A Day Off

A rushing hiss. Patter, patter.

There was a certain poetry to the sound of fierce raindrops drumming against the tower walls. Of course, this was the highest floor, higher even than the clouds — rain was an impossibility here. The rain was falling somewhere far below. Up here, all you could hear was a faint, rumbling vibration.

Come to think of it... I haven't done laundry since I got here.

I was pretty sure the leather clothes I was wearing had started to smell. Always teetering on the knife-edge between life and death, I'd gotten lazy about the basics.

Yesterday's Demon King was a little sentimental.

With my body finally loosening up, I even had the leisure to get maudlin. Yeah. It was raining, and the Demon King seemed like she'd be quiet today. She'd leave me alone. Time to catch up on the laundry.

The door burst open.

"Come out."

Fuck.

A room in the Demon King's Castle.

Sunlight blazed overhead. Incredibly, a sun the size of a billiard ball hung from the ceiling of this room — one the Demon King had made with her own two hands.

She was currently pulling cabbages from a vegetable patch about ten meters across.

"Do you... actually need to farm?"

"Obviously. Those napa cabbages you ate? I grew them myself."

Pop. Pop. She yanked cabbages buried deep in the soil out with one hand, her movements brisk and busy. With that kind of strength, she wouldn't be farming — drop her in a logistics warehouse and she'd be the ace of the place overnight.

"...If you just sit still, don't adventurers bring you money by the handful anyway?"

"...Not many of them show up carrying cash. That money's just a side gig. And I've got things I need to save up for."

A surprisingly down-to-earth Demon King, this one. Not that I needed more proof — traces of thrift were scattered all over the Demon King's Castle. Empty cans reused as wash cups. Used soapy water saved up for laundry.

She pulled eight cabbages and loaded them into a cart, then clomped toward me in a pair of yellow rain boots that didn't resemble her in the slightest.

"Starting today, you're helping me with my work."

"...What kind of work?"

She peeled off her dirt-caked gloves as she approached, and her face stopped right in front of mine. She narrowed her eyes into slits.

"If we're gonna live together, you've gotta earn your keep. What, were you just planning to play with me forever?"

Are you insane? Play with you?

"You had fun just playing this whole time, huh?"

It wasn't fun for shit. Get lost.

"From now on, you're working with me."

That's actually better.

I was hoping for it, honestly. Being a farmhand beat a tug-of-war where I could drop dead at any second, a hundred times over.

I nodded, and the Demon King let out a low, nasty little uhihi of a laugh.

"We have to finish all of this today."

The Demon King hauled over a huge sack and upended it. Round things spilled across the floor. Heads. They were heads.

Jesus.

Doll heads. Right. The Demon King's actual profession was a middle stage of doll production — in other words, handicrafts.

"Hmm... everything you could actually do is... all too hard. What should I even give you."

"Just show me once."

The Demon King started assembling a doll, stringing the stuffed parts together in a smooth run. A bear, a rabbit, and a dinosaur.

"...By the way."

"Hm?"

"Do you go out and sell these yourself?"

At that, the needle that had been moving in perfect rhythm came to a dead stop.

"....No?"

"Then?"

"...They come pick them up later. I leave it to them."

Someone's been coming and going from this place?

The thought that I might use this person to get out was discarded immediately. Anyone in league with the Demon King wasn't going to lend me their strength. I was just surprised that there was someone who regularly cooperated with her at all.

Then again... if you think about it for even a second...

The ingredients here — the meat, the canned goods, even daily necessities like soap — it was hard to believe the Demon King had made all of it herself, or that adventurers had brought all of it in.

"Done..."

The Demon King finished a doll. It was excellent, nothing to fault — except the stitches were a little wide, a single blemish on an otherwise fine piece of work.

"Hand it over."

"Huh? Why?"

I took the new doll from her and proceeded to burn into those bright crimson eyes what the dignity of a craftsman actually looked like.

"What the hell are you!?"

The Demon King's eyes went round with shock. Those eyes — they probably looked a lot like mine, back when I'd watched her bat away every last thrust of Nine's Absolute Piercing with her bare hands.

There. Done.

Her work had been excellent, but it couldn't compare to mine. I held the fabric by nothing but the very tips of my thumb and index finger, minimizing the surface area of contact so it would barely pick up any grime. Unlike the Demon King's, where the needle had been driven straight through from top to bottom — leaving visible stitch marks if you looked closely — I had run the thread laterally through the fabric, so that unless you pried it apart on purpose, you wouldn't see a thing.

The first principle of dollmaking: conceal the fact that it is a doll.

Fuck. I was about ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠to achieve enlightenment over something this pointless.

"Have you done this before?"

The Demon King asked from beside me, her crimson eyes shining bright.

"Plenty of similar work."

Those bitch party members. They'd charge in with their whole bodies, trusting nothing but their stats, and I'd spent every waking day stitching their clothes back together until I'd attained the dao of the running stitch. Yuria's face, the one who'd worked me the hardest, floated up unbidden.

Grrr! Those fucking bitches!!!

The anger surged. Those fucking bitches. They'd worked me like a dog, made me do every last piece of shit work, then gotten their asses handed to them by the Demon King, dumped me in a place like this, wiped their ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠own memories, and walked out holding hands.

They coasted through life on easy mode! Those fucking bitches!!

"Huh? Hey! What's wrong with you!"

Ah. Crap.

The head of the doll I'd been working on had torn. The emotion had overflowed, and I'd wound the thread too hard without realizing it.

"...One defective. Sorry."

What if I said, Nothing to be sorry for. We can just stick your head on instead?

"...It's fine. One should be okay."

A good while later, we wrapped up. The Demon King carefully packed the finished dolls into a clean sack.

"Nngh — now I just have to take them down to the first floor."

She said it while stretching.

"H-hey, I'll come too."

"No."

Bloodshot veins stood out in the Demon King's eyes. A sinister aura spilled from her feet, delivering a rejection so fast it wasn't even close.

"Absolutely not."

"Got it."

I didn't know what she was so worried about that she wouldn't let me tag along, but she was probably afraid of something along the lines of me escaping.

"...Hey. Those are the only clothes you have, right?"

The Demon King pointed at my leather outfit, which looked about as dignified as a straw mat.

"...Yeah."

That was the truth. Our party had been a leading candidate for the Hero Party, but every last bit of the money went to the four combatants. In practice, I hadn't been any different from a pack mule they rode around on. I'd washed and reworn this same set of leather clothes over and over.

"I see. Heehee..."

Why is it funny that I'm a clothes beggar.

I couldn't for the life of me grasp the punchline.

"Heeheehee. Let's eat first."

Food! Kimchi stew!

If you asked me to describe a happy moment living with the Demon King, the only thing I could even put on the page was the meals. The lack of steamed white rice was a small shame, but compared to the rubber-clay slop I'd been eating before I got here, this was a delicacy of a completely different class.

Maybe it was because I'd been eating well these past few days. I could now restrain myself from gobbling like a starving animal even in front of a well-set table.

"...Here. Take this."

The Demon King held out something like a gift box. The wrapping, woven from leaves and twigs, wasn't pretty, but you could feel the care in it.

...No way.

I swallowed. A bad feeling welled up. I undid the earnest outer wrapping. Inside, there would be a head. One of my party members'. And the Demon King would say something like:

Your comrades? Ahh, those. Kee-kee.

Fuck...

I didn't actually think that's what it was — but for someone who still couldn't go against the Demon King's terror, the suspicion was inevitable.

"Open it."

"...Alright."

Rustle. Rustle.

I tore through the wrapping she had so carefully woven. The Demon King was staring straight at me, chin propped on one hand, grinning so wide it split her face.

Whatever comes out, don't flinch.

I steeled myself. I would not, under any circumstances, give her the reaction she wanted. A rich reaction was the first button on the shirt of getting tormented.

It's all unwrapped.

I opened the lid of the wooden box inside.

...Huh?

Clothes. Navy clothes.

"Heheh. Take it out."

"...Okay."

I lifted it. A navy hoodie in heavyweight cotton.

"This... you want me to wear this?"

"...Yeah. Heehee. How is it?"

How was it...

I liked it a lot.

I'd been thinking even a new set of leather clothes would be nice. A hoodie I might have worn back on Earth went without saying.

...Whoa.

I turned it over in my hands. A modest design, with nothing but a flat, bone-colored mark on the left chest.

"That's made from melted Fenrir fang."

...She really would stake that fang as a prize or try to give it away the second she had an opening. At this point, was Fenrir's fang even good for anything?

I didn't know about the rest, but fabric like this was definitely precious in this world.

"Can I try it on?"

"Yeah."

I threw off the rag of a leather outfit I couldn't even remember last taking off, then carefully eased my head through the clothes she'd given me, terrified they might tear.

What? The size is a perfect match.

The fit was insane. I'd always worn clothes reasonably well, but this was on another level.

"Heheh, it's a perfect fit, right? I measured you while you were sleeping."

You crazy woman! Don't just measure people's bodies whenever you want!

...Whatever.

Anyway. Really.

I really did like it.

A gift...

When was the last time I'd received one? Even adding up my memories from Earth, it was hazy.

I hadn't expected I'd ever say this to the Demon King.

"Thanks."

"...Wha—?"

The Demon King went blank, then studied my face closely.

"...What?"

"No, I've just never seen you like something that much."

"What?"

"Heeheehee... eheheheh."

She smiled, and it was a pretty smile. I could only stare at it, at a loss.

"Heehee. I'm gonna go drop the finished doll sack off on the first floor. Keep eating."

I liked it?

...

Bullshit. Fuck that.

My old party members had thought of me as a dog they kept tied up. They'd force a leash I never asked for around my neck, toss me a few gnawed rib bones, and figure I was some mutt who'd wag his tail and love them for it.

The Demon King would be the same.

Over one lousy piece of clothing...

No. I was grateful for the clothes. But there was no way that could act as some catalyst to bind me here.

...Should I take it off for now.

Stew might splash on it while I was eating.

Huh? What's this.

I looked into the box, meaning to fold the clothes neatly and put them back, and found a piece of paper with writing on it. I took it out.

...What does this say.

The handwriting was crooked ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠and a complete mess, nothing but large letters — like a kindergartener had written it.

...

A latch clicked. A door creaked.

She was already back — she must have used teleportation.

What is that face...

What was her expression right now?

Rage? Grief? Emptiness?

Even I, a connoisseur of the Demon King's face, couldn't read it. I'd never seen it before. But there was one thing I could be sure of.

It was a filthy emotion, on a completely different level from anything up to now.

"Why... what's..."

"What is this."

She set a scrap of paper, creased with fold marks, down on the table. I knew those words. I'd seen them before.