The 369 Game
I woke to find the Demon King had thrown up a transparent barrier around the bed. Trapped, unable to so much as twitch, I was currently locked in a squabble with her.
"...I told you, I'm fine."
"No. Get on my back. Even I can't give in this time!"
So when, exactly, have you ever given in?
"...I can't give in this time either. And I got better first, so what are you even talking about? I'm the one who should be carrying you."
"Ah! Rebellion! My friend just rebelled against me!"
"What rebellion—hey! Get those fingers somewhere else! You murderous little Dooly!"
"Nngh. No. Sign here that you'll ride on my back. Also, what's a Dooly?"
She tapped the written pledge she'd shoved at me.
I hereby agree to be carried on the Demon King's back whenever we move, for the two days until my cold has completely gone.
Should I violate this, I will pay the following penalties: fifteen forehead flicks, five golden calves, and twenty cheek-pokes.
Fifteen forehead flicks? What's she planning, fourteen more on my corpse?
This was the Demon King's Castle: a site of unvarnished human-rights abuse where even the freedom to walk on two feet had been stripped away.
And to think, when she was the one hurting, it was all hhhn... hngh... from her. Her forehead was way hotter than mine, too.
...Not a chance in hell. If anyone's doing the carrying, it's me.
Handling the Demon King was simple. You just had to tangle whatever she wanted with a game.
"Then how about this. We go out and settle who carries who with a round of Iron Fist—"
"No."
!?
"What?"
"I said no."
The Demon King refused the bet in a tone that brooked no argument.
...
Was this real? The antimatter bomb of a gamer girl whose skull contained nothing but thoughts of games was turning this down?
"You getting better comes first. Until then, not a chance."
"...Are you even the Demon King I know?"
"Hmph! What, did you think I'd go, 'Wooowaaah! Iron Fist, an Iron Fist bet! Heheh, let's gooo!' like some idiot? Do I look that simple to you?"
Yes. Exactly that simple.
...
This was a problem. At this rate, I'd be riding around all day on a Demon King who might still have a cold.
Of course, being carried on that soft back of hers might feel ridiculously nice. And she was strong enough to shatter the skeletons' arms, so I wouldn't be any burden to her.
...Still.
The Demon King, flushed red, dripping sweat, writhing in misery. Maybe she'd never had a cold before, and so had even less immunity than most people.
I don't want to see that again.
Who knew? Maybe hauling me around would bring the fever roaring back.
I never wanted to watch her go weak and sickly again. I wanted her to stay the same strapping Demon King who smashed invaders' skulls in with her bare hands.
"Then let's play a piggyback game."
"Nngh, no. Not a cha—wait. A piggyback game?"
Arms still folded, expression still stern—and yet the moment a new game name hit her ears, this gamer girl couldn't help the interest sparking in her eyes. Good. She took the bait.
"No? Then I guess there's nothing for it. This thrilling new game will vanish into the dustbin of history without anyone ever laying a finger on it. Ah, what a shame. Turn around. Back. I'm getting on."
"W-well, I suppose I could at least hear you out?"
The game I proposed was 369. The rules were the kind every kid knows by heart—the kind even the neighborhood dog could recite. You count off numbers one by one, and whenever a number contains a 3, 6, or 9, you clap instead of saying it. The important part: it is not multiples of three. Unfamiliar players would clap on 12 or 15 and then smack themselves in the back of the head for being idiots.
I'd confirmed she understood multiplication back when we played Little Farm, and when she counted her dolls. Whether she'd been taught or picked it up without realizing, this game would definitely throw her.
Once she'd heard the rules, the Demon King's eyes sparkled like a little girl checking the stocking she'd hung up on Christmas Eve. If I backed out of the game now, I might never leave this bed for the rest of my life.
"You're in, then?"
"Ufufu. Of course, of course, of course."
She folded and unfolded her fingers, rolling her eyes in slow circles, as if running back through the rules I'd just explained.
...Heh. You innocent little thing.
Your odds of beating me converge infinitely on zero. You may be quick-witted and sharp-memoried, but in this game, experience is nine-tenths of the win.
Just quietly ride around on my back after this.
"Shall we start? When your turn comes, you've got one second to answer or clap."
"Nngh... one second? Isn't that too fast?"
"Fast is what makes it fun. Well, if you're that unsure of yourself, we could do ten seconds or so."
".....Start."
The moment I taught the swaggering Demon King the clapping rhythm, her mouth opened.
"This decides who carries who to the kitchen."
The Demon King underscored the stakes one more time.
We could go all in—a week of doll-sewing duty, the golden hoe, Red Hare, the works.
...Of course, saying I was that confident would be a mistake. Greed is poison in a wager.
"Here we go. Three-six-nine, three-six-nine, three-six-nine, three-six-nine, one."
"Two!"
Clap.
"Four!"
...Heh. Cute. So cute.
"Five."
Clap!
Haha. Look at our Demon King go. Listen to that hearty clap.
Peach-pink lips pursed, a dead-serious look on her face. Everything was new to her, and yet she always threw her whole self into it. Watching her never failed to warm you through.
"Ten!"
"Eleven."
"Twelve!"
...
Clap.
...Cute.
A familiar chill was creeping down my spine.
Clap.
The Demon King clapped on twenty-nine.
...
The clever little thing hadn't fallen for it. She'd kept up perfectly. Outside my expected range. But the real flower of this game was right here: the stretch from thirty to forty.
You had to clap on every single number. And on thirty-three, thirty-six, and thirty-nine, you had to clap twice.
I'd changed my mind. I was going to crush this gifted little devil—who hadn't an ounce of cuteness left in her—with everything I had.
Clap!
I clapped on thirty. Normally a beginner would freeze here and time out...
Clap!
!!!
The Demon King clapped like it was nothing and sailed right past. One second? It hadn't even taken half. Fine. That was what I wanted.
Clap!
Clap!
Clap-clap!!
...!
Clap!
Clap!
Clap-clap!
Clap!
Clap!
Clap-clap!
...
In a blink, the Demon King tore through the hell-stretch of thirty to forty with that same first expression on her face. I attacked fast; she returned fire faster. The whole thing couldn't have taken ten seconds.
"Forty-four!"
Cute, my ass. You dried-up husk of a demon! Has she been doing nothing but eating and playing this, pretending she couldn't do it?!
Clap!
...
...
"Ah! Youuu! You clapped on forty-five?!"
"...Damn it. Goddamn it... me, making a mistake like that."
"Th-then, um. I won... right?"
"...Yeah."
"Kyaaaa!"
The Demon King bounced up and down, giddy with delight. Then she tried to copy the backflip celebration I'd done during Tecmo World Cup, and promptly faceplanted. She was grinning so hard she didn't even seem to feel it. Come to think of it—was this the first time I'd properly lost a game to her?
"..."
"Time to get on, right!? Hm?"
"...Yeah."
Getting shredded by a first-timer at 369 stung a little, but watching her that happy, I figured I could afford to give her one round.
"Just to the kitchen. Next time we move, we'll settle it with 369 again."
"Heheh. You sure about that? What, you really wanna see blood? Kihihit."
Lately I'd been noticing it: the way I was picking up her childishness, and the way my own speech had started seeping into hers.
"Ah, wait a second."
"...Right. Of course. Drop it."
"Black Tortoise's Shell: Release."
"Titan's Spine: Release."
"Demeter's Tailbone: Release..."
⟨ Buffs Dispelled ⟩
She stacked a lot of those... and what the hell is Demeter's Tailbone...
The thought crossed my mind that she'd just gotten so eaten up by her own aesthetic that she was inventing random buffs and slapping them on. Then I watched those buffs vanish in real time at her feet, and the thought evaporated.
"Now get on. Hurry up! Loser!"
"...Fine."
—Hup.
!
Wow... the feel of her...
How did a person's back feel like this? I'd noticed it when I held her, too—it wasn't just her cheeks that were like soft rice cakes. Her whole body felt like this. Like a cushion, honestly. And the hair brushing my nose smelled ridiculously good.
At this rate I might throw the next round of 369 on purpose.
"Hihih. Mad, aren't you!? You're dying of frustration, right?"
"...Yeah."
The Demon King was smaller than me. Small enough that my feet, hanging off her back, nearly touched the ground. She didn't look the least bit strained, though. Well. That much was obvious, if you thought about it.
"Kihihit."
She set me down in a chair, laid out the meal, and was still beaming from her earlier victory.
—Screee.
Mid-bite of a bean, the Demon King dragged her wooden chair over from across the table and sat down beside me.
"You're so cute. My friend. Really, really cute. Ooryu-ryu."
And then, like a country mutt in the yard, she mashed my face and kneaded my chin.
...
Fine. She was in a good mood. She was allowed.
I could be the adult here and let this—
"There there, coochy-coo, it's okay! Being bad at 369 won't ruin your life! It's okay. It's okay. Here, say ahh for the carrot~"
...
Grit.
...She was getting cocky again?
Should I make her cry? Bring Langplgank over and have him carry me around for a month?
...
No. No.
She was fiercely competitive, and she'd done nothing but lose until now. How frustrated must she have been?
Yeah. Every so often, you had to let her blow off steam like this.
This was practically the first victory she'd ever claimed. I could let her be cute and insufferable.
"...Ahh."
I opened my mouth, and she scooped a spoonful of carrot from her own bowl and popped it in.
"Is it good?"
"...Yeah."
"...Kihihit. Even eating your carrots so well. How can you be this cute?"
I spent the rest of the meal being thoroughly, mercilessly teased.
"Let's bet something big!"
"...Something big?"
For the first time, the Demon King was the one proposing we raise the stakes. That used to be my move.
She must have been feeling pretty confident.
"Whoever loses gets carried around for the rest of the day! How about it?"
"Sure."
I had no intention of backing down. If anything, this was what I wanted. I knew she was good at it now, so I'd go in without letting my guard down.
"And also, um... the winner gets whatever they want. If we piggyback to the game room, we play games all day. If we go to the storage room, we play games all day!"
What she wanted was always so simple.
"Deal."
How much time had passed?
Not a word between us. Only the sound of clapping, back and forth.
Clap-clap!
Clap-clap!
Clap-clap-clap!
A deadlock without an inch of ground given, and before we knew it the count had soared into the thirty-three-hundreds. From here on, you didn't even say the numbers. You just clapped.
Memories came flooding back: three days locked in the game room playing Bubble Bobble. Hours held hostage by Red Light, Green Light.
You lunatic! Just give up already!
The Demon King's palms were flushed an angry red. She was probably thinking something similar.
Clap-clap!
Clap-clap-clap!
In the end, we arrived at the thirty-three-thirties.
Clap-clap-clap!
Clap-clap-clap!
Clap-clap-clap!
And then, at three thousand three hundred thirty-three, the Demon King went—
Clap-clap-clap!
...
"Ah!"
Only when she saw the slow curl of my mouth did she realize her mistake, and clap a burning-hot palm over it.
"...Aahh. Nnnngh... noooo..."
...It was over.
You clingy little leech.
My hands were wrecked just as badly as hers. If I lost my ID now, my fingerprints were so worn down that city hall wouldn't be able to reissue it.
And the whole point of this had been to carry her around so she'd get better... did any of that even matter now?
"...Nngh. That wasn't like me."
Defeated, she hung her head and shook it hard.
...No. That was plenty like you. Right down to losing at the last second...
If she heard that, it'd crush her. I spoke to the dejected Demon King instead.
"I won, so now we do what I want. Yeah?"
"...Nngh. Yeah. Do whatever you want."
—Hup.
I hoisted the Demon King onto my back.
I'd felt it the last time I held her, too—she was impossibly light. It wasn't as if she had a skeleton's scrawny frame, so how was she this light? Consider every claim that carrots are good for dieting hereby declared a bald-faced lie.
Thump, thump.
"...Heheh. Getting carried is fun too. I'm not heavy, am I?"
"Heavy. Feels like I'm carrying Mist Lake."
"Put me down. There's about to be a Meteor Drive dropping on your head."
"I'm sorry! I'm so damn sorry!"
So she cared about her weight too. First I'd heard of it.
"...Hihih. So where are we going?"
"Bed."
"...Nngh. This is what you wanted to do?"
"Yeah. Go to sleep."
"...A falling-asleep-first game?"
"Uh... you don't want to?"
"No. It's not that... what's the prize if I win?"
"Playing whatever game you want."
Her cold might not have fully left her yet. She already had trouble sleeping on ordinary days... I really wanted her to get some rest now.
"...Okay."
I felt the tension drain out of her. Those ruby eyes slipped shut.
"...Hnn."
And before long, she was breathing in soft, even little puffs, like a baby bird.
...
She must have been exhausted.
...
...She's asleep.
I never thought I'd say this about the king of demons, but.
She looked like an angel when she slept.
I pressed down on the back of her soft hand.
—Squish...
—Boing.
My finger bounced right off.
?
...
"Hey. Stop pretending to be asleep."
"...Tch."