Published: March 21, 2026
We followed Asahina-kun toward a small eatery called Holly House near the Nightingale Pavilion, drawn by a banner that read “donburi.” The seven of us filed in together.
“Whoa! They’ve got eel bowls!”
“Seafood bowls too!!”
“I’m so glad to be alive… Seriously glad we left the castle!”
Seeing other customers eating donburi, we cheered. The quality might not be on par with Japan, but right now any of us would probably cry with joy even over a cheap tempura-flake bowl from our moms before payday.
“What’ll you have? You look like you’ve eaten donburi before.”
A friendly-looking middle-aged woman came from the back to take our orders. Her hair and eye color were different from ours, but her clothing was exactly like what Japanese people wore before we were born, and she took orders just like someone from our time.
“Do you have a menu?”
“A menu? What’s that?”
Seems she didn’t understand the polite phrase. Hosoyama tried again, recovering her composure.
“I mean, do you have something that lists the items?”
“Oh, a menu. If it’s a menu, it’s right here.”
I thought the polite wording would get through, but apparently some generations of heroes are pretty sloppy with wording. Foreign words had mixed in.
“Thanks. Uh, I’ll have the seafood bowl.”
“I’ll have that too.”
“I want the wasabi bowl.”
“Shiori, that sounds like it’ll be spicy just from the name. Uh, I’ll have the tuna bowl.”
One by one everyone placed their orders. Hosoyama’s choice sounded odd, but whatever — we ignored it. Now that I think about it, Hosoyama has ordered some strange meals on the trip before… No, forget it. The contrast with her face is so extreme my memory’s fuzzy.
“I’ll have the negitoro bowl. Hey, Sato, you’re the only one who hasn’t ordered.”
“Ah, sorry. Uh, oyakodon for me.”
“Got it.”
I suddenly thought about Akira. I wondered if she was eating properly. Not that I was worried — I’m concerned because if she isn’t eating well she won’t be worth fighting. Also, I can’t go home and tell Akira’s mother that Akira died from starvation.
Akira’s mother is scary when she gets angry. People are scary when angry, sure, but Akira’s mother is on another level. They say the quieter people are the scarier when they lose their temper, and that’s exactly it. Once I got into a fistfight with Akira, and the next day both Akira’s mother and my own mother scolded me. Akira didn’t remember me, but her mother did. The reason for the fight was my anger that Akira didn’t remember me, so it wasn’t completely unrelated.
I remember being more frightened of Akira’s mother’s scolding than my own mother’s. She calmly explained, with a smile, exactly what I’d done wrong and how I should have acted. I was still young and couldn’t understand how someone could be smiling while scolding, and I was simply terrified.
“Here you go! Uh, who ordered the oyakodon?”
“That was me.”
Just as my thoughts broke off, the dishes arrived.
“Itadakima—!” we all shouted.
We ate rice together for the first time in ages.
“Ah, rice.”
“I’m so glad to be alive…”
“Is that all you say?”
“It’s delicious.”
Everyone ate their donburi with happy faces, except Asahina-kun, who as always showed no expression.
Akira loves rice, so she’d definitely come to this country no matter what. Asahina-kun seems to want to reunite with her, but I’ll go ahead. I’ll circle the Human race’s continent from the east, make my way halfway around, increase my strength, then strike into the Demon Clan’s continent and, eventually, the Demon King’s Castle.
The hero isn’t Akira — it’s me. I have to accomplish this. Sorry, Asahina-kun, but I’ll beat the Demon King before Akira does. I’ll defeat him so everyone can return thanks to me. Everyone will be grateful to me. Of course, Akira too.
I pictured that not-bad future and smiled softly.