The bank account had been wrung completely dry.
The reason couldn’t be simpler: He had used up all the money.
On what? Well, first, there was that long-sought-after refrigerator. That was a mandatory purchase, he felt, given his qualms about the food-preservation situation, what with summer looming in the distance.
Next, there was the bicycle. It was a record-breakingly cheap fixed-gear, but for the commute to and from his part-time job, it worked.
That, and the washer he bought. He figured at first that the Laundromat would suffice, but the time and annoyance involved came to be too much. Definitely another appliance he wanted squared away before summer arrived.
He had made all of these purchases with cash. And now, his remaining balance would barely cover a stick of gum.
“You should be more careful with how you spend your money, you understand.”
The condemning voice beat against his eardrums.
“…What, did you want me getting sick off rotten food all summer, then? You want me to wear the same outfit every day?!”
“I said nothing like that.” The calm, serene voice still had a chiding air to it. “But think about this. Your account might be exhausted, but you do have a job, yes? And a steady one at that. It would be simple to figure out your income for the next few months. You could have easily paid for all of this on credit.”
“Don’t like taking loans.”
“…I honestly don’t think you’re in the—”
“Plus, there’s all kinds of fees and things for that! I don’t like paying for things that I can’t see and feel with my own hands.”
“But—”
“Never spend money you don’t actually have. I hate debt. If there’s no money, you shouldn’t use it. Buy stuff all at once with cash in hand, or don’t buy it.”
It was a typical one-hundred-square-foot tatami room, the kind you saw all across Japan. In the middle, two men sat facing each other on opposite sides of an old, decrepit kotatsu table, the room’s only heat source.
On one end, the lecturer. On the other, the lecturee.
The lecturer, taller and thinner than his conversation partner, slowly rose and placed a hand on the door of the newly-purchased refrigerator.
“Your Demonic Highness, let me ask you this.”
The “Demonic Highness” being lectured was a man of average build, average height, and dark hair. His lecturer opened the refrigerator door, a twinge of resignation within his otherwise sharp eyes as he shot a stare back at his target.
“How do you plan to survive until your next payday on a block of konnyaku gel, a cucumber, and a carton of milk?”
“I…that…”
The “Demonic Highness” being lectured remained seated, unable to formulate a response.
“I-I’m not completely broke yet. There’s still some money in my wallet.”
The taller man’s eyes seemed to say that this was not an adequate response.
“I, uh, I could always grab some extra food from my job…”
“Oh, so you plan to go all Super Size Me every meal from now until your next paycheck? Do you think that would be the best thing for your health?”
To the side of the refrigerator was a city-provided garbage bag, bulging conspicuously on the floor. It was stuffed with a vast array of boxes and packaging from a certain famous fast-food chain.
“It…it’s still young, this body.”
“And I would wonder how young it would look after a decade of daily high-calorie, high-cholesterol cuisine! When we finally make our triumphant return, hopefully you won’t require a mobility scooter!”
The sarcastic tone continued apace. “Also, you should know that time has different effects on this body from the one before. Ten years as a human being may not seem very long, but it is. Your health is a surprisingly fragile thing, Your Demonic Highness. Are you planning for that at all?”
“All right, all right! Lay off me a second! I’m not, all right?! Are you happy now?! And anyway! It’s not only my fault I’m like this right now!”
“Yes. Of course, my liege. There is no apologizing for the shame that has befallen us. But it was you, as our one and only Devil King, who decided we should bide our time and wait for the moment to rise once more. And in the meantime, you must be diligent in your work and in retaining your health. And I fear you are failing at both.”
The Devil King fell silent. He turned his head to the side, apparently in regret for his behavior. Then:
“Gah! It’s time for work!”
Hopping to his feet, he tore out of the room, as if suddenly remembering he was inside a lion enclosure at the zoo. His lecturer, caught by surprise at this sudden flurry of activity, was left behind by the kitchen counter.
“M-my liege! Wait! We still need to talk…”
“Save it, Alciel! If it’s more complaints, I’ll listen to it when I get back!”
Just as the man named Alciel caught up to him, he slammed the door in a huff. Mere inches saved himself from smashing his nose against it.
“Your Demonic Highness!”
As Alciel called for his companion, the door opened. The Devil King was there, a tremendous glare on his face as he extended a hand toward Alciel.
“Rain! Umbrella!”
The sky had been clear that morning, but ashen clouds now hung low in the sky. Raindrops had only just begun to fall. Before he could say anything else, Alciel wordlessly handed over the frayed, battle-worn plastic umbrella propped by the side of the front door.
“Thanks! See you!”
The door shut in his face once more, to the sound of the Devil King’s feet clanging as he stormed down the stairs.
“Dullahan! My beloved mount! We’re off!”
The so-called Devil King, his wardrobe betraying an obvious dedication to the clearance racks at UniClo, the monolithic discount clothing chain, heroically sounded the bell on his bicycle as he climbed aboard. Balancing his umbrella like a knight readying his jousting lance, he scurried down the alley in front of the apartment building.
Alciel, the lecturer who was bedecked in a full UniClo wardrobe himself, craned his body over the stairwell railing as he saw his companion ride off into the rain. A long, deep sigh erupted across his lips.
After a moment, he turned around and ventured back inside the apartment, a plain wooden placard with the household’s name written upon it in Magic Marker the only thing decorating the door. It listed the kanji to the left, and the English reading—Maou—to the right, with a dash in between the two. In effect, it read to any passing Japanese as THE TRUTH WITHIN to the left, and DEMON KING to the right.
Closing the door behind him, Alciel shook his head and sighed once more. Why did all of this have to happen? The dark clouds and tinkling rainfall blackened the room, making it as gloomy and shadow-laden as his own heart.
The dim scene was broken only by the somber sound of the doorbell. The doorbell? Oh. Right. This building was far too down-market to offer anything like an intercom to its residents. Alciel opened the door a second time.
“…I’m sorry, we don’t own a television here.”
The MHK TV-fee collection agent was a familiar presence in his life by now. It was no lie. There was no TV in the place. The Devil King and more-or-less master of the house reasoned that they could use a smartphone for their video-entertainment needs, but such a high-end device was nowhere near within reach of their strained budget.
“Certainly. I just thought I would check. If you do purchase one, please bring this payment slip to the bank, if you could.”
The collection agent handed over an envelope just as dull and unadorned as his businesslike tone of voice. Then he left, not bothering with even a perfunctory smile.