My Certification Level Keeps Rising, But All I Do is Laze Around
Becoming a Clan Master was supposed to be the ultimate early retirement plan. The strategy was flawless: buy a heavily fortified mansion, recruit a party of hyper-competent, over-enthusiastic teenagers—an immovable armored tanker, a battle-obsessed swordsman, a light-fingered thief, a talented younger mage with an attitude, and a dedicated elf healer—and let them clear the dungeons while sitting back to collect the passive income.
There is just one major problem: everyone around him is completely misinterpreting the situation.
When he refuses to leave his comfortable bed, his clan members reverently assume he is meditating to recover his strength from a top-secret, high-level dungeon raid he cleared solo. When he funnels massive bribes to government officials to cover up his blatant tax evasion, they interpret it as anonymous donations for the city's slums, accidentally turning him into a beloved saint among the poor. And when he sends his party on simple chore missions just to get them out of his hair, they assume it’s a grueling, high-stakes training regimen designed to break their limits—to the point where they solemnly write their wills before leaving. Every attempt to avoid manual labor is documented as an act of unfathomable, high-level tactical genius.
Now, his certification level is skyrocketing to the highest ranks, and the Adventurer Association is forcing him to take command of deadly, impossible missions meant only for legendary heroes. Surrounded by a stubbornly loyal party that refuses to leave him alone, commoners who sing his praises, and an Association that refuses to let him quit, he must figure out how to survive the most dangerous threats in the world without actually lifting a finger.
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