SMACK.
Haruto's head rocked left.
SMACK.
Then right.
SMACK. SMACK. SMACK.
Then some kind of divine diagonal he wasn't even sure had an axis.
There he knelt in the center of the grand hall, legs folded beneath him, arms trembling at his sides, face swollen like an overfilled rice bun, eyes twitching from repeated divine punishment.
He had lost count of how many times his cheekbones had been spiritually purified.
Sitting like a schoolboy who broke a shrine bell, he awaited the judgment of a 900-year-old wrath engine in the form of a furious loli.
Across from him stood Lady Nerimaru, high priestess, slipper wielder, and harbinger of domestic hell.
In her hand: a traditional wooden shrine maiden slipper—the kind normally used for ceremonial dances.
Except in her hands, it had become a holy artifact of face destruction.
Each slap came with a small gust of divine pressure and a sound like a thunderclap across wet tofu.
Haruto's every attempt to speak was met with—
"I—"
SMACK.
"I just—"
SMACK.
"If you'd let m—"
SMACK SMACK.
Kohana sat off to the side, legs folded properly in seiza, both hands covering her face like she was trying not to cry—or laugh.
Probably both.
She muttered quietly behind her palms, "Why am I even here? I'm not built for this kind of secondhand pain..."
The grand hall was empty. No council. No audience.
Just Haruto.
And his shame.
And Nerimaru.
And her shame-delivering sandal of supremacy.
"YOU! ABSURD! NON-INHERITED! MAOU!" Nerimaru shouted, her pigtails bouncing with every righteous swing. "FATED TO BE THE WEAKEST IN HISTORY! CARRIER OF MISFORTUNE! SUMMONED BY COSMIC MISTAKE!"
SMACK.
"YOU COME INTO MY VILLAGE!"
SMACK.
"YOU BITE A CURSED SPIRIT!"
SMACK.
"YOU TURN INTO A POTATO!!"
SMACK-SMACK-SMACK.
Haruto's brain was 80% ringing, 10% fear, 5% spiritual trauma, and 5% wondering how he still had any teeth left.
At one point, a tooth tried to jump out in protest, but got slapped back in.
"I didn't even want this job," he whispered.
Nerimaru's eyes narrowed dangerously.
"What did you say?"
"I said I DIDN'T EVEN WANT THIS JOB!!"
For the first time—
She paused.
The slipper hovered mid-air.
Haruto peeked through swollen eyelids.
Then—
BONK.
Slower. Just one more. Right between the eyes.
"Too bad," she said coldly. "You've got it anyway."
"Look, kid," Nerimaru said suddenly, voice dropping low—strangely serious.
The air in the room shifted.
Even Kohana peeked between her fingers.
Haruto blinked, dazed. His face had achieved a new evolutionary form—somewhere between puff pastry and overcooked fishcake.
"I know what you said yesterday," Nerimaru continued. "That it was all just an accident. A mistake."
"Exactly," Haruto croaked, finally getting a word in—
WHACK.
Another shoe to the face.
"DID I SAY YOU COULD SPEAK, YOU SQUEALING PIECE OF COSMIC COLLATERAL?!"
Haruto rolled sideways on the tatami mat like a bag of potatoes.
"Quit it, pig," Nerimaru snapped.
"Oink oink," Haruto replied automatically, just before getting bonked again.
Kohana sighed from the corner. "Grandma… I think you really need to stop. You're gonna slap him into an actual pig at this rate."
"Tempting," Nerimaru muttered, finally lowering her weapon. "But I suppose that's enough divine correction… for now."
She stepped away from him. Her tone shifted.
"It's not as simple as 'I didn't ask for this.' This isn't a job application, you pork-brained garden weed."
Haruto tried to sit up, holding his cheeks like they were going to fall off.
"But—"
"No," Nerimaru said sharply. "This role… the Maou… can't just be canceled like a bad play. It's part of the balance. Like it or not, you're here. And now that the world's chosen you…"
She turned away, walking slowly back toward her massive, overdecorated council throne.
"Every ocean starts within a river. Every shadow is born from light. Every dumb accident has a role to play."
She sat down. Looked up at the ceiling like it owed her money. Her voice, quieter now:
"If the Hero came right now... I can guarantee you'd be defeated by their pinky toe."
Haruto sat upright, wobbling like a jelly on regret.
"…All I wanted," he muttered, "was to ask—if this is all so dangerous—where's my starter pack?! I didn't even get a rusty sword or cursed underwear or something."
Nerimaru glanced at him.
Then slowly, back up at the ceiling.
"…You really are dumber than you look, Piguto."
Haruto squinted. "You just made that up."
"No. It's your name now."
She took a long breath, then finally said:
"In the Great War, the last Maou didn't just lose his life. He lost everything. His kingdom burned. His comrades were killed, scattered, or exiled. The survivors—the beastfolk, demons, outcasts—they were forced here. This cursed forest. Nomadic lands in the deep deserts. Broken places left behind."
Haruto blinked.
For the first time since he met her, Nerimaru didn't look angry.
She looked... tired.
"They forbade us from speaking to each other. Kingdoms that once fought under one banner were shattered. And the rest? Who knows. Some say they fled. Some settled in secret. Some were erased."
For a brief second—just a breath—Haruto saw it.
Her sadness.
Buried deep under layers of rage, tradition, and hard wooden footwear.
But real.
Then it was gone. Nerimaru folded her arms again, face hardening.
Kohana didn't speak.
Neither did Haruto.
The silence stretched.
No one spoke. No one breathed.
The hall was heavy, like the very air had paused out of respect—or dread.
Then—
THUD.
Lady Nerimaru stood.
And then sat again—lowered herself like a samurai overlord before war, legs folded, back straight, eyes steeled.
Her aura was no longer chaotic. No flying slippers. No divine shouting.
Only finality.
"I'm afraid… but you, Piguto, will need to go."
Kohana gasped.
Haruto blinked in dumb disbelief.
"…Huh?"
"I said go. Now," Nerimaru repeated, firm and absolute.
Kohana stood. "Wait—what?! You can't just—"
"Silence," Nerimaru snapped. "Not this time, Kohana."
She didn't shout.
Which made it worse.
"I can't make my people go through this again. Not with you at the helm," she said, staring at Haruto without even a hint of malice—just cold truth.
For the first time since arriving in this world, Haruto had nothing to say.
No screaming. No jokes. Not even sarcasm.
Just… stillness.
"We'll give you some rations for the road," Nerimaru continued. "Food. Water. A blade, if you really insist. But you'll leave before the sun hits midday."
Haruto opened his mouth, but no sound came.
Kohana stepped forward, fists clenched. "But—!"
"No buts."
Nerimaru cut her off with a glance that could shatter granite.
"It's my final decision."
Haruto sat there.
Swollen face.
Empty head.
Even emptier future.
Then Nerimaru sighed.
"One eye open, though…" she muttered. "If someone willingly chooses to leave the village... to go on a journey... I won't stop them."
She glanced—pointedly—at Kohana.
Who immediately went bright red.
"Wh-Why are you looking at me like that?! I didn't say anything!! I'm not blushing, YOU'RE blushing!!"
Haruto blinked. "Wait. What do you mean by—"
"ARGH!!" Nerimaru slapped her forehead. "Piguto, you really are dumber than a sack of rotten radishes!"
She reached under her throne, grabbed something, and flung it across the room.
THUMP.
A rolled-up, worn-out map landed in Haruto's lap.
"Take it. That's where the last Demon Lord's capital used to be," she said. "Now? Probably nothing but ghosts and ash. A ruined battlefield. Good place for a starter Maou."
Haruto looked at it, fingers numb.
"And listen," Nerimaru continued, voice low now—almost soft."Don't take this personally, kid. We've all suffered in this mess. You don't have to be evil. You don't have to be like the last one. But the world gave you a role. Now you get to decide what to do with it."
She stood again, small hands clenched, as if trying not to shake.
"And maybe one day… we'll meet again."
She turned her back.
"…And maybe then, you'll be strong enough to fix what the last fool couldn't."
Haruto didn't move.
Didn't smile.
For the first time since falling into this bizarre, shoe-filled world—
His face was blank.
"…Thanks," he muttered.
And then he turned and walked.
Out of the great hall.Through the village.Back to his shack.
Back to pack.
Back to prepare.
For whatever the hell came next.