The Gift
President of the United States Ronald Taylor found himself letting out an involuntary hum of awe as he gazed at the otherworldly being standing before him. Astria. The creature known as the Great One.
The first thought that struck him upon seeing her was simply: She’s huge. Ronald himself stood six-foot-two—188 centimeters by the more civilized metric system—and tipped the scales at over 220 pounds—100 kilograms in the same unfashionable units. Yet she still towered over him by a full handspan.
And then there was that figure, the kind that belonged on the pages of some island-nation manga. Had she been even a little shorter while keeping those same proportions, she would have taken the world by storm as an international playboy-magazine model. But at that height…
Ronald wrenched his gaze away from the black-hole pull of her chest and forced himself to meet her eyes.
“Astria… Earth has no shortage of goddesses who share a similar name. It suits you perfectly.”
“Is that so? What a remarkable coincidence.”
It was, of course, no coincidence at all. When she had chosen the name, she had deliberately drawn inspiration from the mythologies of Earth. The deeper meaning, however, was entirely her own. It was a name she had taken so she would never forget her homeland. Translated literally:
The Dragon D’ Queen Ria of As.
The Dragon King of As.
Not a single human on Earth could possibly grasp what it meant for her to reveal that name.
“At any rate, since you have come as our guest, I shall entertain you lavishly in my capacity as King of America.”
“Mm. First, I would like to sample the foods of Earth.”
“Have no fear. The White House chef is the finest in the world.”
And so the man who called himself King of America grinned with undisguised delight, while Astria, watching him, waited in eager anticipation of whatever dishes might appear.
Before long a burly man who looked far more like a bodyguard than a cook wheeled a food cart into the banquet hall.
“Allow me to begin with the appetizer. Butter-roasted lobster—”
The White House chef kept sneaking sidelong glances at the horns rising from Astria’s head, yet never once lost his professional composure as he described each prepared dish. Fine dining of this caliber was something she had not experienced in thousands of years—nor, for that matter, had she ever set foot in such places even before her death. So she simply watched Ronald across the table and mirrored the way he wielded his fork and knife.
Despite her complete lack of knowledge, her knife-work somehow evoked the refined elegance of British aristocracy. Even a closer inspection would have revealed that her movements were scarcely different from Ronald’s own.
“Mmm… Chef! Bring me that.”
“That, sir…?”
“This, man—this!”
After two or three main courses had come and gone and the meal was roughly halfway finished, Ronald began jabbing at the call button beside him as though his throat had suddenly gone dry. The chef, startled, nonetheless produced a frosty can of Diet Coke at once.
Fssssht— At the sound of carbonation escaping, Astria’s eyes went round as saucers.
“What is that?”
“Ah, this is called cola. Would you care to try some?”
“I would like a taste.”
It was the very beverage she had meant to buy during her previous clandestine visit to Earth and had forgotten. Facing a glass of cola for the first time in millennia, Astria sank into nostalgia. She poured the ice-cold drink into a glass packed with cubes, then drained it in one long pull. Memories of her human life bloomed fresh and vivid. Cool. Refreshing. The sharp fizz raced from her scalp to her toes; had her wings been free, they would have been flapping with pure joy.
Ronald watched her with a thoroughly contented smile. As a man who regarded cola as something close to the nectar of the gods, letting an otherworlder taste it for the first time was a pleasure he had never known. He felt he finally understood why that old cliché—“Ah, this is what we call cola”—had ever been invented.
“Delicious. It has a sharp, tingling bite.”
“Doesn’t it? And this Diet Coke in particular is one of America’s greatest prides! People the world over would be lost without cola.”
“I can believe it. Quite addictive as well.”
Hearing his favorite drink praised felt almost as if he himself had been praised. Only then did Ronald realize he had begun acting for Astria’s approval, and he cleared his throat several times in quiet embarrassment.
That throat-clearing may as well have been a signal. Having finished her meal, Astria carefully set down her fork and knife and spoke.
“—Having been treated to such a fine meal, I suppose I ought to offer a gift in return.”
“A gift, you say?”
“I shall save—or kill—one person of your choosing.”
“……Pardon?”
“Exactly as you heard.”
In that instant the atmosphere turned ice-cold. It was hard to believe the same people had been laughing and chatting only moments earlier.
Ronald carefully asked again, as though certain he had misheard.
“……What exactly do you mean by that?”
“Is there no one you despise, or no one you long to see? I am offering to resolve the matter for you. Anyone at all.”
“Murder is illegal on Earth.”
“Is it? Then I shall simply bring them before you. Kill them or keep them—do as you please.”
“Is that— is that a gift reserved specially for me, as King of America?”
Astria only smiled lightly and shook her head.
“It is merely repayment for a delicious meal.”
She drew a firm line. Ronald fell into deep thought as he listened.
“—In that case,” he said at last, making a choice worthy of the King of America,
“I must decline the gift. I did not entertain my guest expecting something in return.”
“Is that so? It rather pains me to receive so much without giving anything back.”
“Not at all. If anything, should a similar situation arise in the future, I hope you will come to us first.”
While the other officials stared in open shock at Ronald’s refusal, Astria simply accepted it and returned her attention to what remained of the meal. From then until the plates were cleared, not another word was spoken; only the soft scrape of silverware against empty dishes filled the banquet hall.
After the meal, as Astria made her way to the private suite prepared solely for her, the high-ranking officials who remained with Ronald began grilling him over the choice he had just made.
“Why on earth did you decide that?”
“Decide what?”
“She offered to bring anyone! The Chinese premier, the Russian president—hell, even some terrorist running wild in the Middle East—!”
Listening to the cabinet secretary, Ronald idly scratched inside his ear and turned his head, searching for someone who might reliably take his side.
“—Chief of Staff. Do you also believe my choice was wrong?”
“……If Your Excellency made that decision, I trust there must have been a reason.”
“My, my. So even you aren’t fully on my side?”
Seeing that even the Chief of Staff had failed to grasp the true nature of the gift, Ronald let out a hollow sigh. Then, carefully, he began to explain what he himself had only just realized.
“Mr. Vice President. Do you like McDonald’s?”
“Sir? Why all of a sudden—”
“I’m asking if you like McDonald’s.”
“……Well, I suppose it’s fine to eat every now and then.”
“Same here. The White House chef’s cooking is superb, of course. But every once in a while a man just craves some fast food. —Do you understand what I’m getting at?”
Everyone tilted their heads at Ronald’s cryptic words. A man with no patience for drawn-out suspense, he simply laid the answer out in the open.
“Some random passerby could buy that young lady a single burger and walk away with my life.”
“That’s…!”
“……Certainly.”
If one were to score the White House chef’s cooking, it would average ninety-five or higher. Anyone could enjoy a delicious meal without a single complaint about personal taste. That was the level of skill involved. And yet—
If one asked whether he was the greatest cook in the entire world, the answer was no. And there were days when an eighty-five-point fast-food meal simply hit the spot.
And what if, on precisely such a day, that mysterious being from another world were treated to a burger by someone else?
If she had been willing to kill a person simply because she was satisfied with the meal they had prepared, then she could do the same for a single burger. If she had accepted a human life as casually as that, the day would come when one burger equaled one death.
“Do you understand? What we must do is not keep accepting every freebie she offers us. We must not rejoice that we can use her cheaply—quite the opposite. We either ensure she does nothing at all, or we make certain that every single request costs an exorbitant price.”
“You mean to say…”
“The former is all but impossible, so it will have to be the latter. Unless we impose restrictions so burdensome they nearly break America’s back, it won’t be long before—”
Ronald pictured a future in which Astria’s power was flung about with reckless abandon. It was as absurd as Dragon Balls rolling around in a bargain bin. If anyone could have any wish granted, the outcome was painfully obvious. The end of the world. Humanity could not bear that Great One.
Great One, true to the name.
Humanity was not yet ready.
At that very moment, Astria was thinking:
Humans… are so kind…
She had been deeply moved by the first human she had spoken with in thousands of years. Even after she had offered to grant any wish a person might desire, he had refused without a moment’s hesitation. The act called to mind the fragmentary memories she still retained of humanity.
Utterly unaware of Ronald’s true thoughts, she simply mused:
All right. Next time I’ll prepare a gift he cannot refuse…
And so Astria began considering what gift she would send next.