Operation: Sanitation

The sun was high and unforgiving, beating down on the cobblestone streets of Lysvalde. I strode with the unearned confidence of a man on a mission, my inspector’s cloak—a rather drab piece of government-issue wool—fluttering heroically in the breeze. My brand-new gold badge was pinned crookedly to my chest, glinting like a promise of all the authority I was about to abuse.

Trotting to keep up with me was Junior Inspector Edgar, a young man whose entire being screamed “I alphabetize my spice rack.” He clutched a heavy leather-bound clipboard to his chest like a holy relic, his earnest face already slick with a thin sheen of nervous sweat.

“Sir,” Edgar panted, adjusting his spectacles. “I’ve reviewed the initial report. We have multiple complaints spanning three establishments in the Street of Red Lanterns. Allegations include… cross-contamination of enchanted bath oils, the use of unlicensed animation runes on serving trays, and, ah…” he squinted at the parchment, “…an incident involving a ‘malevolent exfoliating agent.’ Shall we formulate a plan of attack? Perhaps divide the district into sectors for maximum efficiency?”

I stopped dramatically, placing a firm, fatherly hand on his shoulder. Edgar flinched.

“Edgar, my boy,” I said, my voice low and serious. “Let me impart upon you the first and most sacred rule of the Hygiene Inspector Corps.”

He immediately fumbled for a quill and notepad. “Yes, sir! I’m ready!”

“Never, ever, use the word ‘efficiency.’ It’s a trap. A four-syllable siren song that leads only to more work.” I gave his shoulder a firm squeeze. “We’re not a squad of accountants, kid. We’re a buddy-cop duo. We don’t split up. We roll in together, kick down the proverbial door, and one of us—the grizzled, world-weary veteran who’s seen it all—makes a witty quip while the other—the fresh-faced rookie with a heart of gold—worries about regulations. Guess which one I am.”

Edgar blinked, his quill hovering uselessly over the page. “What’s a… ‘buddy cop’?”

“Don’t worry about it,” I said, resuming our march. “Just try to look impressed when I do something cool and concerned when I mention my tragic backstory. Which I will make up as we go.”

We arrived at the entrance to the Street of Red Lanterns. The name was no exaggeration. Hundreds of crimson paper lanterns swayed overhead, casting a warm, inviting glow even in the broad daylight. The air was a chaotic symphony of smells: savory grilled squid, sweet red bean cakes, expensive incense, and the faint, unmistakable scent of cheap sake. Music from a dozen different storefronts—the twang of a shamisen, the gentle melody of a flute—bled together into a lively, dissonant tune.

My cynical, blackened heart soared. This was my sanctuary. Edgar, however, looked like he’d just been assigned to inspect the seventh circle of hell.

“Sir,” he whispered, his eyes wide. “The potential for health code violations here is… staggering.”

“Exactly,” I said, my grin stretching from ear to ear. “It’s a target-rich environment. Now, always remember the second rule of our corps, Edgar: a true inspector must immerse himself in the local culture. He must sample the wares, engage with the populace, and test the structural integrity of the barstools. It is our solemn duty.” I flicked out my badge, the gold catching the light. “Let’s go perform some very, very solemn duty.”

Stop One: The Silken Koi Bathhouse

Our first target was an elegant, three-story building of dark wood and frosted glass. Steam billowed gently from its upper windows. Inside was a world of polished marble, bubbling hot springs, and more graceful curves than a calligraphy scroll. Attendants in fine silk robes bowed as I flashed my badge with the swagger of a sheriff entering a saloon.

“Ladies,” I announced, my voice dropping half an octave into what I hoped was a ‘suave professional’ tone. “I am Inspector Sukebe. I’m here on official business to protect the public from the dangers of… insufficient relaxation.”

The head attendant, a statuesque elf woman with hair pinned up in an impossibly complex style, raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. “Our hygiene practices are impeccable, Inspector.”

“I’m sure they are,” I said solemnly, trying not to let the steam fog up my cool demeanor. “But I must conduct a thorough, hands-on inspection. For example…” My eyes flicked toward a group of women lounging in a large, steaming pool. “The water. I need to test its buoyancy and thermal consistency. I’ll require several volunteers for a practical demonstration of its… displacement properties.”

Edgar tugged frantically at my sleeve. “Sir! The official checklist just says to test the water’s pH balance with a litmus rune!”

“Details, Edgar, details!” I sighed dramatically, turning back to the attendant. “Fine. Your rookie is a stickler for the rules. For now, the soap. Where do you keep the soap?”

She led me to a shelf of glittering, enchanted soap bars carved into the shape of koi fish. They shimmered with their own inner light and smelled of cherry blossoms and magic. I picked one up, sniffed it with a professional air, and made a thoughtful “hmmm” noise. Behind me, I could hear Edgar frantically scribbling notes. ‘Subject demonstrated advanced sniffing technique on potentially hazardous soap product.’

“Soap seems clean,” I declared. “Water looks wet. Staff is gorgeous. No violations here… yet.”

As we left, I’m pretty sure I heard a few of the bathers applaud.

Stop Two: The Tipsy Tanuki Tavern

The next establishment smelled of spilled ale, sizzling meat, and questionable life choices. A loud, cheerful din filled the air. In a dim corner, a musician was plucking a jaunty tune on a three-stringed lute. I immediately felt at home.

I sat across from a bouncer whose neck was thicker than my entire torso, while Edgar stood nervously, clipboard at the ready.

“Sir,” Edgar whispered, “shouldn’t we be in the kitchens? The report mentioned unlicensed animation runes on the serving trays.”

I took a long, satisfying sip from a mug of frothy ale the barmaid had slid in front of me the moment she saw my badge. It was one of the perks of the job. “Patience, rookie. You can’t just rush into the heart of the matter. You need to establish a rapport.” I gestured at the barmaid, who had a dazzling smile and a mischievous glint in her eye. “I, for instance, am establishing a very important rapport with the head of beverage services and morale.”

I waved Edgar forward toward the bouncer. “This, Edgar, is a critical training exercise. Your mission is to interrogate this fine, upstanding gentleman on all the boring stuff—delivery logs, meat temperatures, the existential dread of the walk-in freezer. The fate of the kingdom’s digestive tracts rests on your shoulders.” I turned my full attention to the barmaid. “I, meanwhile, will handle the high-level inquiry.”

Edgar sighed, squared his shoulders, and began to pepper the bewildered bouncer with questions about supply chains. I leaned onto the bar, giving the barmaid my most heroic smile.

“Tell me,” I said softly, “what is your official policy on handwashing?”

She giggled, tapping my badge with a playful finger. “As often as it takes to get the job done, Inspector-sama.”

My eyes gleamed. “An excellent policy. Thorough. Dedicated. Hero-approved.” I gave her a wink, just as Edgar in the background asked the bouncer to describe, in detail, the tavern’s grease trap maintenance schedule.

Stop Three: The Pavilion of a Thousand Dreams

This was the crown jewel of the district. A sprawling complex of red-lacquered wood, paper-screen doors, and corridors thick with the scent of jasmine and mystery. This wasn't just an establishment; it was an institution. My grin went from cheerful to borderline religious.

“This…” I whispered to Edgar, who was looking around as if he expected the walls to leap out and arrest him. “…is where heroes are made.”

Edgar cleared his throat, pulling his attention back to his clipboard. “Sir, the report on this location was the most severe. It was about the—ah—‘malevolent exfoliating agent.’ The complaint states it caused a client to break out in shimmering, purple hives and develop an uncontrollable urge to yodel.”

“Exactly,” I said, adjusting my cloak. A threat to this sacred place was a threat to my own personal happiness. This was no longer just a job; this was a crusade. “And I will get to the bottom of it. Or the top of it. Or whichever side is most convenient to inspect.”

I glided up to the waiting hostess, a woman of breathtaking elegance, and bowed with exaggerated chivalry. “Madam. Kingdom Health and Safety, at your service. I’m here to investigate a report concerning… a cursed loofah.”

The hostess flushed. “Inspector-sama… yes. There was an incident. In the Grand Chrysanthemum Suite. It has been magically sealed since last night.”

My eyes blazed with the fire of a thousand shonen protagonists about to unleash their ultimate attack. “Show me.”

She led us through a labyrinth of velvet corridors to a heavy door marked with a crudely drawn chalk sigil that looked like a child’s attempt to ward off broccoli. From behind it, we could hear a faint, ominous glowing sound, and a rhythmic, wet scrubbing.

I squared my shoulders and dramatically handed my cloak to Edgar.

“Kid,” I said, my voice filled with grim purpose. “You question the staff. Interrogate the delivery boys. Get to the bottom of their towel supply chain. I’m going in. I’ll handle the… loofah.”

Edgar’s eyes were wide with a mix of fear and admiration. “Sir, are you sure? The report said—”

My grin was pure, unadulterated mischief. “I’m the Hero Sukebe,” I declared. “This is exactly the kind of filthy, unholy evil I was summoned to scrub from this world.”

I pushed open the door and stepped into the steam.