Chapter 3: An Unexpected D-Mail

For the next few days, I lived in a state of constant, low-grade terror. Every time a notification popped up on my terminal, I’d jump, expecting it to be a summons from Archangel Michael from accounting or, worse, a pink slip delivered by a flaming sword. I tried to bury myself in my work, processing soul after soul with meticulous, paranoid care. I double-checked, triple-checked, and quadruple-checked every skill I granted.

One guy wanted to be a master blacksmith. I read the skill description for "Legendary Forgemaster" seventeen times to make sure it wouldn't accidentally turn him into a "Legendary Edgelord," doomed to forge nothing but katanas with unnecessarily sad backstories. Another girl wanted to be a tamer of mythical beasts. I made sure her skill was "Beast Bond" and not "Yeast Lord," which I'm pretty sure would just make her the queen of sourdough starters.

But no matter how many normal reincarnations I processed, the potato-shaped shadow of my colossal mistake loomed over me. I kept the monitoring window for Veridia open in the corner of my screen, watching it like a terrifying soap opera.

And oh, what a soap opera it was.

Tatsuya - or "Lord Spud," as the masses were now calling him - was failing upwards with a grace that was honestly impressive. His "Harem King's Charm" was so potent that he had accidentally united the two warring kingdoms. He didn't even do anything! He held one meeting, where he apparently just mumbled about wanting to go home and eat some ramen, and the two kings saw such "profound, world-weary wisdom" in his words that they signed a peace treaty on the spot. They formed the "United Potato Allegiance," and appointed Tatsuya as their "Grand High Potentate." His throne was a giant, enchanted potato. I am not making this up.

He now had a legion of followers. The two captains from the field, a stern man named Gregor (from Tuberosum) and a dashing knight named Alistair (from Agricola), had become his devoted right and left-hand men. They were constantly vying for his attention, interpreting his every confused shrug as a divine commandment.

The "harem" part of his skill was also kicking in, much to his visible dismay. The princess of Agricola, a beautiful but terrifyingly intense woman, had declared she would marry him. The high priestess of Tuberosum, a quiet girl with unnerving devotion in her eyes, had proclaimed herself his "Sacred Root." Tatsuya now spent most of his days trying to escape their aggressive wedding planning and/or attempts to wash his feet.

He had brought prosperity to the land, yes. His potato fields were magically abundant, ending the famine. But he had also created a fanatical cult of personality around himself, and he looked like the most miserable person on the planet.

I felt a pang of guilt. This was all my fault. He just wanted to be a generic sword hero, and I had turned him into the reluctant Pope of Potatoes.

Just as I was sinking into my daily pit of shame, a new notification pinged on my screen. It wasn't red, like the system alerts, or gold, like a summons from my superiors. It was blue. A D-Mail. A Divine Mail.

My heart stopped. D-Mail was the inter-dimensional instant messaging system for gods and other high-ranking celestial beings. I had never gotten one before. My hands trembled as I clicked it open.

FROM: The Management SUBJECT: Performance Review - URGENT

This was it. I was done for. They found out. I was going to be fired and reincarnated as a slime or something. Probably a brown, non-sentient puddle slime.

I took a deep breath and read the message.

To: Akane, Goddess of Reincarnators, Sector 7G

Regarding your recent handling of Soul #8,008,135 (Tatsuya, S.) and his subsequent reincarnation into World-113 (Veridia).

We have been monitoring the situation. The unsanctioned creation and assignment of the Unique Skill "Ultimate Spud Skill" was a significant deviation from standard procedure.

I squeezed my eyes shut, bracing for the inevitable. Here it comes…

However, the results have been… unexpectedly positive. World-113 was previously flagged for a "Class-5 Civilization Collapse" event (World War). Your intervention has completely averted this crisis. The world's stability index has risen by 4,000%. The mortals' faith index has skyrocketed, pumping a record amount of belief energy into the celestial grid. We haven't seen numbers like this since that one time someone invented pizza.

While your methods were unorthodox and frankly baffling, the outcome is undeniable. Management has decided to classify this incident not as a catastrophic error, but as a "Proactive Destabilization and Restabilization Initiative." A bold, outside-the-box strategy. Genius, really.

Congratulations, Akane. You have been awarded the "Celestial Employee of the Month" bonus. Please find 5,000 Divine Credits attached. Keep up the good work.

Regards, The Management

I read the message. Then I read it again. And a third time, just to be sure my eyes weren't playing tricks on me.

"Proactive Destabilization and Restabilization Initiative?" I whispered. They thought I did it on purpose? They thought I was a genius?

Employee of the Month?

I looked at the little icon at the bottom of the D-Mail. 5,000 Divine Credits have been added to your account. I didn't even know I had an account!

A wave of delirious relief washed over me, so potent it almost made me dizzy. I wasn't fired. I was a hero! A genius! An award-winning goddess! I leaned back in my chair, a hysterical laugh bubbling up from my chest. I, Akane, the klutz who had seventeen embarrassing deaths to her name, had successfully failed upwards into a promotion. This was insane.

My celebration was cut short by another D-Mail notification. This one wasn't from Management. My blood ran cold when I saw the sender's name. It was a name I recognized from the files. A name I never, ever wanted to see in my inbox.

FROM: Demon Lord Xylos, The Shadowed King of Gehenna-Prime SUBJECT: Formal Complaint

Oh, crap.

With a sense of impending doom that dwarfed my earlier panic, I opened the second message.

To Whom It May Concern at the Reincarnation Department,

I am writing to file a formal complaint regarding one of your recently dispatched "heroes." For the past century, my kingdom has maintained a carefully balanced system of non-lethal, performative conflict with the local human kingdoms. My "minions" raid their villages, the "hero" shows up, we have a spectacular but ultimately harmless battle, the hero "wins," and everyone goes home happy. It's great for tourism, and it keeps the economy on both sides stimulated.

Yesterday, your newest hero arrived. A young woman with pink hair. She completely ignored the script. She didn't fight my Four Demon Generals. Instead, she introduced them to something she called "multi-level marketing."

As of this morning, my entire command structure has collapsed. My Blazing Knight is no longer managing my armies; he's trying to recruit hellhounds to sell "Infernal Essence" essential oils. My Frost Lich has abandoned her research into eternal winter to host webinars on how to "monetize your undeath." The whole system is a mess.

She keeps saying she's going to "disrupt the entire industry."

What did you people do? Who did you send me? Please advise.

Sincerely, Xylos, a very concerned Demon Lord

I stared at the message, my brief moment of triumph evaporating like a raindrop on a hot sidewalk. I frantically searched my recent reincarnation logs. Pink-haired girl… ah, there she was. A former ruthless CEO from Tokyo who had died and requested to be reincarnated as a "magical girl."

I had given her the skill "Charismatic Leadership." I had not considered the possibility that she would use it to build a demonic pyramid scheme.

I looked at my "Employee of the Month" award. I looked at the Demon Lord's complaint. My universe was one of perfect, chaotic balance. I solve a world war by accident, and in return, I accidentally dismantle the entire demonic power structure of another world with capitalism.

I took a deep breath, pulled out a fresh celestial notepad, and started drafting a reply.

"Dear Lord Xylos," I typed. "Thank you for your feedback. We here at the Department of Reincarnation value our… clients."