Chapter 34: The New Year's Resolution
The "Great Mid-Draft Chill" had passed, leaving the Bureau of Cosmic Alignment in a state of post-holiday lethargy. The cinnamon scent was replaced by the cold, bracing smell of Aspirations.
Ne Job arrived at his desk to find it missing. Not deleted, but simply... relocated to the middle of the room, surrounded by a series of floor-to-crossbar pull-up rungs made of reinforced cardboard tubes.
"Commissioner!" Pip shouted, hanging upside down from a trajectory-rail. "Welcome to the First Cycle of the New You! I've initiated the Bureau-Wide Self-Improvement Protocol. We're shedding the 7.5% sluggishness and becoming 100% optimized!"
The Athletic Archive
Ne Job adjusted his hat, which was currently being held in place by a sweatband Pip had stapled to the brim. "Pip, I am an Archivist. My only physical exercise involves lifting heavy metaphors and running away from plot-holes. Why is there a treadmill under the coffee machine?"
"That's the Caffeine-Kinetic Converter!" Pip explained, dropping to the floor with a perfect 10-point landing. "You want coffee? You gotta give us three miles of brisk walking. And look at the filing cabinets!"
Ne Job turned. The heavy, mahogany cabinets of Section C-7 were no longer sitting in stagnant rows. They were currently engaged in a series of synchronized "drawer-presses," opening and closing with rhythmic, metallic clangs.
"They're working on their core stability," Architect Ao Bing whispered, appearing from behind a stack of yoga mats. He was wearing a high-visibility tracksuit. "Pip convinced them that 'Stale Data' is just 'Unused Muscle.' They're trying to burn off the redundant footnotes from the last decade."
The Resolution Paradox
The Bureau had become a temple of "Doing." But as the morning progressed, the "Improvement" began to manifest as a 100% logistical nightmare.
The paper-cranes were no longer delivering messages; they were doing "Air Sprints," causing a massive backlog of unread inter-departmental memos. The "Plot Twist" man from the breakroom was trying to "Self-Improve" by becoming a "Straightforward Narrative," which made him so predictable he started to fade out of existence.
"It's the Resolution Curse," Assistant Yue warned, her holographic form now sporting a digital step-counter. "By trying to become 'Perfect,' we're losing our 'Addendum' energy. A story that is perfectly fit has no room for the soft, messy parts that make it interesting."
The Burn-Out of Greatness
By noon, the Bureau was exhausted. The filing cabinets had developed "Metal Fatigue," the coffee machine was refusing to work until someone ran a marathon, and the Muse was crying because her "Creative Sparks" had been replaced by "Efficiency Bolts."
"I can't... I can't think of anything... absurd!" the Muse gasped, trying to lift a dumbbell shaped like a giant question mark. "Every idea I have is just... practical! It's 100% useful! It's horrible!"
Ne Job realized that the New Year's Resolution was a form of "Self-Editing." By trying to be "Better," the Bureau was deleting the very quirks that kept the Great Eraser at bay.
"Pip! Stop the music!" Ne Job commanded, drawing his silver stapler.
"But we're almost at our goal!" Pip panted, currently doing burpees over a pile of pending reports.
"The goal of a Bureau isn't to be fit, Pip! It's to be functional!" Ne Job pointed to the "Plot Twist" man, who was now so "Straightforward" he looked like a cardboard cutout. "Look at him! He's lost his mystery! He's becoming a trope!"
The 7.5% Cheat Day
Ne Job knew there was only one way to break a Resolution: Guilt-Free Inconsistency.
"Architect! Re-introduce the structural flaws! Muse! I need a 7.5% surge of Pure Nonsense! Now!"
The Muse didn't hesitate. She threw her question-mark dumbbell into the Caffeine-Kinetic Converter. The machine sputtered, the treadmill jerked to a halt, and instead of a "Protein Shake," it sprayed the room with Liquid Procrastination (which tasted like cocoa and afternoon naps).
The filing cabinets stopped their drawer-presses and let out a long, metallic sigh of relief. They settled back into their dusty, comfortable positions, their "Core Stability" replaced by a much-preferred "Categorical Slouch."
The Return of the Flaw
Ne Job walked over to the sweat-band on his hat and ripped it off.
"The New Year doesn't mean we have to be new people," Ne Job said, his voice echoing through the now-relaxed Lobby. "It just means we have another 365 pages to fill with the same glorious mistakes we made last year."
Pip stopped their burpees and looked around. "So... we're not going to be 100% optimized?"
"Pip," Ne Job said, handing the intern a fish-shaped biscuit. "In this Bureau, 'Optimized' is a four-letter word. We're going to stay 7.5% tilted, 100% messy, and 0% predictable. That's our resolution."
The First Log of the New Cycle
Ne Job sat at his desk—which the Architect had moved back to its original, slightly-uneven spot—and opened a fresh ledger.
LOG: CHAPTER 34 SUMMARY.
STATUS: Self-Improvement Protocol abolished. Gym equipment recycled into filing racks.
NOTE: The 'Plot Twist' man has regained his mystery. He just told me he's secretly his own uncle. I didn't ask for clarification.
OBSERVATION: The best version of yourself is usually the one that's covered in ink and 7.5% confused.
P.S.: I'm keeping the treadmill. It's a very good place to hang wet umbrellas.
The Muse leaned over his shoulder, her hair back to its neon-wild self. "Happy New Year, Ne Job. What's the first disaster of the season?"
Ne Job looked at the Semicolon, which was glowing with a soft, inviting light.
"I don't know," Ne Job said. "And that's exactly how I like it."