case, I'll simply go out with a guy! It doesn't matter, I just want to be more popular, cost what it may. But that's something you don't seem able to understand, Mr. Shibuya Yuri, Harajuku Fuuri."
Yeah, it's true. My name is Yuri Shibuya. Literally. That's not even an abbreviation. The amount of trouble it's caused me in my sixteen years of life... But whatever; lately I've been starting to find it very practical.
"And what the heck were you thinking with this ancient plot device, wanting to snag yourself a girlfriend at the beach huts on summer vacation? That doesn't even work any more in shoujo manga. Seriously -- when it comes to women, you are truly the last great dreamer."
"Oh yeah? Well it seems like you think the girls are all standing around in droves on the baseball fields squealing, just because you get all riled up by amateur baseball players! I'll tell you one thing, Shibuya -- when it comes to amateur baseball, you’re the one who’s the last great dreamer."
"But I never said that girls were squealing on the baseball field!"
"What does it matter, anyway? If you were at home, you'd just be hanging out in front of the TV, taking in the high school baseball tournaments. There's so much more benefit to being here. You're earning money for your team, and you're getting rid of that baseball-jersey tan that bugs you so much. So please quit your complaining."
I opened the door of the vending machine and pulled out a blue can. The sports drink was so cold that I could barely taste its sweetness. Murata pulled the snacks out of the box and stuck them in the vending machine.
He wasn't completely wrong. My baseball tan really wasn't all that chic. From the neck upwards and all the way to my upper arms, I was tanned brown. But the rest of my body was shockingly white. At the pool, I’d totally stand out, and not in a good way. Some guys on the baseball team I lead had even gotten the nickname "himohiki" -- like the long white underwear.
But actually, we were in danger of earning ourselves a new design on our bodies. A couple of people had looked over at us and stifled their laughter -- no wonder: we definitely looked comical.
"You can be happy your shoulders and back are finally going to be tan, but your chest, stomach, and the front of your thighs are going to remain chalk white. We look like two doraemons, practically calico!"
The beach hut uniform was a swimming suit with an apron over the top. A sweet young lady in this outfit would surely be a vision worthy of the gods, but we were definitely no feast for the eyes. Even so, the young female guests were constantly staring at our backsides. It bordered on sexual harassment.
Murata had practically reached fetish levels with his swim thong. For the first apron-display of my life, I'd rather my eyes had something better to take in. On the whole, the effect was more like a disguise than anything. I bet the view would put erotic fantasies into the minds of the ladies, though.
"Well, whatever, it doesn't really matter," declared Murata. "One is only sixteen once, and the summer is short. And even the peacock decks himself out to prepare for a romance."
"Peacocks wear camouflage-colored swim thongs?"
"Dude, what is your problem? Heck, you've got a stone necklace bouncing at your neck. And you're running around the beach in a baseball cap! No one wears baseball caps any more. How would you like it if I were to start calling you ‘Kyojin-kid’ or ‘Hanshin-boy,’ hmm?"
"Yeah, go ahead and laugh. We'll see who laughs last when you've got sunburn on your forehead."
After I'd finished my drink and thrown the bottle into the trash, I fingered the stone hanging on my chest. It was a strong blue -- deeper than the blue of the sky. Under the UV-rays, the stone had heated up a little and looked a touch more washed out than usual. The expectations of the one who'd given it to me and the sad fate of its previous owner disturbed me. The stone was supposed to be a talisman, but I wasn't convinced that a weakling like myself was worthy of it.
"And on top of everything, I have to waste my time here."
"Now wait a minute! What do you mean, waste? The experiences gathered in one's youth are totally important. Who knows how you might make use of them later? There are worse careers."
No thanks. Not interested. I already have a career.
I, Yuri Shibuya -- a baseball boy like you find on every corner -- was at this point in time already the ruler of my own castle and empire. And I wasn't your normal, everyday type of king, either -- I was nothing less than the king of the demons.
Not too long ago, I was flushed away from a pretty unromantic venue into a fantasy world that would have made a great setting for an RPG game. There, I was surrounded by a troupe of unearthly beauties, who dropped the job of Demon King in my lap without further ado. I thought I was dreaming. But it was all real. Starting with my official appointment as King of the Demon Empire, all the way to the mountain of problems that had to be solved because the relationship between humans and demons was well past strained.
There were still moments when I wanted nothing more than to run away from all the responsibility. And I still have a lot of doubts as to whether I'm actually qualified for such an important task. I have only my teammates to thank for the fact that I haven't already failed miserably -- they've always got my back.
"Hello? You guys are from that red guesthouse across the way, right?"
I had let my gaze drift off in distraction, but as I heard this voice, I lifted my head.
I saw two female students walking towards us. They were a little bit older than us; they were holding onto each other tightly and seemed near to tears. Murata's hand, which had been busy refilling the bottles in the vending machine, froze. With a smile he replied to them, "Yes, that's right. Is there a problem? Did one of you get stung by a jellyfish?"
One of the girls was covering her naked breasts with her arms. Between her soft breasts a breathtaking valley coasted downhill. What could have happened?!
"My friend's bikini top washed away. Over there, by the grotto. It got stuck on an outcrop. You can still see it over there, but we can't get to it."
Dark blue with thin red diagonal stripes. And lemon yellow with yellow strings to tie it on. What am I talking about? The color of the bikinis, of course!
The girl with the stripes had wrapped her arm comfortingly around her crying friend. She had a belly-button piercing.
No wonder that bikini top got pulled off, I thought to myself. Anyone who regularly wears underwear that ties on knows how dangerous it is. As weird as it might sound, I'm speaking from firsthand experience there.
"Don't worry, the boys will take care of it," the belly-button-piercing girl consoled her friend.
Aha, so it was as simple as that, was it. The matter had already been decided without even consulting us. Well, okay, so I guess we were employees of the guesthouse and not regular tourists, after all.
Actually, for a patron of the guesthouse, we would surely fight our way through any grotto or the deepest jungle. We were immediately all for it. The fact that these two girls were really cute had nothing to do with it. Likely story!
"Well, then: off to battle!"
"Not quite, Shibuya: off to the grotto!"
The cave was bigger than expected. The dusky lighting inside made it the ideal spot for a cozy rendezvous. At this time of day, the water reached about hip level. To reach the grotto, for better or worse, one had to go through the water. On the other side of the grotto, a lemon-colored thing was hanging on a jagged ledge. There was only one problem: in front of the rocks, a red flag waved cheerfully in the water.
"Swimming is forbidden here. Looks like somebody didn't stick to the rules."
"It looks like about 20 meters. You can swim, right, Shibuya?"
"What, me? But it's forbidden!"
"Oh come on now, don't make a fuss. You know you're already a true expert when it comes to swimming in forbidden places. Have you already forgotten the dolphin pool?"
I had no idea what to say to that.
I dipped a foot into the water. The seawater was colder than I anticipated, and it seeped through my gym shoes. I twisted up my apron. Testing the rocky ground carefully with the soles of my shoes, I set off to rescue the yellow butterfly which had been left behind in the grotto.
"Shibuya, is everything okay?"
As I reached the red flag, the water reached up to my chest. With careful steps I crept nearer the object of my desire. I stuck a hand out towards the yellow fabric. Almost there. My very first contact with a freshly worn bikini. As my fingers finally brushed it, I was overwhelmed by fantasies that I'd rather not put into words here. The slightly warm, moist material clung willingly to my right hand. Wasn't this a good opportunity? Almost deserved as a part of my reward? Just once, to pull it quickly over my head. Who could hold it against me? Okay, okay, better not. Who knows what its owner would do to me after that. But just once, to snuffle at it a bit...
"Shibuya, come back! We want to get back to the guesthouse!" Murata waved his arms about dramatically.
Scraping together the last bits of my self-control, I threw my lemon-yellow prize over my shoulder.
"It's fine, simmer down already! I'm coming al-- urgh..."
As I was about to take my next step, I saw some sea animal right in front of my foot.
"It had to be a crab of all things, didn't it?!"
When one steps on a live crab, the foot gets a hefty punishment. At least, that's what all the Japanese kids learned from the fairy tales.
The enemy began to threaten me with its brown claws, waving them up high. I executed a backwards evasive maneuver, splashed down onto my back, and submerged my entire body in the salty seawater. The bikini top that I'd laid loose over my shoulder floated up and threatened to drift away before my very eyes.
"Damn it, stay here!"
Quickly I stuck my hand out, but I missed it by a hair, and the bikini top sank under the surface of the water. It's not that easy to escape from me, my little friend! I fished my arm around under the water after it. Suddenly I was sucked deeply down into the water.
"Murata! It's a giant squid!"
All three of them were laying on the beach with their heads propped up on their hands. They all took up a "What? I can't hear you!" pose.
Stubborn as I am, I didn't consider for a moment letting go of the bikini top I'd won through my own sweat and effort. I sank deeper and deeper, until the seawater went up my nose and it became impossible to take any more breaths.
Four months ago, I would have inevitably made a great fuss and broken out in complete panic. But today I could maintain some small measure of calm, because I already knew what was happening. It must be the suction from over there. I was being called back to the Demon Empire.
Thanks to my prior experience, I knew that resistance was futile. One simply had to take up as relaxed a posture as possible, breathe deeply in, breathe deeply out -- dang it! A piece of seaweed got in my mouth when I breathed in!
"A question, Father."
"What is it, Yu?"
"Is there maybe somebody in our family who is anti-alcohol?"
"No, your mother and I don't hold ourselves back entirely when it comes to drinking."
"But then why is there so much alcohol-free beer in our refrigerator?"
"It's there for you, of course. Middle school students always feel the need to go behind their parents' backs to try cigarettes and alcohol, isn't that right? After all, kids are full of curiosity at your age. But unfortunately, alcohol and puberty don't go together well at all. It hinders physical development, weakens the brain cells and makes the child lose enthusiasm. That's why Mama and Papa decided to keep only alcohol-free beer in all the places you could find. I know it's cold comfort, but anytime you like, I can describe the taste and effects of real spirits to you with words! So, Yu, pay attention now, here goes: glug, glug, glug. Ask me now, right away -- wow, man is that good!"
In spite of these mean little games of my father's, I remained abstinent. As an athlete, I didn't want to put even a single millimeter of potential body height into jeopardy.
But one fine day, when I have presented myself to the entire world as a baseball player, I'll enjoy a bottle of beer without restraint. Ah, what a glorious image! I wouldn't refuse anyone the right to hose me down with fresh beer! Until it burns my eyes and fills my nostrils, until I can't breathe and have to cough it up... and...
"Gurgle... hmphaaaaah!"
Fluid pressed into my head, not just in my nose but also in my ears. It hurt so much I had to close my eyes. I tried to breathe but I couldn't sense a hint of air anywhere around me. I wanted to struggle, but I found I couldn't stretch my limbs out at all. When I rose up, my head banged against some kind of obstacle. Where the heck was I?! It felt like someone had locked me up inside a beer keg. And it tasted like that too.
Oh my god, could it be that it actually was a beer keg?!
I located a paper thin layer of oxygen in the vicinity of the ceiling, pressed my lips against the wooden lid, and breathed. Full of doubts, I kicked against the walls that closed me in. In truth, the thing was very sturdy.
I marshaled all my strength and threw myself to the left. The keg lurched to the side. After it had completed three full rotations on its rim, it tipped over. The violence of impact broke it apart with a crash. I found myself gasping for breath on the ground, in the middle of a lake of beer. I wonder if Momotaro, the peach boy, also felt like this?!
After I had more or less collected myself and was taking in my brightly lit surroundings, a few women immediately caught my eye. They wore ultra-short mini-skirts and blue aprons just like the one I had. They flitted busily here and there between the tables, supporting crockery-filled trays high in the air with both hands. The tables were nearly all occupied. Various shouts came from all around; I couldn't tell whether they were drink orders or sexual harassment.
So I had landed in a bar? That was new. In the middle of the room, a group of people had clasped shoulders and were singing a song at the top of their lungs. In the corners sat men who preferred solitude, nursing their beers alone. Someone at the nearest table pointed at me and shouted, "Hey, look! That waiter broke a beer keg! Look here you, we could have drunk that!"
"Since when does this joint hire male waiters? Hey, what kind of a guy is that, anyway?"
The red-faced drunk guy stared at me. Shoot! I hastily pulled my cap down over my face. In this world, black hair and black eyes had a certain meaning. It could be dangerous to show them around casually.
"Well, son-of-a-gun, boy! That's going a little far, don't you think? Even dyed your hair black! I can understand admiring the king, but you better not let yourself be discovered by his bodyguards looking like that. They're not as understanding as we are."
Luckily for me, they thought I was a fan of the king -- so, as it were, a fan of myself. I was, so to speak, my own fan. This was starting to get pretty comical. But that thing about the bodyguards made me pause. Had some dubious organization been founded without my knowledge while I was gone?
"Your Majesty!"
The wooden door was violently ripped open and a man with crazy, wild hair came storming towards me. I sneaked a quick glance out the door; outside it was the dead of night and a heavy rain thundered down from the sky.
"Your Majesty, I do hope nothing has happened to you?!"
"Hello, Gunter!"
"Oh, what an overpowering joy it is to see you again! But what... how..."
From one moment to the next, his happily glowing countenance reversed itself. He became pale as ash, and blood ran from his nose.
"B..b..but why are you dressed like this?! You are naked! And you're wearing an apron!"
"Naked? Apron? What?! No, damnit! I’m wearing swimming trunks!"
"And why are you clutching that brassiere??"
Brassiere? Oh, he meant the bikini-top.
Lord Gunter von Kleist was the competent advisor to the 27th King of the Demon Empire (that's me) and he was the empire's overprotective schoolmaster. And he was, once again, about to break out in tears.
Gunter's appearance was so magnificent that one brief look at him stormily captured the hearts of women. But as soon as I came on the scene, he always drowned in mucus and tears, and his breathtaking beauty went straight down the drain.
The customers at the bar had begun to whisper: "The bodyguards! The bodyguards are making their move!"
"You're the one they meant by that, Gunter?!"
At that moment, a small shadow came flying at my chest. "Yuri!"
"Greta! What are you doing here?"
I lifted up the little girl who had, through various circumstances, become my daughter. She had beautiful olive skin, browned by the sun, along with energetic eyebrows and long lashes. Her auburn curls were bound into two braids. I was definitely a smitten father, but she really was extremely cute.
"Man, Greta, you get prettier every day!"
I looked over at the door and saw Lord Weller suddenly standing there. Like always, he was calmness itself. I had never once seen him lose his poise.
"Hey Conrad!"
I expected him to answer me with his refreshing smile, like he usually did -- but instead, the second oldest of the three most dissimilar brothers of all time frowned. He pressed his jacket into my hand and eyed the lower half of my body critically. Then he gave some money to the nearest suitable customer at the bar, who proceeded to pull off his pants.
"Here, put these on."
I hurriedly tugged the pants on without taking off my shoes. They were still warm from their previous owner.
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