Kazuo's apartment was a disaster zone. Dirty socks lounged across the floor like lazy landmines, pizza boxes towered against the wall in a precarious Leaning Tower of Grease, and his laundry—half clean, half not—had merged into one monstrous pile that scientists would classify as "ecosystem."
He was in the middle of fishing for a semi-clean shirt when there was a knock at the door.
"Rent!" barked a voice.
Kazuo froze. "…Oh no."
The door creaked open and in stepped Mr. Tanaka, his landlord: a balding man with the permanent scowl of someone who had seen tenants do unspeakable things to plumbing. He carried a clipboard and a pen like weapons.
"Rent's late again, Sato," Tanaka grumbled, eyeing the apartment like it had personally offended him. "And this place—dear god."
Seraphina, perched primly on the arm of the couch, fluffed her wings. "He is God, actually."
Tanaka blinked. "…What?"
Before Kazuo could stop her, Seraphina waved her hand in a little divine flourish. Light shimmered through the room, briefly illuminating Kazuo like he was the cover of a cheesy religious pamphlet.
Tanaka dropped his clipboard. His eyes went wide. "You… You're…"
Kazuo groaned. "Seraphina, no—"
"You're the One True Landlord!" Tanaka fell to his knees, bowing so hard his forehead dented the carpet. "Forgive me for ever demanding rent from the Creator Himself!"
Kazuo slapped his forehead. "…I just wanted a nap."
By the end of the day, Tanaka had not only declared Kazuo exempt from rent forever, but also crowned himself the "Humble Treasurer of the Divine Apartment Complex." He marched out with fire in his eyes, muttering about spreading the word to all tenants.
The next morning, Kazuo opened his door to find a Styrofoam cup of instant noodles sitting on the welcome mat with a sticky note: Offering for the Lord of 2B.
He blinked. "…Free food?"
By lunchtime, three more offerings had appeared: a pair of mismatched socks, a can of beer, and a bag of shrimp chips.
Kazuo picked up the socks, inspecting them. "…These are nicer than mine."
Seraphina crossed her arms, frowning. "You can't just accept bribes of worship."
Kazuo slurped noodles out of the Styrofoam cup. "Who said anything about bribes? This is rent."
By evening, the hallway outside his apartment looked like a garage sale of random blessings. Someone had left a half-used roll of toilet paper. Someone else left a family-sized bag of rice. A confused neighbor left their cat, which promptly clawed its way back into their apartment.
The crowning jewel, though, was his own laundry. The pile he had shoved into the corner? Tenants had begun leaving incense sticks in front of it. Someone had propped a little sign reading: The Sacred Heap—Do Not Touch.
Kazuo stared at it, slack-jawed. "They're worshiping my dirty laundry."
Seraphina tugged at her hair. "This is sacrilege! This is chaos! This is—"
"Dinner." Kazuo popped open the can of beer, chugged half of it, and patted the sacred laundry like it was a loyal dog. "Not bad. Free food, free booze, and no rent. Being god kinda rules."
From the hallway came the sound of chanting. "All hail the Lord of 2B! All hail the Sacred Heap!"
Seraphina screamed into a pillow.
Kazuo shrugged, cracking open a bag of shrimp chips. "…Honestly, best week I've had in years."