Rimuru go to Japan for fun

End of story

Rimuru Tempest, the blue-haired, golden-eyed ruler of Tempest, the guy who literally rewrote the fabric of reality with a spell so epic it made everyone believe magic had always existed, was... pouting.

Sitting at an enormous desk stacked high with towering piles of paperwork, Rimuru sulked as if his world-shattering magic wasn't enough to keep him from the worst fate imaginable: bureaucracy. His father, Phane, the supreme deity with a glowing white mustache that defied gravity, had dragged him by the ear literally back to his office in Tempest after their last showdown. Rimuru was being punished in the worst way possible.

“You rewrite reality, and now look at you! You think magic will take care of itself? 30 billion years of paperwork, kiddo!" Phane’s deep voice boomed, echoing through the halls of the castle Rimuru had built, which now felt more like a prison of endless paperwork.

“Daaaadddyyy, it’s not fair!” Rimuru whined, his head buried in a stack of contracts and international treaties. “I just wanted to make the world cooler! A little magic here, a little mana there... You know, spice things up!”

Phane wasn’t having it. He crossed his arms, glaring down at his son with the expression of a man who’d seen way too many cosmic disasters caused by magical overenthusiasm.

“‘Spicing things up’ doesn’t mean collapsing the multiverse into a bureaucratic nightmare. You think magical kingdoms run themselves? Think again. Every kingdom, every realm now believes magic has been a thing for all of time, and guess what? They all have paperwork. You're fixing it. ALL of it.”

Rimuru groaned, his face smushed against the desk. “But 30 billion years? I’ll die of boredom before that!”

From the other side of the room, Rimuru’s mom, an ethereal goddess with a serene smile (and who was clearly loving this), floated over with a gentle pat on Rimuru’s head. “Sweetie, this is what happens when you don’t think things through. You wanted to be a god, now you're dealing with godly problems. And besides, you did make a bit of a mess.”

Rimuru whined even louder, throwing his hands in the air. “But Mom, it’s not like I knew magic would come with so much paperwork! I thought it was all battles and legendary adventures, not signing forms for three weeks straight!” He threw a dramatic look at his father, who was unimpressed.

Phane sighed, rubbing his temples like a parent on the verge of a godly migraine. “And whose fault is that? ‘Oh, let’s make everyone think magic has always existed!’ Yeah, well, guess what? Now every realm has 5,000 years of backdated legal disputes about ‘who gets the mana crystals’ and ‘what are the labor laws for familiars.’ You’re going to sit here and sort out every single one.”

“Ugh, this is such a pain in the ass!” Rimuru muttered, staring miserably at the paperwork pile. He half-heartedly summoned a small fireball to burn some of the forms, but his father snapped his fingers, extinguishing it before it even touched a single page.

“Don’t even think about it,”Phane warned, glaring down at him.

Defeated, Rimuru slouched in his chair, looking like a petulant child forced to clean his room. He began stamping document after document, all while shooting daggers at his father with every approving signature.

“I can’t believe this. I’m the Demon Lord! I rule Tempest! I’m a god! Why am I doing office work?!”

Phane raised an eyebrow. “Because you thought rewriting reality didn’t come with consequences. Welcome to godhood, son.”

Rimuru whimpered, but continued stamping away. After a few minutes, he turned back to his mother, giving her his best puppy-dog eyes. “Mommy, can you pleeeeaase help me? You’re so good with this stuff! Just a few hundred years’ worth? I’ll owe you one.”

She smiled sweetly but shook her head. “Sorry, sweetie. This is something you have to learn on your own. Besides, you’re the one who put Tempest at the center of the magical world.”

With that, she floated off, leaving Rimuru alone with his dad and the Everest of paperwork.

Rimuru let out a loud, overly dramatic sigh. “This is torture! Actual torture! I’m supposed to be living the ultimate fantasy life, and here I am, signing papers for the next billion years! How is this fair?!”

Phane rolled his eyes, flicking one of the giant stacks toward Rimuru’s lap. “Start with the extradimensional tax laws. Those are a nightmare.”

Rimuru groaned even louder, slumping back in his chair and glaring at the stack of legalese.

And so, the almighty Demon Lord, the ultimate reality-warping powerhouse, sat in his magical castle, pouting like a teenager grounded for cosmic misconduct, doing the paperwork of gods.

“I swear,” he muttered under his breath as he picked up the next form, “next time I rewrite reality, I’m adding a clause that bans paperwork forever.”