You always only know how important something is when you lose it.
My watch, for example, and my hair as well, of course.
That digital/analog G-SHIOCK that I had gotten so used to wearing on my wrist, where on earth had I put it? That’s a Matsuzaka Daisuke l[1]imited edition version, I probably put it somewhere after taking it off and just forgot where. I would take it off every time I took a bath a home, so if it isn’t on the desk at home, then it’s in my bedroom at Blood Pledge Castle.
Nail clippers, for example.
A pitcher once said that rather than cutting the nails on your dominant hand short, it’s better to file it down using a nail file. However, I’m one of those who don’t care if I have to cut them short. Still, I have a certain standard for the sharpness of my nail cutters, so I like using nail clippers that feel good when you’re clipping your nails. At first I left them in front of the TV in my living room, but I lost them after that time I cut my nails while sunbathing on the porch, which is really troubling.
A calendar, for example.
My room has a calendar of my favorite baseball team, the living room has a calendar of Mom’s most admired actors, and the kitchen has a calendar of Mom’s personal favorite cite cartoon characters. The genkan has a calendar my old man brought back of the businesses he works with.
Murata’s room would have a calendar too, I bet. Although I don’t know who of, it should be a calendar of international football players. As for His Excellency Lord von Voltaire Gwendal’s room… Well, that may actually be a calendar of puppies and kittens.
As a side note, the king’s room at Blood Pledge Castle… my office, in other words, has a calendar filled with all the events of Shin Makoku. Although it’s His Majesty the Maou’s room, it’s not that different from a regular company president’s or a school principal’s room.
But there aren’t any calendars on the prison walls.
Even without a clock, I can sort of figure out what time it is using the angle of the sun’s rays and the brightness of the sky. If I’m living a life controlled twenty-four hours like now, I can also tell the meal times and light-off times very clearly.
But it’s not the same with dates. What month or what day it is, how many days has it been since I was taken into this building—if I didn’t record it myself, I would have absolutely no clue.
Although this is a paradise-like prison, the meal times are all uncertain every day. It’s like living in a submarine—‘Curry Wednesdays’ would at least still tell you a week has passed.
“Uh--… One, two, and then one, two…”
I say it aloud as I count the ‘正’ words I drew onto the prison floor. Every night before sleeping, I would draw one line. One line for one day, five days would mean five lines. Moving forward three steps and back two… I can’t be like that. As long as I remember to draw one every day, five days would complete one ‘正’ for ‘justice’, t[2]hat’s a recording style special to the Japanese. In a locked room without a calendar, I wouldn’t know the day count if I didn’t do this.
“Goodness, it’s been fourteen days! We’ve been in this prison for two weeks already!”
“According to the information I got, as of evening today, our trial seems to be set at number 2003.
My roommate Murata replies, hanging from the upper bunk bed. He says this is a way to train your body while in prison. But if you can get muscles just from swinging back and forth like that without any upward pulls, then all the lazy bums in the world would have gorilla-like muscles by now.
“You said number 2003? Ah—! How long would we still have to wait, just hearing that number makes me dizzy—!”
“But don’t you think the trials are going really quickly. If it’s going at ten trials a day, at this rate we would just need to wait another two hundred days…”
“Aren’t you carefree, Murata!? Two hundred days is more than half a whole year! If you’re not careful, the championship can drag on for quite long.”
“But Shibuya—”
“…That’s right, I was the one who said it.”
That’s right, I’m very aware of it myself. The reason we’re stuck in this prison like this, is all because of my troublesome stubbornness.
Having been falsely accused at Darco’s port, far, far away from Shin Makoku, Gwendal, Murata and I were sent to prison. If back then I hadn’t stuck to my own opinions, and escaped using Gwendal’s combat abilities, we wouldn’t be trapped in this kind of place.
We are indeed innocent, and this is an unreasonable apprehension, so we should protest. But there’s still the matter of timing and circumstances. Even if I couldn’t think it through, rather than let things worsen, it would have been more appropriate to obediently escape.
“But I’m really worried that there are a bunch of black-haired people here.”
“Mn, there is indeed the possibility of mazoku being here in this prison. Because we just met Mr Chevallier here.”
Both in town and in this prison, we saw some black-haired people, a rarity in this world. It seems that the teachings of this strange new cult founded in Darco have something to do with hair color.
But why would they use a color that is thought to be ominous on human land? Could it be that there is someone who likes black here in this ‘Who Is It Summoning Hell 1-Chome, Ah, Errand-Running 3-Chome Prison’? If that person is mazoku, and if they’re also in here after being falsely accused, we have to figure out how to get that person out.
Thinking thus, we had just gotten into the prison for a few hours before we actually met a mazoku.
“This is what it means to ‘meet Buddha in hell, m[3]eet a nudist in paradise’—”
We don’t know if it’s a rebound reaction from his earlier years living as skinny as a chicken, but after relinquishing his duties as Maou, Her Majesty the Queen’s servant, Chevallier became someone who likes stripping down for others to see. Forgetting that for now, he’s now still awaiting a trial far in the future after being arrested for encroaching into Darco’s naval territory. Although the owner of the luxury cruise was Fanfan, and the main guest was the previous Maou, Her Majesty Lady von Spitzberg Cäcilie, but the person at the wheel had been Chevallier, so he was the one to come in and enjoy the prison food.
Faring in the fair sea, seafaring, only to see fair regretting. I[4]f Lord Weller heard that, even this degree of a cold joke would get him laughing out loud.
Other than that Chevallier also revealed several magnitude six truths, one of them being a problem Lord von Voltaire should be able to solve. Although the remaining ones all have something to do with Murata and me, we don’t have the spare time to discuss that now.
“Well, we can’t just arbitrarily decide that there aren’t any other innocent comrades just because we haven’t met a single mazoku after finding that first one within a few hours—”
“You think so too, right? But it’s almost two weeks now, and we didn’t meet any mazokus at all since then.”
Still swaying back and forth, Murata nods,
“It’s just like striking the jackpot the first time you try the lottery.”
“And then no matter how many times you try after that, all you get is tissue.”
I sit on the floor, my fingernails tracing the’正’ word I had just written on the floor one more time. If I waste the butter-colored walls as a calendar, it feels a bit too pretty instead.
“But aren’t we meeting a person we think is suspicious today?”
“Mn, uh-huh, that’s right.”
Yeah, we’ve finally agreed to meet before dinnertime today.
On the first day coming to this prison, we saw a black-haired person running by in a hurry.
I highly suspected he was a mazoku, so I gave quick chase. But according to our senior Chevallier who had entered prison ten days earlier, it’s not a rare hair color here on the port city on the water, Darco.
Even if it’s black, it’s not natural like us Japanese, but purposely dyed. It’s obvious as soon as you look at the roots of their hair, you can obviously see traces of gold or brown. According to the news I received, it’s a religious action. The new cult that developed in Darco, ‘The Sect of Until That Day Comes’, encourages their believers to dye their hair, so became known as ‘black-haired’.
No wonder no one came to ask us when Murata and I walked on the street. Perhaps the Darco people are used to seeing black? But judging from how we were taken to be thieves, the public opinion of ‘black-haired’ isn’t very good.
They’re a group who believe this world is headed towards the apocalypse, and so are biding their time until that day comes. To put it nicely, they’re pessimistic and world-weary, to put it not so nicely they’re a bunch of lazy bums. To those hardworking fishermen and their families, these people are nothing more than jerks who look for an excuse to laze around.
Maybe it’s because they don’t work properly and resort to stealing instead, that’s why there are more ‘black-haired’ criminals every day.
Upon hearing this revelation, even I can’t help but feel, ‘No way—’ Logically speaking, these people are obsessed with a religion that requires changing their external appearance, so there’s no way they would repeatedly commit crimes. It’s just a coincidence that there are shady people among their followers, so properly pious people would never keep running into prison.
But that theory shatters as soon as I followed the black-haired male prisoner down the building’s stairs.
I chase the figure through the long building, and see a view completely different from the regular rooms at the end of the staircase next to the building. If the prison cell area is like a newly-build kindergarten, this would be the bottom of an old stone bridge. Although the space is large enough to hold a pageant, but not only is the paint on the walls peeling, there are even weeds growing sparsely around.
The unlighted surroundings are extremely dim, and the heavy air can’t be considered clean, but there is the smell of water. That’s the only thing completely out of place with this rather dirty place, the fresh and clean smell of water.
I figure this smell must come from somewhere, before noticing a canal flowing through the main hall. It looks like this long and thin building stands over a waterway, and the smell isn’t salty, so it shouldn’t be seawater. In other words, the water isn’t flowing in from the sea, but flowing out from here. It could even be from somewhere deeper in – a waterway connecting the centre of the port city to the sea.
“...Is it underground water flowing towards the sea?”
As expected, Murata could smell it too, but he has no way of proving it. Because we don’t take that last step – there’s a crowd of more people than we can count crouching between where we stand and the waterway cutting through the centre of the area.
If our eyes hadn’t adjusted to the darkness of the area and we’d taken one more step ahead, we probably would have sent someone flying. There seems to be some light near the arch of the ceiling, but it’s extremely dark at our feet. But that’s not the only reason we can’t see the gathered people properly. It’s also because their appearance blends in with the surroundings.
“You two, at least wait for my candle...”
Behind us, Chevallier raises a candelabra with three candles above his head. It’s overly extravagant as travel candles go, but it does provide three times the light, so it’s a great help.
The next second, we’re shocked speechless by the view that meets our eyes.
“...It’s really just like the rumours said.”
There are many people with hair dyed black here in Darco, including in the prisons. To think it’s exactly as they said.
Everyone gathered in this hall has black hair.
Just then, everyone turns around to look at us four newcomers. From what we can see thanks to the light of the three candles, their eyes aren’t black. The ones closest to us are blue, yellowish-brown and light coffee-colored. But within the range illuminated by the candles, everyone has black hair. It could be deep brown or dark grey, but at the very least I don’t see the otherwise common golden, red, or chestnut hair.
“You said ‘What if there are mazoku here’, right?”
“Yup.”
His lenses reflecting the wavering candle flame, Murata says with a sigh,
“Now what do we do?”
What can we do? The group called the ‘black-haired’ all turn around to face us, but not one of them speaks. Perhaps they really, truly believe that the apocalypse is coming, and plan on living dispiritedly until that day. They don’t work or speak, just crouch there beside the waterway.
“Wait a sec, speaking of which, why did these people dye their hair black?”
“Could it be because of the religious doctrine?”
“Even if it’s the doctrine, there should be a reason. Something like the blood of the hero who saved the world is black, or the god they believe in has black eyes. Once we figure out the reason, we might be able to understand what relation this has to the mazokus. Sorry, um—Why did you all dye your hair black? Is it because it’s trendy? Or to cover your white hairs?”
I put one knee on the stone ground, asking the man closest to me. Although he speaks in a rather unfamiliar accent, generally the common language still works in Darco too. That part really helps me a lot.
“Or is it that the leader of your religion wanted you to dye your hair black?”
“...Either way, this country is gonna sink...”
“What?”
But the man’s answer is glum and passive,
“...Until that day comes, we’re just passing our days unmovingly...”
There it is, there’s the key phrase, ‘until that day comes’. Rather than how they kill their time, I’m more interested in the whys of their religion.
“Do you want to ask everyone?”
Gwendal, who had been quiet before, speaks up from behind me. Soldiers like him would really dislike this kind of people, huh? Because his tone doesn’t sound particularly happy.
“But with so many of them, it’ll never end if you wanna ask them one by one.”
“And for all you know, all of them will answer the same—”
“Then just meet the representative, but we don’t know where he is.”
Rather than talking to so many dispirited people, it’d be faster to find a representative. Lord von Voltaire is probably trying to tell me that, and he’s not wrong.
“Is he here? Sorry—I just have a question to ask--!”
I take a deep breath, putting my hands to my mouth as I yell,
“Is there a doctor in the... No, wait, is there a representative of ‘Until That Day Comes Cult’ here--!? Ah!”
But before I can finish what I’m saying, I accidentally lose my balance and stagger a bit. Thankfully Gwendal with his good reflexes caught me from behind in time. Shocked, I look down and see a young devotee nearby hugging my legs. Of course his hair is black, but his tear-filled eyes are aqua blue.
“Please don’t be so loud.”
“Eh? Ah, sorry. But if your representative is in the room, they might not hear me unless I’m loud enough.”
“That person isn’t here, not by the waterside now.”
“Waterside...”
Looks like this hall isn’t called a church or prayer place, but the waterside. I see, since they treat the waterway as a river, then it’s not strange to call this the waterside.
“So please don’t be so loud, that person usually isn’t by the waterside.”
“Then where do I have to go to find them?”
“We don’t know either, because we never looked before. Either way, this country is gonna sink, we’re just giving our entire selves to the flow of time, living a life of passivity, so we wouldn’t do something like searching out that person. Perhaps they went back to some place. It’s just...” The young man lazily points towards the inside, in other words the wall on the right of the stairs. There’s a hole as tall as a person there. The waterway flows from inside there, crossing the hall and then disappearing into a hole in the opposite wall. Come to think of it, that makes this the center of the river.
“When that person comes, they appear through that hole over there.”
At least he doesn’t fall down from the sky, or form from the gushing waters. But this means he’s not the pope or a representative, but the god himself. I can’t communicate with gods.
“So we can just conclude that he’s from the inner workings of this ‘Who Is It Summoning Hell 1-Chome, Ah, Errand-Running 3-Chome Prison’?”
“...Sigh...”
“I say, Mr. Devotee, what’s wrong with you...”
“I’m so tired...”
He looks all out of breath. He just spoke a few words, but pants as though he just ran three rounds around a 400m field. It might not be too nice for me to say this, but the way he is, there’s no way he’d be able to escape if he goes into a shop to steal, right?
Even if the criminals steal because they have no will to work, it seems that the reason the number of ‘black-haired’ in the prison keeps increasing may also have something to do with their inability to run. But I’m not like those devotees of the ‘Until That Day Comes Cult’, I have plenty of confidence in my stamina. There’s no way I’d collapse out of exhaustion just from talking.
“Where does that hole lead to? We might as well go in there and see.”
“Eh, no way? Please don’t do that.”
“No, I won’t do anything that would make you all tired.”
I break free from the young devotee’s grip, and prepare to wade my way through the crowd. However, I don’t get to take a few steps before some more people hug my thighs tightly,
“Please don’t do that. Don’t—do—that—”
“Don’t—do—that—”
“Don’t—do—that—”
“Yama—da—”
[5]“Ah, there’s Iwaki he[6]re, Shibuya.”
“Murata, now’s not the time to mention rival baseball players.”
Standing half a step in front of us, Gwendal looks confused. Faced with such a weak resistance, it’s not like we can throw them aside roughly. But if we ask them to leave politely one by one, we’ll never reach our destination. This is almost like crossing a sea of waist-deep arms.
“Mn—But these voices and arms, remind me irresistibly of ship ghosts.”
Only Chevallier looks really pleased. If it were the ship ghosts on Earth, I could take them down with just a broken ladle, but here I really don’t know what to do.
“Ah—It’s only at times like these that I wish I was an electric eel or something.” Just then someone stands up from the weak crowd. Both our side and the ship ghosts instantly stop moving.
“It was all my fault!”
Rather than saying it requires courage to stand up at a time like this, it’d be more accurate to say he’s the man with the most energy and stamina in this lot.
“I shouldn’t have brought those lively people here to the waterside!”
And his voice is very spirited too, great!
“Those lively people should come to the waterside. It’s all my fault for letting them follow behind me, I shouldn’t have let them follow us. Back then if I hadn’t run down the prison corridors, things wouldn’t end up like this. They wouldn’t have found this place either.”
“About that, although you mentioned following and discovering this place, there’s no secret door or passageway here, y’know...?” Speaking of which, the entrance is just beside the building, and the door is wide open. But the man who stood up isn’t listening to me at all, he just keeps berating himself non-stop,
“It’s all my fault, I hadn’t been able to let go of a cheerful life. Before I knew it, I was running down the corridors, that’s why I attracted these lively people here. Ah—I’m too childish, I couldn’t maintain my resolve to face that day when it comes.”
When we raise the candelabra and shine it in his direction, we realize that the person who stood up is a young man in his twenties. His hair is naturally black, but his eyes are blue. His face looks more flushed and healthy than the other devotees, which might mean he’s a novice who just entered the cult. Perhaps it’s because of the horizontal stripes on the prison clothes, but his body looks a bit wide.
“In that case, I’ve decided to take up responsibility!”
That flushed face turns all red in a moment, and he puts his tightly-gripped fist on his thigh, his actions so passionate it’s unlike a devotee of ‘Until That Day Comes’,
“I want to find that person and talk to them, I want to plead them to meet with these lively people. The next time that person appears, I will appeal to them directly, so please, lively people, wait patiently!”
“If you can help us make an appointment, we’ll be counting on you...”
“Please wait patiently!”
The others, waving their arms like ship ghosts, all agree with him,
“Please wait patiently—”
“Please wait patiently—”
“Itte—tsu[7]—”
“Ah, Hyuma’s dad is here too, Shibuya.”
I say, Murata, this isn’t the time to discuss the Central Alliance.
“Waiting is my speciality.”
Chevallier, on the other hand, nods and agrees spiritedly.
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