Cursed Loofah Showdown

The steam that rolled out of the Grand Chrysanthemum Suite was thick enough to chew. It smelled of expensive rose oil, boiling magic, and the faint, sour tang of a curse that had seriously overstayed its welcome. I stepped through the doorway, my face a mask of grim determination. Edgar hovered behind me, peering around the doorframe with an expression of pure, unadulterated terror, his clipboard held up like a flimsy wooden shield.

Of all the bathhouses on the Street of Red Lanterns, in all the city of Lysvalde, it had to be this one. The Pavilion of a Thousand Dreams wasn't just another inspection site; it was my sanctuary. My happy place. The only establishment in this entire backward world that understood the sacred art of achieving perfect water temperature.

“Figures,” I muttered, rubbing the bridge of my nose. “The kingdom’s first genuine magical hygiene violation, and it manifests in the one place I actually give a damn about.”

This is a personal attack, my inner voice screamed. This is a direct assault on my future weekend plans. I was summoned to a world without a Demon King, not a world where my favorite soaking tub is being held hostage by a possessed bath sponge.

The scene within was a masterpiece of low-grade paranormal absurdity. The grand marble tub, large enough to swim laps in, glowed with a pulsating, sickly violet light. The foam frothed and bubbled like a witch’s cauldron. Dozens of plush, expensive towels floated near the ceiling, flapping lazily like the ghosts of a forgotten laundry day.

And in the center of it all, bouncing with a relentless, rhythmic squish, was the culprit. It was a loofah the size of a small carriage, its fibrous surface writhing as if infested with invisible worms. It frothed and spewed purple suds everywhere, muttering in a low, gurgling voice.

“Scrub… scrub away the grime… the filth… you missed a spot behind your ears… exfoliate your very soul… moisturize your regrets…”

I turned slightly to my subordinate, who was now visibly trembling. “Kid. Go question the staff. Ask them about their procurement process for cursed artifacts. Find out if they have a returns policy. I’m handling this.”

“S-sir,” Edgar stammered, his eyes wide as dinner plates. “The departmental handbook says for a Class-B magical contamination we must first contain, then analyze, then file form 27B for—”

I snorted, my gaze fixed on the bouncing monstrosity. “This isn’t a Class-B contamination, Edgar. This is a Class-A threat to my personal comfort. That thing is standing between me and a perfect weekend soak. Trust me, there is no greater motivation on this earth.”

My lazy, slouching posture straightened. I let my government-issue cloak slide from my shoulders, and it fell to the floor in a heap. For a split second, a flicker of golden energy, my max-level aura, shimmered around me like heat haze. It was the physical manifestation of pure, unadulterated annoyance.

The loofah sensed the shift in the room. It stopped its passive-aggressive muttering and let out a wet hiss, lashing out with a whip-like tendril of soapy purple foam. I didn’t even flinch. I just took a lazy half-step to the side, my hands still in my pockets. The foam splattered against the marble wall behind me, sizzling and eating a fist-sized hole into the pristine tile.

I winced. “Great. Melting tiles. Now the whole place is going to smell like alchemical bleach for a week. That’s it.”

My patience, a notoriously finite resource, had officially run out.

“Alright, listen up, you overgrown bath toy,” I said, my voice dangerously calm. I raised one hand, palm out, and let a thin, shimmering ripple of golden mana pulse through the air. It was a warning shot. “Sit down. Stop bubbling. And we can all go about our day.”

The loofah responded by swelling to twice its size, the purple glow intensifying.

Edgar, who was still plastered to the doorframe, let out a small, reverent whisper. “Inspector-sama…”

“Don’t bother me, kid, I’m monologuing,” I said without looking back. “You got those delivery schedules questioned yet? The sooner we clear this up, the sooner I can start my inspection of that tub.”

“Y-yes, sir!” Edgar squeaked, though he didn't move an inch, his eyes glued to the golden light now starting to coalesce around my hands.

“Good,” I sighed, cracking my knuckles with a sound like a gunshot in the steamy room. “Let’s get this over with. A max-level hero, summoned from another world to fight a sentient bath sponge. This is a new low, even for me. I bet the author thinks this is hilarious.”

My aura erupted, flooding the suite with a brilliant, cleansing light. The oppressive, sour smell was instantly replaced by the clean, sharp scent of citrus and divine retribution. In my right hand, the golden energy solidified, forming a shimmering, translucent blade in the unmistakable shape of a janitor’s mop.

“Secret Sanitation Technique,” I intoned, striking a pose. “Supreme Sterilization Slash!”

I swung the Aura Mop Blade once. The attack was silent, but it cut through the air with absolute authority, cleaving the giant loofah nearly in two. It shrieked, a high-pitched sound like scrubbing bubbles being murdered.

The floating towels, agitated by their master’s pain, suddenly swooped down at me.

“Predictable,” I yawned. “Anti-Bacterial Burst!”

A pulse of non-elemental power exploded from my body, a perfect 360-degree wave of pure, concentrated ‘get away from me.’ The cursed towels were instantly vaporized, leaving behind nothing but a faint scent of fresh linen. The purple glow in the tub fizzled and died.

The wounded loofah, now leaking harmless white foam, made one last, desperate lunge.

I sidestepped it with the grace of a man avoiding a puddle. “Finishing Move,” I declared to the empty room. “Five-Point Disinfecting Palm Strike of Ultimate Purity!”

I thrust my palm forward. It wasn't a strike that made contact; it was a focused blast of energy that sent the creature ricocheting off the walls like a pinball, spraying clean, mint-scented foam everywhere. It finally came to a rest in the middle of the floor, twitching and deflating.

“Okay. Bye now.”

I casually extended the pinky finger on my left hand. A tiny, almost invisible needle of golden light shot out. “Flick of Utter Disinterest.”

Pop.

The cursed core of the loofah burst like a soap bubble, releasing a harmless shower of sparkles and clean, fresh water. The giant sponge collapsed into a sad, inert pile of natural fiber. The battle was over. The entire confrontation had lasted less than thirty seconds.

The room was silent, save for the gentle dripping of water. It was now immaculately clean. Pristine, even.

Edgar crept in, his mouth hanging open. He stared at the defeated loofah, then at the sparkling clean tiles, then at me. “S-sir… I’ve… I’ve never seen magic like that. The power… the purity… you—you really are the Max-Level Hero…”

I nonchalantly wiped a stray bit of mint-scented foam off my badge with my thumb. My voice was utterly flat. “Yeah, yeah. Write it up as an ‘unscheduled deep cleaning’ and a ‘successful product recall.’ I’m taking a bath before the staff realizes we’re done in here and tries to thank me.”

I stepped over the spongy corpse of my vanquished foe as if I were swatting a mosquito.

“And Edgar?” I said, turning at the edge of the tub. “Nobody messes with my favorite bathhouse.”

Edgar stared, his heart hammering in his chest. He had joined the Department of Public Health and Sanitation expecting a quiet life of paperwork and inspecting mold. Instead, he was watching a living legend casually disinfect a cursed monster like it was just another Tuesday. And for the most selfish reason imaginable. He finally understood. This wasn't just a hero. This was a force of nature.