The office coffee machine had always been a temperamental beast—groaning like a dying whale every morning, spitting out brown sludge barely worthy of the name coffee.
Kazuo, late as usual and still nursing a hangover from last night's divine Red Bull fiasco, stared at it with bloodshot eyes. "Alright, you mechanical bastard. Just… one cup. That's all I need."
He pressed the button.
The machine beeped once. Coughed. And then, like always, froze with a smug little error 404 light.
Kazuo's eyelid twitched.
He leaned in. "You dare oppose me, mortal appliance?"
A coworker wandered by, yawning. "Dude, it does that every Tuesday. Just kick it."
But Kazuo wasn't listening. Something deep and ancient stirred inside him—equal parts caffeine craving and divine indignation. He raised a hand dramatically.
"By the power vested in me as the One True God of Earth, I bless thee, oh wretched coffee pot, to finally do your damn job."
A soft ding echoed, followed by a golden glow.
The machine hummed, rattled… and erupted like a geyser.
Boiling, shimmering liquid blasted out of the spout in a torrent. Steam filled the room, smelling faintly of cinnamon and ozone. The stream hit the floor with a hiss, carving glowing runes into the linoleum.
Coworkers froze. Cups clattered to the ground.
One woman screamed, "IT'S HOLY WATER! THE END TIMES ARE HERE!"
Another fell to his knees, trembling. "The prophecy is fulfilled! Salvation through caffeine!"
Kazuo just blinked, holding an empty mug in one hand, his tie half-undone. "…Well. That's new."
Within minutes, the entire office devolved into chaos.
Some employees dunked their faces directly under the stream, shrieking, "Cleanse me, O Java Lord!" Others started bottling it in Tupperware, claiming it would sell on eBay for millions. One guy sprinted through the halls screaming, "Repent! The sacred brew is upon us!"
The IT department declared themselves monks and began chanting around the printer.
Seraphina appeared in a flash of feathers and panic. She took one look at the scene—the glowing runes, the screaming mortals, the puddles of holy water eating through the carpet—and slapped both hands over her face.
"Oh. My. Stars. What have you DONE this time?!"
Kazuo gestured lazily with his mug. "I just wanted coffee. The machine was being a jerk."
"You blessed it, didn't you?!"
"Blessed is a strong word. More like… encouraged."
The coffee machine rumbled ominously. Its buttons glowed with divine fire, spelling out words no mortal appliance should ever display: CAFFEINE IS SALVATION. DRINK, AND YE SHALL BE REBORN.
The HR manager burst into the break room, saw the chaos, and immediately fainted.
Seraphina stomped her foot. "We need to contain this before mortals realize the actual Creator of Earth is in accounting!"
Too late. One intern was already live-streaming the event. "Yo, my boss just turned the Keurig into a portal to Heaven, smash that like button!"
The chat exploded: #SacredJava #CoffeeGod #ApocalypseLatte
Seraphina grabbed Kazuo by the collar, shaking him violently. "FIX IT!"
Kazuo sipped from his mug. "Mm. Tastes like enlightenment. I'm keeping it."
The situation only escalated.
Employees formed two factions almost immediately:
The Java Disciples → Believed the coffee was salvation itself. Baptized one another with scalding cups, screaming "PRAISE THE BEAN!"
The Decaf Deniers → Claimed it was a false miracle, demanded herbal tea instead, and barricaded themselves in the conference room.
The copier caught fire. Someone tried to sacrifice the office goldfish.
Through it all, Kazuo sat at his desk, sipping holy brew, filling out spreadsheets like nothing unusual was happening. Every time Seraphina begged him to undo it, he just muttered, "I'm finally productive for once. Don't take this from me."
By noon, productivity had skyrocketed. Reports filed. Projects finished. The office had never run smoother. But at the same time, half the staff was vibrating at frequencies that broke lightbulbs, and one intern swore he could see through time.
The climax came when the coffee machine itself spoke.
Its screen lit up with flaming letters: BRING ME THE SACRED BEANS.
The employees gasped. "The machine demands tribute!"
Kazuo frowned. "Wait, what beans?"
The cultists screamed in unison: "THE BEANS! THE TRUE BEANS!"
And then—utter chaos. People raided vending machines, tore apart the pantry, and stormed the streets in search of coffee beans worthy of the Sacred Java. Police sirens wailed outside as confused officers tried to break up bean riots.
Seraphina pulled at her hair, shrieking, "YOU TURNED A COFFEE MACHINE INTO A FALSE IDOL!"
Kazuo shrugged. "Eh. At least the coffee's good."
By evening, the office resembled a war zone. Bean offerings piled up around the machine. The Decaf Deniers had been exiled to the parking lot, where they were building a shrine out of teabags.
The HR manager awoke briefly, took one look around, and fainted again.
Finally, Seraphina unleashed a divine cover-up. She spread her wings, glowing with borrowed authority, and bellowed:
"BEHOLD! THE SACRED JAVA! Blessed be the Brew, which shall never again flow, lest you mortals ruin the gift! Return to your spreadsheets, and speak of this miracle no more!"
Everyone bowed in terrified awe. The machine fizzled, sputtered, and died with a pitiful hiss.
The chaos ebbed. People returned to work, muttering prayers under their breath.
Kazuo leaned back in his chair, sipping the last of his mug. "See? Crisis averted. You worry too much."
Seraphina stared at him with murder in her eyes. "…I'm putting a divine lock on every appliance you touch."
"Good luck," Kazuo muttered, already eyeing the vending machine.