Kevin lay sprawled across the throne like a lizard basking under the sun. His royal robe wasn't draped with dignity but rolled up into a makeshift pillow under his head. His crown, tilted at an absurd forty-five degrees, glinted lopsidedly every time he adjusted to scratch his belly.
In one hand: a goblet of watered-down wine.
In the other: a bag of chips (which, much to his delight, had crossed dimensions with him).
"Ahhh… this is it," Kevin muttered aloud, voice lazy and smug. "The pinnacle of civilization: a kingdom that works while its ruler snacks." He wiggled his toes and sank deeper into the throne.
A court minister, a skeletal old man with eyebrows so long they practically touched the floor, shuffled forward, clearing his throat.
"Your Majesty…" The man bowed, his voice trembling with both respect and exhaustion. "The workers… the peasants… they are demanding food. They have labored for three days without rest."
Kevin squinted one eye open. "Food?" He swirled the goblet lazily, letting the wine slosh dangerously close to spilling. "Hmmm. Tell them… uh…" He reached into the chip bag, pulled out a crumb, and chewed it slowly as if he were communing with the divine. "…that true strength is forged in hunger! Only when the belly growls does the soul awaken!"
The minister blinked. "…Profound."
"No, no, no," Kevin waved lazily. "Say it dramatically. Like I'm channeling some ancient wisdom. Throw in words like 'trial' and 'destiny.' People eat that crap up."
The old man bowed so low his eyebrows brushed the floor. "At once, my king."
Hunger as a Training Regimen
An hour later, Kevin wandered onto the balcony. What he saw nearly made him choke on his wine.
The starving peasants, once groaning and ready to riot, were now chanting his name.
"All hail the Hunger Training!"
"Starvation for Strength!"
"Our King makes us strong!"
Kevin's jaw went slack. "Wait… that actually worked?"
A peasant collapsed mid-cheer, clutching his stomach. Others immediately dragged him to his feet.
"Do not dishonor the King's training!" they barked. "We must grow STRONGER!"
Kevin pinched the bridge of his nose, suppressing both laughter and disbelief. These people are insane. But hey—less food distribution means less budget. That's… actually kind of brilliant.
Noble Sweat & Tears
The next day, a group of nobles barged into the throne room, panting and red-faced, their silken robes soaked in sweat and dirt.
"Your Majesty!" cried Lord Haverford, holding up blistered palms like badges of honor. "We have plowed the entire northern field!"
Kevin yawned and adjusted his robe-pillow. "Cool. Did I ask?"
The nobles exchanged reverent looks. Then they dropped to their knees.
"Indeed not, Sire!" Haverford declared, eyes glittering with zeal. "And yet, by not asking, you have displayed the truest form of leadership! You guided us through silence, forcing us to shoulder the burden ourselves! BRILLIANT!"
The other nobles chimed in like an over-enthusiastic choir.
"Yes, Your Majesty's silence was louder than a thousand commands!"
"Only the greatest rulers rule by not ruling!"
"Your laziness is our enlightenment!"
Kevin stuffed another chip into his mouth. What the hell kind of cult did I just start?
The Nap Heard Around the Kingdom
By afternoon, Kevin had grown bored of their groveling. He slipped away into the palace gardens, searching for the perfect napping spot.
Under the shade of a massive oak, with a soft breeze brushing his cheeks, Kevin lay down. "Finally… peace," he sighed, drifting into blissful unconsciousness.
Hours later, he awoke to shouting. Groggy, he sat up—only to find the entire kingdom in chaos.
But not bad chaos. Productive chaos.
Peasants were digging irrigation canals with manic fervor.
Nobles were hauling stones like oxen.
Even soldiers, usually polishing their swords or standing guard, were knee-deep in mud, planting crops.
Kevin rubbed his eyes. "What… the… hell."
A young soldier spotted him and gasped. "The King emerges! He left us to see if we could stand on our own!"
The peasants dropped their shovels to kneel. "Your Majesty tested us! And we did not falter!"
Kevin blinked. "Wait… so me taking a nap equals… a leadership test?"
"Yes!" they chorused.
Kevin's lips slowly curved into a grin. So… if I nap more… they'll just work harder?
He flopped back under the tree and covered his face with his robe. "Don't mind me. Just… testing you again."
The people roared in approval.
The Do-Nothing King
For three days straight, Kevin "tested" them. His daily schedule looked like this:
10:00 AM → Wake up.
11:00 AM → Breakfast (chips & wine).
12:00 PM → Deliver vague motivational nonsense.
12:15 PM → Nap.
4:00 PM → Wake up to find construction completed.
5:00 PM → Dinner.
6:00 PM → Pretend to inspect work (actually just nodding).
7:00 PM → Nap again.
Every nap, every shrug, every lazy glance was interpreted as some kind of divine genius.
Peasants worked harder than ever. Nobles competed for the honor of breaking their manicured hands. Soldiers dug canals instead of polishing armor.
Kevin had become a living legend.
But word traveled fast. In the taverns of a neighboring kingdom, bards began mocking him with a new title: The Do-Nothing King.
"Lazy Kevin!" they sang. "He rules with naps, drool on his chin, and wine in his hand!"
Kevin, overhearing one such rumor via his gossip-addicted minister, nearly spat his drink.
"They call me… lazy?!" His voice trembled between indignation and amusement.
The minister wrung his long eyebrows nervously. "Yes, sire. But your people—your people believe it is merely an insult born of jealousy."
Kevin's frown twisted into a smirk. So outsiders mock me, but my own idiots worship me?
He leaned back, hands behind his head. If this kingdom thrives because I do nothing… imagine how much I can milk this scam when foreign dignitaries arrive.
Kevin, formerly a couch potato, now sits on the edge of an absurd realization: the less effort he puts in, the more legendary his reputation becomes.