Translated by Tracy
Edited by Addis
The battle between Feisha and the little demon king
Passing by the lobby, Borja suddenly spoke up: “Oi human, is Metatron still at this hotel?”
Feisha turned around with a perfect smile. “My apologies, Mr Borja, but I cannot answer that question. I have never met Mr. Metatron.”
Borja stared at him in shock. “You call him ‘Mr. Metatron’? You call Metatron ‘Mr. Metatron’!?”
With a name like that, was Metatron a lady after all? Feisha hesitated for a second, trying to think of a way to rescue the situation. Before he could say anything, however, Borja spoke up again, nodding: “But I guess you should call him Mr. Metatron, huh.”
…Then why the fuck did you make such a big deal out of it!?
An idea occurred to Borja. “I want the room next to his.”
“My apologies, I do not know where Mr. Metatron lives.”
Borja narrowed his eye at Feisha. “Then what do you know, human?”
“I know that my name is Feisha Shi, not human,” he replied, smiling coldly.
A crease appeared between Borja’s brows. “What does that have to do with me?”
“Nothing. I just happen to know that fact.”
Borja walked a few steps before stopping abruptly and turning around with a sinister smile. “Oh, I know now. You were mocking me.”
…That took him a whole ten seconds to figure out? Feisha felt mild concern for the future of Hell.
Borja sent him a provocative look. “Do you know who I am, human?”
“You are our esteemed guest from Hell,” Feisha replied humbly. Despite his stirring comment, Feisha knew to cut your losses at a certain point. With little kids, a few mocking statements were okay but clashing head-on was a definite no-no, especially as this particular little kid has a powerful demon king at his back.
Borja wagged his finger, saying: “No, you’re wrong. I’m a Super Demon King from Hell!”
As soon as he said the word “Hell”, Feisha felt a heavy impact on his nose. There was a crisp crunching sound as he fell backwards, followed by droplets of blood splaying into the air.
Hughes’s quick reflexes prevented him from falling onto the ground and instead into his arms. At this, Gin saw red; Hughes hasn’t let him touch anything for a long time.
“Hasn’t your old man told you to not be so arrogant on someone else’s turf?” he spat furiously, turning around to fix Borja with a livid stare. “There’ll be no one to take your corpse back after you die.”
Borja turned his nose up at Gin. “Hmph, I’m just that arrogant, whatcha gonna do about it? Don’t think I’m scared of you just because you’re a third generation antediluvian; if it weren’t for Lilith, I’d have thrown you into the darkest cave in the abysses of Hell for what you did to me!”
Feeling Hughes’ curious gaze at his back, Gin waved a hand: “All I did was force him to drink a whole pot of pepper water, then pick him up and swing him around so he couldn’t pee. That’s all I did, I swear. You should know that I wouldn’t have any interest in prepubescent brats even if they were served to me on a silver platter.”
Borja jumped up, pointing violently at Gin’s nose. “You’re mocking me! How dare you mock me again?”
Gin just shrugged. “Seeing as I mocked you ‘again’ anyway, what are you even getting so excited about?”
Borja gritted his teeth. “I’ll definitely kill you this time and put your teeth in my collection, just you wait.”
A yawn. “Is ‘this time’ your catchphrase or something? You’ve been using it since two hundred years ago, isn’t it time for a change? Even things like catchphrases need to keep up with the times. Why don’t you change it to ‘I’ll try to kill you every time’? At least it shows your persistence.”
Out of everything that he had said, the only thing that stuck out to Feisha was the phrase ‘two hundred years ago’. Feisha cupped his hands around his nose and stared at the pool of his blood on the ground. So that means that no matter how baby-faced this little demon was, Feisha was still the baby around here.
The teeth grinding was getting louder as Borja whipped around to scowl at Feisha. Immediately, the pain in Feisha’s nose seemed to intensify.
“Weren’t you going to take me to my room?” asked Borja.
Feisha loosened his grip and the white-hot pain seared right to his forehead, causing tears to spill over his eyelashes. He could hear someone saying distantly: “Hmph, weakling human.”
“I’ll take you to your room,” offered Hughes.
Gin immediately piped up: “I’ll go too!”
“No, I want this human to take me there!” Borja insisted. “He needs to keep his word. Don’t tell me that humans can’t do anything other than run away and retreat.”
Feisha wiped away his tears. It took him a long time to speak through the pain, but what came out was a quivering voice that he himself didn’t even recognise. “I’ll…go…”
Finally managing to get the little demon to his room, Feisha immediately turned his attention to finding a first aid kit. The conclusion he came to after asking around was that Noah’s Ark didn’t have such a thing.
The pain was so intense that he could feel it in his teeth as he swayed around with greying vision. If it wasn’t for the fact that he needed to preserve humanity’s pride, Feisha’d have rolled around on the ground already.
“Then how…do you – ah – how do you take…care of…injuries?” he asked, hissing in pain.
Hughes carefully supported his wavering body. “Dea knows healing magic, he can help you.”
Feisha turned around to see an orange object standing behind him through the tears. At this pitiful sight, Dea felt a twinge of sympathy in his heart as he raised his hand, muttering a spell under his breath.
All Feisha felt were bones rearranging under his skin, almost as if someone was controlling it with a remote. The pain gradually faded to a prickle, then went numb. He touched his nose to make sure that it was fixed, before shooting Dea a touched look.
“I swear that from now on, just say the word and I’ll happily take a bullet for you without a single complaint!”
“There is no need. Just don’t shoot me in the back.”
Feisha thought about the thing he had pulled for Gin before and felt kind of bad. Gin and Hughes were clearly thinking the same thing, but while Hughes didn’t say anything Gin’s smile twisted a bit.
Feisha forced out a few laughs. “You guys can keep chatting, I’m going to find Isefel.”
“For Borja?” Hughes asked understandingly.
He gritted his teeth. “I’m definitely going to throw out that goddamn ticking time bomb!”
Gin laughed at his misfortune. “I wish you luck. If you don’t succeed…then you’ll probably have to hang around Dea all day.”
“Because no one Borja takes a liking to ends up unscathed.”
Feisha turned on his heels and bolted to Isefel’s room.
Isefel had just finished his lap around the pool when he noticed Feisha storm into the room with a scowl.
“Do you know what calamity befell me just now?” Feisha asked as Isefel climbed out of the pool.
“My nose got broken!” This was the most violent thing that had happened to him in his entire life. No matter how angry his previous guests have been, the most they’ve ever done was to chase him with a glass ashtray from level one to level three, from the hotel to the residential area. And even then the ashtray was merely smashed on the wall and not onto him.
“Borja?” asked Isefel.
“No shit!” roared Feisha. “You reckon I’d smash a chair on my own face or something!?”
Isefel looked at the spirited individual before him. “Dea healed you.”
…Just because it’s healed doesn’t mean that it’s not work injury anymore! Does getting a happy ending cancel out all the angst? No.
“That might be true, but shouldn’t you be expressing something?” fumed Feisha.
Isefel considered this for a minute, then replied after a while: “On behalf of the hotel, I express my deepest condolences.”
Feisha wanted to beat someone up. “I want something of substance, substance!” Condolences were a sham and worth jack-all.
“Firstly!” Feisha had planned this, and raised a finger. “We throw the shitty brat out of the hotel. And secondly, I want compensation for the mental and physical pain I’ve been put through.”
“Noah’s Ark has never forcefully ejected a guest before.”
“Rules are made to be broken, and there’s a first time for everything.”
Isefel wasn’t swayed in the slightest. “We can’t do anything about it unless the guest checks out on his own.”
…Unless he checks out on his own, was it? For the sake of his handsome nose, he was going to get his revenge! It’s not like being a demon king is something awe-inducing.
…Even if it was awe-inducing, all Feisha needed to do was to keep a low profile.
“Then what about the second point?”
“…Your salary this month will be raised to $17500.”
Feisha’s eyes sparkled. “Really?”
Isefel paused for a bit. “If you can make Borja check out on his own, I’ll return Hughes’ one and a half thousand gold coins.”
Feisha imitated the classic Popeye pose. “Give me spinach!”
The door opened, allowing the both parties to see each other clearly.
Layton was wearing a bathrobe.
Feisha was smiling twistedly, at which Layton displayed a disgusted expression.
“Hey buddy,” Feisha greeted. “Your new hairstyle looks sick.”
“I was halfway through my shower.”
“…Sorry for the interruption.”
Layton tried to throw the door closed but was intercepted by Feisha’s foot.
“Why are you even here?” spat Layton, attempting to close the door.
Feisha was desperately trying to squeeze his body through the crack. “I’m here to apologise.”
At this, Layton abruptly let go, catching Feisha off guard and toppling them both over.
There was an awkward pause.
“Can you feel my sincerity and enthusiasm?” asked Feisha dryly.
“Get off!” Layton said from under Feisha’s stomach.
Feisha immediately scrambled to get up, and along his line of sight was-
Layton, sprawled on the ground. His bathrobe was wide open, leaving nothing to imagination.
Not long after, Layton’s enraged bellow resounded through the entire floor:
“GODDAMNIT FEISHA, WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU TRYING TO DO!?”
“I swear that from now on, just say the word and I’ll happily take a bullet for you without a single complaint.”
Instead of ‘taking a bullet’, the phrase used here is 两肋插刀 liǎng lèi chā dāo (lit. pierce two ribs with knives), making the sentence: I swear that from now on, just say the word and I’ll take two knives to the chest for you without a single complaint.