Art of Lazy Negotiation

My team was standing in the Demon King’s library, their minds collectively blown. Justus was still trying to reconcile the sleepy teenager under the blanket with the epic legends of the Maō. Eliza was probably trying to calculate the potential economic output of a nation frozen in time. Edgar was just trying not to faint. I, however, had found my opening.

“Okay, Rumiri,” I said, getting straight to the point. “Here’s the deal. You’ve got a bunch of religious fanatics, the Slime Dai Maō Karuto, trying to break your seal from the outside. It’s very noisy and disruptive to your nap schedule.”

Rumiri nodded from their blanket cocoon, their golden eyes filled with a deep, personal understanding of this tragedy. “Very disruptive.”

“And I,” I continued, “have a bunch of idiots who want me to go out there and fight those fanatics, which is very tiring and disruptive to my nap schedule. We have a common enemy: people who want us to do things.”

“Effort is the true evil,” Rumiri agreed, their voice a sleepy murmur.

“Exactly,” I said, a feeling of perfect, lazy synergy washing over me. “So, I have a proposition. A way for us to solve this problem with minimal fuss and maximum long-term benefits for our mutual desire to be left alone.”

Just as I was about to deliver my masterstroke of a sales pitch, a new voice, cheerful and melodic, echoed from the adjoining room.

“Rumiri, darling, who are our guests? I brought you some snacks!”

A young woman entered the library. She had bright brown hair and big, innocent eyes, and she was carrying a small basket filled with what looked like freshly picked turnips. She was pretty, in a sweet, completely-unaware-of-her-own-surroundings kind of way. She saw our group of heavily armed, tense-looking intruders and just beamed at us.

“Oh, my!” she said. “We have company! How wonderful! I hope you’re not here to trigger any doom flags!”

Rumiri sat up, a genuine smile gracing their features for the first time. “Everyone, this is my girlfriend, Catarini Cleas.”

My brain, which had been operating at peak lazy-genius mode, promptly blue-screened. I just stared at her. Catarini… Cleas. A reincarnated girl obsessed with avoiding doom flags.

That's it, this is the only logical thing to happen. I completely agree with this logic. The rip-off Rimuru has a rip-off Bakarina for a girlfriend. It’s the law. The law of shameless isekai crossovers. At this point, I'm not even surprised. This story's plagiarism is a feature, not a bug. My author is a hack, and I am trapped in their magnum opus of unoriginality.

Catarini, completely oblivious, walked over and offered me a turnip. “Would you like one? I grew them myself! Very good for avoiding tragic, agriculturally-related demises!”

I just took the turnip and stared at it. My life was a parody of a parody of a fanfiction.

“As I was saying,” I said, trying to get my train of thought back on track. “My offer. Rumiri, you help me and my team of miscellaneous associates get rid of Alistair and his cult. A quick, one-and-done job. In return, I will get you out of this seal, and I will offer you something better than this frozen-in-time dimension. I’m offering you a new life in Lysvalde.”

Justus looked horrified. “Okina Sukebe! You want to bring the Demon King to our capital?!”

“Not as a Demon King,” I clarified, holding up a hand. And then, I delivered the ultimate prize, the single greatest offer I could conceive of. “I will use my considerable influence as the Pervert Hero to secure you a prestigious, quiet, and deeply respected position within the government of Lysvalde. Rumiri Tempest, I’m offering you a job.”

I leaned forward, my eyes gleaming. “I’m offering you a position as a Kingdom Hygiene Inspector.”

The room went completely silent, save for the crackling of the fireplace.

“A government job?” Catarini gasped, her eyes sparkling. “Oh, Rumiri! That’s so stable! It sounds like a career path with absolutely no doom flags at all! You could have a pension!”

I pressed my advantage, turning back to the now-intrigued Demon King. I began to sell the job, framing its every mundane detail as a perk for a fellow slacker.

“The hours are completely flexible,” I said, my voice smooth and enticing. “The work is minimal; you mostly just delegate tasks to eager young rookies like my friend Edgar here.” Edgar, who was still trying to process the existence of Catarini, flinched. “There are no heavy responsibilities, no wars to fight, no countries to run. No one expects anything from a hygiene inspector. It is the perfect cover for a quiet, peaceful life of uninterrupted naps.”

Rumiri’s golden eyes, which had been sleepy and distant, were now sharp and focused. “A quiet life… with a steady paycheck… and no paperwork?” they asked, the words filled with a desperate, hopeful longing.

“Almost no paperwork,” I lied smoothly. “The rookie handles most of it.”

That was it. I had them. Rumiri looked at Catarini, who was now excitedly talking about the possibility of planting a small vegetable garden behind the Department of Sanitation building. They looked at the faces of my stunned, disbelieving team. Finally, they looked at me, their fellow sufferer, their brother in the holy war against effort.

“Deal,” Rumiri said, the single word sealing the fate of the world.

My team was in a state of collective shock. Justus’s jaw was on the floor. Eliza was furiously scribbling on her slate, trying to calculate the geopolitical and economic ramifications of a Demon King joining the civil service.

The world was saved. Not by a grand battle, not by a heroic sacrifice, but by friendship. And a really, really good job offer.

I stood up, dusting off my hands. “Alright. New plan. Rumiri and I need to… strategize.” I gestured to the two massive, comfortable sofas by the fireplace. “Which means we’re going to take a nap. You guys”—I looked at Eliza and Justus—“figure out the logistics of how to get us out of this dimension and point us in Alistair’s general direction. Wake us up when it’s time for the boss fight.”

Rumiri nodded in solemn agreement, already snuggling back into their blanket cocoon. Catarini, meanwhile, started asking Edgar for advice on the best type of soil for growing carrots.

I just saved the world by hiring the final boss for a dead-end government job, I thought, a feeling of immense satisfaction washing over me as I claimed the other sofa. This is, without a doubt, the greatest achievement of my entire lazy life.