A completely new work in the beloved 2000s light novel series, "Inukkami!" Keita and Yoko continue their chaotic yet cheerful life together, but as spiritual mediums, they have completely become relics of the past and are fading from the world's memory. However, they suddenly find themselves caught up in a battle between a visiting American President and the world's most dangerous spiritualist, who is targeting the President's life. Can Keita, who has become a "person of the past," manage to reg
Shin Inukkami! ~Master of the Highest Edition~ - The Most Hated President in History
The Most Hated President in History
The forty-sixth President of the United States, Davis "You-Suck-Eye" White, had a nickname known to everyone around the world.
It was the utterly disgraceful epithet: "The Most Hated President in American History."
A major American advertising agency (which President White referred to as "a nest of meddlesome, incompetent overpaid hacks") had an AI analyze random surveys, historical documents and newspaper records, video footage from TV news, approval ratings, internet comments, and more to score and rank all the past presidents. The result was what it was.
President White was the runaway number one.
When a CNN reporter asked for his thoughts on the matter during a press conference, President White nearly thrust up his middle finger and almost let slip an F-bomb—a broadcast-prohibited word—causing an uproar in the room.
In the end, the President, like the gentleman from the Upper West Side that he was, expressed his sentiments through a politically and rhetorically softened euphemism for "eat shit," and the press conference concluded.
As a result, the President's "hate points" shot up even further, and the assessment that no president would surpass him for the next hundred years became firmly established.
That number-one most hated president in history, Davis White, was aboard Air Force One, heading for Japan for a Japan-U.S. summit meeting.
White crossed his long, thin compass-like legs atop the lavish white presidential seat (which shouldn't have existed but which White had forcibly installed in the cabin), and while drinking the finest Darjeeling tea from a Herend Chinese Bouquet teacup with an expression that made it look utterly disgusting, he kept muttering complaints without pause.
"This stingy plane has a conference room, a bedroom, a bathroom, even an operating room—everything! So why in the world is there no soba tea! There are tons of useless Secret Service agents and useless chefs, but I can't drink a decent cup of soba tea! I want to drink soba tea!"
White was just shy of sixty. His silver hair was slicked back, and he sported a neatly trimmed mustache of the same color. He wore a navy suit tailored by a tailor he'd been going to since his days as a congressman—a suit that cost enough to make your eyes pop out.
His distinguishing features were his gaunt, sharply pointed gaze and the furrow between his brows that had been knit together for so long it seemed carved into his face.
He turned to the woman sitting beside him and aired his grievances.
"Hm? Can't you do something about this, Lisa? While you're at it, I'd like something sweet. Could you go ask the kitchen if there's any mugwort mochi?"
"Mr. President."
The Black woman in the crisp suit, who looked every bit the capable professional, spoke with a sigh.
"In case you've forgotten, I am your Deputy Policy Chief of Staff, not your servant. If you have complaints for the kitchen crew, please use the direct line and tell them yourself."
"Hmph."
The President spat out with evident spite.
"So when a president reaches the end of his second term, even his own hand-picked staff turn their backs on him. Forget the debt of gratitude for my having appointed you."
Lisa Thompson, a Yale-educated woman of brilliance, tried to retort to her increasingly arrogant employer but held her tongue and swallowed the words. Instead, she handed him the tablet she'd been fiddling with.
"Mr. President. These are the materials you'll need for the talks with Prime Minister Mabuchi. Please review them."
"..."
White glanced at it and said,
"Don't need it. Mabuchi is a stupid, shallow man. Shake his hand, play a round of golf with him—that's more than enough. He'll be happy too, getting to tout the strength of the Japan-U.S. alliance."
Lisa Thompson furrowed her brow slightly in reproach. White waved his hand and said,
"Ah—Lisa, don't misunderstand. I'm not looking down on him because he's Japanese or anything racist like that, you know?"
Somewhat smugly, he added,
"I look down on everyone who isn't me!"
He displayed the very essence of why he was the most hated of hated presidents. Lisa Thompson let out a sigh twice as deep as before.
"...Yes, Mr. President. I am well aware."
And she put the tablet away. White immediately picked up the internal phone receiver built into the sofa and began snidely complaining to the kitchen crew about the soba tea matter.
Lisa watched such a president with eyes that mixed contempt and exasperation. Inwardly, she found herself slightly puzzled.
(If he's so uninterested in the talks, why did he force this Japan visit through?)
To put it bluntly, schedule-wise, it was a meeting with virtually no political significance, one that had been realized by imposing considerable demands on the Japanese side. And all of it was something White had forcibly insisted upon.
(Or is he doing it because he wants to flaunt his political influence somehow?)
American presidents in principle do not serve a third term. And by convention, most cease to hold politically important positions once they leave the presidency. Therefore, as the end of a second term approaches, a president's centripetal force declines to the point that it effectively impedes governance.
This is what's known as a lame duck (read: a politically dead man walking), and White's situation—with only a few months left in his presidential term—fit this description precisely.
The proud White apparently found this politically dead state utterly unbearable, and half a year earlier, he had spent a massive amount of his personal fortune to plaster an advertisement reading only:
"I STILL ALIVE (I'm still alive!)"
Everywhere—from newspapers to TV to social media. And this incident invited yet more backlash from Congress, reducing his political influence to practically nothing.
Lisa seriously considered whether she should submit her resignation before the President's term expired once they returned to America. Like the other senior aides who had given up on White and quit.
Honestly, there was neither merit nor cause to follow this President.
She opened her laptop and resumed work, determined to fulfill her duty at the very least.
Having complained to his satisfaction, White put down the receiver and glanced toward Lisa Thompson. She was absorbed in her computer display, deliberately ignoring the President.
The President snorted and turned his gaze outside Air Force One.
There, an impossible scene—like a daydream—spread before him. Slightly behind Air Force One, a massive stone castle was following along as precisely as a loyal dog chasing its master.
A castle of the size that a medieval local lord might have built in the mountains of Switzerland or France floated smoothly through the sea of clouds, appearing and disappearing. It wasn't exceptionally huge as far as structures go, but it was certainly nothing that should be flying through the sky at the same speed as an airplane.
However, White had anticipated this, so he wasn't surprised in the least. He smiled coldly and thought:
(...So they've brought "FEARS" after all. But what could that immature, unreliable acting commander possibly do?)
He crossed his arms and closed his eyes.
(In the end, the finishing blow will be mine and mine alone.)
President Davis You-Suck-Eye White still had something left undone before his term ended.
That was why he was heading to Japan.
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