Volume 6 Chapter 111 Am I The One To Inherit？
Edited by: Kanaa-senpai
”I must become the Holy King. I must continue to be the Holy King. That is my fate—my destiny,” he declared, utterly naked.
I thought, What the hell is this guy saying while standing there in the buff? Still, it’s unfair—pretty boys really can get away with anything. It feels like a scene out of a movie.
Someone once said that serving him makes you feel like you’re a character in a story. He’s got that kind of presence.
He’s clearly obsessed with being the Holy King, but behind his back, everyone calls him the Conqueror King. Not that it’s an insult here. In this world, “conquer” has a positive ring to it.
Medieval mindset: the loser’s always the villain.
”I’ll listen to your story later, so first, put some clothes on,” I said, trying not to sigh.
When I really think about it, as the victor, I’ve got the right to decide life and death. Might as well take the moral high ground. Humility’s not something they grasp around here anyway. Plenty of summoned heroes get cocky—and honestly, that’s probably the correct posture in this world.
”You! That’s disrespectful to your lord!!”
”Who’s your lord?” I shot back. “I don’t remember pledging loyalty to you, so don’t get it twisted. I’m just collecting a debt from the previous Holy King. You didn’t know that?”
I stepped forward, calm and confident. My scam skill tells me if I act boldly, things usually fall into place. At first, I thought it was a junk skill. But ever since becoming a king, it’s been shockingly useful. Honestly, any skill turns ridiculous if you level it to max.
”What? Is that so?” he asked, eyes narrowing.
Ah. This guy’s way too easy to manipulate.
”N-no, but… I have noble blood from the Larse Imperial Family! Shouldn’t you show respect?” he stammered.
”Why’s the Larse royal family such a big deal?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.
”Because our ancestor came from a lineage blessed with dragon blood…”
”One of my wives is an ancient dragon. You knew that, right?”
”That’s, um, yes. N-no! That doesn’t make you special or anything!!” he shouted, cheeks puffed with frustration.
”I’ll just throw those words right back at you. Got it? Now, hurry up and get dressed. Or is this part of your whole thing?”
”Y-you idiot!” he snapped.
The Conqueror King flushed bright red and scrambled to dress himself. So he can do it on his own. Good for him.
I thought, Why should I care about some guy changing clothes? But I had to admit, part of me felt… weirdly excited. Is this guy’s charisma maxed out or something? Even alien mechas acknowledged his looks.
”L-look! I put on clothes like you said! Now listen to me!” he demanded, puffing up his chest.
He was wearing one of our latest silk shirts—the frilly kind, like something a princely shoujo [T/N: girls’ manga genre] character would wear. And yeah, it looked great on him.
Would Ms. Shirakaba be happy seeing her design come to life like this? Or would she feel jealous?
Maybe I’m biased, but when she wears it, she ends up looking like a beautiful woman pretending to be a man. Her silhouette from waist to hips is just… different.
”It’s probably a long story, right?” I said. “Let’s chill with a cola first.”
I pulled a plastic bottle from my magic bag. He relaxed instantly. It was real cola—Earth-imported, no cheap imitation.
They’re selling it at ridiculous prices, but it still flies off the shelves. And yeah, this guy’s a regular.
The robot beauties, ever considerate, conjured up a table in the middle of the room. They’d also slipped into thin silk dresses at some point. Sheer as glass, but somehow not erotic—probably because their proportions were too perfect. Like staring at a sculpture.
If it were me designing them, I’d go for a little more… well, never mind. Let’s hear the boy king out.
”This is! Real potato chips!!” he shouted, holding the bag like a treasure.
”We’ve got all kinds of snack foods. Feel free to open whatever you want,” I said, cracking open my own bag.
”Snack foods? So… they’re like food, right?” one of the robot girls asked, tilting her head.
”Oh, right. You guys can’t eat or drink, can you?” I said.
”Eating functions aren’t needed in love, so…” she replied.
”No, I think they’re pretty important, actually,” I said, smirking.
”Well then, I’d better update myself on that ASAP,” she said, cheerfully tapping her temple.
”Good luck with that,” I replied.
They’re wasting cutting-edge science in the most amazing ways. Honestly, they could probably turn potato chips into atomic energy if they felt like it.
If you’re gonna make a probe [T/N: humanoid android], why not just perfectly copy a human? Wouldn’t that be easier?
But in the world of creation, detours are the norm. I get that. In fact, I feel a strange sense of kinship with this useless alien I’ve never even met.
…I wonder how this update thing even works.
* * *
”So cold—this fizz, it’s so addictive!” the Conqueror King gasped, shivering with delight.
They call him the Conqueror King, but when he drinks cola, he just looks like a regular boy. Actually, he even seems a little childish. How old is he, anyway? They grow taller than Japanese people, so even if they’re just ten, they look halfway to adulthood.
Boyhood is fleeting. Even the cutest, most angelic boys sprout facial hair and morph into cranky old men. Maybe when that happens, his absurd charisma will fade too.
”You can put as much ice or lemon as you like,” I said, handing over the bottle.
The sour citrus—our country’s specialty—is technically a type of lemon. This world already had lemons, sure, but theirs had a weak scent and no real demand.
So we created the demand ourselves. By pairing it with cola, we made it popular. The tartness plays perfectly with carbonation.
Originally, the plant grew in Sar-Sar’s garden. It’s seedless but easy to propagate with cuttings, so I mass-produced seedlings at Uno’s nest. The little spirits joined in, thinking it was fun. I’m thankful—they sped up the whole process.
Its fragrance is sharp, the pulp juicy and bright. Peel back the skin and there’s a touch of bitterness that actually goes well with fish.
We sell it at a high price, mostly thanks to the sticker carefully placed on each fruit. Ms. Shirakaba insisted lemons need stickers.
Personally, I associate stickers with bananas, but hey, a good sticker works anywhere.
The holographic stickers were custom-printed by a Japanese company—my uncle handled the order. Tizzy and Sar-Sar designed them on a computer.
There are three kinds: gold, silver, and bronze. The gold ones only go on fruits the little spirits approve of. That rarity boosts their value, and now they’re traded at absurd prices.
Branding strategy? Probably not. They’re just proud of their handiwork and want to mark it—maybe even bless it. They’ve been offering them to the gods, after all.
”Oh! Isn’t that a gold sticker? Can I take it?” he asked, eyes sparkling.
I was wondering what he was up to—then he peeled it off and stuck it on the sheath of his dagger, grinning like a fool. Sticker collection, huh? Well, if it makes you happy.
Emera sat beside me, munching on some thin shrimp chips. The ingredients? Wall barley flour and crushed rock lobster. Oh, and a dash of salt.
The professor had suggested rock lobster—a nuisance species from the inland sea. Thick shell, not much meat, but it survives in freshwater and can live up to six months if buried in straw.
They’re reviled for devouring seaweed, but they taste good. So I figured: why not market them? That’s what I got consulted on.
To be honest, lobsters are just oversized crayfish. Even Earth lobsters have less edible meat than shrimp.
Still, when the summoned heroes saw that mound of bright red, boiled rock lobster, they were psyched. Japanese people love crabs and shrimp.
But that high wore off fast. Once the shells piled up, all they had was a few bites of meat. The claws were the best part.
Ah, but the roe—that was divine.
While everyone else looked disappointed, Uno and El were happily crunching the shells. I thought to myself, Yeah, only humans can’t do that.
A few days later, it clicked. What if we had a super-powered food processor?
We ground the shells into a silky paste—it made an incredible sauce. Perfect for shrimp chips, too.
”Is that also potato chips?” the Conqueror King asked, eyeing our stash.
He’d spotted us falling into shrimp chip mode and smoothly offered a basket.
”Mmm… fishy,” he muttered, grimacing.
Guess he didn’t like it. He chugged cola to wash away the taste.
There are two kinds of people in this world—those who get addicted to shrimp chips, and those who can’t stand them.
A lot of folks go their whole lives without eating seafood. Not everyone’s Japanese, after all.
”Hey, I’d like you to listen to my story soon…” he said, a little more serious now.
”Go ahead and talk,” I replied, crunching another chip. “I’m listening while I eat.”
”How rude! But… I guess it’s too late for manners.”
Maybe the cola’s mellowed him out. That’s a good sign.
”My father is the current emperor of the Larse Empire. My mother was a princess of a vassal state…” he began solemnly.
Bullied by half-siblings. Oppressed by his own father, the emperor.
A tragic backstory, huh? Classic fantasy setup.
The rougher the protagonist’s start, the better their rise feels. Starting as the emperor’s son? He’d need serious hardship to make that arc work.
A platinum-blond, tragic beauty—he paints the perfect picture. But I won’t be taken in.
Emera, still chewing shrimp chips, isn’t losing out in the looks department. Her hair glows, her skin’s like glass. A glutton with the face of a goddess.
”So? You said the emperor oppressed you. What exactly did he do?”
”It’s… like… something I can’t even describe, okay?! Don’t make me say it!!” he snapped, pouting.
Normally, I’d back off—it’s bad manners to pry. But hey, if we’re gonna dig, I might as well get my hands dirty. Okay, maybe 80 percent of it is just my own curiosity.
”Huh? You’re not seriously saying you were oppressed, right? Come on, you’re at that age where tragedy sounds cool,” I said, giving him a playful nudge.
No need for my scam skill—this guy’s got less resistance to teasing than a goblin.
”What do you know about me, you scoundrel!” he shouted. “Fine! I’ll tell you what that man did to me! His only job at dinner was carving meat for the family. All the state affairs were handled by the legitimate wife!”
…Isn’t that just a doting dad?
I’ve heard that in old-school America, dads took pride in carving the roast at family barbecues.
Even in this world, the king carving the sacrificial cow is a ritual. At noble feasts, it’s normal for the family head to handle the meat.
Back in hunter-gatherer days, most calories came from women gathering roots and nuts. Meat—brought back by the men—was rare, unstable.
But those who brought meat were heroes. Meat was the feast of feasts.
”Father—the emperor! He carved less meat for me than for my brothers! Do you understand the humiliation?!” he cried, voice breaking.
Ah. It’s about meat portions. I mean, yeah, people say grudges over food are the scariest, but don’t cry blood over a sliver of steak.
I was raised to believe fighting over food was shameful. But in a survivalist world, food is power.
Maybe one chunk of meat really can mean the difference between life and death.
Still, something bothered me.
”Hey… how much older are your brothers?” I asked, leaning in.
You don’t give a 15-year-old the same portion as a 5-year-old. That’s just basic nutrition.
”What? Are you mocking me for being the youngest?” he snapped.
”No, I just noticed something… It’s not good for little kids to eat only meat. You were being looked after,” I said.
Vegetables matter.
When I was a kid, I thought meat was everything. Only in middle school did I start appreciating the cabbage and green onions in sukiyaki.
”What are you saying! Meat is nourishment! I tasted your food in the competition. I’ve realized it again—meat is supreme! Meat is ultimate! And you—you, the king of cooking—how could you say otherwise?! Besides, meat’s the most expensive ingredient, right?!”
Oh yeah. He’s the guy who once said it was a waste to serve meat to a mere goblin—killed the mood instantly.
Since the contest theme was meat, I served mostly meat dishes. But I don’t want that to become the standard.
Now? I’m a vegetable-loving chef.
Do I use vegetables to bring out the best in meat, or meat to elevate the vegetables?
What’s the sound of flavor with one hand clapping?
”You’ve never bought ingredients at the market, have you?” I said. “Meat’s pricey, sure—but good vegetables are even more expensive.”
Thanks to the wall barley that grows like weeds, farming’s a nightmare.
Most commoners just forage whatever edible greens they can find. I’ve survived on wild watercress from the marshes more than once.
”I hate vegetables. They just don’t taste good,” the boy king grumbled, arms crossed.
Is he a kid? Yeah, probably. His whole education seems… skewed.
Back in our country, we’ve got a plan for mandatory schooling. When you turn ten, you attend elementary school for just ten days—to pick up basic reading and writing. We originally aimed for a full year, but reality shut that down fast.
Still, it’s better than nothing.
In a medieval world, chances to learn are pitifully scarce.
If literacy were more common, self-study might be possible—but that’s where it all crumbles.
Of course, keeping the masses ignorant serves certain agendas just fine.
Noble children are expected to receive a proper education from tutors and the like.
The conquering king? Honestly, he’s thick. I’ve suspected as much for a while.
His problem is, he only seems intelligent if he keeps his mouth shut.
”Not liking something without trying it is no good,” I said. “That potato chip is just fried potato, you know.”
”W-wait, could it be… vegetables are actually tasty? That can’t be, it just can’t!” he gasped, eyes wide.
”Then try this,” I said, offering him a chunk.
I pulled out a boiled taro—or something taro-like.
”Whoa, isn’t that a goblin’s potato? I hate this stuff—it’s all slimy,” he whined, recoiling.
”Really? It tastes good if you dip it in this,” I said, presenting a plate of sweet vinegar miso [T/N: a tangy-sweet fermented soybean paste mixed with vinegar].
I pressed the cut end of the taro with a finger. The skin peeled off cleanly—almost satisfyingly. After dipping it in the miso, I took a bite. A rustic flavor bloomed in my mouth.
Emera began eating too, wordless. The sweet vinegar miso had the vibe of a snack food.
”Ah, it’s mayonnaise!” the boy king cried. “I know that—it’s delicious!”
Well, it does look like mayo. Maybe the taste is close too—it’s vinegar-based, after all.
For a while, the three of us ate the little taro in silence. Couldn’t stop. Didn’t want to.
”Hah, I ate it all,” the boy king said, licking his fingers. “Can’t believe goblin potatoes are this tasty—it must be the mayonnaise!”
There’s still plenty left in the magic bag, but I’m cutting him off. Better to leave people wanting more.
He probably mistook the taro’s flavor for the miso. It’s not mayonnaise—it’s sweet vinegar miso.
I was trying to get him to appreciate something beyond meat, but ended up creating another mayonnaise fanatic.
Then again, since it’s not actually mayo, maybe he’s safe.
How about calling it sweet vinegar miso niyan? Sounds kind of cool, right?
Okay, next—something simple.
What I pulled out was a salted cucumber. Just fresh cukes, lightly salted and rolled around on the cutting board.
If I had to describe it like a food critic, I’d say it uses the technique of itazuri [T/N: rubbing vegetables with salt to enhance flavor and texture].
”Cucumber? Really? Isn’t that kind of a joke?!” the boy king shouted, indignant.
Ignoring him, Emera and I munched away.
It’s a favorite snack between us. Amazing how good something this simple can taste.
”Why!! It’s too delicious!!” he blurted. “It must be special salt—or maybe some secret farming method?”
Still pretending to be skeptical, huh? Twisted upbringing, clearly.
Maybe I should say I used expensive karasumi [T/N: salted mullet roe] as fertilizer.
Nah—even with mind communication, that joke wouldn’t land.
”Cucumbers are a luxury item, you know,” I said. “They cost more than cheap meat.”
For commoners, it’s a vegetable they might never taste. They say cucumbers were all the rage with British aristocrats during the Victorian era—maybe it’s got a noble flavor.
”Cucumbers weren’t rare at all,” the boy king muttered between bites. “But this is the first time I’ve had one this good.”
He kept chewing, lost in thought. Not just a fool, after all.
”I suddenly want to eat chilled cucumbers,” Emera said out of the blue.
Chilled cucumbers—now that’s a hit snack. Tizzy and Shea-Shea love them especially—you can eat a ton without the guilt.
Personally, I think a little chub is healthy, but apparently that’s not something you’re supposed to say.
All I can do is plan a balanced menu.
”Is there something different about it?” the boy king asked, narrowing his eyes.
”Well, there are a few things. Want some?” I offered.
”I-I’m not pressuring you or anything!!” he shot back, flustered.
Who benefits from a guy’s tsundere [T/N: hot-and-cold, emotionally contradictory] attitude? No one.
Then again, maybe it works if you’re a pretty boy.
I should probably start putting more effort into my appearance, too.
”So it’s chilled with magic, huh? No—wait, the flavor’s different! Did you pickle them? I hate pickles, but this is refreshing!” he exclaimed, surprised.
”Oh, you noticed? So, which one did you like better?” I asked.
”The chilled ones are cooled with magic and have this complex taste—vinegar and all. But the salted cucumbers… how do I put it? They taste wild. I was honestly moved. I didn’t even know what cucumbers tasted like. I’ve been ignorant. No wonder I can’t please women,” he said, dead serious.
Whoa. That took a turn.
Power in the hands of emotionally unstable guys is always a pain. He should’ve just become an artist.
They say if Adolf Hitler had gotten into art school, history might have turned out differently.
If his inferiority complex stems from a meat shortage, he should just laugh it off and live a decent life.
Nobody else cares that much.
But the damage is done—starting with the people of the former Mineley duchy. Too many lives lost already.
Is it too late to turn back?
If so… should I kill him now? That’d start a war too. And lead to even more casualties.
The ones itching for glory would jump at the chance to make their move.
A lot of people are optimistic, thinking peace will last now that the Demon King’s invasion has stalled.
Idiots, the lot of them.
From the Demon King’s point of view, it’s obvious—he’s consolidating power in conquered Totoana during the lull.
If fighting starts again, we’ll be steamrolled in seconds.
Maybe we should rope in the Conqueror King for the next round.
A foolish ally can be more dangerous than the enemy—but this one’s got some potential.
”I’ve made up my mind,” he said. “I’ll abide by the duel’s outcome. My life’s in your hands—I’ve got no choice, right? But I don’t mind. It’s easier to follow than to lead.”
”Aren’t you going to beg for your life?” I asked, watching him closely.
”I’ve got my pride. I’ve always executed those who begged for mercy, believing fools had no place in my ideal nation. But now that I think about it… maybe some of them were just potatoes and cucumbers,” he said with a rough laugh.
His words were clumsy, but there’s a softness now that wasn’t there before.
Like he’s finally ready to face the consequences.
Not someone I want to kill.
”You guys—you look dangerous at first glance,” he said. “Like you think you’ve got it all figured out. Strong, resolved, ready to admit your mistakes and die for them? But even if you drop dead now, it won’t bring the victims back, will it?”
At least he’s trying to take responsibility.
Still, that’s a selfish way to frame it.
”I’m sorry. When I lost, I only thought of dying,” he said quietly. “The summoned heroes also supported me with a sense of honor.”
”Those guys…” I muttered. “They’re still treating this like a game, huh? If it’s at the knight level, maybe that’s fine, but when it comes to a nation, the majority are non-combatants, right? Even after losing, the lives of those left behind must go on.”
”I know that much,” he snapped. “They’ll probably make me suffer worse than death, right?”
Acting like you know everything, huh? This is that ‘I don’t know’ pattern.
”In what way, exactly?” I asked.
”Well… will they oppress me, and I’ll be unable to eat meat?” he said, tilting his head.
(Again with the meat! What a poor imagination.)
”Look, even without oppression, commoners can’t normally eat meat,” I explained. “In richer villages, maybe on festival days, they’ll get a bit of meat, but plenty of people go their whole lives without ever tasting it.”
I give out alcohol and meat during festivals, but this guy hasn’t done anything like that. Don’t think you can keep support just with your beauty.
”The poor catch fish and shellfish on their own to get protein,” I went on. “Frogs, turtles, and insects can even be caught by kids.”
”If I had to eat frogs or insects, I’d rather die!” he cried.
”See, here we go again,” I said, exasperated. “And by the way, turtles are a delicacy.”
Emera nodded vigorously. That soft-shelled turtle hotpot really had been delicious.
”That’s the culture of another world, right?” he asked.
”You need to read more books,” I replied. “Even in this world, turtle soup is prized as a supreme delicacy. Recipes for longhorn beetle larvae are scattered in texts from the Empire era.”
”Why larvae of all things…?” he asked, grimacing.
”The adult longhorn beetles were delicious too,” I said, “but their hard exoskeletons left almost nothing to eat. As for the larvae, they were beyond reproach. They’ve been wowing gourmets since ancient times.”
”You ate insects?!” he yelped.
For the kids in Toyata village, it’s the best snack.
”The rhinoceros beetle is such a rare delicacy it doesn’t even circulate on the market,” I said. “The Amazon queen served it to me, and when I ate it without hesitation, she fell for me. Must’ve felt some kind of sympathy, huh…”
”So you survived from that place!” he gasped. “You’re like a hero from a myth. And? Did you manage to charm those Amazon beauties with your skills?!”
Suddenly, he lit up—eyes sparkling, brimming with enthusiasm. Guy must really love myths and legends.
”Nah,” I said with a shrug. “Against that many, it was endless, and I didn’t have the time. So I ran. I wanted to put a stop to that bad habit, but running away was the right choice. Their secret arts might be the key to saving this world.”
”Saving the world?” he repeated, blinking.
”It’s the declining birthrate issue,” I said. “At this rate, humans will vanish from this world. If the number of men drops due to war, it’ll only speed things up. The Amazons have secret arts that let them bear many children—by sacrificing men.”
Probably about the same pregnancy rate as Earth.
This might be the last hope left in this world.
”I felt like the population was decreasing,” he murmured, “but can you really calculate that? I guess it means we shouldn’t despise the filthy business of counting money, huh?”
There are quite a few nobles who are bad at calculations. Those types tend to despise numbers as something corrupt. It’s a funny story.
”Hey, hey, how did you manage logistics with that?” I asked.
”If I left it to the Summoned Hero, there was no problem,” he replied.
That’s one way to solve it. Seems like he was a capable boss who could make use of talent.
”Right! Go ahead and make me a sacrifice to the Amazons,” he said, puffing up with resolve. “If I’m going to die, I want my life to be of use to the world.”
He said something ridiculous, but I ignored it.
”The declining birthrate issue is like a slow death,” I said. “There’s no urgency. I have something else I want you to do.”
”Let’s hear it,” he said. “Is it a job where I risk my life for the world?”
”That’s right. I want you to stop being the Holy King and become an actor who plays the role of the Holy King, just like you’ve been doing until now.”
”What do you mean?” he asked, frowning. “I’m supposed to act like myself? What’s the point of that?”
It’s obviously an excuse to spare his life. What a dull-witted guy.
”It’s to lighten your load and let you reflect on your actions with a clear mind,” I said. “If you look like you’re about to do something foolish, I’ll stop you. Just keep pretending to be cool like usual.”
The words came out smoothly—sounded halfway decent. Must be my fraud skill kicking in.
”The reason I raised an army,” he began, voice somber, “was to punish the corrupt nobles and expel the filth from this world. I intended to conquer all of Totoana and take the Larse Empire into my hands. But looking back… I’m already giving off a rotten smell myself. So, are you saying I should take my own curtain call?”
”Well, um… you don’t need to lower the curtain or anything,” I said. “Just take it easy for a while.”
”I see. That’s true,” he said, nodding. “Thank you for giving me the opportunity.”
Seems like he’s misunderstanding a lot.
The Conqueror King tidied himself up and strode proudly back through the secret passage.
* * *
”Was it really okay to let him live and return?” asked a glamorous beauty, her voice ice-cold.
Her true identity was that of an alien robot. Cool. Unfeeling. Dangerous.
Nah, maybe I’m just too soft.
Being a king means sometimes making cold, ruthless decisions. You carry the lives and property of the people.
Maybe there was some kind of meaning behind the cruel tradition of killing the previous king.
The power given to a Holy King is access to wisdom—like, all the crazy stuff on the internet. In short, it’s a knowledge cheat.
Is it dangerous to keep someone with a cheat like that alive?
”Hmmm,” I muttered, crossing my arms in thought.
Emera, seated beside me, nibbled elegantly on her snacks.
Huh? Maybe I’m overthinking this?
Is it groundless worry?
It’s like that old tale from Qi about the man who worried the sky might fall.
[T/N: Reference to “Qi ren you tian,” a Chinese idiom for useless worry.]
”It’s okay,” Emera said, munching on chocolate. “No matter what happens, if we all pull together as a family, we’ll get through it. Actually, let’s enjoy the adventure. Think of the hardships as a good way to pass the time.”
She said something really good. Hah.
Well, that’s true.
I’ve got access to wisdom too.
If I’m betrayed, I’ll just crush them with my own strength.
The true Holy King? The behind-the-scenes Holy King?
Either way, I’ve got the highest-level access.
I can view whatever I want—no limits.
Three robot girls stared at me.
I might’ve inherited something unnecessary.
Notes:
• Shirakaba – A paladin who seems to be a skilled fighter. He’s introduced as someone with a strong defense and healing abilities.
• Tizzy – Claims to be Duke’s daughter, a noble with advanced magic skills. MC and Ms. Shirakaba lover.
• Emera – Light spirit, small chest, sharp-tongued but earnest; possibly tsundere.
• El – She is a giant woman, appeared as Saburou’s captor, living alone in a large tent, skilled in hunting and cooking, proposes marriage to Saburou.
• Shea-Shea – Mauro’s daughter. Hurt by Alexander. Became an eager fiancée after advice from protagonist.
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Edited by Kanaa-senpai.
Thanks for reading.
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