The day before the opening ceremony had arrived.
I decided to head down to the Curry Fest being held at the station. There was no need to take my motorcycle for such a short trip, so I went on the bicycle I had recently purchased. It wasn't one of those mamachari bikes meant for grocery runs, but a proper sports bike. Even though I was well into adulthood, the "college student energy" radiating from me was overwhelming.
I parked my bike in the public lot in front of the station and made my way into the festival. By now, the residents of the Royal Capital didn't even bat an eye at my presence. Most of the owners running the food trucks were old acquaintances from my days living in the nagaya anyway.
I took a seat and dug into my curry. In the plaza nearby, small children were running around and playing. These were the children born before the terror attacks. Weaving between them were numerous strollers—carrying the children born after the attacks.
In Chronos, an entire generation of older people had effectively vanished. Perhaps as a result, a massive baby rush was occurring across the country. It helped that money was finally reaching the child-rearing generation. I liked to think the world was heading in a better direction. Probably.
I opted for the Galactic Empire-style curry. It was the nostalgic flavor of the Imperial Capital. Eating it made me feel a sudden pang of... homesickness...
Actually, that was a lie. I just knew that every Friday was Curry Day.
I had originally intended to just buy some here and slack off on cooking, but eating it made me want to make my own. I stood up and walked over to a nearby food truck.
"Your Majesty! Looking for seconds?" the owner asked.
"Nah, these are for my ninja bodyguards. Hey, show yourselves."
About twenty men shuffled out of the shadows and into the open. That was just how things were now. After I had repeatedly left the Knights behind during my outings, the Lepsitol Ninjas had been officially inaugurated as my Oniwaban Bodyguards.
"You guys can order whatever you want," I told them.
"Thank you very much, sir. And for you, Your Majesty?"
"I'm heading back. I feel like cooking some curry myself now."
"We'll take forty servings to go, then!" the leader called out to the vendor.
"I'll deliver them to the palace later!" the vendor shouted back.
Forty of them? That was a lot of ninjas.
"Here," I said, handing over some cash. "Keep the change."
"Thank you very much!"
I pedaled back to the palace on my bike. The danger was minimal to begin with. The entire route from the station to the palace ran through the district where the people from the old nagaya now lived. They had been scattered by the redevelopment, but they were still my neighbors. I paid my Neighborhood Association Fee and contributed to their local events. I even participated in neighborhood trash pick-ups as a matter of course. As I rode, acquaintances would frequently call out greetings.
The ninjas followed in a pack behind me. They tried their best to be discreet, but a group of men in black suits racing along on mamachari bikes tended to stand out regardless of their skill.
Once I reached the palace, I went straight to the dining hall to start on the curry. Curry is a wonderful thing. Especially on a Friday. It was a basic pork curry. As I worked, Nina-san came over to help. Without a word of discussion, she began frying up a massive amount of tonkatsu. She didn't stop there, either—the croquettes came next.
"...Fried food is justice," she declared.
"Ah, yes. Quite right."
Once she got into this state, there was no stopping her. I set out the industrial-sized containers of fukujinzuke and rakkyo pickles, tossed together a mysterious pasta salad, and chopped some vegetables. Phew. Nina-san finished steaming the rice, and the prep work was officially done.
I figured I’d go back to playing King until lunchtime. However, the moment I returned to my room, I was intercepted by Ren and a Court Lady who had been lying in wait.
"What is this!?" I cried.
"Preparations for tomorrow's opening ceremony," they replied.
Ah, right. The "esthetic-type thing."
I was promptly restrained and escorted away. My hair was placed in the hands of a young man who had recently transitioned from a professional hair salon to a position as a chamberlain.
"Your Majesty, what kind of hair care routine have you been following?"
"I use the Aloe Shampoo provided in the Space Marine shower rooms, sir!" I replied instinctively.
"...We shall begin with actual hair care, then♪"
I, Kawagon, had made a grave error in my dialogue choices. How tragic.
He started using terms I didn't recognize, like "carbonated cleansing," but I simply submitted to the process. After the shampooing was finished, he prepared to cut my hair.
"How would you like the style, Your Majesty?"
"Just please, no jarhead," I pleaded, shaking. "Anything but the legendary Space Marine jarhead..."
"This is a salon, sir, we don't do those here. Why don't you leave it to my discretion?"
I sat there, trembling in the chair.
I had expected to walk out with a buzz cut down to the sideburns like an Ozen-style cut, but it turned out looking more Latarnia-style—or rather, like a Galactic Empire model. I looked like a total "pretty boy."
Wait... was I an NTR-exclusive mass-produced machine!? Or maybe the kind of guy juggling too many partners who only ever gets a bad end where he's stabbed to death.
"You must be tired, Husband. Why don't you have some tea and rest?"
When I returned to my office, Ren was there waiting.
"Ren... it seems I am an NTR-exclusive mass-produced machine..."
"I believe if you were a mere mass-produced unit, Husband, we would not have struggled nearly as much during the Zork War," she replied, brushing off my nonsense with practiced ease.
"Ah, more importantly, what do you think of this? The new King of Chronos Ceremonial Uniform."
It was essentially a military uniform, but the formal ceremonial version, complete with white gloves. It was currently hanging on a rack in the office.
"I believe it suits you perfectly. You have a slender frame, Husband, but you are quite muscular."
The garment had been tailored specifically to my physical data. Tomorrow, I would look like an Idiot Lord in this. Hanging right next to it was the actual Idiot Lord Set—a white jacket emblazoned with the Chronos National Emblem, paired with gold hakama and a katana with a purple cord. There was even a topknot wig. Next to that was a gold kimono samba set.
"I was thinking of finding a gap in the schedule tomorrow to bust out the gold samba set and dance."
"Please refrain, unless you wish to be killed by Claire-chan."
I suppose that would be a suicidal act. I sipped my tea and looked at my reflection in the mirror, still wearing my Officer Academy tracksuit. I looked like the kind of guy you'd see hanging out in front of a convenience store late at night. The fact that my hair was the only thing that looked expensive only reinforced that image. Was it really okay for me to be King?
Just as the thought crossed my mind, voices drifted in from the hallway.
"I hate that sparkly dress! I absolutely hate it!"
Tatiana, still in her tracksuit and dirty classroom shoes, was running for her life. She was likely fleeing because the Saint's Dress was terrifyingly girly.
"Why do I have to wear a sparkly tiara like that!?"
"Saint! It suits you beautifully!"
Tatiana always claimed to be a punk, but she actually looked great in fluffy, glittering things.
"It will definitely look good on you!"
"Noooooooooooooooooooooo!"
"Target captured, for be arimasu!"
Ah, One-oh-one had caught her.
"Tatiana! I am putting up with this Taikyoku Nation traditional court attire myself, so you have to endure it too!"
So Shiyun was part of the capture squad as well. Since Shiyun had been raised as a boy, she preferred sporty styles; her usual outfits consisted of official baseball uniform shirts.
"I don't want tooooooooooooo!"
Tatiana's scream echoed through the palace.
"What about you, Ren?" I asked.
"I am wearing a dress."
As expected, Ren was the most composed of them all.