Southern Border Diorama (2)

The sun had long since sunk below the horizon at the Southern Border.

Through the quieted streets, a man and a woman walked side by side without a word.

— Thud. Thud.

"..."

"..."

An awkward silence hung over them both.

The young man's tired eyes were wound tight with tension, while the woman beside him had turned bright red to the very tips of her ears. Fortunately, the rather dim streetlights did a discreet job of veiling their naked expressions.

After a while, the man finally worked up the courage to speak.

"If... if it isn't too much trouble, this officer could carry it. Please, hand it over."

"Oh, no, it's fine. It's not heavy at all — I can hold it."

With an armful of daily ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠necessities she'd just bought at the market, the woman offered a small, sidelong smile.

"Are you all right, Central Officer? You're the one carrying all that."

The man, after all, had a heavy bag hanging from each hand. He shrugged.

"It's just paperwork, so no trouble at all."

"You bring your work home with you?"

"Not exactly. It's just... my hands feel empty when they're not holding something."

It was a peculiar feeling.

The two of them were nothing to each other — not lovers, not spouses, not even a couple who had confessed their feelings. And yet something faintly prickling undeniably drifted between them: an energy too subtle to call divine power, and yet far too vivid to dismiss as nothing. To anyone watching who didn't know better, it was the sort of aura that would have them thinking, well, obviously.

"..."

"..."

The man and woman fell silent once more and kept walking.

Roughly five minutes later, they came to a stop in front of a two-story house.

"We've arrived," the man said quietly. "This is where this officer lives."

— Creak.

The moment he turned the lock and pushed the door open, the security magic kicked in and the chandeliers lit themselves. And with the light came the first glimpse of the house.

"Wow..."

Erzena let out a small gasp as she looked around. A refined living room with a fireplace, and a kitchen easily large enough for eight, were the first things to catch her eye.

— Fwoosh.

Flames bloomed in the hearth, casting their glow across the sofa and carpet. That instant sense of warmth settling over the room — it felt wonderful.

I said with confident pride, "Welcome to this officer's home."

I couldn't speak for anything else, but my house, at least, was pretty decent.

Just then, having finished her slow survey of the room, she made a ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠sudden, bemused sound.

"It's really cozy and lovel— huh?"

She blinked a few times, then turned to me. "Central Officer... did a burglar break in here or something?"

"A burglar?"

I gave a small laugh at that. "Hardly. Thanks to the security magic, it's never happened once."

Chief officer of the border or not, I'd been granted a house with every safety measure in place. A break-in was simply out of the question.

She's even cracking jokes — she must have relaxed a lot.

That was a good sign. When you'd be spending two months in a new environment, a positive state of mind mattered most of all.

I was about to leisurely kick off my shoes, thinking nothing of it, when she asked one more question.

"Then why does the house look like... like a typhoon swept through it?"

"I beg your pardon?"

I lifted my head and glanced at the living room — and only then did I see it.

"Ah."

Coats flung carelessly across the sofa. A mountain of dirty dishes on the table. Curtains speckled thick with mold. And the floor was buried under a layer of dust so deep it had gone nearly gray.

It looked like a place long abandoned, weathered away by the elements — no, like a building that had taken a direct hit from a bomb. My home, neglected for weeks on end, lay utterly exposed before us.

"..."

"..."

Erzena slowly turned her head to look at me. The look in her eyes said, This is a house?

"Ah, that is — well, you see, I'm rarely home, so upkeep has been... difficult lately."

The excuses came spilling out before I could stop them. For the first time, I felt pressure under Erzena's gaze — a crushing weight I'd never felt even when she'd stood before me as the Saint.

Please don't look at me like that. I have my reasons too.

Commute. Overtime. More overtime. Home, sleep.

Commute. Overtime. Extended shifts. Home, sleep.

When your life was an endless loop of that, there was supposed to be time to clean — in theory. In practice, I'd come home, shed my clothes on the spot, grab a sliver of sleep, and head straight back to work. That was my daily routine.

Only after a long silence did an answer finally come.

"I-I understand. Immigration work isn't easy, so— koff!"

She'd inhaled a lungful of dust mid-sentence and broken into a coughing fit. I yanked the windows open at lightning speed to air the place out.

"I-I'm so sorry! I'll clean it right now!"

My face burned crimson. A young woman was barely tolerating a stay in my home, and of all days, I'd had to show her its true face on the one time I'd failed to clean. I wanted to die of shame.

What utter discourtesy. What a disgrace, to show a guest such a spectacle.

"Five minutes — just give me five minutes! I'll sweep away every last speck of dust, I swear!"

Formality and the First Rule be damned, I cried out in desperation. Erzena, watching me scramble madly in search of a broom, grabbed my arm in alarm.

"N-no no no, you don't have to! I'm serious, it's fine, Central Officer!"

"It is not! How could I possibly leave a guest to languish in this garbage heap! Just five minutes, I beg you!"

Let go. Hand me the broom this instant. I would blast this humiliation away along with the dust.

Erzena shoved me back as I lunged for the broom in the corner, shouting, "I-I know you lead a busy life! So it's fine! I understand completely!"

"Absolutely not! Please, allow me to clean!"

"You said you were exhausted today!"

In the end, I lost the tug-of-war. A frail little civil servant was never going to overpower a woman fortified by divine holy power.

Slumped against the front door, I muttered in the voice of a dying man, "...I'll hire a cleaning crew first thing tomorrow."

Get servants. Four maids or so. A full deep-clean of the house once a day from now on. No — better yet, hire a water mage to flood the entire place once a month.

I was sealing these solemn vows in my heart when Erzena stared at me blankly — then suddenly burst out laughing.

"Pfft. That's a first."

"What is?"

"You always call yourself 'this officer.' 'This officer says,' 'this officer will' — every single time. But just now, for the first time ever, you said 'I.'"

I paused to think back on it. True — the proper self-designation should always have been "this officer." In my panic, I'd apparently forgotten my formality as an Immigration Officer entirely.

"Well... it being my home and all... yes."

"Still, you must really feel at ease here. And from someone who kept protocol so scrupulously, too."

"That's exactly what makes it home, isn't it?"

The one place where I could truly relax and let my guard down. The one place where, at least when it came to sleep, I could rest without a care in the world. Here, I was not an Immigration Officer. I was simply Nathan Kell.

I did spend far too much time at the office, though. A faint flicker of regret stirred in me for how, ever since becoming Central Officer, I'd reduced this house to little more than a place to sleep. It was, in its own way, a sanctuary.

As I drifted into thought, Erzena hesitated, then murmured in a small voice, "Then... when it's just the two of us... you don't have to say 'this officer' if you'd rather not."

"...Pardon?"

Our eyes met again in the entryway. That prickling feeling crept back — something apart from holy power, something ticklish and warm.

"I... I shall make an effort."

Barely withstanding the sensation, I managed the reply.

"Yes... y-yes..."

Erzena, suddenly flustered herself, fanned her face and hurriedly changed the subject. "By the way — if you're busy enough to live like this, just how many hours a day do you work?"

"The Southern Border is short on officers, so usually around fourteen hours."

"F-fourteen hours?!"

"Twelve on a fast day?"

She looked aghast. "Then do you even get breaks? What about leisure? A life outside work?"

"Leisure?"

I tilted my head at the unfamiliar word. What was that again? I feel like I heard it once, a long time ago.

"You know — hobbies? Things you do when you have time to spare..."

"Time to spare?"

"Free time!"

"Free...?"

Another word I'd never heard before. I turned it over in my mind for a long moment.

"Ah. Activities one performs when not working."

"..."

"Well. When I was young... I did play a musical instrument, some."

"An instrument?"

Back before I'd become an Immigration Officer, at the merchant academy, I remembered occasionally messing around with a guitar. A hobby I'd taken up because staring at financial ledgers every single day was driving me half-mad.

Come to think of it, I was fairly sure there was a guitar somewhere in this house.

"I never imagined you'd have a hobby like that, Central Officer... Ah — might I hear you play sometime?"

Erzena looked up at me with eyes full of expectation.

"I've nearly forgotten it all by now. Rather embarrassing. That reminds me — you were famous as the Rock Spirit Saint, weren't you, Erzena?"

"Thinking back on it now, that nickname really was an embarrassing one to carry."

She gave a sheepish laugh.

I pointed toward the door leading down to the basement beyond the living room. "There should be a guitar somewhere in the storage cellar. It'll need tuning, of course. I'll take a look at it later — why not give it a try yourself?"

Erzena's face lit up at once. "May I, truly?"

"Of course. This is your home now, too."

She'd be staying here for the next two months; she deserved at least that much entertainment.

I gazed out the window at the darkening sky and murmured, "As much as I'd like to keep talking, the night is growing late. This officer should rest as well — there's work tomorrow."

"Yes, good. Which room should I use?"

"The room on the right, second floor. That's the guest room."

She leaned out and peered up at the second-floor corridor, then pointed at the other door beside the guest room. "And the one on the left — does it have some other purpose?"

"That is this officer's room."

"Ah."

A short, involuntary sigh escaped her. Erzena bowed her head deeply.

Come to think of it, that meant the two of us would be living with nothing but a single wall between us.

"Th-then I'll take a different room. It's just a bit of cleaning, so—"

"Stop. Talking. About cleaning."

Her voice turned to ice.

"...Yes, ma'am."

And so, my home gained a housemate.

The next morning.

— Bang.

I flung open the doors of the Immigration Management Office. "Good morning, everyone!"

"C-Central Officer?"

"I am officially returning to duty as of today. Thank you all for covering for me."

At my energetic morning greeting — the first they'd seen in years — the Five Senses Officers exchanged glances.

"Did he eat something weird?"

"I've never seen the Central Officer that chipper in the morning."

"Same here."

I smiled at them. "Ah, it's simply been ages since I slept properly. I feel reborn."

I didn't know why, but I'd dreamed last night. A dream in which a golden warmth wrapped around my whole body like a blanket. Perhaps because of it, the chronic muscle aches and headaches that had plagued me for so long had vanished entirely — as if they'd never existed at all.

I swung my arms in great circles and declared with total confidence, "This officer is in peak condition."

I felt so good it wouldn't have surprised me if my work efficiency doubled on the spot.

"Is that so. Slept well, did we..."

Suddenly, the Five Senses Officers' eyes narrowed to slits.

"See? Told you ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠that's how day one goes. They don't get drained right away — first they get all bouncy and glowy. The draining comes later."

"Someone's been taking very good care of himself, it seems."

"Youth really is the best, but isn't he being a little too obvious about it~?"

More of their nonsense. I ignored it cleanly and returned to my desk — where a mountain of paperwork nearly as tall as I was waited.

"Good grief."

Even after everything the Olfactory Officer had already processed, this much remained. I could only imagine the hell they'd all been through these past three ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠days.

I calmly skimmed through the stack. "Entry manifest, departure manifest, financial reports, border complaints..."

Endless in both variety and volume. I was assigning priorities one document at a time when—

— Tap.

A single, out-of-place envelope dropped onto the table.

"Hm?"

It was an exquisitely fine envelope — the kind that looked far too expensive for ordinary people to use. I opened it.

Inside was a sheet of letter paper, each character pressed into the page with deliberate, careful force. It read: