Ne Job: The Intern from Hell — Chapter 93: "The Audit of Chaos"
The day after the storm, Heaven's corridors smelled of smoke and spilled ink.
Everywhere Ne Job and Yue walked, the marble gleamed faintly with a residue of burned bureaucracy — the aftermath of rules rewritten and gods embarrassed.
Yue's clipboard flickered, its display still glitching. "System integrity at forty percent. The Paradox Seal held, but the archives are—"
"—a nightmare," Ne Job interrupted, stepping over a toppled cabinet that had once belonged to Division of Mortal Misconduct. "Half the memos are repeating themselves. I got five letters this morning saying I owe myself a divine apology."
"Did you send one?" Yue asked dryly.
"I filed a counter-report," Ne Job said with a grin. "Under 'Spiritual Harassment.'"
Yue's sigh was half amusement, half exhaustion. "Focus. The Shard Court issued a summons this morning."
Ne Job froze. "…They noticed?"
"They always notice." Yue lifted the glowing decree, the Shard Court's sigil stamped across it — a jagged circle of mirrored fragments. "You're to appear before the Auditors of Chaos for formal evaluation."
"Evaluation," he echoed flatly. "That's Bureaucrat-speak for 'execution with extra paperwork.'"
"Maybe," Yue replied. "Or maybe they're scared."
Ne Job raised an eyebrow. "Of what?"
Yue's eyes flicked toward him — not mocking, not pitying, just quiet truth. "You changed the Bureau's law and survived it."
They walked in silence through the fractured hallways. Every few meters, an inspection drone buzzed by, scanning the air for residual divine signatures. Ne Job swatted one away. "How's the Judge handling this?"
"Shard Court Judge?" Yue asked. "He's… splitting his vote. Literally. The Court's fragments aren't aligned. Some want to classify you as a weapon. Others as an anomaly."
"Great," Ne Job muttered. "I've gone from intern to philosophical debate."
When they reached the Court chamber, the air itself felt heavier.
Thousands of floating tablets rotated in slow orbit around a central dais, each engraved with an edict. The light here wasn't warm — it shimmered like cold glass.
At the center stood the Shard Court Judge. His robe was woven from broken reflections, his expression unreadable through the shimmer of mirrored faces that composed him.
"Ne Job of Division Temp-9," the Judge's voices spoke — a hundred tones layered as one. "You stand accused of violating Article ∞: Unauthorized Manipulation of Divine Structure."
Ne Job crossed his arms. "You're welcome."
The chamber fell silent. Even the floating tablets hesitated mid-spin.
Yue stepped forward quickly. "Your honors, my client acted under emergency decree due to existential paradox contamination. The stabilization prevented total systemic collapse."
The Judge's mirrored faces flickered. "Intent acknowledged. Outcome… unpredictable."
He gestured, and the air behind him opened into a spiral of images — the storm, the flames, Ne Job's signature burning across Heaven's code.
Each replay made the courtroom tremble.
"You altered the Bureau's foundations," the Judge continued. "Rules once fixed now… breathe. Do you comprehend the risk?"
Ne Job's voice was steady. "Yeah. It means Heaven finally has a pulse."
A ripple passed through the Shard Court — murmurs like shards scraping glass. The Judge's central face tilted. "You mock the system."
"I fix it," Ne Job said, stepping closer. "You built Heaven like a machine, and it's choking on its own manuals. Maybe it's time someone reminded you that divinity wasn't meant to be paperwork."
Yue glanced at him, a flicker of worry behind her calm. The Court was silent for a long moment, the weight of divine law pressing against the air like a storm about to break.
Then the Judge raised one mirrored hand. "Chaos speaks boldly. Perhaps… too boldly. But truth may hide in defiance."
A circle of light formed under Ne Job's feet — not condemnation, but evaluation. Runes aligned, forming the glyph for Resonant Audit.
"Intern of Fire," the Judge declared, "your existence now stands between order and entropy. The Court will not destroy you — yet. Instead, you will submit to the Audit of Chaos. Survive it, and your position may be reclassified."
Ne Job's brow furrowed. "Reclassified as what?"
The Judge's mirrored eyes glimmered. "As necessary."
Yue exhaled softly. "And if he fails?"
The Judge's reflections fractured again, his answer echoing through the chamber like the breaking of glass.
> "Then the Bureau shall remember him as an error… corrected."
The circle flared, swallowing Ne Job and Yue in a surge of light.
As the world dissolved into cascading fragments of ink and decree, Ne Job reached for her hand. "Yue—whatever happens—don't file this under 'loss.'"
Her grip tightened. "Then you'd better give me something to record under 'miracle.'"
The light consumed them both.