A line of cameras.

The heat created by countless lights.

And then, from the panel seating, from the audience, from every direction in the studio, hundreds of gazes stabbing into me.

This place was, quite literally, a coliseum.

Teito Television’s proud, ultra–large-scale variety show, ‘The Empress’s Box Garden.’

And at the very center of its stage, I stood.

As a noise that was neither quite cheers nor quite screams swirled around, I slowly surveyed the studio with my hands still shoved into my pockets.

I did not offer even a single ingratiating smile.

I merely knit my brows in apparent displeasure and looked down on the audience as if appraising merchandise.

Normally, this would have sparked a storm of boos—“So arrogant,” “He’s not cute at all.”

But—

‘…It’s quiet.’

Starting from the area where my gaze met theirs, the audience fell silent as if a wave were receding.

Fear. And something beyond that—awe.

An instinctive intuition that something is different froze their throats.

“N-now then! He has arrived! This is Akutsu Jō!”

The MC, Unabara Shion, tore through the air with an exaggeratedly loud voice.

Clutching the microphone, she strode toward me.

With thirty years in show business, she was the entertainment industry’s deadly poison who had verbally dismantled countless men beyond recovery.

“Wow~ I’d heard rumors, but you really are huge! In attitude and in body!”

Circling around me, Shion spoke as if sizing me up.

Then she snorted and pointed at my entire body.

“But honestly, I’m a bit disappointed. You’re dressed all in black—so plain.”

She spread both arms as if seeking agreement from the audience.

“In an industry that sells glamour, isn’t that outfit a bit much? You’ve got no flair. This isn’t a funeral hall, you know? Could you take that elsewhere?”

A preemptive strike.

A cheap insult exploiting this world’s lookism, the notion that a plain man has no value.

The female comedians on the panel overreacted with “Ahahaha!” and “It really is gloomy!” trying to steer the studio atmosphere toward “making Joe a laughingstock.”

But I did not flinch.

I slowly turned toward Shion and curled the corner of my mouth upward.

“…No flair, you say?”

My bare voice, not carried through the microphone.

Yet the low tone carried clearly, cutting through the studio’s murmurs.

“Is that how I look to you? …If so, you should see an ophthalmologist. Or maybe that ridiculously thick makeup of yours is clouding your vision?”

“Huh?”

Shion’s face twitched.

She had never expected a retort.

Much less having her own complex—her heavy makeup—pointed out.

“You look pathetic, like you’re slathering paint onto a withered flower, auntie.”

“Wha—!?”

The studio froze.

Auntie.

In this industry, it was the ultimate taboo—something you must never say to Unabara Shion.

And yet, a male newcomer who had just shown up said it, in full public view.

“Y-you little—! Do you even know where you are!?”

“Yeah, I know. …This is ‘The Empress’s Box Garden,’ right?”

I looked down at Shion.

“But for the master of a box garden, your bark is awfully small. Entertain me more… I’m bored to death.”

A provocation.

The behavior of a complete heel.

Shion flushed red, struck dumb, even the hand holding her microphone trembling.

That was when—

“Ha! You’re an interesting guy!”

A booming voice rose from the center of the panel seating.

With a heavy thud, dropping onto the stage, was a massive woman nearly 190 centimeters tall—the former women’s pro wrestler, Gōda Tora.

Her rock-like muscles rippled as she approached me.

“How many years has it been since Shion got shut up like that? You’ve got guts, kid! I like you!”

Laughing loudly, Tora planted herself in front of me.

The pressure she radiated was enough to make a normal man wet himself on the spot.

“Big sis will dote on you!”

Tora swung her right arm up.

Her target was my face.

She meant to clamp down on my skull with an iron claw, force me down and teach me the weakness of men.

Whoosh!

An arm like a log rushed toward my face.

Bashhh!!

A dry sound echoed.

Tora’s massive hand stopped just centimeters from my face.

I had caught it—with one hand.

“Huh?”

Tora’s eyes went wide.

Still gripping her wrist firmly, I spoke without changing my expression.

“That’s a pretty rough greeting.”

Tora tried to yank her arm free.

It would not budge.

My fingers were biting into her wrist like a vise.

“N-ngh… l-let go…”

Cold sweat beaded on Tora’s forehead.

Even with the monstrous strength of a former pro wrestler, my arm did not move an inch.

My control of center of gravity and use of core strength were on an entirely different level.

I tightened my grip further, grinding down mercilessly.

“For a greeting, your handshake’s awfully high. Did you even receive a proper education?”

“A—ggh!”

Tora’s face twisted in agony, her knees beginning to shake.

It was not just pain.

Before her stood a biologically superior being that shattered her unshakable belief that no man can be stronger than a woman.

Faced with overwhelming male power, her instincts acknowledged defeat.

“N-no…”

Tora collapsed where she stood, stumbling backward with her legs gone.

Her face was no longer that of a ferocious beast, but unmistakably that of a frail woman.

The studio fell silent, as if water had been poured over it.

The sharp-tongued MC was silent and the strongest physical powerhouse had been crushed by force.

As everyone lost their words—

“Amazing!”

An incongruously bright voice rang out.

The top idol, Himemiya Alice.

Flipping her frilled outfit, she ran up onto the stage and stood before me with an innocent smile.

“Amazing, amazing! You actually beat Tora-chan!”

She gazed up at me from beneath her lashes.

Deep in her eyes dwelled a sadistic gleam.

Sensing the shift in the atmosphere, she was trying to drag it back into her own pace.

“Hey, mister. Will you listen to Alice’s request too?”

Alice winked at the camera, then pointed to the white pumps she was wearing.

“They got dirty here.”

There was no visible dirt at all.

But with a cruel smile, she declared it anyway.

“Won’t you lick them clean with your tongue?”

The ultimate unreasonable demand.

A public execution.

Refuse and you are branded no fun and torn apart.

Comply and it becomes a lifelong humiliation.

From the audience rose shrieks mixed with cheers.

Everyone was anticipating the moment this insolent man would submit to an idol.

But—

I grinned.

“Your shoes got dirty, huh. That’s a real problem.”

I stepped toward Alice’s feet.

Convinced of her victory, Alice wore a triumphant expression.

I appeared to kneel—then smoothly extended my hand instead.

What I grabbed was Alice’s ankle.

“Eh?”

The next instant—

I hoisted her leg straight up to head height.

“Kyaa!?”

With one leg held, Alice naturally lost her balance, ending up in a Y-shaped balance-like posture.

Her slender body toppled toward me.

I caught her against my chest and wrapped an arm around her waist.

At point-blank range.

Our faces were only centimeters apart.

Alice’s sweet perfume mingled with my sweat and body heat.

“Ah, uh…”

Alice’s face flushed bright red.

Unable to comprehend what had happened, her eyes darted back and forth.

I did not whisper into her ear.

Instead, deliberately facing the microphone, I declared in a voice that echoed throughout the studio.

“If you want me to kneel, then first try standing on your own two feet.”

I glared down at Alice in my arms.

“A brat who can’t even stand without support shouldn’t be playing queen and barking orders.”

Then came the overwhelming display of masculinity.

Crushed by the humiliation of being treated like a child and by the heat of the male body pressed against hers, the mask of the sadistic idol shattered to pieces.

“H-hih…”

Alice’s legs gave out and she could do nothing but cling to my arms.

Her eyes were moist, exposing a completely ensnared expression.

I gave Alice a light shove away, then strode to the center of the stage—the main seat where the MC was supposed to sit.

I dropped heavily into it, crossed my legs and leaned back.

Shion was speechless, Tora was still collapsed and Alice sat there red-faced and limp.

It was the moment when the Three Titans were completely annihilated.

The air in the audience changed.

The eyes of the hundreds of female spectators transformed from the gaze of hunters into something else entirely.

Fear. Awe.

And beyond even that, fervent worship.

A craving for an overwhelmingly powerful being came to dominate the studio.

Resting my cheek against my hand, I spoke through the camera lens to the viewers at home.

“Well then.”

I wore a ferocious grin.

“Who’s next to entertain me?”

The coronation of the Demon King.

Thus, in a single night, ‘The Empress’s Box Garden’ transformed into ‘The Demon King’s Castle.’