Itsuki Hiroto's mind churned with irony as the rickety carriage rattled its way away from Glintveil Town. Despite his deadpan desire for a quiet existence, the world insisted on treating him like an overenthusiastic demigod. Every jolt of the ride seemed to throb with the weight of unwanted responsibility—a constant reminder that his one accidental punch had not only flipped a dragon into oblivion but had also flipped his life upside down.
As the landscape of rolling fields and scattered farmhouses blurred past the carriage window, Hiroto's thoughts wavered between disbelief and reluctant acceptance. He had always prided himself on low expectations, believing that anonymity was the key to personal peace. Yet here he was, shuttled towards the capital of the Holy Empire of Letrana—Solencia—by an entourage of knights, heralds, and other fervent devotees determined to shape him into something more heroic than he ever wanted to be.
Inside the carriage, the atmosphere was thick with the excited buzz of his unintended "followers." A young knight in polished armor, still fidgeting with his sword hilt, took every opportunity to pepper Hiroto with questions.
"Sir Hiroto," the knight began eagerly, "can you please recount exactly how you managed to… well, dispatch the dragon with a single punch? Our bards are eager to immortalize this feat inside the carriage, the atmosphere was thick with the excited buzz of his unintended "followers." A young knight in polished armor, still fidgeting with his sword hilt, took every opportunity to pepper Hiroto with questions.
"Sir Hiroto," the knight began eagerly, "can you please recount exactly how you managed to… well, dispatch the dragon with a single punch? Our bards are eager to immortalize this feat."
"I sneezed," Hiroto replied dryly, arms folded, eyes closed. "Loudly."
The knight blinked, unsure whether it was a joke or profound ancient martial wisdom. "A… sneeze of such power? Incredible. So you've mastered some kind of ancient body technique that converts inner force into—"
"I had allergies. Dust in the warehouse."
"Ah. Of course. Dust! A subtle enemy of man and beast alike!"
Hiroto groaned and leaned harder into the corner of the seat, hoping that sheer apathy might repel further conversation. It didn't.
Lady Virelya Arkwright sat across from him, eyeing him like he was a puzzle missing the box cover. Her gaze wasn't filled with awe or admiration—it was far worse: curiosity.
"You're clearly more than what you pretend to be," she said, tone flat. "You might fool the people of Glintveil, but I was trained at the capital. I've fought beasts, cultists, and even once disarmed a Hex Knight with nothing but a butterknife. Don't play humble with me."
"I'm not humble," Hiroto muttered. "I'm lazy."
Virelya raised a brow. "At least you're honest."
The carriage creaked along the dusty road, and before long, the towering city of Solencia emerged from the horizon like a storybook illustration someone spilled gold leaf over. Massive white walls glittered in the sunlight, flanked by colossal statues of past emperors—most of whom seemed to be pointing dramatically at things. Probably metaphorical destiny. Or a bakery.
Inside the gates, the group was met by trumpets, flower petals, and an overly enthusiastic town crier who shouted with frothy intensity: "HEAR YE! HEAR YE! THE SLAYER OF THE OBSIDIAN DRAGON ARRIVES! THE HUMBLE BLADE! THE UNMOVING MOUNTAIN! THE—"
"Please stop," Hiroto interrupted. "I'm going to have an aneurysm."
But the cries of celebration only grew louder as they made their way through the city streets, watched by nobility, clergy, and peasants alike. At one point, someone tossed a cabbage in the air and shouted, "For the Hero!" It wasn't clear if the cabbage was symbolic or if the man just really liked vegetables.
They were led into a massive marble building—the Imperial Logistics Bureau.
That's right. Not a palace. Not the arena. Not a shrine.
The Logistics Bureau.
"Wait," Hiroto said, blinking. "Is this some kind of joke?"
Virelya smirked. "No. You've been reassigned. By order of the Emperor himself."
Inside, they were greeted by a short, round man with a clipboard large enough to serve as a battering shield. He wore thick glasses and had an uncanny ability to sweat even in an air-conditioned hall.
"Welcome! Mister Hiroto, yes? Former warehouse clerk of Glintveil? We are proud to announce your promotion—effective immediately!"
"…I'm afraid to ask."
"Congratulations! You are now Captain of Imperial Logistics, Mobile Branch—Special Task Force S-Class!"
There was a long, painful silence.
"…What in the Nine Dungeons of Delcrag does that even mean?" Hiroto finally asked.
"Well," the man said, flipping pages, "It means you now command a squad of elite support units, tasked with the logistical infrastructure of all frontier missions, dragon response units, and politically unstable border cleanups. Oh! And special assignments from the Imperial Throne."
"So you've weaponized bureaucracy," Hiroto muttered.
"Precisely!"
"Can I decline?"
"Absolutely not!"
Before Hiroto could escape the madness, a girl in mismatched armor burst into the room. She wore a crooked helmet, carried an oversized box of potions, and tripped over her own scabbard.
"C-Captain Hiroto!" she squeaked. "Your first squad member, reporting for duty! I'm Sera! Potion delivery specialist, explosive accidents pending!"
Hiroto blinked at her, then at the overburdened clipboard man.
"She's real?"
"Very."
"Does she explode often?"
"She is banned from three major cities."
"…Great. Just what I needed."
The very next hour, Hiroto was issued a military coat with a fancy silver clasp, a stack of paperwork, a magical badge that glowed whenever someone said his name in admiration (which, sadly, was often), and an official title that made him want to crawl into a crate and never come out.
As they exited the Bureau, Virelya matched pace beside him.
"You're taking this well."
"I'm suppressing everything," Hiroto replied, deadpan. "Emotionally. Spiritually. Physically."
"Well, Captain," she said with a slight smirk, "You'd better start adjusting. The frontier has seen signs of increased demonic incursions. Dragons don't usually appear near Glintveil. The higher-ups think someone—or something—is testing the Empire's defenses. You might play dead, but the world is waking up."
"…Of course it is."
Sera tripped behind them and flung a potion that exploded into glitter.
"Captain!" she shouted cheerfully, covered in sparkles. "You look dramatic and depressed—just like the last guy who got promoted!"
"I'd like to submit my resignation."
"Denied!" she beamed.
And so, with a sigh that could bend steel, Hiroto began his new life as the "heroic" logistics captain—a man whose only desire was peace and tea, now burdened with fame, magical explosions, and a title he'd rather staple to someone else.
His journey was far from over.
But all he wanted… was to go back to pretending he was dead.