1. The Elevator of Existential Crisis
Ne Job learned something important that day:
Never trust an elevator that greets you.
He and Yue stepped into the Bureau's service lift, and the doors shut like a pair of iron jaws. Immediately, the speaker crackled.
> WELCOME TO LEVEL NEGATIVE SEVEN, EMPLOYEE NE JOB.
FUNERAL INDUSTRIAL LIAISON SUB-DIVISION. PLEASE REMAIN IN ONE PIECE.
"Remain in one piece?" Ne Job muttered. "Is that a suggestion or a threat?"
Assistant Yue's eyes narrowed. "Both. Those sub-departments pride themselves on 'recycling initiative.'"
"…Recycling what?"
The elevator's lights flickered ominously.
> MORALE. LIMBS. CONFIDENCE.
Ne Job's scream was drowned out by the ding of arrival.
---
2. Where Souls Go to Fill Out Paperwork
The doors opened to a cavernous underground floor.
The air had the scent of expired incense and printer toner. Souls drifted like exhausted jellyfish, each holding a clipboard. A sign hovered above them, glowing bureaucratic orange:
> WELCOME TO THE DEPARTMENT OF POST-MORTAL ADJUSTMENTS
(Please Take a Number)
There were numbers stretching to five digits. The counter was still on 3.
Yue tapped a brass kiosk. "172-A. That's us."
A translucent clerk with half a face looked up.
"You're… early."
"We're on an emergency audit," Yue said.
The clerk stared them down.
"We don't do emergencies. We do… after."
Ne Job leaned closer. "I'm here to find Princess Ling. She's—"
The clerk's pupils dilated like collapsing stars.
"Shhhhhh," it hissed. "You don't say mortal royalty down here. Someone might… claim her."
"What?! Who?"
"Soul refinancers. Or worse—the Bureau of Sentimental Debts."
Yue paled. "Oh no."
"What?" Ne Job asked.
"They take heartbreak… and give it interest."
---
3. An Audience with the Forgotten
They were led down a hallway lined with forgotten gods.
Not statues.
Actual gods.
The weakest, lowest-ranked deities humanity ever created then abandoned: Lost Dial-Up Spirit, Patron of Unread Emails, Guardian of Left Socks.
Ne Job stopped at a shrine shaped like a broken phone charger.
"Is that—"
"Yes," Yue said, "the Forgotten God of Battery Percentage."
The god whispered weakly:
"Twenty… percent… forever."
A visible shiver ran down Ne Job's spine.
"That is the cruelest punishment imaginable."
The god coughed. "You… wouldn't… understand… TikTok boy."
"I'm not TikTok! I'm a divine intern!"
The phone charger crackled dismissively. "Same… thing…"
Yue tugged Ne Job away before he tried to strangle a divine artifact.
---
4. Princess Ling, Redefined
At the end of the corridor lay a chamber built like a courtroom.
Instead of judges, desks, or witnesses, there was a giant cube of paperwork held together with staple-shaped lightning.
Inside the translucent cube—
Princess Ling.
She sat cross-legged, eyes half closed, clutching a glowing contract. Her body was calm, but the aura around her roared—like a tsunami politely waiting its turn.
The Shard Court Judge materialized in a shimmer of brittle glass.
"Behold," he announced. "The Princess is undergoing conversion."
Ne Job nearly vaulted over the railing. "CONVERSION INTO WHAT?!"
The Judge smiled with a mouth full of paper cuts.
"A compliant bureaucratic deity."
Ne Job and Yue screamed simultaneously.
"You can't do this!" Yue yelled.
"It's mutually consensual," the Judge said.
Princess Ling looked up, and her eyes were clear—dangerously clear.
"I'm tired of chaos," she said softly. "Tired of divine temper tantrums. Tired of mortals being collateral."
"So you're becoming a—what—paperwork nun?!" Ne Job sputtered.
"An administrator," she corrected. "One who shepherds souls with dignity."
"You hate bureaucracy!"
"I used to," she said. "Then I realized—if I want to fix the world, I must master what breaks it."
That struck something sharp in Ne Job's heart. A hypocrite. A fool. A revolutionary.
He couldn't tell which.
---
5. The Audit Arrives
The Judge extended a scroll toward Ne Job.
"You are invited," he said, "to sign."
Ne Job blinked. "Sign what?"
"To relinquish your internship and become her first Assistant."
Yue's hand shot out. "ABSOLUTELY NOT—"
But Princess Ling raised her palm and Yue froze mid-sentence, golden ribbons of decree coiling around her limbs.
"I need someone who can resist the gods," the Princess said.
"And you choose—ME?"
Ling's smile was small, tired, but warm.
"You do the impossible on instinct. You defy chains because you are too stupid to see them."
"That is the worst compliment I've ever received."
"It's true."
Ne Job stepped forward. "I'm not signing anything. I'm going to free you."
The Judge tilted his head. "You cannot free someone who wants to change. Your defiance is a child's dream."
The cube pulsed. Paper shrieked like birds.
The Princess pressed her palm to the document.
The air broke.
---
6. The Department Awakens
Every neglected god in the hall turned.
The Guardian of Left Socks lifted its mismatched hands.
The Spirit of Unread Emails let out a giggle of digital malice.
The Battery Percentage God whispered:
"Five… percent…"
A tremor ran through Ne Job's bones.
They were not attacking.
They were lending power.
A current surged toward Ling's cube, fueling the bureaucratic ritual.
"Why are they HELPING?!" Ne Job shouted.
Yue's voice cracked. "Because the forgotten want stability. A new queen of order means recognition."
"But Ling—"
"Ling made them a promise," Yue said. Her voice shook. "Every lost god will get its domain back."
The hall went silent.
Ne Job couldn't breathe.
Ling lifted the contract.
Ink flooded like rivers.
The cube opened.
Not outward—
Inward.
Swallowing her.
---
7. Ne Job Loses the Argument
He launched himself toward her.
"LING!"
A shockwave threw him across the chamber like a crumpled receipt.
Yue slipped beside him, eyes darting.
"You're making it worse!"
"I can't let her do this!"
"It's her own will!"
"I DON'T CARE!"
His lungs heaved. His divine core burned.
"EVERYONE I CARE ABOUT GETS EATEN BY WORK!"
It wasn't metaphorical. It was literal. Gods of Forms, Executive Spirits, Audit Demons—the Bureau devoured people.
Ling hovered inside the growing spiral of bureaucracy—she shot him one last look.
It wasn't pity. It wasn't apology.
It was expectation.
"Ne Job," she said, "meet me at the summit."
"The what?!"
"The highest office," she murmured. "The Bureau's heart. Where Heaven comes to bargain."
Then the cube sealed with the click of a million staplers loading.
A cyclone of documents swallowed her.
Gone.
---
8. What Remains
The Judge bowed.
"Your princess is not lost. She is enrolled."
"I'll kill you," Ne Job whispered.
"No," the Judge said calmly. "You'll work harder."
Yue, shaking, grabbed Ne Job by the collar. "We need to move."
"What—why—"
"The conversion will trigger alarms," she said. "Real ones."
"ALARM?" Ne Job asked.
From the ceiling, a harsh klaxon screamed.
> ATTENTION: POST-MORTAL REALIGNMENT DETECTED.
DEPLOYING AUDITORS. PLEASE PANIC RESPONSIBLY.
The doors at the end of the hall exploded open.
Armored figures in immaculate suits marched in— helmets shaped like calculators, weapons made of sharpened spreadsheets.
Ne Job swallowed.
"Yue…?"
"Yes?"
"Do we fight?"
Yue cracked her knuckles.
"We run."
They sprinted into the dark.
Behind them, the Bureau began to shift— walls folding like origami, screams echoing like receipts, and somewhere above…
A new office was being born.