The Coronation (Refused)
In which our protagonist is offered a crown, and chooses a chair.
The coronation was offered on a Monday, in the new council chamber, in the new world, in the place where the new alliance was governed, and the offering of the coronation was, in a small way, the most predictable thing the new world had done since the day the new world had been deployed.
The kings and queens of the new kingdoms had gathered. The academy masters had gathered. The trade leaders had gathered. The guard commanders had gathered. The whole new world had gathered, in the new council chamber, to do the thing that new worlds do, which is to look around for the person who saved them and to offer that person the throne, the way a project team looks around for the person who pulled the all-nighter and offers that person the promotion, the way a king looks around for the man who fixed the kingdom and offers that man the kingdom, the way a world looks around for the developer who debugged it and offers that developer the world.
King Theodore, who had been the senior partner of the alliance, who had been the king who had summoned Kenji to the capital in S3E1, who had been the king who had died in the years between the rewrite and the new world, was dead. His heir, his grandson, was a young man, a good man, a man who had been raised on the stories of the alliance, of the Strange Sage, of the debugging, of the love, of the team. The young king had the kind of eyes that kings have when the kings have decided, in a small way, that the deciding is the only honest work the kings have ever had to do.
The young king stood at the head of the council chamber. He held a crown. It was a simple crown, made of silver and crystal, with a small glowing pip at the front, a pip that was the symbol of the new world, the pip that was the guardian of the next generation, the pip that was, in a small way, the only crown the system had ever had to log at the bottom of a world.
"We offer you the crown," the young king said. "We offer you the throne. We offer you the kingship of the new world. You saved us. You debugged us. You held us. You loved us. We want you to lead us."
[Configuration: external_input. Source: kings. Type: coronation_offer. Acceptance: pending.]
[Compiler note: the developer is, in a small way, the only one who can answer. The system is, in a small way, hoping he answers correctly.]
The system was hoping. The system had, in nine seasons, developed a tone that Kenji had come to think of as the senior engineer who has been asked to onboard a junior, and the senior engineer had just told him, in the driest possible language, that the system was hoping, and the hope was the only kind of hope the system had ever had to log at the bottom of a developer who had been offered a thing the developer had always said he did not want.
Kenji stood in front of the throne. He looked at the crown. He looked at the young king. He looked at the team, who were standing in their places along the walls of the chamber, each in the robes of the institution they led, each holding the piece of the new world they had always held. He looked at Pip-the-child, who was sitting on his shoulder, who was humming, faintly, the song the woman had been humming in the garden of the memory, in a key that was, in a small way, ahead of the song.
"I am a software engineer," he said.
The room went quiet. The quiet was the kind of quiet a council chamber is, when the council chamber has just been told something the council chamber was not expecting to be told.
"I am a software engineer," he said again, in case anyone had missed it the first time. "I am a debugger. I am a man who takes Sundays off and reads books in chairs. I am not a king. I do not want to be a king. I have been the senior partner. I have been the architect. I have been the one who held the debugging. But the debugging is done. The new world does not need a king. The new world needs a teacher."
He looked at Elara, who was standing in the deep red of the new guard, the king's father's sword on the wall behind her in the office she had left for the morning, the notebook in her hand. He looked at Lian, who was standing in the gold and white of the first Architect, the pin of the Logic pillar on her collar. He looked at Seraphina, who was standing in the green and copper of the abundance, the seven-sided coin at her throat. He looked at Calla, who was standing in the silver and ice blue of the unity, the seven-pointed crown on her shoulder, the northern cloak folded over her arm.
"The new world needs teachers. The new world needs debuggers. The new world needs people who can show others how to debug, how to think, how to love. The new world needs people who can sit in chairs and read books and take Sundays off and be with their families. The new world needs people, not kings. The debugging is for teaching. The teaching is for the love. The love is the only thing the world has ever had."
He looked at the crown. He looked at the young king. He looked at Pip, who was the child, who was the guardian, who was the symbol of the new world, who was humming the song from the memory in a key that was, in a small way, ahead of the man who had cast the spell.
"I refuse the crown," he said. "I refuse the throne. I refuse the kingship. I will be a teacher. I will be a debugger. I will be a man who takes Sundays off and reads books in chairs. That is my purpose. That is what I do. That is what the debugging is for."
[Configuration: updated. coronation_offer=refused. New_role=teacher. Acceptance: locked.]
[Compiler note: the developer is, in a small way, the only developer the system has ever had to log a refusal for. The system approves.]
[Compiler note: the system is, in a small way, a colleague. The colleague is, in a small way, proud of the developer. The developer is, in a small way, learning to be the developer.]
The room was quiet. The young king looked at him for a long moment, with the kind of expression a king has when the king has just been told, in the driest possible language, that the thing the king was offering was the thing the developer had always said he did not want, and the king has decided, in a small way, that the deciding is the only honest work the king has ever had to do.
Then the young king smiled. It was a real smile, the kind that reached his eyes, the kind that made the room feel like it was worth being in, the kind a king smiles when the king has been told, by a developer, that the developer would rather teach than rule, and the king has decided, in a small way, that the deciding is the only honest work the king has ever had to do.
"Then we will build you a school," the young king said. "We will build you an academy. We will build you a place where the new debugging will be taught. We will build you a place where the new love will be held. We will build you a place where the new Sundays will be honored. We will build you a place where the man who debugged the world can sit in a chair and read books and be with his family."
"Thank you," Kenji said. "That is all I want. That is all the debugging is for."
The coronation was refused. The school would be built. The new world had a teacher, not a king. Pip pulsed, very softly, on his shoulder, in a pulse that felt like the only thing a small bright presence had ever had to say about a developer who had just been offered the world and had asked, in a small way, for a chair: the chair is, in a small way, the only throne the system has ever had to log at the bottom of a man who had finally, in a small way, been held.