The Hero Punches In (Sort Of)

The Kingdom Department of Public Health and Sanitation was a squat, imposing stone building that looked like a courthouse had a regrettable one-night stand with a monastery. It stood just beyond the palace walls, a ten-minute walk that felt, to my profoundly lazy soul, like a grueling pilgrimage. Carved into the lintel above the grand oak doors was the kingdom’s motto for the department: Cleanliness Is Next to Nobility. My internal motto, Napping Is Next to Godliness, seemed far more practical.

I shuffled down a corridor lined with barrels of lye soap and aggressively cheerful posters depicting cherubic children enthusiastically washing their hands. The whole place smelled of lemon polish and the low-level despair of career bureaucrats. Following me was a tall, imposing man with a mustache so thick and severe it looked like it could win a fistfight.

“This way, Inspector Sukebe,” the man said, his voice the auditory equivalent of gravel being ground into dust. “I am Director Godwin, your immediate superior. Welcome to the front lines. Think of me as your captain in this endless war against filth.”

I raised an eyebrow. “A war, huh? Right. Sounds… intense. Are we issued tiny helmets?”

Director Godwin’s mustache twitched in what I assumed was a failed attempt at a smile. He stopped before a polished oak door, upon which hung a brand-new, gleaming brass nameplate. It was beautiful. It was horrifying. It was perfect.

OKINA SUKEBE – KINGDOM HYGIENE INSPECTOR

Godwin pushed the door open with a grand, sweeping gesture that was completely wasted on the mundane reality of the room within. “Your office,” he announced. “And this…” He reached into his coat and produced a gold badge, heavy and ornate, etched with the Royal Seal of Lysvalde. “—is your authority. This badge grants you unrestricted access to any establishment within the capital. Present it, and even a Royal Knight General is required to step aside and allow you to inspect his latrine. Use it wisely.”

I took the badge with the reverence of a king accepting a crown. This wasn't just a piece of metal. This was a golden ticket to anywhere I wanted to go. A free pass. An all-access backstage pass to the entire kingdom. My mind raced with the possibilities for abusing this power.

I squinted at the fine engraving beneath the seal. “‘Okina Sukebe — Kingdom Hygiene Inspector,’” I read aloud, a slow, malicious grin spreading across my face. “It’s beautiful. I’ve peaked. This is the pinnacle of my career.”

Godwin cleared his throat, a sound like a small rockslide. “Your primary role will be to oversee the inspections delegated to your juniors and to file weekly reports on departmental findings. Field work may be required in situations of extreme contamination. Understood?”

“Completely,” I said, not taking my eyes off the badge. My reflection in its polished surface looked like a man who had just won the lottery. “You’ve just handed me the keys to paradise.”

Godwin’s mustache bristled. “Paradise?”

I finally looked up, leaning against the doorframe and flipping the badge in my hand. “Think about it. A government job with a corner office. A full year’s salary already in my pocket. No demon king trying to murder me. And a title that gives me the authority to go anywhere but the responsibility to do almost nothing.” I beamed at him. “I can literally get paid to sleep in that chair all day. That, Director, is my definition of paradise.”

He muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like “heroes these days have no work ethic” before turning on his heel and marching off, his back ramrod straight with disapproval.

I sauntered into my new domain. The office was a temple of mediocrity. A desk large enough to accommodate mountains of paperwork I had no intention of ever touching. Two chairs for guests I had no intention of ever inviting. The window offered a lovely view of the palace gardens, which would be perfect for staring at blankly while pretending to think about important work things. On the wall hung a large map of the city, dotted with colored pins marking “priority sanitation zones.” I made a mental note to avoid all of them.

I tossed my coat over one of the chairs, flopped into my own, and kicked my boots up onto the desk, the leather leaving a slight scuff on the polished oak. I considered it my first official act: marking my territory.

“This is the life,” I murmured, clasping my hands behind my head. “No monsters to fight. No swords to swing. Just me, my badge, and an endless, glorious ocean of naps.”

I closed my eyes. The gentle hum of the distant city, the faint scent of lemon oil, the comfortable embrace of a chair I didn't have to pay for… I was on the verge of achieving a state of perfect, blissful sloth.

I lasted approximately three minutes.

A voice like warm honey and expensive wine rolled across my desk. “Good morning, Sukebe- Sama. Already hard at work, I see.”

I cracked open one eye. Oh no. It’s the Warden.

Princess Marie was leaning against the doorframe, a vision of regal perfection that was completely out of place in my humble shrine to laziness. She was dressed in a riding outfit, her silver hair tied back, and her smile was as sharp and dangerous as ever. She must have walked past the entire department without anyone batting an eye. Or maybe she just owned the building. With her, either was equally plausible.

“Your Highness,” I said, making a half-hearted attempt to sit up. I swung my boots off the desk with a dull thud. “To what do I owe the pleasure? Here for your daily sanitation inspection? I can assure you, this office is currently a Class-C hazard of lethargy.”

She glided into the room, her movements impossibly graceful, and plucked my new badge from the desk where I’d left it. “A Hygiene Inspector,” she mused, turning it over in her gloved fingers. “Such a noble, heroic calling. Tell me, does the health and safety of the entire kingdom now rest upon your… very capable shoulders?”

I reached for the badge, but she pulled it just out of my grasp, her eyes twinkling. “Depends,” I said, leaning back. “Do those capable shoulders also get weekends and all major holidays off?”

Marie tilted her head, her gaze analytical. “I confess, I pictured you wielding a legendary sword, not a clipboard. Are you truly content with this?”

“I can wield both,” I deadpanned. “But the clipboard is heavier. All that paperwork, you know.”

She stepped closer, her playful demeanor shifting slightly. She lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “And if, hypothetically, someone were to report a… secret hygiene violation, somewhere deep within the palace? Would you be inclined to investigate it personally?”

I chuckled, a low, rumbling sound. “Depends entirely on which room. And what kind of ‘violation’ we’re talking about. Marie- Chan”

She let out a soft, musical laugh, the tension breaking. “You really are incorrigible.”

“I prefer ‘efficiently prioritizing my leisure time.’” I grinned, finally snatching my badge back. “This thing isn’t just gold, Princess. It’s freedom. You are looking at a man who has successfully weaponized his own job description. I can nap all day and they still have to call me ‘Hero.’”

Marie circled my desk like a predator sizing up its prey. “But I wonder…” she murmured, trailing a finger along the dusty map on the wall. “If you sleep all day, who will keep the kingdom’s drains from becoming clogged with unspeakable things?”

“I delegate,” I said with a shrug. “Delegation is the highest and most noble form of leadership. It says so in all the best management books I’ve never read.”

She leaned down, her face suddenly close to mine. I could smell the faint scent of lavender from her perfume, mixed with the crisp, clean scent of the outdoors. “Or,” she whispered, her smile returning, “it’s the highest form of laziness.”

I raised both my hands in mock surrender. “Guilty as charged, Your Highness. Lock me up.”

For a single, charged heartbeat, the air between us hummed. Then, a sharp, nervous knock on the door shattered the moment.

A junior inspector—a pale, earnest-looking kid with glasses and a stack of papers clutched to his chest like a shield—stepped into the room. “S-sir! Inspector Sukebe, sir!”

I leaned back, instantly shifting into ‘grizzled, overworked boss’ mode. “What is it, kid? Can’t you see I’m in the middle of a… top-level diplomatic meeting?”

The kid swallowed hard, his eyes darting from me to the princess and back again. “My apologies, sir, Your Highness! B-but we’ve just received an urgent report! A major hygiene violation in the… in the Street of Red Lanterns!”

The words flipped a switch in my brain. The hospitality district. A place of culture. A place of fine arts. A place I had just personally invested a significant portion of my yearly salary in. An attack on its hygiene was an attack on my own happiness.

I rose from my chair in one smooth, fluid motion, my previous laziness vanishing like a mirage. My eyes blazed with an exaggerated, heroic fire. I dramatically draped my coat over my shoulders.

“This,” I intoned, my voice dropping to a low, serious growl, “is a call to duty.”

Marie blinked, caught completely off guard by my sudden transformation. I took her hand, bowed deeply, and kissed her gloved knuckles.

“I’m sorry, my lady,” I murmured, my voice now filled with gallant purpose. “But my people need me. The very sanitation of this kingdom hangs in the balance.”

I then spun towards my bewildered subordinate. “You there! Junior Inspector! What’s your name, boy?”

“E-Edgar, sir.”

“Right. Edgar. Suit up. It’s time to investigate. Justice waits for no man, and neither does… mildew.”

The kid—Edgar—saluted so hard he nearly dropped his entire stack of papers. “Yes, sir!”

I strode out of the office with a newfound purpose, my coat billowing heroically behind me. Marie watched me go, a slow, disbelieving smile tugging at the corners of her lips. The door swung shut, leaving behind only the faint scent of lavender, lemon polish, and my bullshit.