Hero of Hygiene, Star of the Night

The moment I stepped out of The Pavilion of a Thousand Dreams, the world exploded. Not literally, of course, but the entire Street of Red Lanterns had come to a standstill. The air, once filled with the general hum of commerce and debauchery, was now thick with a roaring cheer. Shopkeepers, courtesans, bouncers, cooks, and customers all stood in the street, their faces turned towards me, their expressions a mixture of awe, relief, and rabid adoration.

Someone threw a handful of cherry blossom petals. They fluttered down around me like pink, fragrant snow.

“Inspector-sama! You saved us!” “Our hero, Sukebe-sama!” “Drinks are on the house for life! For you and any twenty of your closest friends!”

The owner of the Pavilion, a portly man in an obscenely expensive silk kimono, fell to his knees before me, weeping with gratitude. “You have cleansed my establishment of a great evil! I am forever in your debt! Please, take this! A lifetime pass to the Grand Chrysanthemum Suite!”

He pressed a heavy, golden token into my hand. My eyes widened. A lifetime pass? Unlimited access to the best bath in the entire kingdom? For free?

My internal monologue, which had been preparing a cynical rant about the fickle nature of public opinion, promptly shut down and rebooted. Okay. New plan. Maybe being a hero isn't so bad, as long as the perks are this good.

Two of the Pavilion’s most beautiful hostesses, who had been waiting by the door, immediately latched onto my arms, their relief palpable. “Oh, Inspector-sama, we were so frightened!” one said. “Your heroic aura is so powerful!” cooed the other.

I laughed, a lewd, rumbling sound that I was beginning to perfect. I was born for this role. “Hahaha… Please, ladies, don’t praise me too much. A hero must remain humble.” I leaned in conspiratorially. “But feel free to keep trying.”

They giggled, clinging tighter. I was a living god. The god of vanquishing possessed bath products.

Trailing behind my glorious procession was Edgar, looking like a baby bird that had fallen out of its nest into the middle of a parade. He was trying his best to look official, but his clipboard was tilted at a skewed angle, and his eyes were darting everywhere, trying to process the sheer chaos of it all. Flower petals were getting stuck in his hair. He looked like a man who was simultaneously having the best and worst day of his life.

Back in the quiet, anticlimactic sanity of our office, the adrenaline of the moment wore off, leaving behind the familiar, comfortable feeling of bone-deep exhaustion. I flopped into my chair, tilted it back until it balanced precariously on two legs, and tossed the golden lifetime pass onto the desk. It landed with a satisfying clink.

Edgar, still buzzing, finally managed to get his quill working. “Boss… sir! The report… how should I even begin to describe what happened? The speed! The power! The… the Mop Blade!”

I waved a lazy hand, not even opening my eyes. “Yeah, yeah, write it up. Make it sound good. Use lots of heroic adjectives. Emphasize the grave danger and my stoic, selfless bravery.” I paused. “Consider it an advanced training exercise in creative bureaucratic writing. I’m entrusting you, my star pupil, with the sacred duty of transcribing the legend.”

My star pupil, who had no idea he was just being used as my unpaid intern, puffed out his chest with pride. “I-I won’t let you down, sir! I’ll make it the most detailed and accurate report on a Class-B magical contamination this kingdom has ever seen!”

“Good kid,” I mumbled, already drifting towards a well-deserved nap. “Just make sure you spell my name right. The accursed one they all use.”

That evening, Lysvalde Castle’s grand dining hall was aglow with what must have been a thousand candles, all of them doing their best to make the peeling gold leaf on the ceiling look intentional. The long tables groaned under the weight of roasted meats, glistening pastries, and fruits I couldn’t name.

I sat across from Princess Marie, slouching in a way that I knew drove the royal etiquette tutors insane. I was methodically working my way through a bread roll, my mind already on the plush, continent-sized bed waiting for me back in my room.

Prime Minister Vince rose to his feet, tapping a crystal goblet for attention. The hall fell silent. “Your Majesty, Princess Marie, esteemed guests,” he began, his voice echoing slightly. “I must give a formal commendation.” He turned his gaze, and his spectacles, directly at me.

“Today, our new Kingdom Hygiene Inspector, Okina Sukebe, faced his first significant challenge. A dangerous, soul-corrupting cursed item had manifested within a beloved public establishment.”

‘Beloved’ is an understatement, I thought, taking another bite of bread. ‘Sacred’ is more like it.

“Inspector Sukebe acted with a decisiveness and power that can only be described as heroic,” Vince continued, his voice swelling with patriotic fervor. “The threat was neutralized flawlessly, the staff and patrons were protected, and the district’s reputation was preserved. An excellent, truly magnificent first showing for our Hero of Hygiene!”

The hall erupted in applause. King Edward banged his fist on the table, laughing uproariously. “Marvelous! A toast! To Inspector Sukebe, the fastest loofah-wrangler in the land!”

Goblets clinked. People cheered. I gave a lazy half-smile and raised my own glass.

“With results like this,” the king boomed, his crown once again askew. “We may have to promote you! Head of the new Royal Cursed Artifacts Division! How does that sound? A bigger office! A bigger salary!”

The applause grew louder. My smile froze on my face. A bigger office meant more people to talk to. A bigger salary meant higher expectations. A new division meant… work. Real, actual work. It was my worst nightmare gift-wrapped in a promotion.

I stood up slowly. The hall quieted, expecting a humble speech of acceptance. “Your Majesty,” I said, my voice ringing with false sincerity. “You honor me beyond words. But I must refuse.”

A collective gasp went through the room. The king blinked. “Refuse?”

“A true hero does not seek glory or a higher station,” I declared, placing a hand over my heart. “He seeks only to serve where he is needed most. My place is not in a grand office, but with the drains, the gutters, the clogged grates of the common man. To elevate me would be to remove me from the very filth I have sworn to fight. My calling is humble, but it is mine. Please… do not promote me.”

The silence that followed was deafening. Then, a single priest started to weep with emotion. The knights looked at me with newfound respect. The nobles nodded sagely at my profound, selfless nobility.

The king, completely buying it, roared with laughter again, slapping the table so hard his plate jumped. “Hah! What humility! What spirit! Very well! To the Hero of the People!”

The hall cheered again, this time even louder. I sat down, taking a long sip of wine, feeling the sweet, sweet relief of a crisis averted. Across the table, only Marie’s eyes lingered on me. They weren’t filled with respect or admiration. They were filled with a sharp, calculating amusement. She saw right through my bullshit, and she was loving every second of it.

Later that night, I stood on a quiet castle balcony, leaning against the cool stone balustrade and staring at the moon. The party had been exhausting.

“You enjoyed yourself today.”

I didn’t have to turn. I recognized the soft, musical voice. Marie slipped out of the shadows to stand beside me, a glass of red wine in her hand.

“Can’t complain,” I said with a smirk. “Got to fight a sponge, got a lifetime supply of free bath services, and got out of a promotion. All in all, a productive day.”

She took a delicate sip of her wine. “Tell me, Hero Sukebe… were you really out there today protecting the fine people of Lysvalde from a dangerous cursed monster?”

“Of course,” I said, putting on my best noble hero face. “The safety of the public is my highest priority.”

Her lips curved into a sly smile. She took a step closer. “Or,” she whispered, her voice a playful, teasing caress, “were you simply protecting your… happy time?”

I finally turned to face her. The moonlight caught in her silver hair. My noble hero facade crumbled, replaced by an honest, unashamed grin.

“Why can’t it be both?”

Marie laughed, a quiet, genuine sound like velvet bells. “Oh, gods… you are absolutely impossible.”

“And yet,” I leaned a little closer, my voice dropping into a playful drawl. “You still keep me in the room right next to your wing, Princess. Almost like you want to keep an eye on me.”

Her eyes glittered in the moonlight, her smile turning into a smirk that mirrored my own. “For now,” she said. “A good ruler must always keep track of her most… unpredictable assets.”

We stood there for a long moment, not speaking, trading silent challenges under the silver moon. The air between us was electric, not with romance, but with the thrilling, unspoken promise of a very interesting game that had only just begun. Somewhere below, the city bells of Lysvalde tolled the hour, and the Hero of Hygiene savored the perfect, beautiful balance of his new life: chaos, comfort, and expertly avoided responsibility.