I Was Reincarnated as a Dungeon, So What? I Just Want to Take a Nap. Chapter 98: The Sleepy Guru

My desperate thought echoed in the chaos of my own mind: ’I don’t want an apprentice. I just want to take a nap.’

The small golem nad Pebble stood patiently in the center of the lobby, its rocky face a mask of pure, hopeful admiration, completely unaware of the profound and deep-seated horror it had just triggered within my core.

’FaeLina, do sothing!’ I projected, my ntal voice a squeak of pure terror. ’Tell him I’m not here! Tell him I’m hibernating! Tell him I’ve retired to a quiet life of just... being a rock!’

’Are you kidding?!’ she fretted back, her mind already creating a new, five-year business plan, complete with charts and revenue projections. ’This is a golden opportunity! The "Great Sleeper" takes on his first student! Think of the ScryNet coverage! We can launch a whole new line of "Official Apprentice" rchandise! It’s a vertically integrated revenue stream!’

While we were having our silent, frantic argunt, the chaos in the lobby had only gotten worse.

Gilda, her face a mask of pure, weary resignation, was now acting as a full-ti bouncer for the Tea Nook. She had planted the flat of her massive axe blade in front of the doorway, creating a very effective and very intimidating velvet rope. "The Nook’s full," she grunted to the next noble in line, who was looking nervously at the giant axe. "Co back tomorrow."

Inside, Sloosh the sli waiter was trying his best to be a professional, but he was completely overwheld. A tough-looking warrior with a horned helt had asked for a cup of the strongest, most bitter tea to "sharpen his senses." In his panic, Sloosh had accidentally given him a cup of Zazu’s ultra-potent, championship-winning ’Nightcap’ chamomile. The warrior took one sip, his eyes glazed over, and his head slumped forward onto the table, fast asleep.

A mont later, a stuffy-looking mage who had ordered a simple cup of herbal tea watched in horror as Sloosh wobbled towards him at a speed that was frankly unsafe for a being made of gelatin.

The poor sli was trying his best to be efficient, but his frantic pace and his natural wobble were a disastrous combination. The hot tea in the cup sloshed back and forth, a tiny, chamomile-scented tsunami. With every panicked wobble, a little more tea splashed over the side, filling the saucer and dripping onto the floor.

Sloosh finally arrived at the table, presented the now mostly empty cup with a triumphant flourish, and then looked down to see the small puddle of tea he had left on the mage’s spellbook. He let out a single, sad, and very defeated little wobble.

The bards in the corner, having finished their epic ballad for Zazu, had moved on to a new, even more dramatic masterpiece: "The Ballad of the Baffled Beast Handlers and the Blanket of Doom." One particularly loud bard with a lute was already on the third verse: "...With a net made of silence and a dart full of sleep, they faced the great beast, so woolly and deep!..."

A few feet away, Zazu, the newly crowned Chamomile Champion, was being completely and utterly mobbed.

A group of young, eager adventurers had surrounded his armchair, notebooks and quills in hand, all of them asking for advice at the sa ti. One particularly enthusiastic knight was even holding out his giant, gleaming shield, begging for an autograph.

"Master Zazu," one of the young adventurers asked, his voice full of reverence, "what is the secret to your ’passive slumber’ technique? Is it a special breathing exercise?"

"Do you recomnd a specific type of pillow stuffing for optimal tranquility?" another one chid in, his quill poised eagerly over his notebook. "Is it phoenix down? Or spun moonlight? Or is it true what the bards are singing... that your pillow is stuffed with the distilled dreams of a baby griffin?"

Zazu just blinked at them, his expression one of profound, sleepy confusion. He took a slow, deliberate sip of his tea, thought for a long, quiet mont, and then offered his sagely advice to the waiting crowd.

"Have you tried," he said softly, his voice a gentle murmur, "...being more tired?"

And in a quiet corner, away from the noise, Kaelen just stood with her arms crossed, silently judging a group of bards for their terrible rhy sche, her entire being radiating an aura of pure, professional annoyance.

It was a complete disaster. My sanctuary had been turned into a noisy, stressful, and very popular tourist trap. And now, on top of everything else, I was being asked to take on an intern.

Pebble, sensing my hesitation, spoke again, his voice a low, respectful rumble. "My Core’s na is Willow," he said. "She is a very small Core, just awakened. She says that your philosophy of ’aggressive coziness’ has inspired her. She does not wish to be a place of violence." He looked up, as if addressing the air itself. "She just wishes to be... a nice place to sit."

The chaotic noise of the lobby seed to fade away. I felt a strange pang in my core. A nice place to sit. It was the simplest, most beautiful, and most deeply relatable goal I had ever heard. This "Willow" sounded like a kindred spirit, another sleepy soul in a world of loud, stressful ambition.

But an apprentice... The ntoring sessions. The progress reports. The complete and utter destruction of my carefully planned nap schedule. Just imagining it was enough to make my core wilt.

’FaeLina,’ I projected, a new, brilliantly simple plan forming in my mind. ’I will not take on an apprentice. That sounds like a job.’

’A job?!’ she shot back, her psychic voice a jumble of pure, entrepreneurial excitent. ’Mochi, this isn’t a job; it’s a franchise opportunity! We’ll create the "Mochi thod"! We’ll open a chain of licensed Comfy Corners! We’ll be rich!’ I could feel her projecting a full, detailed business plan directly into my mind, complete with charts for "Apprentice-Based Revenue Streams" and a five-year projection for "The Mochi School of Cozy Dungeon Managent."

I countered by projecting a single, powerful image: a quiet, empty lobby with a single, perfectly fluffed pillow in the middle.

’No,’ I stated firmly. ’But I will offer... a consultation.’

’A consultation?’ she asked, the psychic image of a mountain of gold coins in her mind slowly fading.

’One hour. For a small fee,’ I explained. ’I will teach this ’Willow’ everything she needs to know.’

FaeLina’s aura flared a brilliant, profitable pink. ’I love it! A premium, one-on-one executive coaching session! What’s the fee? 500 gold? A thousand?!’

’A lifeti supply of the quietest, most comfortable moss from her creek,’ I replied.

Her psychic presence went completely silent for a mont. ’Moss?!’ she finally shrieked back, her thought a jumble of pure, baffled indignation. ’Mochi, are you serious? We could ask for gold! We could ask for a percentage of her future earnings! We could...’

I cut her off with a single, powerful ntal image: a perfect, soft, quiet bed of moss.

’Gold isn’t soft,’ I projected calmly.

A slow, dawning light of understanding spread through her mind. ’Oh,’ she finally said, her voice now full of a new and very different kind of excitent. ’It’s not just moss. It’s a brand partnership. Exclusive, high-end, artisan moss. I love it!’

With her enthusiastic blessing, the deal was struck. I turned my attention back to the small, waiting golem.

’I do not take apprentices,’ I projected, my voice echoing in the lobby with a newfound, scholarly authority that made even the bards fall silent for a mont. ’However, I will grant your Core a one-hour ’Audience of Tranquility’ to discuss the foundational principles of the Slumber System. The session is tomorrow at noon.’

Pebble’s rocky face seed to light up. "Oh, thank you, Great Founder! Thank you! My Core will be so honored!"

He bowed again, a gesture so full of genuine gratitude it almost made feel bad about the fact that my "foundational principles" were just going to be telling her to make a nice bed and then asking her to leave so I could get so sleep.

The little golem shuffled off, a new, happy energy in his step.

I had solved the apprentice problem with a single, efficient eting. Now, I just had to survive the horde of noisy fans until tomorrow.

But then, the words echoed back in my own mind. A ntoring... session. Tomorrow... at noon.

The full horror of what I had just done finally dawned on . I hadn’t just agreed to a consultation.

I had just... scheduled a eting.

Just imagining it was enough to make my core wilt—an endless parade of questions, lectures, and worse... a scheduled eting with action items.

I didn’t want an apprentice. I just wanted a blanket and twelve uninterrupted hours of horizontal ditation.

____________

Author’s Note:

And the price of fa has officially arrived! Mochi’s perfect, quiet morning is ruined by his own success, and he is absolutely miserable about it. The dungeon has been turned into the kingdom’s hottest, noisiest tourist trap.

I think we can all agree that Zazu’s sagely advice to the young adventurers—"Have you tried... being more tired?"—is the greatest piece of wisdom ever shared in this book.

He’s such a natural teacher.

But the biggest developnt is the new apprentice! Mochi has gone from a sleepy rock to a reluctant guru, and he has just scheduled his very first "business consultation." His horror at having a eting on his calendar is my favorite part of the Chapter. How will our lazy, introverted hero handle his first client? This is a whole new kind of psychological tornt for him. Thanks for reading!