Chapter 7: Regrets?

The firelight flickered dimly as Kentaro sat at his desk, looking at the stack of reports in front of him.

His hand hovered over the Goblins’ Performance Review form as he mulled over the events of the meeting.

The goblins seemed to have been mostly pacified, though there was a lingering sense that they’d misinterpreted his message.

The dragons had been less cooperative, but the threat of professional consequences had at least gotten them to sit down and listen.

Or so he thought.

He reached for the remote and turned on the large, flickering monitor on the far wall.

The screen blinked to life, showing live footage from various dungeons that the Dungeon Conglomerate oversaw.

This wasn’t some controlled simulation—it was the real deal.

Kentaro squinted at the screen, his stomach sinking.

The footage switched to one of the goblins’ dungeons first.

A narrow, fire-lit hallway filled with traps and treasure, and a horde of goblins charging through it with reckless abandon.

“Oh no.”

Kentaro muttered.

The first goblin on screen was holding a stick of dynamite—too large for his tiny hands—and charging straight toward a group of adventurers.

There was no plan, no coordination, just pure chaotic energy.

As the goblin neared, Kentaro’s heart raced.

The fuse on the dynamite was burning faster than he could blink.

“NO! What are you doing?!”

Kentaro shouted at the screen, leaning forward in his chair.

But it was too late.

The goblin threw the dynamite directly at the adventurers with a maniacal scream.

BOOM!

The explosion rocked the dungeon, but—much to Kentaro’s horror—the adventurers had already jumped behind a barricade, completely unharmed.

The goblin, however, was sent flying into the air and crashed into a wall, leaving a small crater where he had landed.

Several other goblins in the area were now running in circles, tripping over their own feet, while others continued to chase after butterflies—yes, butterflies—fluttering through the smoke and debris.

Kentaro closed his eyes, rubbing his temples.

“I should’ve seen this coming.”

The camera zoomed in on a goblin trying to organize the rest of the group.

“Form up! FORM UP!”

It yelled.

But before it could even finish, a second goblin enthusiastically launched itself at the wall, trying to smash it with an oversized mallet.

It missed and collided with another goblin, sending them both into a pile of crates.

Kentaro buried his face in his hands.

“I am so going to regret this.”

The footage switched to the dragons’ dungeon next.

Kentaro took a deep breath.

This would be better—surely the dragons, the elite of the War Division, would perform as expected.

They were supposed to be the fire-breathing specialists.

If anyone was going to show results, it was them.

Or so Kentaro thought.

The dragons were perched lazily on a cliffside, overlooking a group of adventurers below.

Their claws drummed idly on the stone as they discussed… the aesthetic value of their fireballs.

“Yes, yes.”

One dragon said, rubbing its chin thoughtfully.

“I believe this fireball could be elevated if we aimed it from a higher vantage point. The way the flames curl upward—it would create a much more dramatic effect.”

Kentaro stared at the screen, dumbfounded.

“They’re… discussing fireball aesthetics?”

One of the dragons, hearing the conversation, casually blew a stream of fire down at the adventurers.

The flames completely missed them, instead setting a large tree ablaze in the distance.

The adventurers, now a little too aware of the dragons’ lack of focus, started retreating into a nearby cavern.

Another dragon began to lament.

“I think our flames need to feel more organic. Like, what if we try roasting some of our enemies in smaller bursts of fire, you know, to keep the ambiance?”

“Ambiance?”

Kentaro shouted at the screen.

“This is a battle, not an art gallery!”

The dragons continued to squabble amongst themselves about the “proper” technique for firebreathing.

Meanwhile, the adventurers were safely plotting their escape in the distance, totally unaffected.

“This is getting out of hand.”

Kentaro muttered to himself.

He glanced at the corner of the screen where Battle Performance Metrics were displayed—drastically low.

And then, a new figure appeared in the footage.

Of course, it was none other than Balthazar.

Kentaro couldn’t help but groan as he saw the archdemon gliding through the dungeon with an easy grin on his face, watching the chaos unfold with sadistic amusement.

“Could you at least do something about this?”

Kentaro demanded, though he knew it was probably too late.

Balthazar’s voice came through the speaker system, light and teasing.

“Well, I am watching it, my dear CEO. And, as you can see, your ‘performance review’ system has been nothing short of… entertaining.”

Kentaro massaged his temples.

“I should have known this would turn into a disaster. Why did I think goblins and dragons could be reasoned with?”

He turned the monitor off and sat back in his chair, staring at the paperwork in front of him.

The regret hit him like a ton of bricks.

Greg the Orc Intern shuffled in at that very moment, holding yet another stack of paperwork, looking entirely too cheerful.

“Hey, Baalgron! Got some new complaints here!”

Greg said, dropping the massive pile onto Kentaro’s desk.

Kentaro sighed deeply.

“What now?”

Greg started flipping through the complaints.

“The goblins are demanding more explosions, again. And the dragons want to know if there’s a ‘fire aesthetics’ bonus in the Employee Incentive Program. Also, some goblins have requested a ‘day off’ for self-care after their ‘spiritual explosion therapy.’”

Kentaro let out a strangled noise of frustration.

“Self-care? Self-care? What does that even mean for a goblin?”

Greg blinked.

“Um, it’s about ‘spiritual healing’ and ‘recharging after a big battle.’ I think they want some special mushrooms or something.”

Kentaro rubbed his eyes, trying to process the absurdity of it all.

“This is worse than a nightmare. I should’ve just stayed dead.”

Greg shuffled through more papers.

“Oh, and there’s a complaint from the dragons. They’re asking for a dragons-only break room because the goblins are being ‘too noisy.’”

“I don’t… I can’t even.”

Kentaro muttered, his voice dripping with exhaustion.

“Alright, fine. I’ll deal with it. But I’m going to need more coffee.”

Greg blinked at him, completely unphased.

“Coffee? Oh! You mean ‘soul brew,’ right?”

Kentaro rubbed his temples.

“Yes, Greg. Soul brew. And make it strong.”

Before Greg could leave, a loud bang echoed from the hallway.

Kentaro winced.

“What now?”

The door swung open and War Secretary Ragnora stormed in, her golden eyes flashing with barely contained anger.

“Baalgron!”

She barked.

“We need to talk.”

Kentaro raised an eyebrow.

“About what?”

Ragnora crossed her arms and looked at the footage that was still playing on the screen.

“Your ‘performance review system’? It’s making things worse, not better. The goblins are a disaster and the dragons are more concerned about their fireball design than actually fighting!”

Kentaro frowned.

“Yeah, I kind of figured that.”

“You’re supposed to be managing Hell’s war effort, not running a circus!”

Ragnora growled.

“We need results, not this… this nonsense!”

Kentaro took a deep breath.

“Look, I’m trying to get them to be more… structured. This isn’t exactly easy.”

Ragnora’s eyes narrowed.

“You’d better fix this soon, or we’ll have a mutiny on our hands. The goblins are already talking about a union strike for better helmets.”

Kentaro stared at her for a moment, then sighed.

“Okay, okay. I get it. I’ll handle it.”

Ragnora gave him one last piercing look before storming out of the room.

Kentaro slumped back in his chair.

“Alright.”

He muttered to himself.

Time for some real damage control.

As the footage of the goblins and dragons continued to play on the screen behind him, he realized that if he didn’t get control of this now, it was going to spiral even further out of his hands.

“Why did I ever think I could handle this job?”

He groaned.

And yet, deep down, he knew he wouldn’t back down.

He would fix this—even if it meant battling through the chaos of Hell’s bureaucracy one monstrous complaint at a time.