New Normal

My glorious, hard-won peace lasted for approximately 3 days, 7 hours, 15 minutes, and 43 seconds. I had timed it. I had just achieved the perfect state of equilibrium in my office chair, my feet on the desk, my nap pillow cradling my head like a holy relic. The sunlight was streaming through the window, illuminating the dust motes in a way that was almost poetic. The distant sounds of the city were a gentle, lulling hum. For the first time since I’d arrived in this ridiculous world, everything was perfect.

And then my door burst open.

“Inspector Sukebe, sir!” Edgar panted, his Senior Inspector badge pinned on slightly crooked. He was waving a scroll in the air with an air of profound urgency. “We have a critical situation! The plumbing in the east wing of the Royal Library is making a gurgling sound! The head librarian has described it in her report as ‘deeply and existentially ominous’!”

I didn’t even open my eyes. “Edgar,” I said, my voice a low groan. “Did you try asking the gurgle to stop? Sometimes they listen if you’re polite but firm.”

“I… I did not, sir,” he stammered.

“Then go do that. Report back only if it gurgles in a demonic language. Next.”

Before Edgar could retreat, the door opened wider, and Captain Justus of the Royal Guard strode in, his polished armor gleaming, making my dusty office look even shabbier. “Okina Sukebe,” he said, his voice grim and official. “I require your unique consultation. My men have detected a minor magical fluctuation near the castle’s main sewer outlet. It is most likely a cursed rat with territorial ambitions, but one can never be too careful.”

“A cursed rat, you say?” I mumbled into my pillow. “A grave threat to the kingdom’s ankles. Have you tried leaving out a tiny, blessed cheese trap? Or maybe performing an exorcism on a piece of cheddar?”

My sarcasm was completely lost on him. He nodded, considering it. “An intriguing strategy, Commander. I will take it under advisement.”

And before he could leave, two more figures appeared in my doorway, completing the party. Rumiri Tempest and Catarini Cleas.

“Sukebe-san!” Catarini said cheerfully, holding up a small, dirt-covered turnip. “We’ve done it! Our first successful harvest! But now we can’t find the castle kitchens! Do you know where they keep the honey cakes? Rumiri needs a post-nap snack before their pre-nap snack.”

Rumiri just gave a sleepy wave from behind her.

That was it. My fifty years of peace were going to be delivered in an installment package, spread out over the rest of my life. This was my life now. An endless, revolving door of the kingdom’s most powerful and most clueless people, all of them convinced I was the solution to their problems, which ranged from apocalyptic conspiracies to snack logistics.

I let out a long, suffering sigh and pushed myself to my feet. “Fine. I’m going for a walk. All of you, figure it out amongst yourselves. Try not to burn the place down while I’m gone.”

I needed to escape. I needed a snack that wasn’t a holy wafer or a raw turnip. I needed to see if the world I had just saved was worth the unending headache.

As I walked through the now-familiar streets of Lysvalde, I noticed something had changed. The way people looked at me was different. The name ‘Pervert Hero’ was no longer a joke whispered behind cupped hands. It had become a title of strange, endearing, and deeply respectful honor.

“Sukebe-sama!” a baker called out, offering me a fresh pastry. “On the house for the Hero of the People!”

A group of kids playing in the street stopped their game and gave me clumsy but sincere salutes. They were playing “Hero Sukebe and the Paperwork Plague,” which seemed to involve one kid throwing leaves at the others while the hero kid stood there looking bored. It was, I had to admit, a surprisingly accurate reenactment of my heroic methods.

My walk took me past my own department training grounds. And there, I beheld a sight of such beautiful, karmic justice that it almost made the whole adventure worthwhile.

Director Godwin and a few other instructors stood tall with a whistle around their necks. They had an air of confidence, of authority around them. Before them stood four miserable-looking figures in the drab brown uniforms of trainee inspectors, all of them holding buckets and sponges. It was Naofuma, Itsuku, Matayusa, and Rin. The Four Holy Champions of Nazareth. Their parole for aiding Alistair was to serve a year of community service under the strictest supervisor the kingdom had to offer: my Director. That imposing old man with the haunted mustaches.

This is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen, I thought, a tear of pure, malicious joy almost forming in my eye. It’s so beautiful, it almost makes up for the shameless plagiarism. Almost. If Sensei Aneko Yusagi ever decides to file a lawsuit against my author for this blatant character theft, I will stand with her. I will be a witness for the prosecution. I'll give a full deposition. I’d do it for free.

“No, Trainee Naofuma!” Director Goodwin’s voice rang out, sharp and clear. “You don’t just ‘defend’ against the grime! You must be proactive! You must attack it! Now, scrub that fountain until I can see my own disappointment reflection in it!”

The four former heroes, now prisoners of war, paying their debt to society by cleaning public property, groaned in unison and went back to scrubbing. It was magnificent.

I returned to my office, feeling slightly better about my life choices, only to find the chaos had escalated. My entire team was now assembled, and they were all staring at a new and very large problem. A problem that was currently in the process of destroying my office.

“What now?” I asked, my good mood evaporating.

“It’s the garden, Okina Sukebe!” Catarini said, wringing her hands. “We were just trying to plant some vegetables behind the department building, like you said we could!”

“And?”

“And I may have used a small, high-yield demonic-enrichment fertilizer from my personal stores,” Rumiri mumbled, looking away. “The soil here is very receptive.”

On the floor in the middle of my office was a pumpkin. A single, colossal, and still-visibly-growing pumpkin. It was already the size of a carriage, pulsing with a faint, demonic orange light, and it was pressing against the walls, which were beginning to creak ominously.

“It has completely blocked the main administrative thoroughfare,” Eliza stated, looking up from her slate. “I have calculated that its current growth rate will cause catastrophic structural damage to this entire governmental building in approximately two hours. The economic impact is already mounting.”

“We must fight it!” Justus declared, his hand on his sword. “This gourd is a clear and present danger to the kingdom! We must ascertain its intentions!”

It’s a pumpkin, I thought, my brain struggling to process the sheer stupidity of the situation. Its intentions are to get bigger and more orange. It’s not that complicated.

Edgar, who had been summoned to my office, was frantically trying to fill out the correct municipal forms for ‘Oversized Magical Produce Removal.’ They all looked at me. The Former Commander of Royal Special Task Force for Arcane Anomalies, facing its greatest post-war challenge: a demonic pumpkin with structural ambitions.

I just stared at the giant, orange monstrosity that was currently threatening to crush my favorite nap pillow. And then, the simplest, laziest solution in the world came to me.

“Are you all idiots?” I said, my voice cutting through their panic. “We’re not fighting it. We’re not filing forms for it. We’re going to eat it.”

They all stopped and stared at me.

“Edgar,” I commanded. “Stop writing. Go to the royal kitchens. Tell the head chef to bring his biggest knives and every pot and pan he owns. Justus, stop trying to interrogate the vegetable. Go round up every baker in the city. Eliza, stop calculating the economic impact and start calculating how many pies we can make out of this thing. We’re having a kingdom-wide pumpkin pie festival. Admission is free. Problem solved.”

The beautiful simplicity of my plan washed over them. It was genius. It was flawless. It turned a public nuisance into a public holiday.

Later that evening, the Great Pumpkin Crisis had been successfully resolved with a city-wide sugar rush. My office was finally quiet. I sat at my desk, my head steady on my nap pillow, looking out the window at the setting sun, a half-eaten slice of excellent, slightly demonic pumpkin pie sitting in front of me. I was exhausted. Not from fighting demons or saving the world, but from dealing with the endless, ridiculous, non-apocalyptic problems of my new life.

This is my life now, I thought, a strange, unfamiliar feeling settling in my chest. It’s not the peaceful, quiet, lazy life I wanted. It’s loud. It’s chaotic. And it’s filled with the most annoying and incompetent people I have ever met.

I looked up from my desk. My nap pillow had a drool mark on it. Across from me, Marie, the princess, was happily eating a slice of pie in my office. She looked so delighted, I thought maybe the pie was exceptionally good. I took another bite. It wasn't.

But... it wasn't so bad either. I guess this is the new normal for me.