Six years had passed since the day Yami Sukehiro returned from that obscure borderland forest with a boy in his arms—a boy with no memories, wild golden eyes, and a power that felt ancient and unshaped. He'd given the kid a name, tossed him into the most chaotic Magic Knight squad in the kingdom, and left the rest to fate.
Fate, as it turned out, had a sense of humor.
Now, wherever one walked in the Clover Kingdom—through the grand avenues of the capital or the muddy roads of the common realm—one name echoed with wild reverence.
Saru.
No titles, no surnames, no noble house to claim. Just Saru. Monkey of the Black Bulls. Menace of the kingdom. And in the eyes of the common folk—hero, prankster, and legend all rolled into one.
It began subtly at first. Nobles complaining of banana peels mysteriously appearing on their staircases. A perfume merchant swearing her carts were ransacked by invisible thieves who left behind drawings of stick monkeys juggling roses. The capital's clocktower once chimed with a voice mimicking the King himself, declaring "Monkey Day" a national holiday.
The nobility demanded arrests. Julius Novachrono laughed so hard he spilled tea on the minutes of the Council meeting.
"What kind of monster lets this kid run loose?" Marx had muttered, mopping up parchment as the Wizard King giggled behind his gloved hand.
But this wasn't simply rebellion or mischief for its own sake. Saru, it turned out, had an unshakable compass when it came to cruelty and injustice. He might sneak into a noble's bathhouse and dye their hair rainbow pink, but only if that noble had been caught abusing servants or cheating farmers. He would trip up captains during formal parades, but only those who had insulted commoners in passing.
No one could predict where he'd strike next.
One week, he crashed a wedding between two noble families by having Nimbus descend from the sky, scattering glittering fruit over the crowd and declaring, "Your vows are boring, spice it up!" The next, he left hand-carved wooden toys outside every orphanage in the capital, along with enchanted fruit that sang lullabies in monkey voices.
The Black Bulls were no strangers to infamy, but even they had to adjust.
Vanessa quickly adopted Saru as a younger brother—though she never managed to get him drunk no matter how hard she tried. "Either his body burns it off," she told Magna once, "or chaos is his natural state."
Magna and Luck treated him like an honorary rival. Luck adored their rooftop duels, bouncing through the skies with maniacal glee as Saru dodged, flipped, and laughed through every clash. Magna, meanwhile, grew increasingly frustrated that none of his "ultimate revenge pranks" ever stuck. Saru always saw them coming.
Gordon, in his usual whispery drawl, once left Saru a vial of self-brewing prank ink. Saru thanked him with a banana-scented mushroom that turned the base's toilet water into fog. Gordon nodded solemnly. "We are kin of chaos."
Finral suffered the most. "Why me?" he had asked one morning when every shirt in his wardrobe had been replaced with enchanted tunics that shouted compliments in Saru's voice. "You're too pretty to teleport angry," one had yelled when he tried to fold it.
Even Gauche, though forever obsessed with Marie, had a grudging tolerance for Saru—largely because the boy never once teased his obsession. "He knows what lines not to cross," Vanessa observed once. "Scary clever, that one."
Yami watched it all with amused detachment. If Saru got caught, he faced the consequences. If he didn't—well, then maybe the nobles needed better security. "Just don't destroy the hideout," he'd said once, cigarette dangling from his mouth as Saru clung upside-down to the rafters.
By the time Saru reached his fifteenth year, the entire Clover Kingdom knew his name.
He was welcome in taverns, homes, and street fairs across the lower realms. Vendors slipped him sweets, kids begged for Nimbus rides, and even some Magic Knight squads—save for a few uptight captains—tolerated his antics. Fuegoleon once remarked that the boy's energy reminded him of an untrained wildfire. Charlotte tried not to smile when Saru called her "Big Sis" and tossed her enchanted flowers that turned into cotton bunnies on contact.
Nozel, of course, hated him.
"He is a walking embarrassment to the Kingdom," the Silver Eagle captain once hissed after Saru had enchanted his voice to mimic that of a squeaky squirrel during a formal address.
Saru had replied with a bow. "Squeak squeak, Your Highness."
The day before the grimoire ceremony, Julius summoned Yami to the capital. "We'll be watching this one closely," the Wizard King said, staring out the window. "Something inside him is… vast. Untapped. Familiar, even."
Yami grunted, arms folded. "He's Saru. That's all there is to it."
But even Yami knew better. He'd seen the way Nyoi-bo responded to the boy's call. He'd felt the ancient pressure radiating from that absurd staff. Saru didn't remember who or what he was—but the world hadn't forgotten. And soon, neither would he.
The next morning dawned clear and warm. A perfect day for destiny.
The Grimoire Tower loomed over the capital, its spires gleaming in sunlight. Crowds gathered beneath it—parents, families, nobles, commoners, all watching, waiting.
Saru arrived the only way he knew how: upside-down on Nimbus, legs crossed, whistling a tune made of nonsense syllables. He hovered above the crowd, then dropped, landing with a thud and exaggerated pose. His cloak flared behind him like a flag.
Every head turned.
"That's him…"
"The monkey…"
"Is that a banana tied to his belt?"
He walked into the hall like it was his living room. Yami stood near the back, arms crossed, smoke curling lazily from his lips. He gave a slow nod as Saru passed.
The ceremony began. Children stepped forward one by one, each receiving a book suited to their soul. Wind magic. Fire. Water. Light. Standard tomes, pages flickering to life.
Then Saru stepped forward.
For a moment, nothing happened. The air grew still. Even Nimbus stopped moving.
And then—a single light.
It wasn't white, or blue, or violet.
It was gold.
A beam of golden magic lanced down from the heavens, searing through the tower's ceiling and stopping above Saru's outstretched hand. The crowd gasped as a book—not bound by any chain or shape—descended from the beam like a falling star.
It hovered before him, opened, and revealed page after glowing page.
Wind howled.
Nyoi-bo leapt from his back, spinning above him like a living thing.
The grimoire snapped shut in Saru's hand.
And the world shifted.
The storm stopped as fast as it had started. Feathers of golden energy drifted around him, soft as ash, hot as sunlight.
He stared at the book, blinked, and said, "Nice."
Behind him, Yami exhaled. "Kid never disappoints."
Later that night, the Black Bulls' hideout blazed with celebration. Charmy's kitchen exploded with food, Luck tried to duel Saru twice between mouthfuls of roast meat, and even Gauche offered him a nod. Vanessa raised a toast. Magna set off fireworks that hit the roof.
Yami stood at the balcony, watching stars. Saru joined him, grimoire floating lazily beside him, Nimbus curled underfoot.
"You done screwing around?" Yami asked without looking at him.
Saru shrugged. "Screwing around is the point."
Yami gave a low chuckle. "Good. Because the fun's just getting started."
And far below, the streets of the kingdom stirred once again.
They didn't know it yet—but the monkey had only just begun.