"—Lord Demon King, you've been laid off."
When I used "Dark Fusion" on an Excel PivotTable for the seventh time, an email from HR suddenly popped up.
"Hah?" I crushed the mouse in my grip.
As a villain who once burned three human kingdoms to the ground with "Hellfire," getting fired by a black-hearted corporation for "failing to meet quarterly KPIs" was more insulting than the Hero’s holy sword.
"Reason?" I typed furiously, black mist leaking from between my fingernails.
"Boss’s note: 'Ludwig-kun disappears every day at exactly 18:00—lacks dedication.'"
…Of course! Dark creatures melt in sunlight! What, should I perform "Demon King Turns into Slime" for the morning meeting’s entertainment?!
As I carried my cardboard box out of the office, I ran into Tanaka, who joined the company the same year as me—he was sobbing while wiping his glasses with his tie, the lenses smeared with bloody fingerprints from a "Voluntary Overtime Agreement."
"The manager said… if I didn’t sign, he’d make me 'socially dead'…" he mumbled, face bruised.
I stared at the cursed welts peeking out from under his shirt (clearly marks of "Mind Control," management’s favorite spell) and suddenly remembered the Pope I turned into a frog eight hundred years ago—at least I gave the frog a golden toilet.
"Wait." I pulled out half a "Cursed Cookie" (a souvenir from the Demon King’s Castle) from my box and shoved it at him: "Eat this. Tomorrow, your manager will diarrhea out every embezzled yen."
Three days later, while working part-time at a convenience store, I saw the news: A certain company manager was livestreaming his apology, claiming "my sphincter was punished by the gods," while tearfully returning 300 million yen in overtime fees.
"Kids these days…" the store manager mused through a mouthful of rice balls. "Driving their superiors to this point."
Silently, I used "Dark Vision" on the security camera’s blind spot, making the cashier spit out a winning lottery ticket—when suddenly, a hand gripped my shoulder.
"Ludwig-kun," the former HR director grinned like a hyena spotting prey, "how would you like… to be a 'special consultant' at headquarters?"
Behind him floated a horde of vengeful spirits only I could see, each holding signs that read "Death by Overwork."
The new office was bigger than the Demon King’s throne room, but the slogan on the wall—"Life is endless devotion!"—made my gums itch.
"Your task is to solve our 'employee morale problem,'" the director said, handing me a stack of complaints:
"Abolish the 4 AM pep talks."
"Lower the suicide rate from 25% to 24%."
"Replace tear gas with live rounds for morning exercises."
I smiled, igniting ghostly flames on my fingertips: "Easy. First, let management experience team-building… via hellfire—"
"—Excuse me."
A cool female voice cut in. I turned to see a woman in a tailored suit pressing the tip of a pen against my throat, her nametag glinting coldly:
HR Director · Hoshino Akira
"I heard you dealt with that manager in just three days?" She tilted her head, the silver cross hairpin in her hair making my neck prickle. "...How interesting. You smell like sulfur."
(Preserved the humor, satire, and tone while adapting culturally specific elements naturally. Let me know if you'd like any refinements!)
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