You Said a Thousand, Didn't You (2)
Within this unfolding tragedy, there was only one thing I could do.
"...Attendant."
"Yes, sir."
"Contact the Minister, please."
Without a word, the attendant touched the crystal orb.
Moments later, the Foreign Minister's face flickered into view, wearing precisely the same exhausted expression I'd seen on Monday.
"Minister."
Hm? Central Officer. It's not Monday today, is something the matter? Ah — are you reporting that the pilgrimage has arrived?
"It has, sir. And... there is something else I need to tell you."
I'm listening.
I took a deep breath. Then, packing every ounce of suppressed emotion into my voice, I said it quietly.
"The headcount doesn't match."
I beg your pardon?
"You said a thousand at minimum, two thousand at the absolute most."
Uh... did you just use informal speech with me? Have you been drinking?
"You said two thousand was the ceiling! And now you're telling me three thousand — THREE THOUSAND showed up! Three thousand, damn it!!!"
Unfortunately, the rest of that tirade — every colorful word about that swindling bald son of a bitch — never reached the Minister's ears.
The quick-witted attendant had hurriedly yanked the crystal orb away again.
As a result, the full catalog of curses hurled at the man's absence echoed magnificently across empty air before scattering to the winds.
And the instant the silence broke, the Five Senses Officers, plunged headlong into panic, each spoke in voices thick with despair.
"C-C-C-C-Central Officer, sir! What do we do now?"
"How many all-nighters will it take just to process three thousand people?"
"Four days, minimum... oh no. No. F-First, first I need a drink..."
"Hgyaaak! I-I can't do this! This isn't what was promised!"
The Taste Officer in flat denial of reality, the Touch Officer short-circuiting mid-calculation of how many people each of them would have to process, the Hearing Officer rummaging for alcohol with trembling hands, and the Smell Officer clawing at the wall with his front paws, trying to burrow his way back into the wild.
Fear of the crushing workload spread in every direction at once. Even the attendants began muttering among themselves, their faces growing darker by the minute.
Somehow, it looked like morale was going to hit rock bottom before we'd even begun.
"Everyone, let's just think about this calm—"
That was when someone screamed.
"Look, over there! The pilgrims are coming!"
Every head turned toward the window. And then they saw it.
The pilgrimage legion that had filled the entire plain was beginning to advance slowly toward us.
Screams erupted on all sides.
"R-Run! It's death, death is coming!"
"The monsters of round-the-clock overtime, unpaid hours, and endless labor are upon us!"
"I'm submitting my resignation! Please, accept it!"
"I-I can't! I want to go home!"
Fear breeds chaos, chaos breeds madness, and madness breeds fear all over again.
Those who had been clinging to the last threads of their sanity finally lost their minds entirely in the face of the slowly advancing terror.
People ran screaming in every direction, wailing in despair and offering desperate prayers to the almighty 'God of Clocking Out.'
No, seriously — no such god exists. And the Taste Officer has actually sat down to write his will.
In this hellhole, exactly one person was holding onto their sanity. Me. Alone.
Perhaps it was rage at the Minister for swindling us on the headcount, but fear had given way to a strange calm in my head.
Damn it. If this keeps up, they'll all run.
If the situation held as it was, the outcome was obvious.
Overwhelmed by fear: desertion of post and refusal of duty.
And then what?
If they abandoned their posts and fled, the responsibility would land squarely on my shoulders as the officer in overall command. And the result would come down to exactly one thing.
'Neglect of state affairs, dishonoring of a distinguished guest, and degradation of the kingdom's dignity!'
By that point, a broken Zero-Accident Record would be the least of my problems. Something far worse would be waiting. Something like...
Execution.
Just like my predecessor, my head would part ways with my neck.
My body flinched involuntarily.
'Absolutely not. Not that. Never that!'
Somehow, I had to knock these little lambs back to their senses.
Having settled on that, I drew a quiet breath amid the chaos and madness. And then—
"EVERYONE, SILENCE!!!"
My voice thundered, and in the instant of silence that followed, every eye swiveled toward me. Seizing that moment without hesitation, I pressed on.
"Panicking changes nothing, people. You all knew this was coming. It was scheduled."
One of the attendants cried out in a voice raw with despair.
"Central Officer, this is more than we can handle on our own! We won't survive that!"
"Hear, hear!"
"Let's just close the border ourselves!"
You run from here and I'm the one who dies at the Minister's hands, you ingrates.
I swallowed the surge of anger once more and answered calmly.
"You're all quite right. This is far too much for the officers alone to bear."
"Then—"
"But we are the only ones who can do it. Running away because you're scared won't make those people disappear. In the end, it's a job that must be done."
The arrow struck home, and the attendants fell silent.
"Now listen carefully, all of you."
What we needed right now wasn't sympathy. It was a plan and a direction.
"I'm assigning each of you your sectors, starting now. Touch Officer. And Taste Officer."
My summons was answered by a pair of hollow, vacant mumbles.
"Th-Th-Th-Th-Thousand..."
"OmnipotentGodOfClockingOutWhoArtInHeavenHaveMercyUponUsAndSmiteThesePilgrimsWithYourThunderboltAndAnnihilateThemAllToTheLastMan—"
My direct subordinates, for heaven's sake, and they were in worse shape than the attendants.
"SITA! LACRISA!!!"
"Hgyaaak!"
"Kyaagh!"
I bellowed straight into their ears, and only then did they shriek back and snap back to reality.
"The two of you will handle cargo. Your top priority is the transport wagons. I'll assign you half the attendants, so use them aggressively. Understood?"
Chaos leads directly to carelessness, and carelessness is the open road to crime and loopholes.
This was precisely when smugglers came out in full force.
The odds of someone trying to slip into the pilgrimage crowd were, conservatively, one hundred percent.
That was something I absolutely could not miss.
"U-Understood, sir!"
"Yes!"
Two officers of the Five Senses remained.
"Next: Smell Officer. Hearing Officer."
"Yes."
"Yessir."
The moment I called, the two of them stepped forward. Prompt answers, too.
Well, they'd both served here the longest, so their recovery was somewhat faster. Good.
"You two will—"
"We'll be handling person-to-person inspections alongside you, then, Central Officer."
"...Correct. Just do exactly as you always do. Nothing additional required."
There was little need to ask much of them. They were professionals at the top of their craft.
As long as their minds held together, they were the most reliable people I had.
At that moment, the Smell Officer furrowed his brow and offered a suggestion.
"Hm, but this will take quite a long time. Wouldn't it be better to shorten the inspection time? Or perhaps wave the children and the elderly through in advance?"
Fair point.
Five minutes per person was far too generous for a crowd of this scale.
Even working straight through three days and nights, we'd run short.
Factor in the drained stamina and sanity on top of that, and you could call it outright labor exploitation.
And as the Smell Officer said, children and the elderly posed few risks — clearing them first would lighten our burden considerably.
It was a genuinely good proposal.
But I shook my head.
"There are no exceptions."
At the enunciation of the Immigration Bureau's most absolute ironclad rule, the Smell Officer flinched.
"We proceed exactly as always. Five minutes per person. Every member of the pilgrimage is inspected."
For those who set foot at the border, special treatment does not exist. No matter who they are.
Race, age, gender, rank — none of it matters. Not one whit.
I made them recall it once more: the principle that had not changed a single time since the Immigration Bureau was founded.
"There are no exceptions."
At my words, the Smell Officer nodded in understanding, then murmured under his breath.
"...Understood. No exceptions."
Leaving him behind, I turned to those who had yet to receive their orders.
"The rest of the attendants will be reassigned to paperwork and personal effects inspection. Split into two squads and establish a day-and-night rotation. Understood?"
"Yes, sir!"
"Internal security goes to the Border Guard. You need only focus on your own duties."
"Understood!"
At last, with a structure and a goal in place, I could see the fear draining from their eyes.
Now all that remained was to plant the courage that said they could actually pull this off.
"Everyone. Don't panic. There's nothing to be afraid of. Just work six times as hard as usual."
"..."
"..."
The atmosphere plummeted in an instant.
The glares aimed at me could not have been more murderous.
"...W-Woo-hoo."
Amid the dead silence, only the Taste Officer mustered a feeble, shuffling cheer.
I did feel a bit guilty after saying it myself. Six times was pushing it.
But what else were they going to do?
And did they even realize how enormous the reward hanging over their heads was?
Pull this off, and they'd cash in half a lifetime's worth of fortune. A dazzling future awaited them.
I made sure to remind them of that fact, quietly.
"Five paid vacation days for everyone. Triple bonuses."
"LET'S DO THIS!"
"Fighting! Aza-aza!"
With a thunderous roar, morale shot up to the heavens. Simple creatures, all of them.
Desire — the mightiest engine of all, capable of overpowering even fear.
Once the engine caught, the rest was easy.
Nothing more than the gentlest of pushes.
Riding the momentum, I shouted.
"Then let us begin. Three thousand three hundred and seventy-four people — are you confident?"
"NO, SIR!"
"Damn it, your honesty is refreshing! Then let us all hold onto one single thought: money awaits!"
"Money awaits! Vacation awaits!"
"Zero accidents! Zero accidents! Ooh! Ooh! Ooh!"
Brave inspectors roared with the grim faces of soldiers marching into a final, decisive battle.
Shouldering that war cry, I gave the order.
"Open the border!"
Grrrrrrrrind.
The great gates began to swing apart with a ponderous groan, and through the widening gap, brilliant golden dawn light came pouring in.
Well, look at that. Even the sun is lending us its strength, as if to say we can do this.
At last, the border flung its arms wide open to the world. And I cried out.
"Welcome to the Crossline Kingdom, honored pilgrims!"
First impressions are everything.
Move briskly. Fast, decisive, and courteous.
Come on then, pilgrims. Show me what you've got.
You were, in the end, fated to become the sacrifice upon which our success is built.
No matter how many of you there are, everything ends eventually.
And for that moment, we shall meet you head-on with dignity.
Three thousand stamps? I can endure that much, easily.
With a bright smile and my most respectful posture, I greeted them — and the woman at the very front answered with a smile of her own.
"My, I hadn't expected such a warm reception. How very kind of you."
A soft voice drifted through the brilliant golden light.
Wait. Hold on.
Only then did I realize one crucial fact.
It wasn't morning. It was afternoon.
The sun was already hanging high in the sky.
Its warm rays were toasting my back nicely.
Then what in the world was this blinding light slamming directly into my face?
The woman leading the pilgrimage took a single step forward.
At the same moment, the golden halo behind her crossed over the gates.
"At last, we have arrived — here, beneath the Lord God's guidance."
Sky-blue hair danced beautifully on the wind.
As if this meeting brought her the greatest of joys.
The saint, steeped in Divine Holy Power, greeted me.
"May the blessings of the Holy Church be upon you all."
I screamed inside.
'The boss shows up right at the opening?! Are you kidding me!!'