The McDonald's stood like a shrine to a forgotten god, its glowing golden "M" jutting out of the gray skyline like a beacon to the lost and hungry.
The parking lot still shimmered with the wet sheen of earlier rainfall, with twilight bleeding into the saturated asphalt and rendering everything in hues of silver and slate.
Clouds hung low and heavy, like they hadn't quite made up their minds about whether to leave or keep brooding.
"We're here," Rimuru announced, holding up the iPad in one hand like a map to salvation. His other hand flared out dramatically, gesturing at the light-up McDonald's sign with the air of a prophet guiding a congregation. "The Golden Arches, baby."
Goblin Slayer, silent as ever, tilted his helmet upward. The visor caught a sheen from the sign above as he stared at it. For a moment he didn't speak, like he was trying to make sense of the iconography.
"… That is… Not a gate," he murmured flatly.
Rimuru snorted. "Nope. Just a logo. A stupidly successful one."
The armored man then looked down at the actual building now— studying the squat structure of tan brick and synthetic red siding.
Neon glowed faintly through the front-facing windows, partially obscured by posters advertising triple cheeseburgers and seasonal milkshakes. A mother and child exited through the double glass doors, plastic trays in hand, with steam fogging slightly in the outside chill.
"… Can we go inside now?" He asked, with his voice low and level as ever.
"Hell yeah," the slime replied, with all his performative flair suddenly dropping. His posture sagged as he tucked the iPad under one arm. "I've been holding in a shit since Kobayashi's."
Without another word, Goblin Slayer stepped forward and opened the door for him— holding it with one gauntlet-clad hand.
Rimuru blinked at him for a second, surprised by the courtesy, before stepping through. "Thanks, man," he muttered. "Come on."
Hearing that, the armored man hesitated at the threshold. "We're not ordering food?"
"Not yet," the slime replied, with his tone dipped into something conspiratorial. He kept his voice low, as he tugged Goblin Slayer gently by the wrist-plate. "Bathroom first. And I know for a goddamn fact you've never seen modern plumbing, and I'm not letting you go feral in there later, so we're getting this over with."
"I do not understand," Goblin Slayer admitted, still not resisting. "Plumbing?"
"Oh boy," Rimuru muttered, already steering them past the counter and toward a side hallway marked with two identical doors. "You're gonna learn today, buddy."
The hallway they walked into was clean— lit by recessed lights and perfumed faintly with that sterile scent all public restrooms tried to pass off as citrus.
On the two doors were minimalistic signage— plain human stick figures, not gendered. Beneath the handles, green tabs were currently displaying the word "Vacant."
"Okay," Rimuru said, pointing to the signage. "Unisex bathroom. That means anyone can use it. Doesn't matter what you've got in your pants."
Goblin Slayer tilted his head. "Why would that matter in the first place?"
"… You know what, good point. I like you," the slime said aloud, before crouching down slightly to point to the lock's indicator.
"See that? Green means it's free. Red means someone's in there. That's important. It's called boundaries."
"I see."
Rimuru the. glanced over his shoulder to ensure that no one was watching. Confident that the coast was clear, he then twisted the handle in one swift motion, and pushed the door open just enough to peek in.
"Alright, get in. Now."
Goblin Slayer blinked. "Why-"
"-Just go…! Inside…!"
Sensing the urgency in Rimuru's voice, the armored man pushed past the androgynous slime with the same calm obedience he might enter a dungeon.
The door swung then proceeded to shut close behind him with a soft thunk, before Rimuru locked it immediately with a soft click.
The bathroom itself was small, utilitarian, and spotless— marbled walls, a wall-mounted urinal, a sleek white toilet with a control panel built into the side, a minimalist sink with a motion sensor faucet. No toilet paper in sight, just a nozzle tucked discreetly inside the bowl rim.
Goblin Slayer took it all in with visible wariness, while Rimuru let out a long, suffering sigh— already tugging at the collar of his blue overcoat.
The fabric was heavy, lined with white fur along the collar and cuffs, the same one he'd worn during his early days as Tempest's leader. Underneath, a black crop-top clung to his torso, his exposed midriff rising and falling with each breath.
"Alright, listen," he said, eyes flicking to the armored man. "This is gonna sound weird, but I need you to hold this," he instructed, before practically shoving the iPad into Goblin Slayer's hands, who then cradled it like an alien relic.
"… And now this," the slime added, before hastily peeling off his overcoat and shoving it into Goblin Slayer's chest as well— hopping slightly in place now.
"Please, please tell me you're not weirded out by keeping watch while someone does their business…!"
Goblin Slayer, staring at the mound of blue and black fabric in his arms, shook his head slowly slowly.
"It is… Common," he said, his voice distant. "When traveling, to keep watch while someone is… Relieving themselves."
"Oh, thank God," Rimuru gasped, before practically running across the small room, and undoing the buckle on his slacks with twitchy fingers.
And as he tugged them and his briefs down in one swift motion. It was then that the slime unintentionally revealed to his armored companion that the swell of his backside didn't just contradict the rest of his petite frame, but that they were quite high-set and round.
It wasn't until he heard Goblin Slayer groan did Rimuru realize what he had done.
"S-Sorry!" Rimuru said over his shoulder, while noticing Goblin Slayer directing his gaze up at the ceiling before plopping down on the toilet with a grunt. "Didn't mean to moon you, buddy."
"… It's fine," he reassured, while still doing his best to give the slime the privacy he thought he deserved.
"You oughta consider yourself lucky," Rimuru continued, sighing in deep relief as the sound of water echoed in the bowl below. "Most people would have paid to have seen that, just now."
"… What peop-"
"-N-Nevermind— j-just give me a second…!"
There was another grunt, followed by a recognizable splatter. Rimuru soon let out a satisfied exhalation, with his chin resting against one hand, and an elbow on his knee.
"Y'know… This kind of thing used to be second nature," he muttered, almost to himself. "Back when I had a body, that is… Still is, turns out."
Goblin Slayer tilted his head, glancing sideways. "If that's the case, then why did you insist I come in here with you?"
"I panicked, alright?" Rimuru retorted. "What if I forgot how it worked? What if I needed help? You try not peeing or pooping for a decade and tell me it doesn't mess with your sense of bodily autonomy."
Goblin Slayer gave a small, understanding nod. "That is valid."
Rimuru leaned to the side and tapped a button on the toilet's panel. The water swirled, and something whirred quietly beneath him. And then—
"Ah—!"
His legs kicked out involuntarily. A burst of warm water shot upward— striking directly between his cheeks. His eyes went wide.
The armored man immediately leaned forward. "Are you alright?"
"Y-Yeah!" The slime choked out. "Yeah, I'm fine, I'm— ah— it's just the bidet…!"
"I see… What is a "bidet?""
Rimuru sucked in a breath, trying to relax as the stream of water continued its targeted cleansing.
"It's… It's a system built into modern toilets. Cleans your ass after you go. Like… A bath, but… Laser-precision. It's a life-changer."
Goblin Slayer didn't move. "Strange."
"No, what's strange is— hold on—"
He then proceeded to part his legs slightly, peering down with mild curiosity. His pupils shrank.
"… Oh."
He blinked. Then blinked again.
"… I have a dick again."
Goblin Slayer stared.
"Like, an actual dick. Penis. Balls too. What the hell— when did that happen?"
The warm air-drying function clicked on without warning, and Rimuru flinched again before relaxing into it.
"Holy shit. I thought I was still smooth down there… I didn't even notice until now."
"You are… Pleased?" Goblin Slayer asked— trying to make sense of what Rimuru had just admitted to.
"I… I don't know if pleased is the word. Surprised. Mostly surprised."
The dryer inside of the bowl hummed to a gentle stop. Soon, Rimuru stood, before pulling his underwear and slacks back up, and fumbling with the belt once more.
"Well. That's a thing."
"… Congratulations?"
Chuckling under his breath at what the armored man had said, Rimuru crossed over to the sink— pumping a generous amount of soap into his hands, before flicking on the faucet with a flick of his wrist.
The water ran cool as he scrubbed, as he watched the suds slide down the drain.
"Y'know, now that I think about it," he said over his shoulder, "you really didn't have to come in here while I was mid-process. I could've shown you after."
"… That's what I said," Goblin Slayer reminded him.
"Yeah, yeah— but I panicked, remember? Plus—"
He rinsed, then shook off the excess water.
"— I didn't want you wandering off while I was indisposed. I figured if I kept you in here, I could both teach you how this stuff works and make sure you didn't go harassing some poor cashier."
Goblin Slayer frowned. "I would not have done that."
"I know, but still."
Rimuru then reached out for his coat, retrieving it from the armored man's arms, before then taking the iPad next and tucking it into the crook of his arm.
"And I needed someone to hold my stuff," the slime added, as he hung the coat on the hook attached to the back of the door, before turning to Goblin Slayer again— brows raised.
"You gonna need help getting all that off?"
The armored man shook his head. "I will manage."
And as he stepped forward toward the toilet, Rimuru backed up into the corner, before beginning to tap away at the iPad screen. His yellow eyes narrowed in concentration as he navigated through the settings to join the restaurant's free WiFi.
"You can stand outside," Goblin Slayer said, glancing back at him.
"Nah, I'm good here," Rimuru said, while typing with both thumbs. "Might as well keep you company. And make sure you wash your hands."
On the search bar, he typed: 'Satoru Mikami.'
The results populated instantly— headlines, news clippings, an old obituary link. His finger hovered, then tapped it.
Goblin Slayer, sensing the weight of the moment, sighed inwardly. Slowly, he began to unstrap his gloves.
"If you insist," he said.
JAPAN HERALD DIGITAL
March 26, 2016 Updated 10:15 AM JST
By: Aika Tsutsumi, Senior Staff Writer
A Year Without Satoru Mikami: Grief, Rage, and the Legacy of a Quiet Hero
TOKYO — It has been one year since the tragic death of Satoru Mikami, 37, who was fatally stabbed on the evening of March 26, 2015, while shielding his colleague from a knife-wielding attacker in Shinjuku's electronics district. The suspect, 29-year-old Kazuya Tsujimoto, confessed to stalking the intended victim, Airi Hasegawa, for weeks. Satoru died instantly from a wound to the lung.
While his selfless final act was heralded in the media, the man himself remains a mystery to most. A reclusive systems analyst with no surviving spouse or children, his story was largely reduced to headlines. But behind those headlines lived a son, a brother, and a man who once dreamed of building a better world—until that world buried him.
To mark the anniversary of his passing, I spoke with the three people who knew him best: his grieving parents, and his older brother—billionaire entrepreneur Ken Mikami.
A Mother's Gentle Ache
In the small mountain town of Fujikawa, Chiyo Mikami meets me with tea and a delicate, grieving smile. Her home is filled with old photographs, many of which feature her youngest son grinning awkwardly behind oversized glasses or clutching a Super Famicom controller.
"He was born during a snowfall," she tells me, gently folding her hands in her lap. "So small, I could hold him in one arm. Quiet, but curious. He loved puzzles, little machines. Always asking how things worked."
Chiyo speaks with a soft, melodic tone, her grief pressed between each syllable like silk between pages.
"He wasn't strong, not physically. But he was thoughtful. Sensitive. He would apologize to stray cats if he startled them. That kind of heart is hard to find in this world."
When I ask about his later years, her voice falters.
"He stopped visiting after he moved to Tokyo. He would call, say he was busy, that he was working late… I believed him. I think part of me still does. It's easier than accepting that he was alone. That I didn't notice how far he was falling."
She pauses, then adds, "I don't care what was on his computer. He died protecting someone else. That's the only legacy that matters to me."
A Father's Stoic Grace
Ozu Mikami speaks little, but when he does, the room stills. A former forestry official, he sits upright on a woven mat, his hands like stone over his knees. His eyes rarely blink.
"My son was not weak," he says. "He was... Misdirected. His heart was strong, but it clung to shadows."
Ozu doesn't flinch when speaking of Satoru's isolation or decline.
"I taught him to cut wood, to endure the wind and the cold. But life in the city broke him. It buried him beneath noise and vice. Even so... A man who dies on his feet, shielding another, dies with honor. And I will speak nothing less."
When I ask if he ever told Satoru he was proud of him, Ozu looks out the window toward Mount Fuji.
"Once," he says, after a long silence. "And I wish I had said it twice."
Ken Mikami: "My Brother Died a Virgin with a Tentacle Fetish"
Ken Mikami does not grieve quietly. He joins the interview from his Miami Beach penthouse, shirtless, gold Rolex flashing, a glass of whiskey in one hand and what appears to be a cigar rolled with hundred-dollar bills in the other. The 45-year-old is the founder and CEO of seven separate tech companies, including CloudRaptor, Shinra Softworks, and NeuralEdge AI. He is a living hurricane in leather loafers.
"Let's talk about the elephant in the f*ing morgue," he began. "My little brother was a national embarrassment. I'm not gonna sit here and tell you he was a saint. That little bastard lived in a Tokyo broom closet surrounded by cum socks and expired Cup Noodles, jerking off to anime girls with four ears, machine guns for nipples, and giant-fat throbbing cocks between their thighs. This is who he became. Not who he was."
Ken's voice is cruel and hilarious in equal measure— equal parts unhinged stand-up routine and scathing eulogy.
"You ever see a grown man drop $800 on a digital hat in an MMORPG? I have. His rent was overdue, he was living off vitamin gummies and tap water, but he just had to buy the 'Ultra Rare Crimson Fox Mask' or some s*t so he could 'raid in style.' Like anyone wanted to talk to his socially bankrupt, body-pillow-humping ass."
He takes a long swig.
"Tokyo turned him into a f*ing cautionary tale. I should've dragged him out by his hair when I had the chance, but I was too busy running a goddamn empire. Guess that's on me then."
Yet even in his obscenity-laced tirade, there is a sliver of something more.
"Satoru wasn't always like that," he mutters, eyes momentarily softer. "Kid used to be brilliant. Made his own card game in elementary school. I still remember this dumb thing he called "Shadow Master," where you summon warriors from shadows. Whole game was scribbled in crayon but he had rules, lore, balance— it was insane. He was only ten too."
He exhales, scowling.
"But somewhere along the way, the world told him he wasn't worth s*t. So he retreated. Hid in a screen. Called his porn collection 'research.' Man, f*k you, Satoru— you had so much in you."
When I ask about their parents, Ken grows quiet.
"My mom's an angel. My dad's a f*ing statue with a soul carved into it. They didn't deserve this. They raised a boy who used to write poetry about the moon. And what did they get? A funeral for a shut-in whose most stable relationship was with a mousepad that had tits."
There's a long pause. Then, in a voice lower than before:
"He died doing something real. I don't know how. Don't know why. But he f*ing did it. So yeah, I'll light a damn incense stick this year. Doesn't mean I forgive him. But it means I remember him."
Between Potential and Reality
Satoru Mikami was a quiet man, a dreamer who wandered too far from himself. In life, he was dismissed. In death, he saved someone. And maybe, in the brutal honesty of those who mourn him, he is finally seen in full.
He was a son who couldn't ask for help.
A brother who faded into the screen.
And a man who— when it mattered— stood between death and someone else.
He may not have lived perfectly. But in his final moment, he lived with courage.
© 2016 Japan Herald Digital. All rights reserved.
The plastic number placard sat at the corner of their table like a warning sign. '47.' Rimuru couldn't help but to find himself disliking it.
It looked smug. Mocking. Just sitting there, perched beside two sweating drinks and a napkin he'd already crumpled twice and then flattened back out— like maybe folding paper could stop him from spiraling.
He hadn't taken a sip of his drink yet. Just sat there, arms crossed, shoulders tight, mouth hard-set. The iPad lay flat on the table between them— screen off now, like it had seen too much.
Across from him, Goblin Slayer sat perfectly straight, with his gauntlets resting neatly beside his paper cup. He hadn't touched his drink either. His helmet tilted ever so slightly in Rimuru's direction.
"… I take it you didn't enjoy the article," Goblin Slayer said plainly.
Rimuru looked up, lips twitching. "Y'think?"
A pause, before finally the slime reached for his drink and took a sip— just to give his hand something to do. In his current state, not even the fresh crispness of his iced-cold Sprite could raise his spirits.
Goblin Slayer leaned back slightly. "What was it about?"
Rimuru scoffed, low and bitter. "Me. Dead me. The guy I used to be. Satoru Mikami. The supposedly pathetic bastard who got himself stabbed before he could pay off his student loans."
The slime then stared down at the iPad like it had just insulted his mother.
"They called it a tribute. "A Year Without Satoru Mikami." Cute title, right? Touching. Thought it'd be something respectful. Thought maybe they'd highlight that I died saving someone. Thought maybe I'd be remembered as, I don't know… A good person?"
Goblin Slayer tilted his head. "Did the writer not do that?"
Rimuru shook his head. "They didn't try that fucking hard, so no— not really." He spat out bitterly, before then dragging his palms slowly down his own face. "They talked to my parents. My mom tried to be sweet. Said I used to feed stray cats. That I was kind. Gentle. My dad… Just gave the usual stoic, respectful nonsense. Probably didn't want to say what he really thought."
Goblin Slayer remained quiet, listening.
"But then there's my brother," Rimuru snapped, voice cutting sharper now. "Ken. And he turned the whole thing into a fucking comedy special. I swear to God, if that man's tongue was a knife, I'd be back home right about now."
Rimuru's leg then started to bounce under the table. He tapped his nails against the side of his cup, trying to regulate the rage.
It didn't work.
"He called me a failure. An embarrassment. Went on and on about how I hoarded porn, lived in a closet, wasted my twenties chasing stupid shit. Made me look like I was a total shut-in loser for the better half of my life."
Goblin Slayer considered that, before saying, "You do seem like someone who's spent a lot of time indoors."
Rimuru blinked slowly. "Dude."
"I meant-"
"-I know what you meant."
Goblin Slayer gave a short nod, respectful. "It sounds like it hurt you."
"Y-Yeah…! No shit," Rimuru spat, voice cracking. "It was humiliating…! It was like reading someone eulogize your life, like it was a goddamn joke…!"
His eyes began to burn.
That's when the armored man leaned in slightly. "When was this written?"
"Nine years ago," Rimuru muttered, dragging the words out like they tasted like rust. "Nine. Goddamn. years ago…"
A beat of silence.
"… Then his opinion might've changed since then."
The slime glanced up, with his expression unreadable. "… You think people like that change?"
"Sometimes."
Rimuru exhaled hard through his nose, then leaned back in the booth, head lolling against the brown vinyl cushion. He stared up at the ceiling tiles like they held the answer.
They didn't. All they held was fluorescent light and the faint stench of fryer grease.
He then groaned. "God, I feel like my brain's been put through a paper shredder…"
Goblin Slayer took a sip of his drink— carefully navigating the straw through the slits of his visor, before slurping faintly. "What's your plan?" He asked afterwards.
Rimuru laughed— dry, sarcastic, joyless. "Plan? Oh, yeah, I got one: I'm gonna find some other manic with a knife, and hope to God when he kills me that I wind back up where I came from."
"Ah… I see."
Rimuru then looked back down, eyes heavy. His fingers traced the edge of the iPad screen like it might still offer something worthwhile.
"So then… Do your parents or your brother live close by?" Goblin Slayer asked. "Did the article mention anything about their whereabouts."
Rimuru scoffed, then gave a tired smile like it physically hurt to do. "Yeah, it did. My brother's supposedly in Miami. That's, what, halfway across the world? Give or take a continent?"
Goblin Slayer waited.
Rimuru's tone dropped, quieter. "And my parents were in Fujikawa when that was written. A bit closer. Still… Far."
"How far?"
"Couple hours by train, maybe. More if you miss the express."
Goblin Slayer tapped his gauntlet against the table once. "Then you should go."
The slime glanced at him, not following.
"To Fujikawa," the armored man said. "Do as I said before."
Rimuru stared. "You mean meeting my parents?"
Goblin Slayer nodded. "Or at least try to."
Rimuru slumped forward, forehead meeting the table with a quiet thud. "I don't even know where they live— if they're still living there. Like, literally. I don't have their address. And I still don't even know if they'd want to see me… I don't know if I'd want to see me, if I were them."
"You have a choice," Goblin Slayer said. "You always do. But if you want to seek shelter… If you want to reconnect, to understand where you came from— then your best option is to find the one who wrote the article."
Rimuru blinked against the tabletop.
"Ask them where your parents live," Goblin Slayer finished.
A slow breath escaped him. The slime lifted his head and sat back up. The gears in his mind turned— not fast, not loud— but just enough to be audible again.
"… That's actually… Not a bad idea."
Goblin Slayer inclined his helmet slightly. "I try."
Rimuru back looked at him, really looked at him— brows knitting not with mockery, but something quieter. Appreciation, maybe. Unspoken gratitude. The corners of his mouth lifted, just slightly.
"Y'know… For a guy who hardly talks, you give… Pretty solid life advice."
The armored man gave a small nod in response.
No need for flattery. He simply accepted the compliment for what it was.
"I'm serious," the slime added, with his voice growing softer. "If you weren't here, I probably would've just wandered into traffic by now. Not even dramatically. Just— walked into it. No thoughts. No hesitation. Just... Ka-thunk."
Goblin Slayer's visor tilted as if he was trying to gauge if that was a joke or not.
He settled on silence.
Rimuru shook his head with a dry chuckle, then turned his attention back to the iPad.
He began tapping the screen and it blinked back to life. The article was still open— he closed it with a quiet sigh, then scrolled to the bottom of the page.
There it was.
He tapped the email link, and the mail app opened. His fingers hovered over the "From" line. The old email still worked— surprisingly.
He started typing. Slowly. His thumbs moved with hesitation, then rhythm. The words came in low murmurs.
"'To Aika Tsutsumi. Hello. I'm not sure if you'll remember writing the article—'" he mumbled, "— no, that's dumb. Of course she'll remember. Try again. 'I read your article from nine years ago. My name is-'"
"-Sumimasen," came a sweet, soft voice.
Both men exchanged glances, before looking up.
The girl standing there had light chestnut hair tied in a neat ponytail, freckles dotting her cheeks like they were drawn on with care, and a kind smile that was sincere enough to disarm a bomb.
She wore the McDonald's uniform with the practiced ease of someone who was good at their job, but didn't need to brag about it. Her eyes squinted slightly as she smiled at them.
"Gomen ne, okama shite," she added politely, dipping her head just a little. "Your order is ready."
She held out a tray with a paper bag carefully folded and weighted with napkins— the smell of fries and grease practically steaming off of it.
"Douzo," she said brightly, lowering the tray.
Goblin Slayer reached up with both hands— careful, deliberate— and accepted the tray from her with a small bow of his head. "Thank you."
Rimuru glanced up from his screen. "Arigatou gozaimasu," he said distractedly, before dropping his eyes back down to the glowing email draft.
The girl's eyes lingered on the armored man. She then tilted her head slightly, smile widening. "Your outfit's really cool," she said in English, clearly catching his accent. "You must be really into cosplay, huh?"
Goblin Slayer didn't even blink. He just nodded. "Yes."
"You look like you spent a lot of time on it."
"I did," he said simply. Then, quieter, "I'm proud of it."
She beamed. "You should be. It's very detailed."
Then, she dipped her head again, with one hand raised in a gentle little wave. "Itadakimasu," she said sweetly, before turning back toward the kitchen and disappearing behind the counter.
Goblin Slayer looked at the paper bag, the top still folded. "The smell is… Strong."
"Yeah," Rimuru muttered, not looking up. "That's grease. Salt. Artificial dopamine."
The armored man looked back at him, then down to his own hands. "I should remove my gauntlets."
"Please do."
Goblin Slayer then began to undo the clasps on his forearm guards. One by one, the segments came free. The gauntlets thudded gently onto the seat beside him. Then the gloves— thin, dark, worn— were pulled off and folded neatly.
Rimuru glanced up briefly, almost impressed at how meticulous the man was. Like this was a ritual.
The tray was pulled closer.
Goblin Slayer opened the bag with careful precision, before tugging it down from the top, flattening it like it might explode if mishandled. He then reached in and pulled out a Big Mac box. He set it down on the tray, then did the same with a Quarter Pounder and a fry container, which he placed sideways on a napkin.
He leaned in, eyes scanning the contents like it was a battlefield.
"Okay… I think that's all of it," he said.
Then, after a moment's thought, he picked up the empty bag and flipped it upside down over the tray.
A few napkins fluttered out. A couple of ketchup packets. One green-lidded sauce container bounced out and rolled slightly.
The noise made Rimuru stop typing and glance up.
Goblin Slayer picked up the green-lidded packet and held it near his faceplate. "What is this?"
"Sweet and sour sauce."
"I see," he replied, pausing. Then, "What does it taste like?"
Rimuru blinked. "Uh… It's kind of… Tangy? A little sweet. A little sour. I don't know— like fruit, but not actual fruit. Artificial fruit. With vinegar. And sugar… L-Look, I can't really explain it."
Goblin Slayer just stared at him.
"J-Just open the damn thing and dip a fry."
"Understood," the armored man replied, before peeling back the green foil lid and setting it on the tray.
Rimuru exhaled and turned back to his iPad, fingers poised to resume typing— but they froze.
He blinked.
Goblin Slayer had picked up a fry. He was sliding it upward, slow and precise, between the metal vents of his helmet.
The fry disappeared. There was a small chewing motion. Then a swallow.
"… I like it," he said, voice muffled but satisfied.
Rimuru continued to stare, as the armored man reached for another fry.
The iPad hit the table with a soft clack.
"… S-Stop."
Goblin Slayer tilted his helmet at him. "What's the matter?"
Rimuru pinched the bridge of his nose, elbow on the table, eyes squeezed shut.
"Did you not want me to have more fries?" Goblin Slayer asked carefully. "Or the sauce?"
Rimuru groaned. "No. It's not the fries. It's not the sauce."
"Oh."
A beat.
Goblin Slayer still held the fry. He dipped it again— slow, unhurried— and then asked, "Then what is the problem?"
Hearing that made the slime stiffen. His shoulders lifted like tension cords. He didn't answer immediately.
The armored man watched him.
"I mean…" Rimuru muttered, "do you REALLY not know what the problem is?"
Goblin Slayer paused. He then pulled the fry out of the sauce, held it between two fingers. His other hand came up to his chin— metal knuckles touching his jaw, as he tilted his head in thought.
"… It's hard to pinpoint an exact problem," he said at last. "Since I've met you, you've had nothing but problems."
Rimuru's mouth opened, eyes wide. "I— You, bit—!"
He bit his tongue. Figuratively. His whole face twitched with restraint. He leaned back, tapping his foot hard against the tile floor. He looked up at the ceiling.
The lights glared back down like they didn't care.
He inhaled through his nose. Deep.
Held it.
Exhaled. Slow. Like bleeding out steam from a cracked pipe.
He looked back at Goblin Slayer with a strained smile. The slime then sat forward, raised his hand, and then pointed at his own temple before tapping it.
"It's the helmet," he said, voice low and forced calm. Tap. "You can't eat. With the helmet. On."
He leaned back again, folding his arms.
Goblin Slayer looked down at the sauce. Then at the fry in his hand. Then, after a moment, turned his visor slightly toward Rimuru.
"… I see," the armored man replied, before unceremoniously dropping the fry onto the same napkin where the others had been spilt onto.
He then brought his hands down, and rested them in his lap. His gaze, unreadable behind the visor, remained fixed on nothing. "I don't feel comfortable," he said finally, "taking it off."
Rimuru blinked, like he'd been slapped with something cold. His eyes sharpened, disbelief flashing across his face. "Why?" he asked, voice clipped, as both hands came up slightly in frustration. "You think someone's gonna recognize you here? In the middle of Tokyo?" He challenged, before pointing at the helmet. "Is it that? Or are you just... Self-conscious, or something?"
"No," Goblin Slayer said. His voice was calm. Steady. "It's not that."
Rimuru leaned forward, face tightening. He stared, waiting for the rest.
"Then what—?"
But he stopped.
The words died in his throat as it finally clicked. Not all at once. More like a slow, sinking realization that hollowed the air between them.
His golden eyes widened, the light in them softening. He didn't speak.
He didn't need to.
Goblin Slayer turned back toward his tray, fingers working to peel back the wax paper from his burger.
"… It's because of gob-"
"-It's because of goblins," the armored man said, finishing it.
Rimuru exhaled sharply. The sound wasn't quite a laugh, though it broke in his throat like one. No humor. Just the exhausted edge of someone who'd finally reached their limit.
He looked at the armored man again. His voice came quieter this time. "Listen… I've had a hell of a day, man. I'm broke. I'm starving. And I don't know where I'm gonna sleep tonight."
He then pressed a hand to his chest, before leaning forward. "So what's it gonna take for you to just— take off the damn helmet? To have you act like a normal person, for once?!"
Goblin Slayer didn't move.
"… You already know the answer," he finally said.
It came out low. Final. Like a door closing.
Rimuru then stood abruptly. The bench creaked beneath him. He grabbed his iPad and clutched it against his chest. "Move over," he said, voice tight.
Goblin Slayer moved without hesitation. He reached across himself, picked up the gauntlets from the seat, and set them aside on the opposite bench. Then he slid left, clearing a space.
Rimuru dropped into it, his motions tight with fatigue. He placed the iPad on his lap and jabbed at the power button. The screen lit up.
"Hey, Siri."
Nothing.
He tried again.
"Hey. Siri."
Still nothing.
"…Hey. Siri."
Silence.
"HEY. SIRI—"
A tone chimed softly. The orb glowed to life.
Rimuru leaned back with a breath of exhausted relief. Then, steady, eyes forward:
"Do goblins exist?"
A pause.
Then Siri answered, smooth and unfeeling:
"Goblins are fictional creatures found in various mythologies, folklore, and fantasy literature. They are often portrayed as mischievous or malevolent beings. While cultural depictions vary, there is no scientific or historical evidence to support the existence of goblins in the real world."
Rimuru said nothing.
But beside him, Goblin Slayer went still.
His body tensed. His hands twitched once, then locked in place. His breathing shallowed, and for the first time, there was something unguarded in his silence.
"H… How do we know she's telling the truth…?" He asked quietly. His voice had grown rougher. Frayed at the edges.
Rimuru turned, something shifting in his expression. The anger had gone. In its place: a quiet kind of worry.
He then angled the iPad back toward himself and asked, softer this time, "Who invented goblins?"
Siri responded again.
"The concept of goblins originates from European folklore, particularly in British and Germanic traditions. These beings were believed to inhabit dark forests, caves, or households, often causing mischief or harm. The modern image of goblins as cruel or monstrous was further popularized by J.R.R. Tolkien's "The Hobbit," where goblins were depicted as evil subterranean creatures. This portrayal influenced later fantasy works, including tabletop games like "Dungeons & Dragons," where goblins became common low-level enemies. Over time, the concept evolved into a staple of fantasy media…"
"… Would you like to know more about goblins in literature, film, or games?"
Rimuru didn't answer.
Goblin Slayer was hunched forward now, elbows braced on the table, helmet cradled in his hands. He looked like someone who'd been fighting for so long, he didn't know how to stop— even now, with the war over.
"... Hey," Rimuru said, voice low. "You okay?"
There was a long pause.
Then, the armored man turned his head— just slightly.
"… You might have been right," he said. His voice cracked. "They might actually be gone— all of them… I… I might… Actually be… Free…"
Rimuru stared. He hadn't expected the words to feel as heavy as they did.
Without a word, he set the iPad down on the table and reached out. His hand rested on Goblin Slayer's shoulder.
"… You gonna be alright?"
A slow breath vacated through the armored man's lips, before finally he replied, "I will be… I think I'm just… Processing it."
Rimuru gave a tired smile. "Yeah," he muttered. "Join the club."
They sat for a while, the noise of the restaurant muffled around them.
Eventually, Rimuru let out a dry, quiet laugh.
"Out of all places, I can't believe this had to happen in a fucking McDonald's."
"If it hadn't," Goblin Slayer chimed in, "I wouldn't have found out what sweet and sour sauce tastes like."
Rimuru smiled. It wasn't forced this time, as he shot back, "Still. If I'd known this was coming, I'd have picked somewhere else more dignified, like a Sushi restaurant or some tranquil-ass garden."
"A battlefield's a battlefield," Goblin Slayer quipped back— much to the slime's surprise.
Then a beat passed, before Rimuru glanced at him again— something curious returning to his eyes. "So—" he began, "— you gonna take it off or not?"
Goblin Slayer hummed thoughtfully, before nodding.
His hands then moved to the fastenings. Clicks echoed between them— metal shifting, padding loosening, followed by the top of the helmet lifting.
Rimuru leaned forward, watching intently. He didn't know what he expected. Something pale, maybe. Scarred. A face worn down by violence and grief. Something that matched the voice.
Then—
Gray.
Thick strands of silver-gray hair tumbled out, falling over his forehead. They curled slightly at the ends. The helmet came off fully.
Rimuru stared.
The face beneath was clean. Almost impossibly so. Smooth skin. Sharp, symmetrical features. Not a scar. Not a blemish. Crimson eyes— unflinching, calm, unreadable.
He looked more like a noble than a soldier.
Rimuru's jaw tensed.
'He's— what the hell— he's actually… Beautiful?!'
Goblin Slayer tilted his head slightly at the slime, before asking him, "What's with that look?"
Rimuru blinked hard. "N-Nothing," he said, too fast. "Just thinking about… M-My email, is all."
The gray-haired man nodded, before turning his attention to the tray. Picking up his burger, he peeled back the buns to inspect the contents.
"… What's an email?" he asked, all while eyeing the melted cheese, and sauces caked to the inside of the cooked bun.
Rimuru blinked. "It's like a letter," he said. "But… Instant."
"Ah… I see," Goblin Slayer replied thoughtfully, while lowering the top bun before taking a bite. He chewed slowly, eyes narrowing slightly as he tasted it.
Then, a small sound.
A quiet hum of satisfaction.
"… This is the best thing I've ever eaten," Goblin Slayer declared factually, before reaching for his drink. Taking a sip, he then grabbed another fry before dipping it into the sauce, and then eating it.
Rimuru watched him for a moment longer. Then raised his iPad again, shielding his face as he tried to steady his breath and type.
His hands were trembling. His ears were burning.
'Don't look at him,' he told himself. 'Just finish the damn email.'