Chapter 5
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Translator: Ebonarch
Chapter: 5
Chapter Title: An Irresistible Proposal (1)
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Monday morning, that cursed day of the week.
"What a goddamn morning, comrades."
The Olfactory Officer growled irritably as he barely made it to work on time.
For a nocturnal werewolf, few things could be more agonizing than waking up in the morning.
And if it was a Monday morning? Even worse.
"Yaaawn. Gustatory Officer, how was your weekend? Getting used to the screening work yet?"
At the question tossed out amid a lazy yawn, the Gustatory Officer—who'd been slumped in the corner with hollow eyes—sprang to her feet and shouted.
"Hot! Werewolves are famous for eating raw meat as their staple food and waxing poetic about the moon! Especially under a full moon, the whole clan gathers for a meal, then climbs high to howl!"
"Uh... Gustatory Officer?"
"Not only that, their sense of smell is extraordinarily developed, allowing them to track even the faintest scents—"
The Olfactory Officer turned his head and shot me—a sight he seemed to approve of—a satisfied glance.
"Central Officer. Did this one eat something bad?"
"Nah, just some weekend re-education."
"Pardon?"
He was covered head to toe in fur, so he'd never felt the cold in his life. But right now, he shivered like he was naked in a January north wind.
"Wh-what the hell did you do to make a newbie who's only been here a month go through re-education...?"
"Sprinkled water on a fire spirit."
"She had it coming."
The Olfactory Officer accepted it without question.
Time to snap the Gustatory Officer out of it too. If she kept this up, she'd do the same during actual work.
"Gustatory Officer. That's enough. Re-education's over."
"Humans are the most populous race on the continent, known for their exceptional adaptability and affinity! They also have high reproductive compatibility, producing countless hybrids with other races..."
"Stop there."
"The title 'Gustatory Officer' is one of the sensory-based positions among the southern border immigration screeners, responsible for tas—"
This won't do. I overworked her and broke her.
"Sita, enough!"
"Eek!"
Calling her by name instead of title finally startled her back to reality.
Light returned to her hollow eyes.
"C-Central Officer? Is it test time already? I still have more to read..."
"Re-education's over. You can stop."
"Really?"
"Yes."
"Th-then no re-test? No need to read the whole continental races encyclopedia again?"
Her question dripped with faint hope and thick distrust.
Over the two days, I'd repeated "Just finish this and you're free" dozens of times. No wonder she didn't believe me easily.
Fine, one quick final test.
"Hmm... What race is on page 24 of volume 3 of the encyclopedia?"
"Quarter Kraken. Characteristics of human-Kraken hybrids!"
"Pass. Back to your seat."
At "pass," the Gustatory Officer hopped in place like a kid.
"Yay! Freedom! Yayyy! Sita's free! I can go home now!"
"Not free. Time to work."
"Huh? Why?"
"It's Monday."
"Ughhh..."
The light vanished from her eyes again.
As she shuffled zombie-like back to her seat, the Olfactory Officer let out a hearty laugh.
"Congrats. You just broke the record for shortest time to re-education. I got mine after a year on the job. A month? Impressive."
Right. The Gustatory Officer now held the title of fastest re-education graduate.
But that wasn't something to laugh about. Especially not you, werewolf.
"Olfactory Officer. You and I need a little chat first."
"Pardon?"
His deep, dark wolf eyes went wide. Just like the Gustatory Officer's earlier.
"Wh-why? I mean, why, sir?"
Why is for your buddies, you little pup.
"Did you think I wouldn't notice you clocking out early on Friday without reporting? An hour early? Let's discuss that."
"...How did you even...?"
"To the conference room. Now."
Did you have fun with the family under the full moon this weekend? I didn't even get a break.
The other two screeners snickered as the Olfactory Officer slunk into the room of truth, tail drooping.
"Not a wolf, a dog."
"That's species discrimination, Auditory Officer. Though it's spot on. Hehe."
You're not off the hook either, you two.
"Auditory Officer, Tactile Officer. You're next."
"What???"
"How many times have I told you not to drink while in uniform? You two got properly wasted in the market district Friday night."
"Gasp!"
The two women flinched, hit right in the gut.
"Especially you, Auditory Officer. Blowing a tune with guys on either side, huh?"
Shouldn't you have grown up after 500 years, you long-eared elf?
And you, Tactile Officer—your hair's tentacles, not your brain. Why follow along like it's fun?
The two officers mirrored the Olfactory Officer's expression.
"...How did you...?"
There's no other elf or tentacle woman in immigration uniforms besides you two. Word spreads.
"Everyone except Gustatory Officer—to the conference room. Now!"
Better to handle all three at once.
"Heh heh... Heh heh heh... Re-education... So fun..."
Only the Gustatory Officer watched the scene with a creepy grin.
The effects of re-education were tremendous.
"Don't stop there! Keep moving!"
"This, and this. Where's it from? Huh? Doesn't match what you said!"
"Five minutes—no, two! Speak up! Who are you!"
"Per Immigration Regulation Article 2, Clause 28, Grade 3 artifacts require a National Pension Association certification mark for import...!"
About an hour later, I nodded in satisfaction at the four screeners inspecting incoming cargo more briskly than ever.
"Gotta do this every now and then."
Look at that—the Olfactory Officer had already cleared one merchant group.
The Auditory Officer, an elf no less, was hounding her own attendant instead of taking it easy.
Seeing this passion on a Monday morning—reserved for pre-audit rushes—was a miracle.
"At this rate, we might break the daily max entrants record."
Processing was so swift, not even a mouse slipped toward my side. The Tactile Officer was handling five at once.
Admiring my subordinates' rare diligence, my attendant approached with a crystal orb.
"Central Officer. Regular report time soon."
"Oh, right. It's Monday."
Almost forgot.
Every Monday, we reported to the Foreign Affairs Ministry.
Border happenings had to reach the capital. Mandatory duty.
Wonder what the Minister would say today.
I positioned myself near the "Accident-Free: 97 Days" sign for perfect visibility.
"How's that? Sign look good?"
"Perfect."
97 days. The hell I'd gone through to keep it—Minister had to see this.
Three more days without incident, and bonus pay was mine. No way I'd let that slip.
Friday's mess was handled quietly—no need to mention. Accident-free streak intact.
Good. Just keep it like this.
"Connecting now."
Mana flowed into the crystal orb, light flared, and a skinny man buried in paperwork appeared.
Scribble-scribble-scribble.
His weary eyes raced down documents, quill flying nonstop—the only sound from the orb.
Minister pulling another all-nighter, sacrificing his weekend again.
"Ahem! Good morning, Minister."
Only after my deliberate cough did his gaze lift from the papers.
- Huh? What? Why's this on?
"Good to see you after a week. Immigration Screener Nathan Kell—"
- Hey, secretary! How do you turn this off? Southern border Central Officer's face just popped up—it's stressing me out.
Not the reaction I expected. His flustered secretary rushed over to fiddle with the orb.
"Minister! It's regular report time. Don't turn it off!"
- Regular report? It's Monday already?
The secretary sister smiled awkwardly, setting down the 24th teacup on his desk.
- Ah, damn it. Doc said no all-nighters.
"Busy times lately, I see. Thanks for your hard work for the nation."
- Thanks, my ass. Continent's biggest hotspot is why it's like this.
Minister sounded exhausted. Spouting stuff that'd get anyone else fired without hesitation.
"Won't take long, Minister. Quick report. Last Friday—"
- Yeah, saw the report. You're dismissed.
"..."
Report over. Three seconds flat.
I hadn't even started.
"Uh... Really?"
- Gustatory Officer nearly let a fire spirit burn down your post, Tactile and Auditory got dragged off by guards for public drunkenness with guys. I know all about it.
Now I wore my subordinates' earlier expressions.
"...How did you...?"
- Word came straight from Reyes Margrave, your local lord. Asked if Immigration Control Office had issues. So I looked into it.
Ah, damn.
That's why I said no trouble. Of all people, it reaches the Margrave's ears.
He eyed me pitifully, then shifted to the sign behind.
- Well, Central Officer. Accident-free 97 days? Three days from bonus? Impressive.
"Y-yes. Thanks to diligent staff and your guidance, sir."
- My guidance, huh?
His eyes gleamed, an evil chuckle echoing through the orb.
- Erase it.
Death sentence.
"M-Minister! I—no, we handled it! No issues at all!"
- If no issues, it wouldn't have reached me. I'm swamped, and I can't have even you pulling this. Stop wasting time.
"Urk, but...!"
- But? Mutiny now?
"No! I mean—!"
- Erase it. Or own up, come to the capital, and write an apology.
Devilish choices made my teeth chatter.
Losing accident-free streak? Horrific.
But trekking to the capital in year four to submit paperwork? Worse. We border hicks already got sneered at; imagine explaining a scolding trip.
No choice. One option left.
Swallowing tears, I grabbed the eraser cloth and approached the sign.
"...Erasing it okay?"
- Spotless. No trace.
Ah, my painstaking days. Scattered to dust like this.
As I reached to wipe the cherished "97" chalked with care, the Minister spoke.
- Or do one job for me. Handle it well, and Friday's incidents? Never happened.
Answer instant.
"I'll do it."
- Didn't even say what yet.
"Doesn't matter. As long as accident-free 97 days holds."
- Bonus-crazed, huh?
"Praise from a trader's son."
Three months' salary in bonuses for three days? I'd do anything.
Ministry folks lounged in the capital while we slaved in the boonies—we earned this.
- Fine.
Seeing my eyes blaze with zeal, the Minister shoved aside his papers, steepled his fingers, and propped his chin.
- Roughly six days ago, the Holy Church formed a pilgrimage group in Mahalan Kingdom, southern continent. Heading north—a long haul.
Mahalan Kingdom. I remembered.
That farmer we screened Friday last was from there. Deep faith in the gods, he'd said.
"Pilgrims after quite a while. Last was summer last year, I think."
Pilgrims came infrequently but steadily.
To see holy sites and relics, or wandering where faith led.
Mostly meek and obedient. Preferred talk over violence.
Screeners liked them.
Small groups too—quick checks. Ideal guests.
"How many? 20? 30?"
Max we'd handled at once: about 50. Manageable.
- Big scale. Around 700.
Must've misheard.
"...War break out? Those aren't refugees?"
- Exactly 726 on our list. Factor in joiners en route? Near 1,000. Maybe more.
20 times estimates.
That overwhelming number dizzied me. Peak holiday crush levels.
I barely screened 200 solo daily. 1,000 at once?
Even splitting with the five officers: 250 extra each?
"Joke's too much, Minister. We're not that close."
- Want the intel department roster? Got a stack here.
Piles of papers where he pointed—the ones he'd been shredding nonstop.
Deep breath. Think accident-free. Yeah.
"Hoo, hooo... F-fine. We can handle it. Pull an all-nighter. Or two days' overtime—"
- Not the issue, Central Officer.
But the Minister wasn't done.
He picked up a paper with a grave face.
- Recognize this woman?
This nightmare had more?
There: portrait of a woman with sky-blue hair.
Radiant golden eyes, necklace with church emblem. Stunning.
I knew her.
"Saintess Erzena... Holy Church's top figure."
- Right. You know her.
Saintess. Everyone knows the word.
Voice of the gods.
God's chosen proxy, revered as closest to divinity.
Absolute status, rank, prestige.
Even I, religion-agnostic, knew the celeb.
Why bring her up now?
Oh.
No way.
"Minister."
- Yep.
"Come on. No jokes."
Jokes past verse one turn sour by two or three. Why today?
Despite my plea, the bastard dropped the bomb.
- The Saintess joined the pilgrimage.
Holy shit.
My scream echoed through the conference room.