Drawing Quiz (1)
I had no appetite whatsoever this morning.
The moment I opened my eyes and stepped out into the dark hallway, I spotted the Demon King sprawled on the floor, prepping something that looked suspiciously like a game.
Fuck...
Watching someone heat up the branding iron they're about to use on you is not a sight that does wonders for the heart. The last few days had been relatively peaceful, but only because her energy had been at rock bottom. Now, though, she was in such a splendid mood she was humming through her nose, scribbling away on a sheet of paper.
She was lying on her stomach drawing when she suddenly whipped her head around — and our eyes met, mine still full of resentment.
I dropped my gaze instantly, the way you do when you bump shoulders with a tattooed thug on the street.
"Eheheheh."
Yeah. That's about the point where she starts cackling.
She was still sprawled on the floor, giggling to herself, the paper crane I'd given her yesterday hanging around her neck like a necklace. That crane was loaded with so many buffs that even 8-star magic couldn't put a scratch on it. Roughly speaking, you could drop napalm on the thing and it wouldn't even flinch.
No idea what kind of bullshit I'm about to get put through... but I should eat well while I can.
Honestly, that's what I think at every meal. This one might be my last.
Grilled fish, kimchi stew, canned beans, corn. Wheat bread.
When there isn't a game on the menu — Hunger Games style — the meals are ridiculously lavish. I'm not being sarcastic. Since coming to this world, I haven't sat down to a spread like this very often. Even when we took down a named monster and the royal court threw a banquet, I never got to go.
"Dongha, you didn't forget about tonight's banquet, right? I heard there's even red dragon steak."
"You're not gonna take me anyway."
"Yep!"
Hmph. Fuck off. You guys can choke down that greasy crap yourselves.
A Korean's got kimchi stew — that's all I need. Greasing up my stomach with some slimy slab of fat isn't even on my radar anymore. I sincerely hope they all stuff themselves with meat until all four of them get colon cancer and spend their twilight years in misery.
"You still eating?"
Having finished prepping her instruments of torture, she came over to hurry me along. There was ink smeared around her mouth, looking absolutely ridiculous. I was never going to tell her.
"Yeah. I chew slow."
Eat very, very slowly. At the speed of a drifting cloud.
Slowly.
"It's a drawing guessing game."
"...What kind, exactly?"
"Huh? A drawing guessing game is a drawing guessing game..."
"There's more than one kind. Spot the difference, speed quiz, Pictionar— wait!"
Oh, crap!!!!
Her pale ears perked straight up. Those crimson eyes darted rapidly, as if they were downloading every last scrap of data I'd just spilled out of my mouth.
"No, I mean—"
"Later. We'll take our time enjoying those games you mentioned later. Hehe."
Just from the names, she'd already figured out what the games were. A sly little smile spread across her face. Beaming at the prospect of even more things to play, she looked positively delighted.
You fucking idiot...
I'd just shoved my own head onto the guillotine. In that moment I felt like a sea cucumber, a clover, Rebecca, a planarian — like I'd sat down and carved my own gravestone with my own two hands.
"What we're doing today is drawing pictures and having the other person guess them."
She'd learned this game from a picture book, apparently. Goddamn fairy-tale author. Enter them in a contest and they'd land somewhere around two hundred and thirtieth place, easy. The reason this house was stuffed with paper — a commodity not exactly common in this world — was because the Demon King had stockpiled it in every corner in advance, just for this game.
"Here."
She held out ten sheets of paper.
You draw on the front, write the answer on the back. Then you take turns showing the pictures, and whoever guesses more wins.
If you want to win, the trick is to draw so badly nobody can tell what it is...
That's right. This game actually has a guaranteed winning strategy: draw so atrociously that the thing is unrecognizable. And if the other person calls you on it, you just spout some pretentious nonsense like, Ah, well, I'm a Cubist, you see. I reconstructed a three-dimensionally observed subject from multiple viewpoints.
Of course, I had absolutely zero intention of winning.
The Demon King doesn't hate winning. She obsesses over it pathologically. What she despises is being let off easy — being thrown a game on purpose. So the play is to go back and forth, then let her snatch a razor-thin victory. That's Survival 101 at the Demon King's Castle.
Guess some, miss some... then lose by something like eight to six.
Draw one or two hard ones, and fill the rest with obvious objects.
That's settled... now for the rest.
Just one more thing to lock down and I was done. Right. The most important part was still left.
"How about we skip the penalties? I'd like to spend some time focusing piously on the art, for once."
I struck first, before she could pull some stunt involving forehead flicks.
"Yeah? Heheh. Sure, why not."
Yes!
A game starting with every possible landmine defused in advance — so thoroughly I even impressed myself. This was the product of surviving countless battlefields. This is why you don't underestimate experience.
This one's in the bag.
All that was left was to sit back and admire her drawings the way you'd leisurely look at a niece's crayon scribbles.
I'll just draw a few things you can recognize at a glance.
I started filling the blank pages with simple things — an apple, a watermelon, a hat — stuff anyone with two working eyeballs sitting straight in their head would have to get right. I packed in every distinctive feature I could: the apple's stem, a bird's wings and beak, a hemisphere of watermelon studded with unmistakable black seeds.
"Alright, you go first."
The Demon King, wound up tight with competitive fire, flipped a one-minute hourglass to signal the start of the game.
"Here."
My first drawing was a bird. Unless she'd spent her entire life locked in some underground dungeon, there was no way she wouldn't get this...
"Paper crane!"
?
"Nope."
"A millennial bird?"
"No."
"The Heartfire of Dragonix?"
What the hell is that.
Just say bird, you moron!
And the wild guesses just kept coming.
This was bad. This girl. She was the type who overthought everything. Show her an oval and she'd call it an orbital path. Show her a palm and she'd think of a Nazi salute.
I'm going to lose my mind from the frustration.
I wasn't exactly an artist, but not once in my life had I ever doubted that the bird I drew was, in fact, a bird.
I can't just say she's right and move on, either.
I'd written "bird" as the answer on the back, so fudging it wasn't an option. If she found out I'd gone easy on her, she'd throw an absolute fit — that much was guaranteed.
The hourglass was already more than halfway empty. It was too easy a question to just give up on. Felt like a waste.
"Think simpler. Everything you just said has something in common."
With only a few grains of sand left, just before they ran out—
"....A bird?"
She got it, by the skin of her teeth.
"That's right."
The second I gave her the okay, the Demon King started clapping like a seal, overjoyed. She looked like a contestant who'd just nailed the final question on a quiz show with a fortune on the line.
Her reactions are TV gold.
The random thought popped into my head that she might actually do well on television.
"Next!"
Five from me, five from the Demon King, taking turns. I had four left.
She got the second one, then missed the third and fourth in a row. Her brow furrowed, clearly in a foul mood.
"Why do you suck so bad at drawing?"
This from the girl who'd looked at a butterfly and said "palm-leaf fan." The sheer audacity of blaming me made my blood run backward.
You piece of shit demon. Did you get those eyeballs installed just to shoot lasers? Did you flunk out of night kindergarten? How do you not get this? Huh? I am this close to dropkicking you. For real.
I barely managed to swallow that inner monologue.
"Sorry. I'm just really not gifted at drawing."
"No, it's fine. If you practice with me for a week without sleeping, you'll get better in no time."
!!!!!
Oh, no! I don't want that!
The fear that I might have to relive the nightmare of Bubble Bobble made foam start bubbling at the corners of my mouth.
I can't let her miss any more.
If she kept missing and I kept getting them right... on top of the rage of losing, I'd be sentenced to a week of Demon King Drawing Class.
I have to make sure she gets the rest of them.
If the Demon King got all my remaining drawings, that would be eight. That should be enough for her to drop the whole join-my-goddamn-art-class thing.
The next drawing is...
A flower. I drew one big circle, then stuck a bunch of little circles around the edge.
Anyone looking at this would see a flower.
"Next one."
I showed the flower to her. Her energy had dipped a bit compared to the start.
"...A magic circle?"
How is this a magic circle. You level-ten moron.
Okay, to be fair, it could look like that. By her standards — someone who casually lays down over twenty buffs at her feet like it's nothing. But in the rest of the world, nobody looking at this many circles would be enough of an idiot to think "magic circle."
"You know, the thing people use as a metaphor for something pretty."
"A fragment of a star?"
"No."
"The horizon of a mandrake?"
"No."
"Me?"
"? No."
"Then what is it. What does 'metaphor' even mean?"
The Demon King planted her hands on her hips, getting snippy from the frustration.
"No, fuck—"
I was so pent up I could die. I stood in front of her and gave her an example.
"You're prettier than this."
I was spoon-feeding her, blowing on it, grinding it down fine, and pouring it straight down her throat.
"...A flower?"
Yes!!
It felt as good as having a rotten tooth pulled. Was this really a difficulty level that warranted this much relief?
I'm sorry I thought you might be a bigger blockhead than Rebecca!
"...Eheheheh."
She was grinning ear to ear, cheeks flushed, over getting something this easy.
Please stop smiling. I'm begging you.
Three out of five. A little off from my projections, but not a terrible score.
"I drew these since dawn. You might get all ten of them. Ohoho."
And then she'd be pissed as hell that she lost.
Anyway, her drawings being high quality was good news. With that, I should be able to comfortably get six or seven.
"First question. Here!"
The Demon King picked up one of the drawings from the floor and held it up against her chest.
?
What is that.
Time passed, and just as the sand ran out, I gave my answer.
"...A bastard sword?"
"It's a seagull."