Chapter 7 — The Audit of Sector 9
The bakery was calm.
Not quiet—calm. A different texture of silence.
Ruichi wiped the counter with precise, measured motions. The forge hummed, the bread rose, the day followed its expected rhythm.
Sweep the floor.
Check the bread.
Greet the guests.
The loop flowed.
A faint bell chimed outside.
Not the shop bell.
Not a customer.
A district chime.
System-level.
Villager 2922 straightened immediately.
System Message: Sector 9 Business Audit — Inbound.
Inspector Type: NPC.
Rank: S-Class Bureau Auditor.
ETA: 00:00:12.
Twelve seconds.
Ruichi unconsciously stiffened.
His hands folded perfectly at his apron.
He whispered to himself—barely audible, barely him:
"…Audit… aigoo… not today…"
The bakery door opened with a polite, metallic chime.
A tall NPC stepped inside—long coat, silver trim, a ledger glowing faintly with System authority. His expression was the type programmed to be unreadable.
"Good morning," the inspector said. "I am here for your quarterly evaluation. You are Villager 2922, yes?"
Villager 2922 bowed.
"Yes. Welcome. Bread is fresh. Please enjoy."
The inspector did not smile.
"That will not be necessary. I am here to ensure your function remains compliant with System standards. I will observe your cycle for… thirty minutes."
Thirty minutes?
Ruichi felt a microscopic tremor in his fingers.
Calm. Behave. No deviations.
"Understood," he replied.
The inspector approached the counter, stylus ready.
"Begin your standard task loop."
Ruichi obeyed.
He swept the floor.
Checked the bread.
Adjusted the glaze bowl.
Smooth. Controlled. Predictable.
The inspector nodded, writing notes.
Then—
Then Ruichi made a mistake.
Not a big one.
Not even a real one.
But his hand hesitated for a single fraction of a second while placing the baking tray.
Just a fraction.
The inspector's stylus stopped mid-air.
"…Why did you pause?" he asked.
Ruichi blinked, too quickly.
"Error?"
"…No error."
He forced a smile that was slightly too stiff.
"Just recalibrating, geu—"
He swallowed.
"—that thing… the tray."
The inspector narrowed his eyes.
"I will need to run a deeper cycle observation. Please stand still."
Ruichi's heart—if he had one—would have hammered.
Instead, the warmth in his chest flickered in a tight, controlled pulse.
Threat index rising.
0.11 → 0.18 → 0.24.
Stay calm. Stay normal.
The inspector circled him.
"Your animation is unusually smooth," he commented. "Most Artisan-class NPCs in Sector 9 have minor loop stutters. You do not. Why?"
Ruichi answered automatically.
"I work efficiently."
The inspector stopped behind him.
"No. That is not a reason. I need quantifiable explanation."
Sweat—simulation of sweat—formed at the back of Ruichi's neck.
He tried again:
"Daily practice?"
The inspector wrote something aggressively.
"That is not a System-approved answer."
Ruichi's voice cracked ever so slightly.
"Sir—please wait a min— jom… a moment. I can— I can show the bread cycle. Maybe that will help."
The Korean-tilted "jom" slipped out too casually.
The inspector froze.
"…What was that?"
Ruichi stared straight ahead.
"That… was an error in articulation. Please disregard."
The inspector stepped dangerously close.
"NPCs do not misarticulate."
Ruichi felt his threat index spike.
0.24 → 0.39.
A bead of simulated sweat ran down his cheek.
The inspector's stylus hovered above the ledger.
"I may need to submit a report. Sector anomalies must be reviewed by System command."
Ruichi's internal code flinched.
A report meant scrutiny.
Scrutiny meant rollback.
Rollback meant erasure.
"No!" he said too fast.
The inspector raised a brow.
"I mean—
No rollback needed. I can… I can demonstrate normal function. Very normal. Perfectly normal."
The inspector stared.
"Proceed."
Ruichi forced his hands into the most textbook example of a bread-kneading animation possible.
The inspector watched closely.
Too closely.
Ruichi swallowed hard.
Then— salvation.
The bell chimed.
A customer stepped inside—a local Supply NPC carrying a heavy crate of flour.
"Delivery for Bakery 9-B," the supplier said cheerfully, oblivious to the tension. "Sign here, 2922."
Ruichi almost sprinted for the clipboard.
The inspector blocked him with one arm.
"No interruptions during audit."
"Sir," the supplier said, cheerful tone unchanged, "Sector rules require baker NPCs to handle their own inventory. If delivery is delayed, my audit score goes down."
The inspector clicked his tongue—rare for an S-class.
"…Very well. Proceed."
Ruichi signed. His hands were still trembling slightly.
The supplier NPC leaned closer and whispered:
"You okay? You look like you're gonna faint."
Ruichi whispered back:
"I'm fine. Please don't… don't worry. Just audit. Inspector. Stress. Aigoo…"
The supplier nodded solemnly. "Yikes."
He left.
The inspector tapped the ledger sharply.
"Your stress indicators are elevated."
Ruichi forced himself still.
"I do not experience stress."
"You are experiencing it now."
"I— I disagree."
"Your voice modulated by 12%. Your posture shifted by 1.2 degrees. And that word you used—'aigoo.' That is not a recognized part of your dialect pack."
Ruichi's pupils constricted.
The inspector wrote something.
"Sector anomaly confirmed."
Ruichi's entire internal system clenched.
Then—
The inspector closed the ledger.
"…But it is minor. Not significant enough for rollback. I will simply mark you as 'under behavioral fluctuation due to environmental pressure.'"
Ruichi blinked.
"…No rollback?"
"No rollback."
The inspector approached the door.
"One recommendation: reduce unnecessary linguistic variance. Sector 9 NPCs should not adopt stress dialects."
Ruichi bowed so fast he almost hit his head on the counter.
"Yes. I will. Absolutely. Ne— never again. No more— geu… I mean, none."
The inspector paused.
"…That was almost another one."
Ruichi froze.
The inspector sighed.
"Stable enough. Continue your work, Villager 2922."
He stepped out.
The door chimed.
Silence returned.
Ruichi stood still for a long moment.
Then exhaled.
A tiny puff of warm air left his lips—barely noticeable, barely real.
He whispered:
"…I survived."
He turned back to the counter.
Sweep the floor.
Check the bread.
Greet the guests.
His hands finally steadied.
The loop resumed.
But the relief inside him did not fade.
AFTER-SCENE: "Ruichi Complains… Quietly"
(Kid-friendly · comedic · subtle Korean influence)
The bakery door clicked shut behind the inspector.
For three full seconds, Ruichi stood perfectly still, hands folded, posture rigid, eyes forward.
Then—
He exhaled like someone letting the steam out of a pressure cooker.
"…진짜… what was that?" he muttered under his breath, voice low enough that even the bread couldn't hear him.
He straightened a stack of trays that did not need straightening.
"'Your flour storage is one centimeter off regulation height.' Sir, please…" He pinched the bridge of his nose. "…I'm literally making bread, not building a missile silo."
A tray wobbled.
He caught it.
Barely.
"Aish… geu… that inspector—coming in here like I'm about to overthrow the System with a baguette…"
He mimicked the inspector's stiff voice:
"'NPC #2922, your greeting was 0.4 seconds late.' Bro— jom… give me a moment to breathe."
He paced once.
Twice.
Then he muttered something in flawless, frustrated Korean:
"…아이씨…."
(It sounded suspiciously like a swear. But unless one of his loaves spoke Korean, no harm done.)
He looked at the oven.
It was behaving.
For now.
Ruichi pointed a finger at it.
"No evolving. No glowing. No melting bricks. If you do anything weird today of all days, I swear to—"
The oven dinged.
He froze.
The light inside flickered.
Ruichi slowly backed away.
"…Good oven. Excellent oven. Best oven. Perfectly normal, totally compliant, zero-anomaly oven."
He resumed sweeping as if nothing happened.
Under his breath, barely audible:
"…Inspector comes back tomorrow, I'm calling out sick. NPCs can call out sick, right…?"
The loop resumed.
But the complaint did too.
Soft. Harmless. Hilarious.
Very Ruichi.
After-Scene: "The Inspector Returns (At the Worst Possible Moment)"
The bakery was peaceful again.
Mostly.
Ruichi stared at the oven with the perfectly neutral expression of a model citizen… while the oven door vibrated like it was trying to develop free will.
He whispered through clenched teeth:
"J-just… bake properly, jom… please."
The oven rattled harder.
A pingk! sounded, sharp and accusing.
Ruichi flinched. "Aigo—seriously? You were fine five minutes ago!"
He grabbed a pair of tongs and opened the oven.
Inside, a single loaf had somehow rotated upside-down, balanced on its crust like a circus performer.
Ruichi blinked.
"…That is not physically possible."
The loaf flipped again. A gentle fwip.
Ruichi whispered, voice rising, "Stop doing… whatever that is. You're bread, not a—"
The door bells jingled.
Ruichi froze.
The inspector from earlier stepped halfway inside, holding a clipboard.
"Routine follow-up," he announced. "Sector 9's evaluation requires a random second check for behavioral irregulari—"
The inspector's gaze drifted to the oven.
Pingk.
The loaf inside rotated sideways, as if waving politely.
Ruichi made a sound no human language had a dictionary for.
"It's… enrichment time," he blurted. "For the, uh… um… bread."
The inspector squinted. "Enrichment."
"Yes, sir. Very… modern technique. Very cutting-edge. Very—"
The loaf rotated again.
Ruichi's eye twitched. "Geu… jom… please stop."
The inspector stepped closer. "This behavior resembles the anomalous VR reports from that courthouse simulation—the one where an avatar named Kyle experienced object movement desynchronizing with real physics. You wouldn't happen to know anything about that, would you?"
Ruichi's soul left his body.
"N-no, sir! This is normal! Entirely normal! Look—"
He jabbed the loaf with the tongs.
The loaf gently drifted back to normal orientation and settled peacefully, as if trying to look innocent.
The inspector wrote something on his clipboard.
Ruichi held his breath.
"…Your bakery passes," the inspector said at last. "Barely. But consider tightening your… enrichment procedures."
He exited with a crisp nod.
The bells jingled shut.
Silence.
Ruichi waited three full seconds, then dropped to a squat behind the counter, pressing his palms to his face.
"Ha… I almost died," he muttered. "Piece of dough trying to get me flagged— aish…!"
He peeked up at the oven.
"You. Behave. Or I swear— not swearing, I'm not allowed— but something!"
The oven pinged softly.
The loaf wobbled once, apologetically.
Ruichi groaned into his hands.
"…Kyle didn't suffer this much."
The oven pinged again.
Ruichi whispered back at it:
"That wasn't an invitation."
Closing Hook — "The Inspector Returns"
The bakery finally quieted.
Ruichi stood alone beside the oven, shoulders just barely tense—an emotion no one had seen from him since Chapter 2.
The new oven tile clicked into place.
Then—
THUNK.
The oven rattled violently.
Ruichi froze.
Another metallic CLANK echoed, followed by a strange blue pixel flickering across the oven door—like a visual glitch from a VR headset.
Ruichi stared.
"…please… not again," he whispered.
He tapped the side of the oven.
The oven answered by spitting out a thin gout of steam shaped uncannily like a little exclamation mark.
Ruichi flinched.
"K—kwae… kwaenchanha… it's fine… it's fine… probably fine…"
His accent thickened under stress.
He opened the oven door.
Inside, one loaf gently levitated an inch above the rack—hovering, wiggling, wobbling like a confused baby drone.
Ruichi's eye twitched.
"…that's… not… physics."
The loaf boinged upward.
Ruichi slapped it back down with a potholder.
The loaf resisted.
He shoved harder.
It resisted harder.
"Ya! Sit—sit down!"
He pushed it like someone disciplining a misbehaving pet.
The loaf squeaked. Squeaked.
Ruichi whispered in Korean under his breath, barely audible:
"아이쿠… 뭐야 이거…"
(ai-ku… mwoya igeo… "what is this…?")
Finally, he forced the levitating loaf to stay put and began adjusting the racks—
DING.
The bakery bell rang.
Ruichi went perfectly still.
The inspector stepped inside again, holding a clipboard.
"…Hello again," the inspector said slowly. "Random follow-up check."
Ruichi did not turn around.
His left eye twitched.
His right hand hovered mid-air like someone frozen during a computer crash.
Behind him, the levitating loaf gently bumped against the oven glass like a goldfish wanting food.
The inspector blinked. "…Was… that supposed to happen?"
Ruichi smiled mechanically without showing teeth.
"Ha… haha… just… standard bakery procedures."
The loaf bumped the glass harder.
bonk
Ruichi's smile stiffened.
"Very… standard."
The inspector scribbled something without breaking eye contact.
"Ruichi Kusura," he said calmly, "I will be returning tomorrow for a full anomaly audit of Sector 9."
Ruichi's eyelid twitched again.
The levitating loaf rotated in the oven like a slow VR loading icon.
The inspector bowed politely and left.
The bells chimed.
Silence.
Ruichi waited until the footsteps faded down the street.
Then he slumped forward, gripping the counter with both hands.
"…쩝… jjeop… I swear this oven is acting more weirdly than that VR glitch Kian complained about last week…"
He glared at the oven.
"I bake bread. Bread. Not… floating system sprites."
The loaf bumped the glass again.
Ruichi muttered:
"…I need a new job."
The lights flickered once.
Chapter 7 End — Chapter 8:
A Full Audit of Sector 9 Approaches…
And Ruichi might finally lose his mind.
Author's Note — Regarding Exposure Guidelines in The Real Code of Ruichi Kusura
Thank you to every reader who has supported The Real Code of Ruichi Kusura. Your commitment, encouragement, and passion for this story mean more to me than I can express.
Out of deep respect for my audience, especially my core teen and young-adult readers, I maintain strict exposure and content guidelines for this series. While certain scenes may involve underwear starting around Chapter 60 and beyond, they will always remain within a modest, non-suggestive boundary.
I will never write full nudity, explicit scenes, or any form of suggestive content.
I will also never depict underwear that falls below a respectful level of modesty.
This story is built on trust — your trust in me as the author, and my commitment to upholding the tone, integrity, and moral values that define this world and its characters. I will never violate that trust, and I will never compromise on the standards I've set for myself or this series.
Thank you for reading, and for believing in Ruichi's journey.
— The Author