HowDeadTL: SS18 The Man Who Made Them Call Him (The Name He Gave Himself) "The Grim Reaper." Part 1

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The Duke's Daughter Goes Her Own Way

[The Man Who Made Them Call Him (The Name He Gave Himself) "The Grim Reaper." Part 1]

Translated by: ME

Author's note:

This one is quite long, so please read it when you have time.

As you might guess from the subtitle, this is the story of the MacNaughton ducal house's porter, Cesare, also known as the Pale White Grim Reaper.

I hope you enjoy the MacNaughton-style 'Jugemu.'°

Me's note:

"Jugemu" (寿限無) is one of the most famous and classic examples of rakugo, a form of Japanese verbal entertainment. At its simplest, Jugemu is an incredibly long, humorous name given to a child, which becomes the source of a comedic story.

***

Have you ever wanted to kill your past self? Have you ever been trying to sleep at night, only to remember some past foolishness and writhed around in your bed?

I have.… Or rather, I am currently in the process of writhing in real time.

I was born in a country far from here. My family were nobles, but we lived more poorly than the commoners on the street. So, after I grew up a bit, I was discarded to reduce the number of mouths to feed.

Well, there's no point in holding a grudge. I didn't have the talent back then to save my family from their dire straits. I remember my mother's hand trembling the whole time she abandoned me on a street corner. I also remember her repeating, [I'm sorry,] over and over.

Well, whatever. It was all that damn poverty's fault. That's all.

The country I was born in didn't have a robust social welfare system like this one. So, things like 'orphanages' were rare. Even when they existed, they were usually packed and had no room for new children.

So, from that day on, I had to survive on my own. Not that I minded much, since I was prepared for it.

To survive, I did all sorts of things. To put it bluntly, crimes.

Was it really necessary to go that far just to live? I still wonder that sometimes. Some might say it's better than dying, but a life spent crawling in the gutters can sometimes make you think, 'I'd be better off dead.'

Cheating and being cheated, stealing and being stolen from. In a life of repeating those things, what I finally settled on was being an 'assassin.' For me, it was easier on my conscience to kill scum than to deceive good people. That's all there was to it. And I had a certain… aptitude for the act of 'killing people.'

But, no matter how much of a scum the target was, if it wasn't according to the judgment of the law, it was 'murder.' A crime. As a result, I drifted from place to place, effectively on the run.

The place I ended up was the Macnagan Dukedom in this country.

Perhaps because this country's administration is so well-run, assassination requests are extremely rare. So, when I came here, I lost my job.

I thought about changing my line of work, but that seemed like a hassle, so I just wandered aimlessly.

The job of assassination, while exchanging it for personal danger, paid well. By then, I had accumulated enough assets to live out the rest of my life without working. I just had nothing to spend the money on and was completely at a loss.

I said I could live without doing anything, but if I'm 'doing nothing,' is there even a need to be alive? I found myself thinking that way, too.

It was then that a man spoke to me. A well-built, elderly gentleman. But his eyes were sharp, and his movements had no waste.

'Not ordinary,' my instincts told me.… And indeed, he turned out to have an incredible background, but I would learn that later.

A dim, dirty bar in a shabby part of town with less-than-stellar public order. He wore a tailcoat and an Inverness cape—fine attire that didn't suit the place—and yet, somehow, he seemed more at home in that gloom than anyone else.

He sat down next to me at my table in the corner and ordered a glass of the cheap liquor whose only merit was its potency. It was the kind of stuff only ordered by people who just wanted to get drunk on anything, or kids who wanted to act like they could handle strong drinks.

It was poorly distilled and filtered, slightly cloudy, and just plain harsh. It was like they sacrificed all flavor and aroma just to boost the alcohol content. Probably no one drank it by choice.

I glanced at the man out of the corner of my eye. I was surprised again by the quality of his belongings. Well-tailored clothes, a tie pin set with precious stones. The frame and chain of his monocle were silver. His gray hair was neatly set in an all-back style, not a strand out of place. His shoes were polished to a shine, making it obvious he hadn't walked here.

Just who was he?

As I regarded him suspiciously, the bartender brought the glass of cheap liquor and set it down on the table before him with a thud. The man didn't seem to mind, handing over coins for the full glass.

His appearance, his aura, and what he'd ordered were a complete mismatch.

Somehow curious, I kept stealing glances at him. The man picked up the delivered glass and downed about half of it in one go.

Those unused to it usually choke. But the man just quietly set the half-empty glass on the table and let out a small, soft breath.

So… cool…! Even the way he set the glass down was refined and without pretension. What could I say? He was just incredibly cool.

The drink I was having was made from re-fermenting and distilling the dregs of wine, another type generally considered 'strong.' But since it was originally from grapes, it at least had a good aroma. The taste… well, honestly, I can't really tell.

Not that I need to know the taste. A man is someone who quietly tilts his glass alone at the end of the day.

Maybe I'll try the liquor he was drinking next time. The one time I tried it before, I choked spectacularly and soaked my clothes. But I should be more of a 'grown man' now than I was then. I should be able to drain my glass with a listless air, just like him.

In a dim corner of a bar. Flickering light. A scarred glass, cloudy cheap liquor. Me, drinking it in silence.………… Nice. So damn nice.

I was stealing glances at him when our eyes suddenly met.

'Crap,' I instinctively averted my gaze.

Well-dressed people who frequented these kinds of dives were usually the type you were better off not getting involved with. They had the financial leeway to afford their looks, but the *source* of that 'money' was overwhelmingly the problem.

And this man was probably one of those types.

The sharpness in his eyes wasn't that of a 'good citizen.'

[You are…]

The man spoke, his voice a solitary drop in the silence.

[…'The Fallen Reaper Who, Cradled by Infinite Purgatorial Flames Born from Pale White Darkness, Dreams of an Aurora He Shall Never Glimpse Within the Eternal Prison Corridor,'° correct?]

[…How do you know that name…?]

This was the first person I'd ever met who could recite the coolest name I'd ever conceived without a single mistake or stutter…!

More importantly, it was the first time I'd met anyone who knew the parts *between* the 'Pale White' at the start and the 'Grim Reaper' at the end.… Maybe it really was a bit too long… I guess I need to make it more compact and cool… But there's nowhere I can cut…

[Now then, 'The Fallen Reaper Who, Cradled by Infinite Purgatorial Flames Born from Pale White Darkness, Dreams of an Aurora He Shall Never Glimpse Within the Eternal Prison Corridor.'°]

[What is it…?]

This cool name of mine is the one I use when accepting 'work.' Perhaps because of that, the man spoke in a low, quiet voice, almost a whisper.… So cool, that way of speaking.

[Are you, by any chance, looking for work right now?]

Was I… looking?

Illegal assassination requests were astonishingly scarce in this country. In other nations, if you sat in a bar like this for an hour, you'd hear a few such offers.

Or maybe I needed to go to seedier places to find that kind of talk.

In any case, it gave me the impression of a 'clean country.'

As I fell silent, the man picked up his glass from the table. The way he held the top of the glass with his fingertips was also cool.

With that cool gesture, he threw back the remaining contents of the glass in one go.… Still no choking. This guy is seriously cool…

He set the glass down with a light clink, looked at me, and gave a small smile.

[If you have nothing to do, come with me. I'll give you a job, 'The Fallen Reaper Who, Cradled by Infinite Purgatorial Flames Born from Pale White Darkness, Dreams of an Aurora He Shall Never Glimpse Within the Eternal Prison Corridor.'°]

He left some tips on the table and stood. As if waiting for it, a server came to collect them.

Was that small clink of the glass his signal to leave?………… So cool…

Intoxicated by the man's coolness, I decided to go with him.

If this 'job' of his was too much for me to handle, I could just run away. That's what I was thinking.

As we were leaving the bar, passing some men coming in, I overheard them whispering, [Hey, look. It's the 'Nightmare of Gruden.']

The 'Nightmare of Gruden'!! This man was *that*!?

Of course he'd be cool, I thought, feeling a sense of understanding.

The 'Nightmare of Gruden' was the name of a band of mercenaries said to have belonged to a distant military nation.

It was the name given to a mercenary unit that, in a battle centered around a small village called Gruden on the border, had inflicted heavy casualties on their own side but still overturned a several-fold difference in enemy numbers and annihilated the foe.

The name came from the horrific scene of that cold village, littered with the corpses of friend and foe alike. It's said that even the surviving allies feared that 'Nightmare.'

The whole story was just incredibly cool.

But the man glanced at the man who'd spoken and said in a low voice, [I'd appreciate it if you refrained from calling me by that ridiculous name.]

The men, sensing the sharp shift in atmosphere, put on vulgar, awkward smiles, said things like [Oh, sorry 'bout that,] and hurried inside.

I don't think it's ridiculous at all… Wouldn't you be happy to be called by a cool name?

Thinking that, I was ushered by the man and climbed into a splendid carriage.

The carriage sped quietly through the city, as if weaving through the silence of the night.

…Speaking of which, this carriage is really quiet! You can barely hear the wheels on the cobblestones! How does it work!? And it doesn't shake much either! Amazing, this country's technology!!

In the quiet interior, the man let out a small breath.

[Now, about the job I'd like to entrust to you…]

Here it comes! What is it!? What kind of dangerous job is it!? If the client is the 'Nightmare of Gruden,' no job would be too dangerous!

As I watched, holding my breath, the man spoke in the exact same tone as before.

[I'd like you to be a porter for the manor, handling cargo.]

…A cargo porter…?

Is that some kind of code…? Does he want me to transport some dangerous contraband…?

[Porter, meaning…?]

When I asked without thinking, the man tilted his head slightly.

[You're from a noble house, aren't you? 'The Fallen Reaper Who, Cradled by Infinite Purgatorial Flames Born from Pale White Darkness, Dreams of an Aurora He Shall Never Glimpse Within the Eternal Prison Corridor.'° Weren't there any in your household?]

[Well, yes, there were, but…?]

To be precise, they were servants who handled not just carrying cargo, but all sorts of other odd jobs.

Well, most typical noble houses would have them.… Provided they weren't as dirt poor as my birth family.

[I'd like you to be that porter. What do you say, 'The Fallen Reaper Who, Cradled by Infinite Purgatorial Flames Born from Pale White Darkness, Dreams of an Aurora He Shall Never Glimpse Within the Eternal Prison Corridor'°?]

I was a little hesitant and confused, but in the end, I nodded.

Because I couldn't imagine that a man who properly called me by the coolest name I'd conceived was a bad person.

I was shocked by where the carriage arrived.

I'd made sure to memorize a rough map of the country when I entered, after all. While detailed maps could be state secrets, a simple map for tourists was easy to obtain.

[Do you know where this is? 'The Fallen Reaper Who, Cradled by Infinite Purgatorial Flames Born from Pale White Darkness, Dreams of an Aurora He Shall Never Glimpse Within the Eternal Prison Corridor.'°]

[The Macnagan Ducal Estate… I believe.]

A massive, stately mansion with a weighty presence that spoke of history, located in the area known as the Nobles' Quarter. A grand residence fitting for the status of 'Duke.'

[Correct,] the man briefly affirmed my words.

Wait, the *Ducal Estate*!? Me, a porter *there*!? Why!?

It was a belated question, but I couldn't help feeling it.

Even for a Marquis's house, let alone a Duke's, a servant's background would be thoroughly investigated. So why *me*!?

The carriage stopped, and as the man quickly got out and started walking, I hurriedly chased after him.

I followed the man inside through what seemed to be a back entrance and was led to a room that appeared to be his office. I guessed from the way he hung his coat on a hook on the wall.

A sturdy, heavily-built desk had a small mountain of documents on it. Several speaking tubes snaked across the wall, and there was a large key box. Only a butler could manage something like that.

If he was the butler of a Ducal house, then his fine build and refined demeanor made sense.

But the butler of a Ducal house!? The 'Nightmare of Gruden'!?

The man opened a desk drawer and took out a piece of paper. As I wondered what it was, he tossed something at me.

What came flying at me at an incredible speed was a pen.

Instinctively, I caught it in front of my face.

…Wait, he was aiming straight for my eye… What the hell… That's a little scary…?

Thinking that, I suddenly realized.

'Scary.' I had indeed felt it, if only a little.

The reason I'd taken up a profession like 'assassin' in the first place was that the emotion of 'fear,' which should be rooted in instinct, was exceptionally faint in me.

I was 'fearless.'

That's why, no matter how dangerous the job, I could carry it out without losing my cool.

And yet, I, that same person.

Had just felt it, for sure.

A tiny amount of… 'fear.'

Seeing I had caught the pen, the man fluttered the piece of paper he held.

[It's an employment contract. Can you sign it?]

[Is that… asking if 'there's any problem with the contract's contents'? Or asking if 'I can write'?]

The man gave a small puff of a laugh at my question. An ironic smile—so ruggedly cool.

[Both.… As I thought, you are not a 'fool.']

What did he mean by that?

Was it a comment on me questioning the intent of his unclear query?

I took the contract from him and skimmed it.… There was nothing strange about it at all.

It stated the intent to employ me as a porter at the ducal estate. The amount of wages to be paid. The payment method. Various other matters were recorded.

…Wait, this is really just a standard porter employment…

Couldn't anyone else do this?

I thought that, but then I spotted a single line at the end of the contract: 'Resignation is permitted at the contractor's discretion.'

If I can just say 'Nah, I'm out,' then maybe it's okay to give it a try.

It's not like there's any work for me in my original profession in this country anyway.

Thinking that, I signed the document.

***

A month passed since I started working at the Macnagan Ducal Estate.

…Astonishingly, there is no work for me as a porter.

Normally, a porter's job is to set up the steps when the master gets in and out of the carriage during outings, carry heavy shopping bags to the carriage, or move delivered goods from merchants to their designated places.

But first of all, the master of this house almost never goes out.

On the rare occasions he does, he's accompanied by the Nightmare of Gruden—I mean, the butler, Thomas-sama. And Thomas-sama selects a few covert operatives to act as guards. They usually go out with just that small group.

To my surprise, the carriage steps were a simplified mechanism that involved kicking down a ladder-like contraption when getting in or out. This indeed required no dedicated personnel.… Although the young lady, age six, couldn't get the ladder to drop no matter how many times she kicked it, and asked Thomas-sama with a perfectly straight face, [Is it broken?] When Thomas-sama told her, [It is merely that you lack strength, young lady,] she made a face that clearly screamed, [I don't get it!]

And seemingly finding it extremely frustrating that she couldn't kick it down, she went and improved the ladder so that even someone with little strength could easily kick it down.

…My work diminished even further.

And the people of this house don't make large purchases.

Even when they go out and enter shops, it's usually to investigate what's popular or what level of goods are handled at which store, not to 'buy things.'

Large purchases are basically requested from their own territory, the Macnagan Duchy. And the goods ordered from the ducal estate are perfectly handled by the merchants, all the way from shipping and unpacking to setup.

When I asked a furniture dealer bringing in a large bookshelf if they needed help, they laughed and said, [Assembly and setup are all included in our full service, man. We won't trouble your hands.]

…But, you guys are doing almost my entire original job… I'd rather you *let* me help…

The daily deliveries of ingredients and such are all put away in their designated spots by the cooks themselves.

When I tried to call it my job… I was told, [We can carry wooden boxes ourselves, you know.]

Well, yeah, I guess so, but that means I have no work!!

…This house doesn't need a porter… Why did they hire me…?

And so, by the time a month had passed, it had become my daily routine to take naps in the copse of trees behind the estate…

I get my full salary for this, and no one even reprimands me for it.… What *is* this place?

Furthermore, this 'patch of trees behind the estate' is both troublesome and full of mysteries.

Within the grounds of a noble's—moreover, a top-tier great noble's—estate, there is a dense, wild patch. It's not a 'well-maintained garden mimicking a natural forest.' It's a 'genuine, completely untended thicket.'… I don't get it…

I didn't get it, but when the gardener told me, [If you're bored, go play in the woods or something,] I stepped in and was shocked.

Because all over the place, various kinds of traps were laid out.

I mean, a careless burglar or someone like that would definitely die from these!? …Well, I suppose there's no reason to go easy on that kind of intruder, so maybe it's fine.

Carefully avoiding the traps, I read a book I'd brought on a suitable tree branch.… It's a terribly elegant way to spend an afternoon, but is this really okay…? But I have no work at all…

While reading or dozing off in the trees, one day one of the covert operatives spoke to me.

[Hey, you're that guy, right? The Grim Reaper something-something and so-on and so-forth…?]

His understanding was terribly vague, but I more or less got what he meant. So I nodded.

Then the man laughed cheerfully.

[I knew it! You're amazing, man! You never get caught in any of the traps!]

…Even if you say that, the 'traps' themselves aren't even hidden. The triggering mechanisms are all in plain sight. That's precisely why I thought only the 'careless' burglars would get caught.

[Well, that's true.… But even so, with this many, your concentration can slip partway through. It's not rare to accidentally step on one when that happens.]

I guess that's possible.

After all, there's a trap every few steps. It's an impressive number, enough to make you wonder how they managed it…

[You look like you don't know, so I'll tell ya. There's a 'Complete Trap Map' posted in Thomas-sama's room. You should take a look at it at least once.]

After saying that, the covert op disappeared somewhere.

…A 'Complete Trap Map'…? What's that…?

A few days later, I visited Thomas-sama's office and had a look at that map. There it was: a thing that could only be described as the 'Complete Trap Map,' with every trap in the woods and its location meticulously recorded.

'Latest Version' was written at the top of the map. Under that 'Latest Version' were what seemed like older versions, with things like 'The Newest Map' written on top. Further down were 'This is the Newest Version,' 'Don't Use Any Others,' 'Latest Complete Edition'… Why not just write the date!? With this, I can't tell which one is the latest!

So, that dangerous, trap-filled thicket became my daytime hangout.

…It's not like I have any work, so no one even comes to call for me.

That day, too, I was reading a book up in a tree. I'd borrowed this book from the mansion's library.

This Macnagan Ducal house is a very strange place; it has almost none of the 'rules' you'd find in a normal noble house.

For example, low-level workers like me are usually restricted in where we can go.… But this house has no such thing.

Well, of course, going into someone's private room without permission would get you in trouble.

Normally, a low-level worker wouldn't even be allowed to go up the stairs inside the mansion. And they would almost never show their face before the ducal family.

That's what I had thought.

But apparently, in this three-story ducal estate, there's basically no place I'm *not* allowed to enter.… Not that I have any business in, say, the Duke's private room, so I don't go in.

Shortly after I started working, while walking down a hallway, a laundry maid said to me, [If you've got a free moment, could you take this to the banquet hall on the second floor?] I was pretty surprised.

You could easily tell from my clothes that I was a low-level worker…

Puzzled but thinking, [Well, I was asked…] I carried the load, and a maid who was there just said, [Thanks for your hard work,] which confused me even more.

Since it's that kind of house, the library is also openly available to the servants.

Furthermore, the staff with free time take turns serving as 'librarians.' What does that involve? It's work like a normal library clerk.

They handle the checkout procedures, and if you're looking for a book, they'll tell you where it is.

It has nothing to do with their original duties, but the people who serve as librarians are all apparently huge book lovers, and on their days off, they happily head to the library.

And if you're late returning a book, you'll be subjected to a devilishly persistent and insidious collection process. There's no such thing as status or rank there.… It's a thoroughly bizarre house.

On a bright, pleasant afternoon, I read my borrowed book in a tree.

What is this elegant daily life?

The fact that I'm getting paid for this is actually kind of terrifying.… I can't help but wonder if some painful payback is coming later.

But the fact is, I have absolutely nothing to do, so that day, too, I was reading out of sheer boredom.

Then, someone called out to me.

…I think they were calling me, anyway. They were saying something like, 'Something-something so-and-so's Grim Reaper~!'

Wondering what it was, I climbed down from the tree to find the stablehand standing there with the young lady of the house.

…This stablehand is a mystery too… He's probably not what he appears to be. He looks like an amiable, smiling young man you could find anywhere. But his appearance has no distinguishing features. None at all. That in itself is unnatural.

On the first day, when we met and exchanged greetings, he stared at me intently, said only [Huh,] and smiled meaningfully.

He's hard to pin down, and I just don't get him.

And standing primly beside him was the young lady.

The young lady, who is six years old this year, has a surprisingly lovely appearance. As befits the young lady of this eccentric house, she seems to be a bit of an unusual person herself, but since a lowly worker like me has no occasion to speak with her, I don't really know.

I hear she's the Crown Prince's fiancée, which means she's the future Queen.

What business does such an august person have in this thicket…? …Wait, she *is* the daughter of the owner of this thicket… What *is* this house…?

[Do you need something… from me?]

She must have some business with me, right?

(Even if she is eccentric) Why would the daughter of a great noble need a lowly worker like me? …But then again, the person next to the young lady is also a lowly worker, the stablehand…

I waited quietly, wondering what she would say. The young lady looked at me and tilted her head slightly. Her pale hair fluttered softly—she was really adorable.

[You are, uh… …What was it again?]

The young lady looked up at the stablehand beside her and asked. The stablehand replied, [It's the Pale White Something-or-other, I think.] He only got the 'Pale White' part at the beginning right, but the young lady nodded as if satisfied.

[The Pale, um… The Pale… Five Kalpas of Worn-Out, Sea Gravel Water Fish's Water Future, Cloud Future, Wind Future, The Place Where You Eat and Sleep and Live, Yaburakoji's Burakoji, Paipo Paipo Paipo's Shuringan, Shuringan's Gurindai, Gurindai's Pompoko Pee's Pompoko Naa's Long-Lived Grim Reaper, correct?]

That's completely wrong!!

Only the 'Pale' at the start and the 'Grim Reaper' at the end are right!! And it's long!! I ended up listening to the whole thing, but it doesn't make any sense!!

[Young lady, I think you might have it a bit wrong.]

[Are you sure? Isn't that roughly it?]

[Well~… I'm pretty sure it's wrong…]

As the stablehand tilted his head, the young lady looked somewhat dissatisfied. …And what does 'roughly it' even mean? That's just sloppy…

[If you say that, then Dee, do *you* remember it correctly!?]

[No way. I can't remember it, and I don't even wanna try.]

[Then I'm still superior because I at least tried to put together a long name from the clue that it was 'some kind of long name'!]

[…I don't get your standards for 'superiority,' young lady…]

After that exchange, the young lady looked at me again.

[So, um, The Pale Pale Five Kalpas of Worn-Out, Sea Gravel Water Fish's—]

[That's completely wrong!]

I couldn't help but interrupt her.

[My name is 'The Fallen Reaper Who, Cradled by Infinite Purgatorial Flames Born from Pale White Darkness, Dreams of an Aurora He Shall Never Glimpse Within the Eternal Prison Corridor'!]

…From the moment I started introducing myself, the stablehand was looking down, trembling violently, and the young lady was also slightly bowed, her face covered with both hands.

What's with that.

[…Dee… It's rude to laugh…]

[You too, young lady.… Seriously, how can Thomas-sama keep a straight face when dealing with this…?]

The young lady spoke in a faintly trembling voice, and the stablehand retorted while also trembling.

Wait, were they both laughing!? Why!? What part of that is funny!!

The two of them, still trembling, eventually let out deep breaths like [Haa……] and raised their faces.

[That's rough… This hits harder than I imagined…]

[More than laughter, it's the sheer pain… It's like a full-body complex fracture level of pain…]

After saying that to each other, the young lady let out another small breath and looked at me.

[I have one question… Who gave you that wonderful name?]

[I did. Myself.]

[Your… self…]

She looked at me with an indescribable expression, somewhere between shock and exasperation, but I nodded anyway. The stablehand was muttering a spell-like [It hurts it hurts it hurts…] under his breath, but I wonder what hurts. Maybe he has a stomach ache or something.

[Um… The Pale… (pause) …Grim Reaper?]

[Yes.]

That's fine by me. It's definitely closer to the original than Pompoko Pee or whatever.

[There's one thing I want to tell you.]

[I've got like five things.]

[For now, Dee, be quiet. I'll go first.]

[Yes'm.]

The young lady looked straight at me, then pointed at me sharply.

[First of all, a 'title' is not something you give yourself!!]

[Whaaat!? Is that how it works!?]

I didn't know that!!

…The stablehand muttered with utter exasperation, [*That's* where you're starting?] No one ever taught me that!

[Thomas is apparently called the 'Nightmare of Gruden' in certain places, but that's not a name he gave himself and started using.]

[Besides, normally you wouldn't even think of giving yourself one…]

[With normal nerves, I think you're right.]

The young lady nodded, then looked at me and tilted her head slightly.

[What were you called by others?]

[…'The Pale White Grim Reaper.']

For me, the part *between* 'Pale White' and 'Grim Reaper' is the important part.… Well, I understand why those two are easy to remember.

I have unusually pure white hair. It's natural. My skin is pale, too. It's not rare for people to say I look 'all white, like a ghost.'

And then my job was 'assassination.' It's easy to associate that with a Grim Reaper.

It's just a boring, unoriginal name made by sticking together those two obvious characteristics.

Maybe I shouldn't have started with 'Pale White.' But it's too late to change it now…

But if you're not supposed to give yourself an epithet, how does everyone else end up with theirs?

[Most of the time, 'title' are just something someone randomly starts saying, and it spreads on its own.]

The stablehand said this, sounding exasperated.

Is that how it works…? Now that he mentions it, Thomas-sama's 'Nightmare of Gruden' was also something people just started saying.

[Though, the title given that way usually contain awe or contempt.]

The young lady let out a big [Haa……] sigh for some reason, then pointed at the ground by my feet with the stick she held.

[First, why don't we sit down?]

Following the young lady's instruction, I was made to sit on the ground in a 'seiza' position.… This way of sitting is incredibly painful on the legs, you know…?

According to the young lady, it's [A time-honored 'posture for receiving a lecture' passed down in a distant country.] …Am I about to be lectured?

And as for the young lady, she was sitting in the same posture directly in front of me. The stablehand had spread his jacket on the ground for her, but won't her legs hurt too…?

[Now then, listen. The Pale Pale Five Kalpas of Worn-Out…]

[Um, just 'Pale' or 'Grim Reaper' is fine.]

The thought of hearing that long, nonsensical name again made even the severely shortened version seem preferable.

[You just compromised, didn't you? Why is that?]

As she stared at me with strangely intense eyes, I hesitated, unsure how to answer.

Would it be okay to be honest? Would she take offense, calling it disrespect or something?

Seeing me thinking that, the stablehand, who had sat down next to the young lady, said with exasperation, [It's fine to say what you're thinking. 'Disrespect towards the master' isn't a firing offense in this house.]

It's not!?

And hey, this stablehand's sitting posture is terrible! Sitting right next to the young lady is one thing, but with one knee up and the other leg stretched out forward… That's pretty casual!

…But that posture would let him stand up and move immediately. This stablehand really isn't ordinary.

But, to be honest about what I'm thinking… Should I try it…? If I do, maybe I won't have to hear that long, spell-like name.

[…The reason I compromised was simply because I found it tedious to listen to the nonsensical, spell-like name coming from your mouth…]

Even as I was being honest, I felt a little anxious. [Was I too honest…?]

But the young lady didn't seem offended in the least and nodded at my words, saying, [That's it!!]

[…What is?]

[For us, too, listening to your ridiculous, long title all the way to the end is painful in many ways!]

[No way!!]

That can't be…!!

[For real, it's tough 'in many ways'…]

[If you did that in a formal setting, you could die in so many ways…]

[More like, wouldn't *he* be the one to face social death before us?]

The two of them were saying such things, but I didn't really understand. First of all, what does 'in many ways' mean?

[First of all, why did you even want to use a title?]

[The reason is…… …So I wouldn't have to give my real name…]

And also because I thought it was cool.

At my answer, the young lady tilted her head slightly.

[If your real name is no good, then wouldn't a pseudonym like 'John' or 'Smith' have worked?]

Both of those are probably the most common names in this country. You could probably find several people named 'John Smith' if you looked for an hour. Of course, it's a real name, so it's also commonly used as a pseudonym.

It's true, I did consider using a pseudonym. But…

[…A cool name helps me maintain my motivation…]

[Then why didn't you pick a cool name!?]

[No, but this one *is* super cool!?]

I couldn't help but retort sharply to the young lady, who had snapped at my words.

'The Fallen Reaper Who, Cradled by Infinite Purgatorial Flames Born from Pale White Darkness, Dreams of an Aurora He Shall Never Glimpse Within the Eternal Prison Corridor'

Isn't it cool? It's like… it gives off an image of having black feathers or something. Even I don't really get it, though.

[Um… I'm sorry. Could you tell me your wonderful title one more time?]

The young lady said this while picking up a nearby piece of wood. So, I slowly stated my cool title. The young lady used the piece of wood to scratch my epithet into the ground.

[…It sounds like a magic spell from a fantasy novel…]

[If it's a spell, shouldn't it make a bit more sense as a sentence?]

[…Maybe. I wonder if chanting it would summon something.]

[Wouldn't it just make the Grim Reaper standing right there go, 'What do you want?']

[…I suppose so.]

After that exchange, the young lady said, [Well then…] as if muttering to herself, and looked at me.

[First, I want to ask, this 'Born from Pale White Darkness' part—what word is it modifying? The 'Infinite Purgatorial Flames' right after it? Or the final 'Grim Reaper'?]

[Wha!?]

Modifying…? …I've never thought about that…

As I hesitated, wondering how to answer, the young lady sighed.

[Don't tell me you haven't thought about it?]

[…No, I haven't.]

As I nodded, I began to feel a little… uncomfortable.

Now that she mentioned it, it was true.

I'd just lined up words I liked for the reason that a long name was cool, but looking at it again, it doesn't make sense as a sentence.

I see… So that's why it was hard to remember…

[First of all,]

The young lady tapped the ground where my name was written with the piece of wood.

[Didn't you think it was too long?]

I can't say it. That this is the shortened version… That when I first started thinking about it, it was about three times this long…

[Forget whether people can remember it or not, you expect people to always call you by this long name? In a tense situation, like escaping from a collapsing building… 'Hurry up and run! The Fallen Reaper Who, Cradled by Infinite Purgatorial Flames Born from Pale White Darkness, Dreams of an Aurora He Shall Never Glimpse Within the Eternal Prison Corridor!!'? What kind of joke is that…?]

[In a comedy, that'd be the bit where you get buried alive while they're still calling your name.]

[Exactly.]

…I could easily picture that scene.

Rubble would come crashing down on me mid-introduction, and the audience would be roaring with laughter.

Roaring with laughter!! That's not it!! I didn't come up with this name for laughs!!

[And also, you probably just stacked these words together because you thought they were 'cool,' right…?]

The young lady let out another [Haa……] sigh.

[One or two delicious things are tasty, but if you mix them all together, it just gives you heartburn and doesn't taste good at all!]

The young lady pointed at me sharply with the piece of wood.

[For example, steak with gravy sauce is delicious, right?]

[Yes.]

[Consommé soup is also delicious, right?]

[Yes.]

[Combine them!!]

Hah!? Wh-what!?

[You put delicious steak into delicious consommé soup. Then, you also add delicious bread. Scones and muffins are delicious, so you add them too. Grilled fish is delicious, so let's add that. Ham, salad, eggs, fruit—they're all delicious, so you add everything. …Here, eat up.]

As she spoke, the young lady made a gesture of offering me a plate.

But if you mix everything she just said, wouldn't it turn into something completely inedible…?

[Your name is like that. There are too many elements, it gives me heartburn.]

[…Young lady, the dish you just described has already gone way beyond 'heartburn' level…]

[Let's adjust the flavor with whipped cream!]

[…See? That's way beyond that level…]

I watched the two of them banter like this in a daze.

Too many… elements.

Now that she mentioned it, maybe that was true.

Perhaps because my cool name is a bit long, no one ever says it properly. In fact, no one can even remember it correctly.

Maybe it wasn't just because it was long, but also because it had too many elements…

How educational…

[And another important thing…]

The young lady spoke in a heavy tone, as if it were a grave matter.

[You should finish selling your soul to things like 'darkness' and 'fallen angels' by the time you're in your early teens.]

[Why…?]

I don't think age has anything to do with finding those cool elements cool…

[It might be fine for you, but it's hard on the people around you!]

[Why!?]

That makes even less sense!

I was probably making a thoroughly confused face.

The young lady stared at me for a while, then sighed and stood up. I tried to follow suit, but my legs… I can't feel them…!?

I can't stand up! How can the young lady be so calm about this!?

Huh!? Ah, whoa!! My legs are asleep!! I can't move!!

[You're probably just emotionally underdeveloped.]

Looking down at me writhing on the ground, the young lady said such a thing. The stablehand next to her nodded too.

[Guess it can't be helped, since you've lived your life without getting involved with others until now.]

As the stablehand picked up and put on the jacket he'd spread on the ground, the young lady brushed a leaf off her skirt.

[As long as you're here, 'living without getting involved with anyone' is impossible.]

[There are a lot of busybodies in this house, after all.]

[Having harmonious workplace relationships is a very good thing, you know.]

[Well, yeah. Though it can be 'both good and bad.']

[That's a matter of perspective.]

[You're absolutely right.]

The young lady looked down at me, still unable to move, and let out a small [Fufu] laugh.

[I'm looking forward to what comes next. To see just how you'll change.]

Then, as if remembering something, she added.

[What should I call you? The Pale Pale Five Kalpas of Worn-Out Sea Gravel Water Fish's Water—]

[Cesare!]

I ended up blurting out my real name.

But that name the young lady said is long and doesn't make any sense…

[I see. Your name is Cesare.]

[You from around the Lelou area, maybe?]

I was a little impressed with the stablehand for that. He's correct.… That's why I don't want to give my name. It contains too much information.

[Then from now on, I'll call you 'The Pale White Grim Reaper'!]

[Then what was the point of asking for my name!?]

Now I just look like an idiot who carelessly revealed my real name for no reason!

[I just thought I'd ask, that's all.]

…'Just thought I'd ask'… Then please don't…

The young lady and the stablehand waved at me, saying, [Well, see you,] and left.

As he was leaving, the stablehand lightly kicked the tip of my foot. A numbness, like I'd been struck by lightning, shot from my toes to my knees, and I was left there alone, writhing in agony for a while.

And I would later come to understand the meaning of the young lady's words about me being 'emotionally underdeveloped.'

Me's note:
Is chuuni a real thing? Are you one of those too? Me? I'm not, probably, maybe, I don't know.

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