Ne Job: The Intern from Hell — Chapter 115: "The Audit Before Dawn"
The hourglass of Heaven had turned upside down.
Inside the Bureau's upper atrium, the once-silent corridors were alive again — with whispers, footsteps, and the rustle of divine parchment. Every department had been called in early, summoned by an urgent decree stamped in crimson wax: AUDIT OF THE AGES – PRIORITY ONE.
Assistant Yue stood at her desk, her quill scratching against the surface of a glowing scroll. Her face was calm, but her aura flickered faintly — restrained lightning beneath her composure. "They're bringing in the Inspectors from the Celestial Treasury," she murmured. "If they cross-check our backlog with the human realm ledgers, we're doomed."
Ne Job leaned against a filing cabinet, sipping what could barely be called divine coffee. "We're always doomed," he said flatly. "It's practically our department slogan."
Yue shot him a sharp look. "This isn't funny. Do you have any idea what happens if they find a discrepancy in the reincarnation queue?"
Ne Job shrugged. "They'll yell. They'll file a complaint. Lord Xian will give a lecture. Then I'll get blamed."
Before Yue could respond, a ripple of golden light sliced through the air. A portal opened — precise, symmetrical, unnervingly clean. From it stepped Inspector Zhaoren, a tall figure with eyes like frozen ink and robes stitched from the minutes of forgotten meetings.
"Department of Post-Mortal Affairs," he announced, his voice like a judgment bell. "We begin immediately."
Yue bowed instinctively, while Ne Job barely managed a stiff nod.
The Inspector's gaze swept over the office — the leaning towers of paperwork, the chaotic filing charms floating aimlessly, the faint scent of burnt incense from a half-finished purification ritual. His lip twitched. "Noncompliance detected," he said, and a tiny glowing sigil flared in his palm.
Ne Job whispered to Yue, "He hasn't even looked at the ledgers yet."
"Exactly," Yue muttered.
The audit began. Scrolls unfurled midair. Dozens of spectral assistants appeared, their quills recording every movement, every word. Zhaoren's hands never stopped moving — each gesture unraveling months of bureaucratic tape.
"Section 44-B, clause 3," he recited. "Soul #448229 — reborn twice within the same lunar cycle. Explain."
Ne Job opened his mouth, but Yue cut in first. "Clerical overlap from the Mortality Nexus. We already filed an amendment form."
Zhaoren didn't even blink. "Unapproved," he said. "No stamp from a Senior Bureaucrat."
The silence that followed could have frozen stars. Then, from the far end of the hall, the heavy doors burst open.
Lord Bureaucrat Xian strode in, robes shimmering with authority. "That would be my stamp," he said coolly, stepping forward with a sealed scroll in hand.
The Inspector paused. The hall's glow dimmed slightly — as if the system itself held its breath.
Ne Job and Yue exchanged a look. For the first time in hours, Yue allowed herself a small, nervous smile.
Lord Xian unfurled the scroll, his tone unwavering. "Every soul processed in this department, every case handled under my oversight, will withstand your scrutiny — because I wrote the rules you're citing."
The Inspector stared for a moment, then bowed — barely, but enough to acknowledge the rank difference. "Very well," he said. "Then the audit continues… with you present."
As the morning light began to creep through the upper windows, Ne Job exhaled slowly. "See? Easy," he muttered.
Yue sighed, tightening her grip on her quill. "Ne Job," she said quietly, "the audit hasn't even reached your reports yet."
His smirk faltered. "...Right."
And as the divine clocks struck the seventh hour, the real audit — the one that would decide the fate of their department — officially began.
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