"An Honest Mistake"

Part V

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And then, suddenly, all hell did indeed break loose.

With a scream that probably shattered the eardrums of everyone in a three-kilometer radius, Wolfram lunged, his fingers hooked into claws. His leap carried him straight into Usagi-san's chest, and the ensuing collision sent them both crashing to the restaurant floor. A split second later, a tall man with long dark hair shoved his way past Misaki and dove into the brawl himself. He resurfaced a moment later with Wolfram, who was snarling like a wildcat, clutched in his arms.

"Put me down! Brother, put me down! If you think that I will stand idly by and have this misbegotten peasant trample my honor to pieces, than you are sorely mistaken! Put me down and bring me my sword! I demand—"

Misaki gaped. And here he thought Usagi-san was difficult sometimes. Poor Yuuri.

"Lord Voltaire, we cannot hold them back any longer! 'Ware!"

"What—"

And then, descending like a plague of locusts, a horde of managers and assistant managers and sub-assistant managers and even a few sub-sub-assistant managers suddenly converged upon the spot. Misaki found himself being pushed backwards and out of the way as the polo-shirted and nametag-sporting swarm converged upon the fight, each member seemingly intent on breaking it up and ending the disruption once and for all.

After trying several times to push his way through the crowd, Misaki realized it was useless. Was Usagi-san all right? He could barely even see the center of the mob (where the managers appeared to actually be dog piling) much less Usagi-san! He bounced up and down on his tip-toes, calling his boyfriend's name, trying to spot a hand, a sleeve, a tuft of Usagi-san's dark, silvery hair, anything—

"Your Majesty!"

It was one of the guys from earlier, the one he'd dubbed "Eyebrow-Scar." Misaki groaned. Usagi-san was going to get smushed by the restaurant's collective management if he didn't do something soon! Dealing with these guys again was the last thing he needed.

"Quickly, Your Majesty! Come this way!"

"Look, I've told you already," Misaki snapped back. "I'm not—"

"But Conrad, Wolfram's in trouble! I can't just leave him here!"

Wait—why had Shibuya just answered? Did he and Eyebrow-Scar know each other?

"Wolfram can take care of himself. It's best if we leave here before the police arrive. Gwendal, Lord Günter and I barely held back the staff this long—we won't be able to keep trouble away if we don't get moving immediately!"

"But Wolfram's—"

"Your Majesty…Yuuri…please—"

"Wait, wait just a minute!" Misaki interrupted, breaking off his hunt for some sign of Usagi-san to gawk at Shibuya. "Shibuya-kun, you—you were this 'Majesty' person they've been looking for all this time? Seriously?"

Shibuya looked decidedly uncomfortable. "Um, probably. It's kind of a nickname of mine. Sorta…. Kinda…."

Misaki, however, had already turned his attention back to Eyebrow-Scar. "How could you mistake me for him?" he angrily squawked at the older man, gesturing towards Shibuya. "We look NOTHING alike. NOTHING. Are you all blind or something?"

"Conrad, what's he talking about?" Shibuya sounded rather confused.

Conrad, as Eyebrow-Scar seemed to be called, coughed delicately into his hand. "Nothing you need to be concerned about at the moment, Your Majesty. Right now our priority should be your safety—"

But Misaki had seen his face for just a moment, and had been able to read perfectly the half-apologetic, half embarrassed, half-good-humored (wait, was that mathematically possible?) expression he had seen there.

"YOU KNEW! You knew I wasn't him all along!" he screeched. "So what, did you all know? Were you all laughing at me the whole time? Did you have any idea how uncomfortable that was? Did you—"

"Did we know what, your Majesty?" asked another man, jogging up to them. Ah, it was Cosplay-Wig this time, his hair as fake-looking and lavender as before. And come to think of it, the guy who had pulled Wolfram off Usagi-San had been the one Misaki had been calling "Ponytail," right? They were all having a regular reunion over here in this corner of the restaurant, weren't they. A make-fun-of-Misaki reunion. Bleh.

"To make matters short, Lord Weller, it would be prudent for us to depart from this place as quickly as we are able. I just heard those infernal alarm devices the city guard here—er, the police—attach to their car-things outside. With your permission, Your Majesty, I would like to…" The purple-haired man suddenly froze, his eyes panning back and forth between Shibuya and Misaki.

"Er… Günter, are you feeling okay? Your face is kind of red."

"Oh, yes, perfectly fine. Your Majesty—Majesties. N-never better." And with that, Cosplay-Wig keeled over backwards in what appeared to be a dead faint, blood streaming from his nose. However, Misaki could hear him mumbling faintly, "two of them. Oh Shinou, there are two of them."

Misaki decided he really didn't want to know.

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Three tables away, His Eminence, the Double-Black Great Sage of Shin Makoku, currently reincarnated as Murata Ken, your average, everyday highschooler, calmly took a bite of his dinner.

"You owe me another three silver half-crowns, now. I told you Captain knew all along that the kid wasn't Bocchan."

Murata swallowed another piece of his tonkatsu and sighed. Over Yozak's shoulder he could see Weller pulling Shibuya towards the doors, Gunter's unconscious body slung over his shoulder. Behind them followed the green-eyed young man, who still appeared to be furious over something.

"I don't know what possessed you bet against him. I mean, Captain probably could identify our little king by starlight alone from a thousand paces away. Two thousand. Maybe even three."

"True. But it wouldn't have been sporting, Sir Grier, to bet on the same outcome," Murata replied crisply. "And, if I'm not mistaken, I don't you a single copper. Unless Lord von Christ fainted with happiness after seeing the true Maoh again…?"

Yozak shrugged. "You got me there. I guess we're about even then." He twirled his fork between his thick fingers. "I guess it all comes down to Gwendal doesn't it?"

"So it does."

Speaking of Gwendal, wasn't that him climbing out of that pile of managers? Wait, never mind, it was just that writer that had picked a fight with Wolfram. Murata recognized him from a photo on the dust jacket of a book he'd had to read while still attending high school. Ghastly, gloomy story it had been. It had been his Japanese teacher's favorite work of literature, though, and so his class had spent literally months studying it.

"I still say that Gwendal knew the kid wasn't Yuuri all along," Yozak continued as the writer, Usami Akihiko, was dragged back under the pile. "He practically runs the country after all. I can't believe he'd be that oblivious."

Murata tapped his chopsticks dismissively against the table. "Oblivious, no. Half-blind, yes."

"Half-blind?"

"He's not grumpy all the time—he's just squinting. And if he could see properly, then why would all of his knit animals come out so species-confused?

There seemed to be some sort of commotion on one side of the pile. The managers there seemed to be attempting to get out of the way of something.

"Hmm…that would explain a lot. Maybe I should buy him some spectacles for his birthday."

"You could try. I doubt he'd wear them though."

The managers were most definitely scrambling away from something now. Moments later, the identity of that something was revealed: a very disheveled Wolfram von Bielefield, armed in one hand with a dinner knife, and in the other, a battered silver cigarette lighter.

Yozak shrugged. "Well, we won't know for sure until we ask him. Until then…" He leaned forward, grinning. "A case of Maoh manjuu on our spoiled little prince there burning down half the restaurant."

Wolfram ignited the lighter. A plume of golden flame burst into being, reaching merrily for the ceiling.

"Seems like a good bet to me. I'll match it with four dresses from the stoutest temple priestess—they just might fit you, by the way—on Lord von Bielefield managing to burn the whole thing down."

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[Epilogue]

For Shibuya Yuuri and Takahashi Misaki, who bonded later that evening over soba and a spirited discussion about life with difficult, jealous boyfriends, the night marked the beginning of a long and beautiful friendship. For Usami Akihiko, Wolfram von Bielefield, and, in part, his half-brother, Gwendal von Voltaire, that particular evening marked instead a long and bitter animosity. Thankfully, though, in part due to the timely influence of a certain sunglasses-wearing mobster-lookalike by the name of Bob, all the charges against them were dropped. To the present day, all three refuse to talk about the incident.

And as for Murata Ken and Yozak Grier….Well, both reached home empty handed. It seems that a certain uniquely human invention— the fire sprinkler—has quite the dampening effect when applied to fire-element Maryoku blasts.

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Fin.


Well, that's the end, folks! The ending was a bit weird (anticlimactic?), but I hope you enjoyed it anyway! To everyone who reviewed this story, thank you so much for all your support!

Final comments or criticism, anyone? The little button below is waiting… :D