Audit of the Hero

The air in my office was thick with the scent of an impending execution. My execution, specifically. Director Godwin had just finished giving me a ten-minute briefing on how to behave in front of Auditor Eliza, which could be summarized as: “Don’t be yourself.”

“And under no circumstances are you to refer to your official duties as ‘a real drag,’” he concluded, his mustache twitching with anxiety. “You are a public servant. A hero. A beacon of— Sukebe, are you listening to me? What is that on your desk?”

“It’s a nap pillow,” I said, patting the plush, goose-down cushion I’d liberated from my room in the castle. “An essential piece of equipment for long, arduous stakeouts of my own eyelids.”

Godwin looked like he was about to have a stroke. “Get rid of it! She’ll be here any minute!”

Across the room, Edgar was polishing his clipboard with a small, soft cloth, his movements precise and frantic. He had been a nervous wreck all morning, re-reading his own report on the loofah incident as if studying for an exam he was destined to fail. The poor kid was treating this audit like a final judgment. I, on the other hand, was treating it like a mandatory company fun day: a pointless ordeal to be endured with minimum participation.

A single, sharp knock echoed from the door. It was a knock that carried the full weight of bureaucratic authority. Godwin flinched. Edgar squeaked. I leaned back and put my boots up on the desk, resting my head on my new pillow.

The door opened and Eliza entered. She was, I had to admit, an intimidating work of art. Her fiery red hair, the color of autumn leaves, was pulled back into a severe bun that seemed to hold the secrets of the universe. Her gray eyes, sharp and analytical, swept the room and immediately cataloged every single thing that was wrong with it—namely, me. She held a new clipboard, a sleek, black slate that made Edgar’s leather-bound version look like a child’s toy.

“Director Godwin. Junior Inspector Edgar,” she said, her voice a cool, calm instrument of terror. Her gaze landed on me, and her eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly at the sight of my boots on the desk. “Inspector Sukebe. I trust you’re prepared for today’s field assessment.”

“Born ready,” I mumbled into my pillow. “Just need another five to ten minutes of being born.”

Eliza’s pen made a tiny, vicious scratching sound on her slate. “I see. My hypothesis is that this department’s recent success is a result of the exemplary diligence of its junior staff, rather than the… unorthodox methods of its senior inspector. Today is an opportunity for you to prove me wrong.”

“A hypothesis, huh?” I said, finally sitting up and swinging my feet to the floor. “Sounds like a lot of work. I usually just operate on caffeine and poor impulse control.” I grabbed my coat. “Alright, let’s go. This epic tale of civil service isn’t going to write itself.”

We left the building and headed for the lower artisan district, a chaotic maze of narrow lanes that smelled of sawdust, spiced meat, and soap. Eliza walked with a brisk, purposeful stride, forcing Edgar to practically jog to keep up. I ambled along behind them, enjoying the view.

“Inspector Sukebe,” Eliza began without turning around, her voice cutting through the market chatter. “Your report on the Pavilion incident failed to include a magical particle analysis of the residual ectoplasm. An oversight?”

“Nah, it was a strategic choice,” I shot back. “I use a more advanced diagnostic tool. It’s called the ‘sniff test.’ If it doesn’t smell like it’s going to crawl up my nose and lay eggs in my brain, I generally give it a pass. Saves on paperwork.”

Edgar, caught in the crossfire, stammered, “W-what the Inspector means, Auditor, is that he performed an instantaneous, full-spectrum purification, which rendered conventional analysis moot!”

“I see,” Eliza said, the single phrase dripping with skepticism. She made another note.

Our target for the day was a bathhouse with a history of minor, but bizarre, complaints. The Azure Carp Bath & Steamhouse. It was a three-story timber building painted a deep midnight blue, its eaves carved to look like rolling waves. Glowing paper lanterns shaped like carp swayed gently in the breeze.

Two attendants in blue kimonos bowed low as we approached, their eyes widening when they saw my badge, then widening further when they saw the terrifying woman in the Bureau of Order uniform standing behind me. One of them, a hostess with a charming smile, stepped forward.

Time to put on a show.

I gave her my best roguish grin. “Good afternoon, ladies. Routine inspection.” I leaned in, lowering my voice. “But don’t worry. I promise to be gentle.” I was acutely aware of Eliza’s gaze boring into the back of my skull. I could almost hear her pen scratching. Subject exhibits unprofessional levels of sleaze. Recommending mandatory harassment training.

The hostess giggled, her cheeks flushing. “Inspector-sama, you’re terrible…”

“Sir,” Edgar hissed, “we’re here to work.”

“Right, right.” I straightened up theatrically, flashing my badge again. “Kingdom Health and Safety. Here to ensure your carp are sufficiently… azure. Keep the tubs warm for me, alright?”

We stepped inside. The air was warm and damp, heavy with the scent of salt, cedar, and incense. A stocky manager came running, bowing so low his forehead nearly scraped the floor mats.

“Relax,” I said, waving a dismissive hand. “Just a routine check. My rookie here will handle the boring stuff.” I pointed Edgar towards the manager. “Edgar, licenses, soap inventory, drain maintenance logs. You know the drill. I’m going to inspect the inner pools.”

“Alone?” Eliza’s voice was sharp.

I turned, my lazy smile firmly in place. “You’re welcome to follow, Auditor. Unless you’re afraid of getting a little steam on your uniform.”

Her expression didn’t change, but she fell into step right behind me. We passed through a beaded curtain into a large, cavernous chamber. Several large, steaming pools shimmered under the light of the paper lanterns. The place was beautiful, tranquil. Everything looked perfectly normal. For a second.

Then I saw it. A slight, unnatural ripple in the largest pool. A decorative floating carp, painted a brilliant blue, blinked. It was a slow, deliberate blink. Not mechanical. Biological.

I sighed. Knew it. This world has a serious problem with haunted housewares.

“What am I looking at, Inspector?” Eliza asked, her eyes scanning the pool. Even she had noticed something was off.

“You,” I said, “are looking at a Class-C Parasitic Infestation disguised as a charming bath toy.”

I flicked two fingers, a gesture so casual it was almost an afterthought. My max-level aura, which I usually kept suppressed to avoid accidentally terrifying small animals, hummed in the air like a low bell. The surface of the pool went perfectly flat. The steam whipped away as if banished by a sudden wind.

The blinking carp float rose out of the water, dripping. But it wasn't just a float anymore. The water streamed away to reveal what lay beneath its painted wooden scales: a grotesque, writhing nest of cursed bath salts that had fused together into a single, parasitic entity. It had latched onto the carp, animating it, its dozens of tiny, shimmering salt-crystal eyes blinking in unison.

Edgar, who had stuck his head through the curtain to see what was taking so long, let out a choked gasp and immediately started writing furiously on his clipboard. ‘Item is… blinking. And appears to be composed of pure, unadulterated nightmare fuel.’

Eliza’s professional calm finally broke. She took a half-step back, her hand instinctively going to her side. “That’s… By the gods…”

“Mm,” I said, unimpressed. It was less threatening than the loofah. I raised my hand and snapped my fingers.

A single, brilliant flash of white-gold light filled the room. There was no sound, no explosion. Just a silent, overwhelming wave of pure, concentrated sanitation. The parasitic curse shriveled instantly, its crystalline structure dissolving into nothingness. The light faded.

The wooden carp float, now just a normal, non-blinking piece of wood, clattered back onto the surface of the water and bobbed gently in the ripples. The pool was calm. The air was clean. The crisis, such as it was, was over.

The manager, who had witnessed the whole thing, promptly collapsed in a grateful heap. Edgar passed him a pre-written fine for “harboring an unlicensed animated entity,” his hand still shaking.

Eliza stood motionless, her pen forgotten. She was staring at my hand, then at the placid pool, then at me. Her mind, so used to order and process, was struggling to compute an event that had no logical sequence. There was a problem, and then, with a snap of my fingers, there wasn't.

“Routine check,” I said, grabbing a nearby towel to wipe my perfectly clean hand. “Some people will try to smuggle the weirdest things into a public bath.”

We walked back to the department in a strange, thick silence. Edgar was too awestruck to speak. I was already thinking about lunch. Finally, just as we reached the steps of the Department building, Eliza spoke.

“That…” she began, then stopped, searching for the right word. “That was a Class-C infestation. Your report will have to state what spell you used to neutralize it. What was it?”

“The ‘Shut Up and Let Me Go To Lunch’ cantrip,” I said without breaking stride.

She ignored me, her expression a storm of confusion and reluctant acknowledgment. “You really are a max-level hero.” It wasn't a question. It was a conclusion she had been forced to accept against her better judgment. “But why are you here? Wasting that power on… this?”

I just yawned. “Somebody’s gotta keep the drains clean, Auditor.”

She looked down at her black slate, then up at me, her red hair catching the afternoon sun like a flame. Her suspicion hadn’t vanished. It had transformed into something else, something deeper.

“You are an anomaly, Inspector Sukebe,” she said, her voice low and intense. “A paradox of immense power and zero ambition. And the Bureau of Order does not tolerate paradoxes.” She paused. “I will figure you out.”

I gave her my most cheerful, infuriating grin. “Take a number, sweetheart. The line’s pretty long.”