The best playwrights had been called delusional in their time. Yamada should take it as a compliment, feel gratified at the superlative, but all he felt was annoyance.

Controlling the weak-minded was not an 'attempt to convince himself' of anything. Who else but the powerful could control this many people at once? It was a kingdom in truth, all the actors on his stage. Here he controlled the simulacrum of death; of dreaming and waking, of oblivion and resurrection. The abyssal realm of sleep was his to command. What else could he be called but a god? He called himself merely King because he was gracious. There were simply rules that he had set. His kingdom was not an arbitrary chaos.

"As you can see, I'm doing well," he said, unsmiling, choosing not to acknowledge Hayami's slander. "Your goal has been fulfilled. You can go now."