The Devil Is a Part-Timer!, Vol. 8 Read online

  Copyright

  THE DEVIL IS A PART-TIMER!, Volume 8

  SATOSHI WAGAHARA, ILLUSTRATION BY 029 (ONIKU)

  Translation by Kevin Gifford

  Cover art by 029 (oniku)

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  HATARAKU MAOUSAMA!, Volume 8

  © SATOSHI WAGAHARA 2013

  All rights reserved.

  Edited by ASCII MEDIA WORKS

  First published in 2013 by KADOKAWA CORPORATION, Tokyo.

  English translation rights arranged with KADOKAWA CORPORATION, Tokyo, through Tuttle-Mori Agency, Inc., Tokyo.

  English translation © 2017 by Yen Press, LLC

  Yen Press, LLC supports the right to free expression and the value of copyright. The purpose of copyright is to encourage writers and artists to produce the creative works that enrich our culture.

  The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book without permission is a theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like permission to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), please contact the publisher. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.

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  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Names: Wagahara, Satoshi. | 029 (Light novel illustrator) illustrator. | Gifford, Kevin, translator.

  Title: The devil is a part-timer! / Satoshi Wagahara ; illustration by 029 (oniku) ; translation by Kevin Gifford.

  Other titles: Hataraku Maousama!. English

  Description: First Yen On edition. | New York, NY : Yen On, 2015–

  Identifiers: LCCN 2015028390 | ISBN 9780316383127 (v. 1 : pbk.) | ISBN 9780316385015 (v. 2 : pbk.) | ISBN 9780316385022 (v. 3 : pbk.) | ISBN 9780316385039 (v. 4 : pbk.) | ISBN 9780316385046 (v. 5 : pbk.) | ISBN 9780316385060 (v. 6 : pbk.) | ISBN 9780316469364 (v. 7 : pbk.) | ISBN 9780316473910 (v. 8 : pbk.)

  Subjects: | CYAC: Fantasy.

  Classification: LCC PZ7.1.W34 Ha 2015 | DDC [Fic]—dc23

  LC record available at http://lccn.loc.gov/2015028390

  ISBNs: 978-0-316-47391-0 (paperback)

  978-0-316-47417-7 (ebook)

  E3-20170710-JV-PC

  PROLOGUE

  She never thought this day would come. Even now, she found herself at a crossroads.

  Taking an impartial look at her position, this was a clear dereliction of duty. A breach of trust, even. Although, if you put it that way, she had been abandoning her sworn duty from the very start—ever since that single moment—and just aimlessly passing the days ever since.

  If she wanted to try, she could come up with any number of excuses for it. But if asked whether she was taking any kind of active approach to the issues in her life, the answer was a resolute no. She was merely going with the flow. Her back was turned to her mission; she was too focused on tidying up the problems that loomed in front of her face—and before she knew it, it had grown comfortable to her. Now, her initial mission was starting to seem not so important any longer.

  It was time to come out with it. By now…

  “I’m not sure I know whether it’s really okay to kill the Devil King any longer.”

  “…Oh reeeally now?”

  There was not a shred of reproach to her old friend’s voice on the other end of the line. If anything, it had a sense of relief to it, albeit one still tempered with concern.

  “I kind of had a feeeeling it would wind up like this.”

  “Wind up like what?”

  Her friend chuckled. “Like, by the time we meet again, you still wouldn’t have slain the Devvvvil King or annnything.”

  “Yeah, no defense there, I guess.”

  “Oh, it’s all riiiight! If that’s the way you feeeel, Emilia, there must be some good reeeason for it. Besides…” The friend’s voice took on a more serious, practiced tone. It was rare, coming from her. “You’ve got every right to choose, Emilia.”

  “Choose what?” came the befuddled reply.

  “When Olba betraaayed you, Emilia, you could have easily exacted your reveeenge against all of us.”

  “Revenge? Oh, come on, why would I do that to—”

  “I’m not talking about meee or Albert, now! I mean the Churrrch, or Ente Isla as a whole, you knoooow? The entire world turned its back on you. If you decided to get vengeance, nobody had any right to stop you…even if they waaanted to.”

  “Oh, that’s what you mean?”

  If she were a young Hero, thoughts truly filled with nothing but murder for the Devil King, the idea of her friends betraying her and the world reacting to news of her death with idle complacence would have filled her with deep despair. But these days, it didn’t.

  “Look, I live in a world where everyone’s got cell phones and the Internet’s everywhere you go, but it’s still hard to get info you can rely on. I’m not gonna lose any sleep if a world like Ente Isla gets the wrong idea like that. It’s still a feudal society.”

  “Interrr…what?”

  “Never mind. Besides, I’m too much of a simpleminded ditz for stupid stuff like that to even occur to me.”

  “Well, I dunno what you meeean, but all riiight. If you ever do start to get feelings along those lines, be sure to let me know, okaaay?”

  “Are you trying to tempt me or something?” she said with a laugh. “You want me to do that, or not?”

  “Oh,” came the quick reply. “Whatever path you choose, Emilia, I’m still on your siiide, all right? I’m not at all against destroying the worrrld, even.”

  “The strongest Church conjurer in the world really shouldn’t make idle threats like that. Don’t blame me if the Church starts keeping their eyes on you.”

  “They’ve already got their eyes on me so much! I’m about ready to pluck them out and sellll them as marbles to the local kids.”

  The girl looked at her feet, not too sure how serious her friend was being. Near them was a backpack, filled to the brim with an assortment of bric-a-brac.

  “Well, see you this weekend.”

  “Absoluuutely!” chirped Emeralda Etuva, the most powerful sorceress in Ente Isla.

  THE HERO DEMANDS A LITTLE TIME OFF

  Time passed, calmly and breezily, just like it always did around the dinner table. All the usual sights were there—the freshly cooked rice, aromatic steam rising above it, and the miso soup with chopped carrots in it. Thanks to a fancy new microwave-safe cooking sheet, grilled fish had become a regular presence on the menu. The cold tofu that served as a side dish was festooned with shredded ginger, and at the center of the table, a bubbling bowl of shigiyaki (soup made from eggplant, miso sauce, and sesame seeds) grabbed the most attention.

  The news program on the TV was covering some regional festival or another as its top story, indicating wordlessly that nothing disturbing or otherwise newsworthy had taken place today to disrupt the serenity. The window, open wide, let just the suggestion of a breeze through in the late afternoon, bringing hints of the city bustle surrounding the room
inside.

  To everyone in the tiny apartment in an even tinier corner of Tokyo, everything about this dinner suggested everything was truly well with the world. And all it took to destroy this atmosphere, this bubble of good cheer that surrounded Room 201 of the Villa Rosa Sasazuka apartment building in Shibuya ward, was a single sentence.

  “I’m going back home for a little while.”

  The words, by themselves, seemed innocent enough. But in the context of this apartment, they were a bomb disguised as a herald of peace. Everyone froze.

  “Huh?”

  “What?”

  “Buh?”

  “Wh-what on earth are you saying?!”

  “Y-your home?!”

  “I like tofu!”

  Six different people gave six very different reactions to the girl who lit the fuse—Emi Yusa, better known as Emilia Justina, the Hero of her home world of Ente Isla. She blinked.

  “Wh…what’s with that reaction?”

  The Devil King of this castle—aka Sadao Maou—had been seated at the apartment’s computer desk, textbook in one hand. His face stiffened.

  “I think we’re having a little trouble parsing what that’s supposed to mean,” he supplied.

  “What?” Emi replied, puzzled.

  “Emilia,” came a voice from inside the second level of the closet—from the person who usually would’ve been seated in front of the laptop. “You mind rephrasing that a little? ’Cause I think Chiho Sasaki’s going into a panic, imagining you, Maou, and Alas Ramus living in some white-picket-fence dream house…”

  “Urushihara!!”

  “Agh! Whoa, look out—”

  Hanzou Urushihara, better known as the fallen angel Lucifer, grinned. He was the collective baggage of Devil’s Castle, and perhaps the second most appropriate thing in the world to store in a closet. Chiho Sasaki, the red-faced high school student he’d just namechecked, responded by pushing him fully back into the closet and slamming the door.

  “Whoa! Dude!” came a muffled attempt at self-defense beyond the door. “What the hell, Chiho Sasaki!!”

  “That’s your fault for saying all that weird stuff!” she replied as she strained to keep the door in place, face still red as she attempted to keep Urushihara where he belonged.

  “Chi-Sis, you’re all red!” a deviously innocent voice said at her feet. Alas Ramus, the adoptive daughter of Maou and Emi (though, really, she had adopted them more than anything) had been playing with Chiho a moment ago. Now she was stamping on a big, plastic sheet meant for teaching the alphabet.

  “Oh! Hey, Alas Ramus, it’s almost time for dinner, all right?” Chiho shouted in a failed attempt to change the subject. “It’s time to clean up!”

  “Okeh! Time to kleenup!”

  The sheet was one of the fancier ones at the shop, made of sturdy enough plastic that it wouldn’t tear no matter how badly it was wadded up.

  “But…really, though, Yusa, what do you mean?”

  Chiho dared the question as Maou watched Alas Ramus take the sheet he had spent a chunk of his earnings on and mangle it into a folded, spindled disaster.

  “I, um, I meant pretty much what I said. I was just thinking I’d head back home pretty soon…”

  “Wait, Emilia. What do you mean by ‘home,’ exactly?” came the pained question from a girl in Japanese dress, washing the utensils she had used to cook the upcoming meal.

  “Well, you know… My home. On the Western Island. I grew up in a farming village called Sloane, on the far end of Saint Aile. It got razed by an army led by that freak in your closet.” Emi turned a sharp eye toward the closet door. “So I was hoping I could count on you to watch these guys for me while I’m gone, Bell…”

  She was talking to Crestia Bell, a powerful Ente Isla cleric who went by the name Suzuno Kamazuki while in Japan.

  “Can you provide more detail, please?” the cleric inquired, rinsing the dish detergent off her hands. “I fail to understand your intentions.”

  “Y-yeah, Yusa! It can’t be that easy to go back home, can it?”

  “Oh. Yeah, sorry if I was too point-blank with that,” Emi replied, chuckling at herself as she realized her mistake. “So it’s like—”

  Then she stopped, noticing a man standing behind Chiho and Suzuno.

  “I hardly care a bit where you decide to take yourself…but I refuse to let the miso soup I slaved over go cold for your sake.”

  The voice boomed as the man held a large soup bowl in his hands. Shirou Ashiya, aka the Great Demon General Alciel, turned toward his master at the computer desk. “Your Demonic Highness, we are ready to eat. Please save your studies for later and take your seat.”

  “Yeah, yeah. Emi just destroyed my focus anyway.”

  “Hey! You mind not blaming other people for your stupidity?”

  “Tofu! Al-cell! Tofu!”

  Somewhere along the line, Alas Ramus had approached the legs of the miso-toting Ashiya.

  “Now, now,” Suzuno said as he grabbed her away. “It’s dangerous to scare someone carrying a big bowl like that. Back to Mommy with you!”

  Alas Ramus walked up to Emi, still not entirely convinced of the logic of this.

  “Mommy! Tofu!”

  “All right. Once we all sit down at the table, okay? Don’t put any ginger on my cold tofu, Alciel. I’m gonna give some of it to Alas Ramus.”

  The family had made a regular habit out of giving a morsel of either Emi’s or Maou’s meal to Alas Ramus. But, after carefully studying Alas Ramus and Emi’s portion of tofu, Ashiya shook his head.

  “I refuse. What will you do if Alas Ramus turns into a picky eater?”

  It was such a strange conversation for a Hero to have with a Great Demon General that no one could even begin to figure out what went wrong between the two of them.

  “Ooh,” interjected the only native Japanese citizen in the room. “Ashiya, I don’t think ginger is too good to feed to a baby…”

  “It is vital that she get used to the taste of pungent vegetables,” Ashiya countered—a rarity, considering how weak he usually was to Chiho’s lectures. “The sooner she learns to enjoy this taste, the more exciting every meal will be for her…”

  “Oh, but I get where she’s coming from. I kinda got issues with ginger, too—”

  “And you call yourself a fallen angel, Lucifer?!” Ashiya fumed.

  “Dude, what do you want from me? I lived all this time without ever having ginger before. Did, like, ginger ever show up in the mythology about me?”

  He had a point. Neither in the lofty heavens, nor beneath the brightest flaming pyre of the demon realms, did there exist neat little squares of tofu with shredded ginger on top. That was enough for Urushihara’s argument to gain an ally for a change.

  “I’m, uh, not too good with it, either…”

  The pathetic-sounding statement, uttered as he settled down at the table, came from the great Devil King Satan himself, the monster that unified the demon realms and had been just a breath away from adding the human world of Ente Isla to his list of glorious conquests. And yet here, inside this tiny apartment, mankind finally discovered the one weak point of their future nemesis: The Devil King did not like ginger on top of chilled tofu.

  “Maou…”

  “My liege…”

  “Devil King, of all the simpering things to say…”

  Maou withered under the half-pained, half-pitying expressions that Chiho, Ashiya, and Suzuno put forth before him.

  “L-look, I can eat it, okay? Have I ever not earned my clean-plate award?”

  “Let’s just have Daddy eat Alas Ramus’s ginger then, okay?” said the Hero Emilia, unfailingly striking at the Devil King’s soft, unguarded underbelly. Soon, the operation was under way. As Chiho, Ashiya, and Suzuno looked on at the squirming Maou, Emi carefully used her chopsticks to transfer the ginger flakes over to the devil’s tofu.

  “Agh! Emi!” he shouted at the sight of his tofu suffering under an avalanche of ginger. Emi ignored
him.

  “If you don’t like it,” she said, “bitch at Alciel. It’s not a matter of being finicky—if you feed ginger to someone Alas Ramus’s age, she’s gonna hate it forever. And why wouldn’t she, if even the Devil King aiming to take over the world doesn’t like it?”

  “Oof…”

  Maou couldn’t find anything to counter with. Ashiya looked equally pained. “Ngh,” he groaned. “Bell, surely you have something to say about this!”

  “And surely, Alciel, you see how cruel ginger would be to a tender child such as this… Emilia, I have some low-salt soy sauce in my room. Let me go fetch it. It should be better for Alas Ramus.”

  Suzuno padded off to Room 202 next door. Urushihara looked on as he extended his chopsticks over to the eggplant stew in the center of the table. “Man,” he muttered, “I worry about Alas Ramus’s future if everyone’s gonna spoil her like this…”

  “Urushihara! We have to say thanks for the meal first! Alas Ramus is here and everything!”

  “Eesh. I had no idea raising a kid was so hard. I wouldn’t want that to happen to her…”

  “Dude, Maou, why’re you looking at me when you say that?”

  “Why don’t you ask yourself that?” the merciless Chiho shot back. “Alas Ramus is a lot more sensible and well-mannered than you are.”

  “Right. Here’s the soy sauce.”

  Ashiya, his original topic of conversation now thoroughly in the past, resigned himself to surrender as Suzuno returned with her sauce bottle.

  “…So be it. Let’s eat before the miso soup’s at room temperature.”

  “Hey, lemme get some more rice, Ashiya.”

  “Oh, wait! My mom gave me some boneless fried chicken to share,” the flustered Chiho said as she removed a plastic container from her bag. “Can I use the oven a sec, Ashiya?”

  “Ah, thank you as always, Ms. Sasaki. You will need to turn the center knob to—”

  “Oh, I know. Boy, I almost completely forgot, too…”

  It was a surreal sight, no doubt—the Great Demon General and Church cleric standing in the Devil’s Castle kitchen, a teenage girl bringing them some chicken, the Hero and Devil King discussing modern parenting while keeping a watchful eye on the ill-mannered fallen angel—but the way it all worked, somehow, indicated to everyone that Room 201 in Villa Rosa Sasazuka was, as always, a paragon of peace. It’d take a lot more than some trip back home to rock this boat.