Ne Job: The Intern from Hell — Chapter 129: "The Audit That Shouldn't Exist"
The Bureau's sky was split open again. Not by thunder, not by decree—by paper.
Sheets of divine parchment rained like snow, each one stamped with the red insignia of Heaven's Compliance Department. The air itself trembled with the hum of bureaucratic wrath. Every intern, scribe, and soul ran for cover.
Assistant Yue stood at the balcony, her hair whipping in the static wind. "This isn't from any division I've seen," she murmured. "These aren't audit orders—they're retroactive summons."
Ne Job leaned out beside her, eyes narrowing. "Meaning?"
"Meaning…" Yue's tone dropped. "Someone authorized an audit on something that technically doesn't exist anymore."
The Intern blinked. "Like… us?"
Below them, a fissure opened across the Bureau plaza. Out marched rows of spectral clerks—identical, eyeless, moving in perfect synchronization. They carried scrolls longer than buildings, each inscribed with identical lines:
> Case File: N0B-000.
Subject: Ne Job.
Status: Reinstated for Termination.
Ne Job's Chaos Spark pulsed violently in his chest. "That's impossible! I'm already—uh—half-fired, half-reincarnated!"
"Exactly why they're interested." Yue snapped open her manual, flipping through trembling pages. "There's no record of this audit division anywhere in the system. They're writing new laws as they move."
A voice echoed from the fissure below—smooth, bureaucratic, and terrifyingly calm.
> "By mandate of the Heavenly Ledger Revision, this existence is under retroactive nullification."
From the chasm rose a figure cloaked in ink-black robes—its face masked by a quill sigil that shifted like liquid language. Around its neck hung a broken time-stamp seal.
"Ne Job, Intern of Unresolved Chaos," it declared, "your continued employment breaches cosmic contract code. You are summoned for deletion—again."
Yue stepped forward, slamming her manual shut. "You can't delete what was already erased."
The figure tilted its head. "Then allow me to verify that claim."
In an instant, the entire Bureau warped. Paperwork froze midair, clocks folded backward, and even the divine lights flickered to monochrome. Yue and Ne Job found themselves standing in an empty archive—a hall made of nothing but rejected forms.
Ne Job looked around. "Where… are we?"
"The Audit That Shouldn't Exist," Yue whispered. "A dead file dimension. It's where forgotten bureaucracies come to eat each other."
As the shadow-auditor approached, every step rewrote the floor beneath him—each footprint forming a contract clause.
"You've meddled with the divine queue," it intoned. "Your actions in the Cemetery Backlog caused a recursive overload. Souls processed without signature. Violations in triplicate."
Yue grabbed Ne Job's wrist. "Don't talk. Don't breathe. It's feeding on contradictions."
But Ne Job had already clenched his fist. "Then I'll give it something to choke on!"
The Spark flared. Pages ripped free from the walls, circling him like a storm. For a brief, electric moment, the Intern's defiance burned bright enough to bend the Bureau's laws—turning his own unfinished reports into shields.
Yue shouted through the chaos, "You idiot! Every report you botched is now evidence!"
"Yeah," Ne Job grinned, teeth flashing in the dark. "Guess I'm overqualified for disaster."
The shadow raised its quill-hand, and time itself froze around the two.
> "So be it. Let the Audit commence."
The ink-black sky cracked open, revealing not Heaven—
but the original desk where all things were first filed.