Kyou kara Ma no Tsuku Jiyuugyou! Volume 17 Chapter 4

I count the lines underneath my feet, calculating how many days have pa.s.sed since then.

After that day, although we went back to that underground room with the waterway a few more times, the entire 'Until That Day Comes' cult activates their s.h.i.+p ghost mission at once, and won't let us get off the stairs no matter what. We'd been prepared to give up after ten days, but on yesterday night - on our thirteenth day in this prison, just before lights out, we finally received Mr. Apple Face's message.

To convicts, breakfast and dinner are the two important events of a day. That's why, after eating dinner while the sun is still up, there's nothing left for us to do. No one here takes advantage of the three hours before lights out to prepare for a license test after they're released, and neither does anyone repent for their sins by praying to their country's G.o.d. There's not a single admirable person like that in here.

Everyone is just living their lives lazily, resting after they've eaten. There are even people who brought the desserts from the dining hall to the cells, and then lie on their beds as they slowly enjoy the food. Soon the guards on duty will ring the bell to indicate rest time, and everyone will just sleep with their full stomachs.

I see, if they continue living such self-indulgent lives, they wouldn't be able to work seriously even if they did get out of prison.

Even so, Murata and I may be too young, so we can't be as lazy as the other prisoners. Whenever we're free, we do everything we can to maintain our stamina and prevent early-onset Alzheimer's. I do push-ups and horizontal bars, while Murata fights against his unsolved algorithms.

Last night, I stayed in the twin-sharing room doing sit-ups, while Murata was training his left brain. That Mr. Apple Face rushes into the room just as I counted to forty-eight,

"You can meet!"

"Hi—Mr. Apple Face... Did you get a bit thinner? Are you on a diet?"

"No—no, no, there's nothing interesting about my waist size. Instead that person, that person agreed to meet with you lively people."

That's really great news!

The time is tomorrow afternoon, before dinner. At that time, he will send a devotee over, and we can approach the 'waterside' without anyone noticing.

But he would only accept the two 'black-haired' at the waterside. If we brought the others, the devotees will stop us as usual.

"The 'black-haired'... means us, right?"

"It's obvious, isn't it—? After all, no matter how you look at it, Lord von Voltaire and Mr. Chevallier don't have black hair. Looks like the other party has temporarily considered us their allies."

And so we spent the night with feelings of unease and excitement, welcoming the morning of the meeting.

Thinking about it carefully, ever since coming to this world, I've met quite a few people in high positions. If I had a phone, my contacts list would be quite impressive. There'd be people like a king, a rich merchant, royal descendants, a masked female lord, a boy king, an extremely drippy beauty, a pretty boy, a maidmer princess, a treasure hunter, mummies, zombies, and skeletons.

But I think this is the first time in my sixteen years of life meeting the leader of a newfangled religion. No, wait, what about the skeletons? That should have something to do with religion, right? I've played in the cemetery with the kotsuchizoku, wouldn't that look like a religious rendering of suffering in h.e.l.l from afar? It might even be an ill.u.s.tration in the 'Poison Lady Anissina' series.

"Don't have too high hopes."

Gwendal says not too happily. He put a chair outside our cell, killing time... No, he's focusing on his knitting. Since he's knitting dolls in the corridor, doesn't that mean he's no longer hiding his hobby? That's a confession that requires some guts too.

"Even if it's a religious group that advocates dying their hair black, the leader may not necessarily be mazoku. If they were mazoku, they would more likely respect the color black, so there's no way they would simply dye it onto themselves."

"That's very possible—And it's very hard for me to imagine that someone calling themselves s.h.i.+nou would start a religion overseas."

"You are all making a lot of sense, thanks to your arguments, I'm all out of steam..."

Faced with my high-achieving friend's calm observations, I bury my face between my knees.

The truth is, I don't know if the cult represents the mazoku either.

But at the same time, I can't but help but feel that maybe they have some connection with s.h.i.+n Makoku, or maybe there's someone related to the mazoku in the cult. The reality, however, should be just like what they said. The possibility is very low.

"We just don't want to see your dejected look afterwards. So we're reminding you not to have such high expectations."

Mr. Chevallier, who's also stepping up and down a pedal on the corridor, flashes us a healthy smile with s.h.i.+ny white teeth as he says,

"No no no, it doesn't matter if they're mazoku or not, new encounters will always make one's heartbeat speed up."

Since his figure was achieved with a complete physical makeover, it seems he puts a lot of effort into his daily maintenance and management. Just finding out that his interest is stepping up and down gives me a good impression of him.

This prison distributes cells according to height, so their cell is really far away from here, in the giant section. But in order to protect Murata and me, they would stay outside our cells every day like personal attendants.

Since this prison is so peaceful, we tell them we are capable of protecting ourselves, but one line, 'You two don't understand the true terror of an enclosed s.p.a.ce', easily pushes back our protests.

On the other hand, Murata seems very welcoming to them. He says, "No matter what, it's better for the four of us to be together." As compared to the second and third sons, he seems to get along with the oldest son, Lord von Voltaire. Although it's surprising, that might be because Murata's the only son, so he is attracted to someone with an older brother personality.

He's not a young pretty native girl, but the native older brother, Gwendal keeps his gaze on the yarn as he knits,

"I've established contact with Anissina and Günter, and the arrangements for a diplomatic envoy have been made. Geographically speaking, it might take them about a month, so we hope you two will stay here in this prison obediently until then."

"What do you mean by contact? We don't have any pigeons to send letters."

"We have methods even without pigeons."

He says as he knits a round white thing. Could that be a white pigeon?

"Hey, newbie."

The guard that jogged over here stands next to Gwendal and calls out to goodness knows who.

"What's up?"

All four of us answer, 'What's up?', 'Ah.', 'Eh?' and 'Hm?' at once. Judging by the number of days we've been in here, all four of us should be considered newbies.

At this point the guard who came here to call someone is the one who gets confused instead. Maybe his personality is naturally more cowardly, because he holds up the paper slip in his hands, s.h.i.+rkingly comparing it to us one by one. Just then Gwendal grabs that young man with one hand, and says in a low, threatening voice,

"The way I see it, you're the newbie here, aren't you? It's my first time seeing your face after ten days here."

"Don't be like that, Lord von Voltaire, there will be rookies in every job."

Even Murata chimes in with a smile. I really can't tell who the convict here is anymore.

"S-someone's looking for a newbie... Who's Lizard group, no. 297?"

"Ah, it's me."

Chevallier raises his hand, coming down from his step. Thinking back on it carefully, only he would have a visitor out of our little group.

No one in s.h.i.+n Makoku should know that the three of us are in a Darco prison, so there wouldn't be anyone coming over to meet us.

"But I never thought the visiting room would be such a wide open s.p.a.ce."

My impression of prison visiting rooms would be a place where the convict sits opposite their family member, and each of them holds up a receiver to talk to each other.

There should be thick gla.s.s between them, and the wife sobs as she claws the gla.s.s, while the husband presses his hand to the gla.s.s. There'd be a feeling like 'Ah—the couple that were forced apart, how will their fate play out!?'.

But in reality, this is a brightly-lit open s.p.a.ce, and there are no gla.s.s dividers at all.

There isn't a torn-apart couple, and there isn't Mom's old favorite Wink c[1]lapping their hands as they sing 'Lonely Tropical Fish'.

There's only what looks like a scene from a springtime picnic.

There are many large tables arranged in the huge meeting area, and the family members sitting there are happily taking out their bentos and drinks.

Young parents are chatting as they watch over small children running about.

If it weren't for the fact that the father is wearing the red-and-white-striped uniform, no one would think this was a prison.

Interesting, very interesting.

"Your expression is saying this went beyond your expectations again—"

"Because from what I understood, this should be an image of a fleeting meeting between family members enduring the trials of suffering."

"It's exactly because this is a fleeting meeting—"

Chevallier looks around him, saying cheerfully,

"—wouldn't you want to meet with a happy expression? Oh, found them!"

There is a man and a woman directly in front of us. They seem to be looking for their target as well, weaving between the tables.

Sparkling golden hair, full b.r.e.a.s.t.s, blindingly white skin—the visitor is the previous Queen, currently Her retired Majesty, Lady von Spitzberg Cäcilie.

The man, on the other hand, is Lady Cherie's current boyfriend - the unsinking Fanfan, also known as Stefan Fanberlain.

But if I call him her boyfriend, that would leave poor Chevallier out in the rain, so I'll say he's one of her boyfriends. Fanfan is a s.h.i.+maron man born and bred, which makes him one of the rare ones to have a close relations.h.i.+p with the mazokus.

Maybe that's due to Lady Cherie's outstanding charm.

Since he can't seem to say anything but Lady Cherie's praises, even Dacascos, whose marriage was in danger, followed suggestions and took quite a few pages of notes in order to desperately compliment his wife.

The 'spring of compliments', Lady Cherie, notices us and waves in our direction.

The people around us train all their gazes onto her.

If such a glowing person pa.s.ses by them, forget the men, even the wives' gazes will end up fixed on her.

"Chevallier! Eh? Your... I mean, young man. Goodness—why are the two of you in this sort of place... Eh... Ehhhh?"

Lady Cherie exclaims in surprise, in a voice that doesn't sound like her,

"Why is Gwendal here too!"

The figure taken aback by surprise is wearing a s.h.i.+ny, deep green ball gown. Both the back and the chest have boldly plunging V-lines, and the shoulder straps are tied ribbons. The eye-catchingly fair skin really matches the color of her eyes, so she looks amazing in it. But out of a hundred people, I bet twenty would never think that she's the mother of this tall man.

But there's a problem with Lady Cherie.

"...Mother..."

Gwendal holds his forehead with his large hand,

"You're too bold."

"Oh my, even though your mother dressed up so nicely to meet you, I can't believe my son isn't happy in the slightest!"

The truth is we're in a prison, but Lady Cherie's att.i.tude is as though she's attending Cla.s.sroom Observation Day, saying something like, 'Don't you feel proud that Mommy dressed young and pretty?' To outsiders, however, they really don't look like mother and son at all.

"Speaking of which, my mom dressed in a pink suit for Cla.s.sroom Observation too... It almost made people think she's part of those nostalgic 'Koizumi Scouts'[2]."

"In my family, my father would suddenly run over to school to partic.i.p.ate in Cla.s.sroom Observation, seems like my mom was too busy to attend. But there are only a few dads in the cla.s.s each time, so I bet he felt really awkward among all those ladies."

"It feels like they can't cut their ties with the Parents-Teachers a.s.sociation, how pitiful."

Looking at the smiling mother and the moping son, Murata and I can't help but start discussing among ourselves. It seems like every son is thoroughly troubled by their mother.

Watching the two of them, Stefan Fanberlain surprisingly smiles with satisfaction,

"Sometimes she's a young girl, sometimes she's a mother, sometimes she's a little devil, that's precisely her charm. Friends, don't you think that each component is compulsory to make that lady?"

What do you mean by little devil, she was always a mazoku.

"Mr. Fanfan's lines are as poetic as ever."

"Oh dear, is that so? Poetic? I'm just directly describing the reality I see."

Since we followed Chevallier to this meeting, we end up being a family of six, gathering next to a table by the wall. This way we can discuss things with abandon, and besides, everyone around us seems to be focused on their family, so there probably won't be any convicts listening in to our conversation.

"It seems the two of you were on the way to s.h.i.+n Makoku, but unfortunately came to this sort of place instead... Why would destiny be so cruel? I thought you were accompanying my son on a trip to observe prisons in other countries, sire."

The s.e.xy previous monarch creases her elegant eyebrows, and sighs adorably, looking as though she sympathises with me from the bottom of her heart.

"You poor thing, but if you explained your ident.i.ty, you would be released in an instant, wouldn't you? If you don't dare to say it, shall I aid you?"

"No no no, Lady Cherie, if you went and told them my ident.i.ty, that would be even worse, you mustn't say it. If I reveal my ident.i.ty before I can prove my innocence, not only will they misunderstand that 'even the king will commit a crime?' and so lower the humans' confidence in mazoku, they might even use that as our weakness and ask for something in exchange. Now, that would be troublesome."

"Is that so?"

Her Majesty the previous Queen looks perplexed,

"But rather than staying in such a place of such suffering, wouldn't it be better to show your ident.i.ty and hurry home? If it was me, I'd surely do that, you two can surely tolerate a lot. But it's okay now."

The fair, slender fingers grasp my hand. There are even decorative sh.e.l.l pieces on those long nails.

"Fanfan has many connections, he'll get you two the best lawyer. I'll send an express pigeon mail back to s.h.i.+n Makoku as well, asking them to send an envoy out for you two as soon as possible, so please rest a.s.sured."

"Th-thanks."

So this is the methods of communication that Gwendal was counting on? But having my hand held makes my face red and my heart beat faster for some reason. Calm down, you b.a.s.t.a.r.d, don't forget the time and place here.

But the reason the s.e.xy queen is holding the hand of a high school boy who has no luck with the ladies isn't just to encourage me.

"How are the facilities here, is there anything inconvenient? Are you eating properly?"

"There's no problem."

"Then there's no better news. On the other hand, I don't know either if all that is useful when it comes to breaking out of prison..."

"Ah? Eh, what? Um... I'm not considering breaking out right now."

The dazzling mature woman raises her eyebrows, her mouth turning into a surprised O,

"Oh my—Your Majesty, you were framed, that's why you're in prison, right? In that case, you simply must play this to the end, and plan a dangerous escape plan behind the warden's back. The das.h.i.+ng young escapee gets hurt in the middle of his escape, and then falls in love with the girl who carefully takes care of him, that's the end-all be-all for young girl romance stories. So, please take this."

At first I thought s.h.i.+n Makoku's Poison Lady series had gotten too popular, to think Lady Cherie reads more romance novels instead.

In any case, she discretely lowers her body, and quietly takes something small and golden out of her cleavage, before putting it into my hands.

Although it's made of metal, it feel warm... Could this be the body warmth of that mind-breakingly seductive queen!? This is the temperature of a cleavage!? Once my thoughts went there, my heart rate increases again. It's no surprise, since I never got to feel the temperature of a woman's b.r.e.a.s.t.s since I stopped breastfeeding.

Since it's so warm, I bet it's really beautiful between her twin peaks too.

"Although I really wish I could give you some tool or weapon that's far more useful, the workers here wouldn't let me bring them in."

"Precisely. Since I'm fairly confident in my socialising skills, I suggested bringing some items of convenience into the prison, but not only did the prison authorities disagree, they flat-out rejected me. As a businessman, I am extremely ashamed that I'm unable to bring the necessities to you all."

When I open up my hand tremblingly, I finally realize that what I'm holding is a golden nail clipper.

"I don't know how to react to this item that Lady Cherie gave me. I mean, I'm the stainless-steel clipper type."

A golden nail clipper like this makes me feel that every clip damages the blade.

"And technically speaking, this should be for Mr. Chevallier, right? There's truly no reason for me to accept it..."

When I look towards Chevallier, he's shaking his head with an expression that says, 'Please don't say that'. His right hand is making some sort of concert-like gesture, as though saying 'Please accept it'. Why? If it's a present from his beloved Lady Cherie, wouldn't he really want it?

Gwendal says in a low voice,

"Just accept it. Don't keep rejecting it back and forth in a place like this."

"No, but didn't you plan on bringing something useful for Mr. Chevallier? It's okay if you bring something for me earliest tomorrow too, otherwise I really wouldn't know how to face Mr. Chevallier."

Fanfan shakes his formidable mustache softly,

"Technically speaking, the responsibility should fall onto the shoulders of me, the s.h.i.+p's captain, but the Darco soldiers took you away without listening to a word we said."

"Exactly, Chevallier, you were really unlucky to be arrested while steering the s.h.i.+p. But just think, if I had been the one steering then... Goodness, it's too scary to imagine!"

Next to her, her son immediately mumbles, "Even so, you would probably beat them away with your leather whip."

What's troubling is that Chevallier says almost nothing whatsoever. The thing is, he's really pa.s.sionate when he's with us, telling us about his love for Lady Cherie over the past dozens of years. These past two weeks, he was continuously telling Murata and me about his life after meeting Lady Cherie, most of it involving a one-sided, almost stalker-ish crush.

But once he reunited with his most beloved Lady Cherie, he seems a lot quieter instead. What's the matter here?

"You must still be thinking about that matter, huh, Mr. Chevallier."

I try to change the topic, hoping to encourage him.

"Weren't you always saying, 'Thank goodness the one steering wasn't Lady Cherie, and 'Thank goodness the one who got caught was me', Mr. Chevallier?"

"Y-yyy-yes."

Hearing that uncharacteristic voice, the three of us feel our jaws drop. To think that man could be like this.

"Uh—As long as you could protect Lady Cherie, it doesn't matter what happens to you. We never thought Mr. Chevallier could be so manly... Isn't that right, Mr. Chevallier!?"

"Wha, ah, yes, no, not—"

Not only is his face red, even his entire neck is completely crimson as Chevallier keeps his head lowered. Could it be that this man is the most cowardly man in all of s.h.i.+n Makoku!?

Could he be one of those romance cowards that can only say lots of grand things, but can't get a single word out when faced with the person herself? If that is the case, then I can understand how he ended up on a hundred-year-long stalker journey.

Completely defeated by him, I turn away my gaze, only to see one of the children running about everywhere brush past us.

It's a little boy with soft, ear-length golden hair, who looks about four years old.

I was wondering why he so desperately kept his gaze down, until I realised he was chasing a yellow ball. The ball is just a bit bigger than the boy's hand, does he throw or kick it?

Even though this image merely flashed past my eyes, I still try to imagine what kind of ball games Darco would have. Since this is a city on the water, maybe water ball? But if you pitch a ball on the sea, there's a high chance the ball will never come back. In that case, it should be handball or volleyball played on land. That size shouldn't be baseball.

"What else do you want, b.a.s.t.a.r.d—!"

Just as the slender limbs brush past me, there's an angry, Kitano Takes.h.i.+-isque sho[3]uting from a table about ten feet away. I can't help but turn around to look, and see three men standing there. Just as all the gazes in the room fall onto them, one of the men pulls another's s.h.i.+rt, and presses him down onto the hard table faster than lightning.

The last man tries to stop them, but the people from the next table start pouncing on them, giving me no time to figure out why.

The boy chasing his ball wholeheartedly doesn't notice the dangerous battle ahead of him. Taking his small steps, he runs straight ahead.

Before I can figure out what to do, I've already gotten up and am rus.h.i.+ng forward. I hear the screech of a chair falling to the ground behind me, and Murata's loud "Wait a second!" There's no way I can wait now.

From world news and shows that highlight the horrors of global conflicts, I've seen footage of prison riots quite a few times. Of course I mean large scale stuff like arson or flooding, as well as destroying the fence and threats with shots fired, all of which are completely different from the small scale thing unfolding before my eyes.

But maybe the trigger for those large scale riots is something small like this. The best proof is how the meeting room, that was initially full of harmony, is now a scene of chaos and swearing.

As I chase the child, the number of people involved in the violence has risen to about ten. Not only do they use their fists, there are some viciously kicking the stomachs of those who have fallen. Suddenly I remember how just a few seconds ago, I was troubling over something as trivial as whether that ball was thrown or kicked.

My fingers touch his clothes, and I desperately try to pull him back towards my direction. At first I touch dry clothes, and then the warm body underneath those clothes, and finally the whole person is in my arms. In order to avoid him falling out, I turn immediately while still holding the child, successfully rolling onto the ground back-first.

And then I stretch my knees, repeating that action. Even if it's just a centimeter, I want to get away from that place as soon as possible. And just a few seconds ago, the brawling adults were stepping where the boy and I are now at.

At first I had planned to just crawl away, but the boy had realised what the situation was by now, and was so scared he wouldn't let go of me, so I couldn't make any sudden movements. I keep on consoling him with, "It'll be alright." But I don't know if those words were directed towards myself, or towards the boy. Either way, my right hand and waist where I hit the ground really hurt.

In the beginning I had just heard terrifying yells, but now I hear a woman's screams as well. Distracted, I suddenly feel the impact as though my left leg was. .h.i.t by a metal ball.

Because my vision is obstructed, even though I know there's someone standing in front of me, I had no chance to see that person's face. Hugging the boy, I turn my back to that scene of chaos.

This time I don't feel any impact.

Instead, the table leg in front of me shakes violently with loud creaks. Just as I hear the deep sound of something soft cras.h.i.+ng into furniture, something red drips in front of my bangs.

Blood.

"Gwen!"

I look up, and see Lord von Voltaire standing not far behind me. As for that creaking table, there's a man who looks like a roast pig lying on it.

"Gwendal, blood..."

His expression instantly says he doesn't know what I'm talking about, but he eventually realises I'm talking about him, so he slowly puts his hand to his forehead.

"Ahh."

Although the blood flowing down from his temples to his ears dyes his finger red, he looks completely unconcerned, and doesn't even try to wipe it. Looking at that red line moving downwards, I hurriedly stretch out my right hand,

"Come here, quickly..."

Before I can finish the last word, Gwendal starts swaying on his feet, and ends up falling forward onto his knees. It probably really hurts this time, because I see him closing one eye and reaching his hand for the back of his head.

"Gwen!"

Just as I yell out, a bunch of guards appear from nowhere. Even by my rough count of the legs I see, every prisoner is surrounded and subjugated by four to five guards.

Dammit, if they were going to come, why didn't they come sooner? If they were just taken down while it was only three people making a fuss, things wouldn't end up like this!

The warmth in my arms suddenly vanishes, someone had pulled the crying boy away from me. All that's left is the feeling of dry, warm cloth on my fingertips. I see a worried-looking woman waiting for him ahead of the soldiers escorting him.

Thank goodness, she should be the boy's mother, right? Then it's all right now.

I resist the pain in my left leg and try to stand, while a kind guard tries to help me. No, it's not just one, but two, three people. And they're not here to help me out of the goodness of their hearts. They grab me from both sides, demobilising my arms, and prepare to take me away.

This situation is just like a criminal being surrounded by the police.

"Hey hey hey, hold on a sec! I didn't do any..."

"Cut the c.r.a.p, just come with us!"

"How can that do? I didn't do anything, you guys misunderstood!"

"Be quiet!"

I've been completely misunderstood. Even Gwendal, holding the back of his head, is being taken away by five guards. He and I were obviously caught in the crossfires, but now we're being treated as accomplices. Even if I want to protest, I'm completely outnumbered. In the end, I'm practically being carted away.

"I told you, this is all a misunderstanding! Where are you taking me, I didn't join that ma.s.s riot!"

Just then I spot Murata from the corners of my eyes, who's being held by the shoulders by Chevallier.

No wonder he would called my name directly. He's taking one step forward, getting ready to rush to my side.

"Don't come here!"

"But s.h.i.+buya..."

"Relax, I'll be fine. Today, eve..."

There's a really important appointment during evening today, an appointment we fought hard to get. If neither Murata nor I show up, we'll have wasted all that effort.

Since I can't make the meeting, at the very least, Murata must go.

"I'm counting on you!"