The Laziest God Mortal Reincarnation

No.

Absolutely not.

I hugged Dream Haven slightly closer.

"I believe the border is safer."

"From what?"

"Employment."

Father closed his eyes briefly.

"Alash."

"I already work."

"You heal wounded soldiers when they arrive."

"That is literally work."

"And then you disappear to sleep whenever the medical tents are quiet."

"Efficient scheduling."

"You’ll survive."

Suspicious confidence.

I frowned.

"Why that infirmary?"

"Several reasons."

Father leaned back.

"First, you need exposure to patients outside the military."

I started to object.

He raised one hand.

Annoying.

"At the border, most injuries are predictable."

"Predictable?"

"Sword wounds. Arrow wounds. Burns. Broken bones. Mana exhaustion. Trauma from magical attacks."

I considered it.

Fair.

"An infirmary in the capital receives a broader range of cases."

"Illness."

"Yes."

"Chronic conditions."

"Yes."

"Children."

"Yes."

"Old people."

"Obviously."

I grimaced.

Old people complained more than soldiers.

At least wounded soldiers generally had the courtesy to become unconscious.

[Compassionate healer.]

’I heal them.’

[After judging them.]

’Judgment is free.’

Father continued before the System could insult me further.

"You’ve focused heavily on injury treatment. This will force you to broaden your practical experience."

That was annoyingly sensible.

I disliked sensible arguments.

They were harder to reject.

"Second," Father said, "the infirmary has access to an extensive alchemical laboratory."

My attention sharpened.

Ah.

Dangerous tactic.

He knew about my Apothecary attribute.

"Better than the border?"

"Considerably."

Hmm.

Rare ingredients?

Probably.

Professional equipment?

Almost certainly.

Perhaps archived formulas.

That was...

Interesting.

Father noticed.

Of course he did.

"Lord Declair has agreed to give you access as long as you don’t interfere with commercial production."

"I never interfere."

Father stared at me.

I remembered three separate laboratory accidents.

"Intentionally."

Still staring.

Fine.

"Usually."

He continued.

"Third, you need to spend time in a civilian environment before entering Zenith."

"I lived here for ten years."

"You slept through most of them."

Again.

Unnecessary.

"And finally," Father said, "Penelope already understands how the infirmary functions."

There it was.

I narrowed my eyes.

"So she’s supervising me."

"No."

"You’re sending me to her workplace."

"Yes."

"Where she has a year of experience."

"Yes."

"And I have none."

"Administrative experience."

"Which means she’ll know everything."

"Not everything."

"Enough."

Father’s mouth moved slightly.

Almost a smile.

Betrayal.

"You’re enjoying this."

"No."

"You almost smiled."

"I did not."

"Lying to your son is poor parenting."

"You’re fifteen."

"Still your son."

He ignored me.

"You’ll primarily work with the healers. Penelope will remain responsible for administration."

I relaxed slightly.

Good.

I had visions of being trapped behind a desk beside her.

Paperwork.

Schedules.

Numbers.

Actual responsibility.

Terrifying.

"So I heal."

"Primarily."

That word concerned me.

"What does primarily mean?"

"It means if Penelope needs assistance with something reasonable, you’ll provide it."

"No."

"Yes."

"Define reasonable."

"She will."

That was worse.

Considerably worse.

I stared at him.

Father returned the stare without concern.

He had years of political negotiations.

I had years of avoiding them.

Our skill sets were incompatible.

"When do I start?"

"Tomorrow."

I blinked.

"Tomorrow?"

"Yes."

"That seems unnecessarily soon."

"You have six months."

"Exactly. There’s no reason to rush."

"Six months is not a long period."

"It is if you spend most of it sleeping."

Father’s eyes narrowed.

I realized my mistake.

"Poor example."

"Very."

I sighed and leaned my head back.

The ceiling was nice.

Clean.

Quiet.

Perhaps I could sleep here.

No.

Father would notice.

"So let me understand."

I raised one hand.

"You refused to let me return to the border."

"Correct."

"You informed me Penelope has secretly become some kind of fifteen-year-old administrator."

"Not secretly."

"Secretly to me."

"That distinction exists entirely because you don’t ask questions."

Ignored.

"And now you’re sending me to work at her father’s infirmary until Zenith starts."

"Correct."

"Every day?"

"Five days each week."

I sat upright.

"Five?"

"Yes."

"That seems excessive."

"It’s normal."

"That doesn’t make it reasonable."

"You’ll have weekends."

"For recovery?"

"For whatever you choose."

"Sleep."

"I assumed."

Good.

At least some parental understanding existed.

I looked down at Dream Haven.

Then something occurred to me.

"Can I bring my pillow?"

Father stared at me.

I waited.

His expression slowly became tired in a completely different way.

"You are asking whether you can bring a pillow to an infirmary where you’ll be working as a healer."

"Yes."

"No."

My grip tightened.

"Why?"

"Because you’re working."

"I work better when comfortable."

"You sleep better when comfortable."

"Related concepts."

"No pillow."

"This feels discriminatory."

"Alash."

"Against sleep-oriented individuals."

"Leave the pillow at home."

Absolutely not.

Impossible.

Unconstitutional.

Probably.

I needed to research kingdom law.

[You will lose.]

’Not if I find precedent.’

[There is no legal precedent regarding an SSS artifact disguised as a pillow being carried into a private infirmary.]

’Very narrow interpretation.’

Father watched my expression.

"No."

I frowned.

"I haven’t said anything."

"I know you."

That was unfortunate.

Five years ago he probably wouldn’t have.

Mortals possess annoying character development.

I stood.

Dream Haven safely beneath my arm.

"Fine."

Father’s eyebrow rose.

"You agreed surprisingly easily."

"I agreed to work."

"Not the pillow."

I smiled.

He sighed.

Sharp man.

I started toward the door.

"Alash."

I stopped.

Looked back.

Father’s expression had become more serious.

"This isn’t punishment."

I blinked.

"I know."

"Do you?"

"Yes."

He studied me.

I understood what he was doing.

He thought I might interpret stopping my border training as confinement.

Perhaps five years ago I would have.

Maybe even three.

But now?

I looked at the documents on his desk.

Then thought about the border.

Valerian.

Soldiers.

Medical tents.

People arriving with injuries that I already knew how to handle before they even reached the bed.

My healing had improved.

A lot.

Perhaps Father wasn’t wrong.

Painful thought.

I disliked it immediately.

"You want me to gain experience before Zenith."

"Yes."

"And Lord Declair’s infirmary gives me patients I haven’t treated before."

"Yes."

"And better apothecary equipment."

"Yes."

I paused.

"And Penelope will make sure I don’t disappear."

Father didn’t answer.

That was answer enough.

Traitor.

I sighed.

"Fine."

This time I meant it.

Mostly.

I opened the door.

Then another thought appeared.

I looked back.

"Does Penelope know?"

"Yes."

"Since when?"

"Yesterday."

I froze.

Yesterday.

I had spoken to Penelope yesterday.

Several times.

She hadn’t said anything.

Not once.

Interesting.

Very interesting.

"What did she say?"

Father looked down at his documents again.

"Ask her."

Suspicious.

Extremely suspicious.

I narrowed my eyes.

"Father."

"Close the door when you leave."

Dismissed.

Cruelly.

I stepped into the corridor and shut the door behind me.

For several seconds, I remained there.

Silent.

Thinking.

Penelope had known since yesterday.

She hadn’t mentioned it.

Which meant one of two things.

Either she had forgotten.

Impossible.

Penelope remembered my mistakes from five years ago.

Or...

She had deliberately said nothing.

My eyes narrowed.

’System.’

[Yes?]

’Tomorrow might be dangerous.’

[You are going to an infirmary.]

’Exactly.’

[To heal people.]

’With Penelope.’

A pause.

[Ah.]

Finally.

Understanding.

I adjusted Dream Haven beneath my arm and began walking.

Six months until Zenith Academy.

Six months.

I had expected training.

Sleeping.

Occasional noble obligations.

Perhaps returning to the border whenever Father stopped paying attention.

Instead...

I had apparently acquired a job.

With my fiancée.

Who had one year of seniority over me.

I stopped walking.

Seniority.

No.

Absolutely not.

I started moving again.

Faster this time.

I needed to find Penelope.

Immediately.

Some things required clarification before they became dangerous.

***

The door closed behind Alash.

For several seconds, the office remained silent.

Anthony Vortex stared at the door.

Then slowly looked toward the pillow-shaped indentation his son had somehow managed to leave on the chair after sitting there for less than twenty minutes.

He exhaled.

"He’s going to bring it anyway."

A voice answered from the side of the room.

"Almost certainly, Your Grace."

Stephan stepped away from the bookshelf.

The Duke’s longtime butler had been standing silently near the wall throughout most of the conversation.

Grey-haired.

Perfectly dressed.

And experienced enough to know when his presence should go unnoticed.

He approached the desk.

"Are you sure about this?"

Anthony didn’t immediately answer.

His eyes lowered toward the document resting beneath his hand.

A silver crest had been stamped at the top.

ZENITH ACADEMY

Below it was a detailed explanation of the changes being implemented for the incoming first-year generation.

Five permanent classes.

No individual Academy ranking.

A shared class ranking instead.

Each class would contain one of the five SSS-potential students.

And each SSS student would serve as their class leader.

Anthony had read the document three times.

He still wasn’t certain whether Headmaster Theoran Vale was brilliant or simply becoming more troublesome with age.

Probably both.

"About the infirmary?" Anthony asked.

"About all of it."

Stephan’s gaze moved toward the Academy document.

"Young Master Alash believes these next six months are merely preparation before Zenith."

"They are."

"Yet you’re already preparing for what happens after he enters."

Anthony leaned back.

"Alash has spent most of his life avoiding responsibility."

Stephan’s expression remained carefully neutral.

"An impressive amount of effort has gone into avoiding effort."

Anthony almost smiled.

Almost.

"Zenith intends to force each SSS student to lead an entire class."

"Which may be problematic."

"It will be disastrous."

Stephan blinked.

Anthony continued calmly.

"Alash can barely remember family birthdays."

"That has improved."

"He forgot his sister’s name two days ago."

"...Slightly improved."

Anthony’s gaze returned to the document.

Strength wasn’t the concern.

Neither was intelligence.

Alash possessed more than enough of both.

But leadership required something else.

Patience.

Responsibility.

Awareness of other people.

The willingness to carry burdens that could easily be ignored.

The infirmary would help.

Patients would depend on him.

Staff would expect him to appear when scheduled.

And Penelope...

Anthony’s fingers tapped once against the desk.

"Make sure Alash and Penelope are placed in the same class."

Stephan went still.

"Your Grace?"

"Whatever you need to do."

A rare hesitation crossed the butler’s face.

"Zenith Academy does not generally appreciate noble interference."

"I am aware."

"And Headmaster Vale appreciates it even less."

"I am also aware."

Stephan glanced again at the document.

"May I ask why Lady Penelope?"

Anthony’s answer came immediately.

"Because Alash listens to her."

Silence.

Stephan considered that.

"...Sometimes."

"More than most."

That was enough.

Penelope was organized where Alash was careless.

Responsible where he avoided responsibility.

And, perhaps most importantly, she was one of the few people capable of dragging him somewhere he had already decided not to go.

Anthony looked toward the closed door.

Alash had changed greatly during his years at the border.

But Zenith would demand something different from him.

Not simply strength.

Leadership.

And if Anthony could place one person beside his son who might keep him from sleeping through that responsibility...

He would.

Stephan sighed quietly.

"I’ll see what can be done."

Anthony nodded.

"Discreetly."

"Of course."

A pause.

Then Stephan looked toward the door.

"Should I also ensure the Academy permits pillows?"

Anthony stared at him.

Stephan remained perfectly serious.

"...Leave."

"Yes, Your Grace."