Fairy Tale Book (1)

The sky was still dark. Dawn had not yet broken.

"...What are you doing?"

For reasons I couldn't name, my eyes had opened in the small hours of the morning. Afraid the sound of the door might wake her, I eased the handle open as quietly as I could.

And there she was—the Demon King, squatting right in front of my bedroom door. The shock on her face when she saw me was written plain as day.

Shouldn't I be the one more surprised here? There's a crimson-eyed demon sitting outside my room.

"Huh...? Wait—why are you up already...?"

Even at this hour, there wasn't a trace of sleep in her voice. She sounded as bright and alert as she had before we'd gone to bed. As if she hadn't slept ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠at all.

"...Must be because I turned in early yesterday. Eyes just popped open. More importantly... were you waiting for me?"

"Ah, n-no? I was just... passing by and stopped in. I just got here. Just now."

That's a load of crap.

If her transcendent specs had a single flaw, it was that she couldn't lie to save her life. The Demon King averted her eyes, pretending to look elsewhere. I didn't even need to see it—she'd clearly been sitting there for quite a while.

She did the same thing when I watched her through the surveillance orb.

Back then, too, she'd sat in front of my door until I fell asleep. Of course, she had no idea I knew that...

Anyway, this girl really didn't sleep.

"...What? You need something?"

"...Hey. Um... you still owe me potatoes, right...? Fifty of them."

She hesitated in a ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠way that was entirely unlike her.

...No way. This little—! My Golden Hoe I bought the other day!

The Golden Hoe was pretty much the best farming tool in the entire game of Little Farm. I'd barely managed to buy it after all that potato farming and grinding Ryuk. Don't tell me she was asking for my treasure instead of the king potatoes?

Not a chance in hell.

Demon King or friend, none of that would have mattered then.

"Hey... so..."

"...So?"

"Those fifty king potatoes. You don't have to give them to me..."

".....?"

"Will you read me a fairy tale?"

An ordinary request, for once, from the Demon King. It wasn't a difficult one.

"Sure."

"Wha—r-really? You'll read to me?"

"Yeah."

"..."

"..."

"W-wait in the room a bit! I'll go grab the books!"

The moment I agreed, she lit up and took off down the dark hallway. If she'd run like that in the dead of night back on Earth, the downstairs neighbors would have been banging on the ceiling in seconds—but in this enormous tower, no one lived here anymore except the Demon King.

I shut the door, came back in, and sat on the edge of the bed.

That side of her doesn't even surprise me anymore.

If I went outside and told people that a pure-hearted Demon King lived at the top of the Tower, one who whined for fairy tales to be read to her before dawn, they'd probably tie me up in the town square and stone me to death.

A moment later, she flung my door open. She was panting hard, as if she hadn't stopped running the entire way.

"This. This is it."

She held out five fairy tale books. Fortunately, they were in a language I knew.

"Which one should I read first?"

The Demon King pulled out a picture book whose cover showed a blond boy in green clothes, an axe in his hand.

"This one! This one first! It's a fairy tale called Peter Pan and the Beanstalk!"

Anyone with eyes can tell that's a plagiarized mashup.

The author's name printed beneath the cover was James. Probably some guy from Earth. This plagiarist was almost certainly the one who'd been making my life a living hell all this time. If I ever caught a bastard named James writing in front of me, I was going to beat the living daylights out of him.

"Come here."

She was already up on my bed, sitting by the pillows, patting the spot beside her.

"...You want me to sit there and read?"

"Mhm! You're supposed to read books right here! That's the rule!"

That's the rule...

It bothered me, watching language as cheap as that plaster itself over words that ought to have been as elegant as her face. The Demon King had a tendency to pick things up the way a child picks candy off the street, with no idea what it is. I was going to have to watch what I said around her.

"Alright. Scoot over a bit."

I sat down beside her in the spot where I normally only laid my head to sleep, and she yanked the blanket over us as if she'd been waiting for exactly that. My legs and her pale white ones disappeared beneath the covers.

"...Heehee."

She beamed and leaned against me. Soft, cool skin from her upper arm pressed against mine.

...This is the first time we've been together at this hour.

The old me would have been snarling, You fucking bitch! Now you're even dictating when I sleep! I hope you catch some awful disease and drop dead! But right now, it didn't feel entirely unpleasant.

...She's soft.

The feel of her arm brought back the sensation of her cheek from a few days ago, the one I'd pressed against.

"Hey."

"Mhm. What?"

Her face was still smiling, delicate and bright, no more than two fists away from mine.

"...Can I pinch your cheek? Just once?"

"...Huh?"

I knew full well how stupid I sounded, and I still couldn't stop myself. It wasn't a feeling I could reason down. It was like a fluffy cat curled up in a ball, or a heat pack in the dead of winter—something you simply had to touch.

What am I doing.

I was making absurd requests of her, same as she did of me. As if any of this was going to help me survive.

"Suuure. That's fine. Hold on."

She lifted the hand that wasn't pressed against my arm, and layer upon layer of magic circles bloomed beneath the bed we were sitting on. Sure enough, a whole string of apocalypse-grade defensive buffs had been stacked on her cheek as well.

"Now if you pull my cheek, a hellbeast from the underworld won't appear and rip your arm off."

Are you kidding me?! Who walks around with that kind of thing on their cheeks!

If I'd lost my mind and pulled on them yesterday during Bubble Bobble, a hellbeast would have wrecked me six ways from Sunday.

"You can do it now. Heehee."

The Demon King leaned in, grinning wide enough to show her snaggletooth. Our faces, already close, drew even closer.

"..."

I reached out. Her white cheek stretched like a glutinous rice cake, long and slow and impossibly yielding.

Oh.

I was losing my mind.

This softness is insane!

I hereby refused to share a table with any third-rate fool who still called cotton candy, silken tofu, or slime "soft." In this single moment, the standard of softness in my heart had been raised by a full order of magnitude.

"...Theh why'd you suddely do thah?"

The king of all demonkind asked, her cheek still pinched between the fingers of a lowly punching-bag of a porter.

"Ah—it's nothing. Thanks for letting me."

I let go. That was enough. Ever since the incident in the warehouse, my eyes had kept drifting to her cheeks for reasons I couldn't explain... and with this, I had achieved enlightenment.

"Read it now! Hehe."

The rice cake—no, the Demon King—tapped the cover with a pale ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠hand, impatient.

"Ah. Right."

I picked up the fairy tale book with the hand that had only just escaped her softness.

It's old.

A thoroughly worn book. How many times had she gone through it? There were tears and creases and the dark stains of fingerprints everywhere. How many times had she read this, here, alone?

"...This is precious to you, right?"

"Yeah. Super precious."

...I'd better be careful not to tear it.

Gently... very, very carefully, I opened it. Afraid her treasure might rip.

"Hurry up and open it! It won't tear anyway, thanks to Gaia's Blessing, as long as it doesn't catch fire!"

Right. That was so her. The sight of the Paper Crane hanging around her neck scattered every last scrap of my dawn sentimentality.

She swallowed. She had clearly read this book countless times, and still she sat there with her mouth slightly open, completely absorbed—as if Captain Hook and Peter Pan were standing right beside us.

"Hey, Peter Pan. It's time to go to hell. Take this. Buster..."

"NO!!!"

The Demon King erupted without warning. The ferocity of it startled me as badly as a monster lunging out of an opening elevator.

"W-what's wrong? What do you mean, no?"

"Nngh! That just now was nothing like Captain Hook at all! Do it again!"

What does "like Captain Hook" even mean, you rice cake.

"...'Hey, Peter Pan. It's time to go to hell. Take this...'"

"No! That's not it!"

"...'Hey! Peter Pan! It's time to go to hell. Take...'"

"Nnnn. No. That doesn't sound like a pirate either."

From there on, she kept calling NG like the pickiest producer on a dubbing stage. Rage started boiling up in me whether I wanted it to or not, seeping into my voice. And in the end—

"Oh! Oh! That's it! That's the one!"

The Demon King clapped like a delighted seal, beaming with joy. Only after I'd shouted myself hoarse enough to rupture my throat did her eyes light up with utter satisfaction.

"That was amazing! You sounded exactly like a pirate captain!"

"Cough... kh... thanks."

Pickiest girl alive. The most irritating stretch of Captain Hook's part finally vanished when the crocodile with the ticking clock ate him. Good riddance, you damn criminal bastard.

"That was so much fun..."

When Peter Pan and the Beanstalk ended, a tiny glimmer of moisture gathered at the corners of her eyes. Then she picked up the next book.

The next book was Pinocchio and the Forty Thieves. James, you shameless copycat. This was too much. His audacity had officially crossed a line.

Christ... so this is the kind of dark grimoire the children of this world grow up on.

I found myself grateful for the Demon King's kind and endearing nature, that she could have been raised on this and still turned out the way she had. It was a miracle she hadn't become human scum like my old party members.

"Hey."

The Demon King, who had been completely immersed in the book, spoke up.

"Yeah?"

"You don't lie to me, right?"

Her gaze, suddenly anxious, settled on the tip of my nose.

"...I don't."

Don't, my ass. There's no way a relationship like this holds together without lies.

"...You can't lie."

"Okay."

"Not tomorrow. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Not the day after, either."

"Yeah."

"You have to keep every promise you made with me."

"....Yeah."

Having said that much, the Demon King groaned like someone with a guilty conscience. She looked like she was wrestling with something.

Then, as if she'd made up her mind, she squeezed her eyes shut.

"...I, um."

"..."

"I lied earlier too. I really was waiting in front of your door."

"...Ah. Yeah."

I figured.

"...I told you I lied, so if you've ever lied to me before, you have to tell me now. All of it."

...Like hell I will.

"There aren't any."

"That's a relief... so you're going to stay here with me, right? For good?"

"...Yeah."

She drew her hand out from under the blanket. Then she pinched my nose between her thumb and forefinger and tugged it, just a little. Unlike usual, there was no chill at her fingertips.

"No more lying from now on."

"...I won't."

"You don't hate me, right?"

"Yeah."

"...That wasn't a lie. Heehee."

Only then, reassured, did the Demon King let go of my nose. Of my last two answers, one was a lie, and the other was not.