"I don't wanna interfere with the free market enterprise there," said the king, his voice clear and strong. "Unless they're doing something stupid and I need to kick their ass. No, we don't need to take a cut of their profits. Just make them donate shit to charity. Middlemen are annoying and dumb."
I looked over at him, just as he added, "No, you're dumb. Hold on, Hokushin, I'm gonna deck this moron."
The king was not, as his speech would imply, in the midst of punching anyone out. His head was down on his desk and he was most definitely sound asleep, drooling away on a form. The only sign that this wasn't your run-of-the-mill sleeptalker - or perhaps more accurately, considering his tattooed Toushin appearance, your run-of-the-mill sleep-talking demon king - was the fact that he was still diligently filling out the form he was sleeping on.
The training techniques of the legendary human psychic Genkai were astoundingly thorough. Even today, a century after the king originally studied under her, he remained remarkably lucid in his sleep. His mental focus in this state was at times greater than during his waking life. It was only natural that the king eventually realized he could hone this skill into areas beyond merely training for martial activity.
I was highly skeptical when he had first broached the idea with me. But, as with most of the king's especially outlandish schemes, I was soon made a believer. And after some initial trial and error, I readily admitted that it came in very handy.
T1 might be known as a very unbureaucratic place, not without reason. But it was hardly a chaotic free-for-all. Overseeing the largest territory of the Demon World and the welfare of a third of the entire realm's population was a major responsibility, and the king cared a great deal about doing a good job. He was simply not a micromanager, and also simply - or not simply - unconventional about it.
In any case, dealing with the red tape of other governments was a daily reality. Every so often the volume of tasks - physical paper-based or not - became onerous. Fortunately, with the king unrestricted to working only during his waking hours and able to access higher cognitive performance on command (for the most part), his absolute trust in my ability to interpret and implement his wishes, as well as his complete confidence in the rest of our highly competent staff, T1 was extremely successful in measures of both efficiency and effectiveness.
Our results frequently confounded other organizations, demon and human. I couldn't blame them, as the king definitely gave off, as he would describe it, a "slacker vibe", and made no effort to dispel such impressions. I was often approached for consulting and, while I could offer general (and, in my mind, usually rather obvious) advice, I ultimately had to disappoint many people. Our system worked very well for us, but it was hardly something that could be easily adopted by others.
The sound of methodical scratching suddenly filled the air. I frowned. The king's hand had wandered off the paper and was now scrawling into the fine surface of his desk.
There were, of course, still some kinks to be worked out. If they could ever be.
I took his wrist and gently guided his hand back onto the sheet, only to find it continued drawing wide, illegible loops all over the submitted proposal.
We hadn't quite figured this out, but it seemed at a certain point even the king's deep sleep motor skills hit a limit. It appeared to me this was also the cause for his verbal outburst earlier - that his subconsciousness realized he couldn't finish writing any more directives, and had allowed me to bear witness to his intended response, even directly addressing me to make sure I noticed.
Another one for our lessons. "Duly noted, my Lord," I said. I removed the pen from the king's grasp.
His hand continued doodling blindly for a few moments across his desk, then paused. The fingers stretched, the hand flattened, and the wrist jerked from side to side, patting around looking for the missing pen. After several seconds, it gave up and his arm folded in towards himself. He lifted his head and rested it in the crook of his arm, his face hidden.
I checked the large stack of papers in his "out" box. It had been completed quite thoroughly, and it was largely discernable, though some of the writing wandered dangerously close to the edge of the paper. I furrowed a brow at a sentence that marched confidently into the void beyond; I would have to ask the king about that one later. Otherwise, the only incomplete document was the last item lying beneath the king's head, but he had answered it in his sleep.
I carefully tugged the papers out from under him and jotted the appropriate comments on it before adding it to the pile. The king grunted and mumbled something, then rolled his head slightly to the side so that his face was no longer obscured.
"I wanna eat pancakes," he said, eyes closed. "Banana pancakes."
Well, he had worked hard; banana pancakes for the king it was. I made a note of this request for breakfast and transmitted it down to the kitchen.
There was a rustling sound just behind me, and a blue-grey fuzz lept on to the table. Sayaka turned slightly and looked at me, her tail a curious question mark, before turning her attention to the king.
I smiled at her, remembering what a tiny weak thing she had been when she first arrived. She was definitely much larger and healthier now, though still small for one of our cats. She also much preferred the indoors to the gardens, and frequently tagged along with the king (and therefore me, by extension) and Touou. Both of them had been particularly taken with her, and she adored them in return. When she was very tiny, they used to take turns carrying her around, often hidden in their robes only to be discovered when she sprang out unexpectedly during meetings.
Sayaka padded towards the sleeping king, putting a paw on his head and prodding at his hair. When he didn't respond, she turned to me and maiowed questioningly.
"No, he's asleep," I said to her.
She meowed again and prodded at the king some more with both paws. When there was still no reaction, she raised herself on both hind legs and put most of the weight of her upper body behind her actions, rocking his head back and forth.
The king groaned. "Quit poking me, Sayaka," he muttered, sounding even younger than usual. "We already played 'pony' two hundred freaking times! Can you please just go to heaven?!"
Sayaka stopped pressing on his head.
"Botan, when are you gonna take her to Reikai?" the king continued to grumble in his sleep. "I ain't no friggin' ghost babysitter ..."
Sayaka dropped her paws and sat back on her haunches.
"Finally," the king said, smiling blissfully in his sleep. Sayaka looked up me, tail swishing. I smiled as well, imagining her feline expression to be one of bafflement and resignation.
After a few moments of silence, the king spoke again.
"When can I come back to life already …?"
We both turned our heads to look at him. The king's tone was completely different from earlier. His words were very quiet, almost plaintive, with a distant, drifting quality to them. I looked carefully at him; his smile was gone now.
"I'm so tired of this," he said. "I don't ... wanna exist like this ... Forever ... "
His expression and voice were so unexpectedly despondent it made my chest ache. Sayaka nuzzled the side of his face, and then looked back at me.
I placed a hand on the king's shoulder and shook it gently. The physical motion alone was not enough, of course; the direct touch allowed me to also send a thread of demon energy as a signal to rouse him.
"You can wake up now," I said softly.
Slowly, the king lifted his head from the desk. He blinked groggily and then turned his head to look up at me. For a split second, he seemed confused, as if he didn't know who I was, but the microexpression disappeared quickly.
"Yo," he said, eyes half lidded. Sayaka mewled loudly, and he reflexively reached over and rubbed her head, then scratched her under the chin.
"How do you feel?" I asked.
He yawned widely and stretched his arms in the air. "Like I've been sleeping for a million years." He leaned forward, pulled both arms behind him, and cracked his neck and shoulders. Then he reclined, causing his chair to squeak in protest. Sayaka took the opportunity to pounce into his lap, curling into a satisfied ball of fur.
He looked around at his room, as if seeing it for the first time. "How'd I do? Did I finish everything?"
"Almost," I said. I patted the impressive stack of papers to show him what he had gotten through, and waved the last set including the form with the running-off sentence at him. "It's a new record."
"Awesome," he said, smiling sleepily. "I want a raise."
"Kings don't get raises," I informed him, and he laughed.
"Why the fuck did I sign up for this again?" he replied.
He was clearly joking, and it was hardly the first time he had cracked this line. My usual comeback was that he hadn't. But this time, I paused.
This time, his earlier plea echoed in my mind.
Of course he had been dreaming, a chain of memories likely prompted by Sayaka's namesake, clearly reliving a version of events from the first time he had died.
But I wondered.
In every deep sleep experience I had encountered with the king, his responses almost always turned out to be relevant, even if they at first appeared unrelated or nonsensical. I initially assumed that his words were a request to be woken up, and perhaps that was all they were.
But considering the deep-rooted nature of dreams, and the king's unique situation, one couldn't help but seriously entertain the thought that it was, to some degree, a reflection of his truest feelings.
The king's boisterous, outwardly carefree - and careless - attitude certainly made it seem like he lived his life quite freely and autonomously. He confided to few how he truly felt. I remembered once, when he had first come to the Makai, he had commented to me that many turning points in his life had simply … happened, that many times he felt like he was simply being swept along in a wave. Being able to return to life; becoming a Spirit Detective; becoming the successor to the Spirit Wave technique; entering the Dark Tournament.
And he hadn't specifically said them, but I could easily add at least two more: becoming a demon. Becoming a king.
One could read between the lines - not by choice. And all that it implied.
All the things he had left behind. All the doors that had closed to him.
It takes a certain kind of courage to continue upon a road that has been thrust upon you. No matter how few the options appear to be, choosing to continue is still a choice. Even when other paths become inaccessible, and there is only one direction to walk - especially when there is only one to walk - it can still be a difficult journey: treacherous, frightening, painful, or lonely.
Many people thought the king never took anything seriously, nor anything to heart. In many ways, they would be right.
And wrong.
It was not surprising to me that the king avoided dwelling on things publicly, detested thinking and preparing, loathed strategy and mind games. He did them when he had to, but he told me they gave him cold feet, made him question himself, took his brain to places he did not particularly wish to go. And it was not surprising to me that the king frequently complained about inane little things, but rarely momentous big ones. In the end, like many before him, the way he focused was the way he coped. Like blinders on a horse, they allowed him to continue doggedly on the path he had been flung upon, and he always knew perfectly well those blinders were there if he stopped.
Thus, his behaviour seemed immensely straightforward. He appeared guileless. And at the same, in many ways, incredibly difficult to read.
All of these mixed thoughts and emotions coursed through my mind in a mere matter of seconds. It was an extremely short period of time, but long enough for the king to notice. He looked straight at me.
It might have been the light, it might have been my imagination, but his expression seemed to shift. If he suspected the train of my thoughts- I realized I still hadn't spoken, and opened my mouth to respond.
Before I could say a single word, the king sniffed the air and interrupted me with, "Hey, is that banana pancakes? I've been dying for some. How'd you know?"
"You mentioned it in your sleep," I replied.
"Man," said the king with a grin, "Psychic powers are great for the important stuff. Come on, Sayaka! Move your fuzzy butt!" He started to get up, prompting the cat to leap off his lap and onto the floor. He brushed past me and out the door, and Sayaka meowed, trotting after him.
I followed the two of them down the long corridor, silent, thoughtful.
Author's Notes: This was technically completed about a year ago, but I didn't get around to cleaning it up until now. I sometimes wish I had the ability to do paperwork in my sleep, but then again the process to get there would probably kill me.