Chapter 7
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Translator: Ebonarch
Chapter: 7
Chapter Title: Arbitrary (?) Overtime Negotiations
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About 15 minutes later.
"So, let me get this straight,"
The Tactile Officer, finally regaining her composure, raised a hand while catching her breath.
"To sum it up: a pilgrimage group is coming from the south, and we're supposed to handle them, right?"
"Exactly."
"And it's no less than 1,000 people strong, at minimum."
"Yes."
"Plus, the Saintess is with them, and we have to take care of that high-and-mighty figure too, but we don't even know when they're arriving?"
"That's right."
"They could show up tomorrow, or maybe a week from now, and we have to prepare for it?"
"You summed it up perfectly, Tactile Officer. Yes."
She tidied up my ramblings so neatly. Thanks for that.
The Tactile Officer calmly lowered her hand and scanned the room with a face full of tension.
The Olfactory Officer, Gustatory Officer, and Auditory Officer met her eyes and nodded meaningfully.
With their approval, she fired off a very serious question.
"So, when do we get to go home?"
The answer came instantly.
"You don't."
"Until when?"
"Until the pilgrimage group reaches the border."
"When's that?"
"No idea."
"Can we go home once they arrive?"
"No, not until everyone passes immigration."
I repeated what I'd told these rebels 15 minutes ago.
"You can clock out once the entire pilgrimage group and the Saintess clear inspection. It's our top priority. Until then, everyone stays put."
In other words, indefinite overtime.
"So... when does this emergency duty status kick in?"
"Starting now."
No one leaves this place from this moment on.
Not me, not you all.
Round two begins.
"Why do we have to deal with this?! This is the Foreign Affairs Ministry's job, those smug bastards!"
"What the hell kind of dogshit— I mean, nonsense is that?!"
"Central Officer, guarantee our time off! We want a workplace free of forced overtime!"
"Send us home, home home home home home!"
The Olfactory Officer slammed the desk repeatedly, while the Gustatory Officer flopped onto the floor and threw a full-on tantrum.
Where'd the Auditory Officer even get that picket sign from? 'Evil Boss Step Down'? She flipped over a spare signboard for that.
If only they'd show this kind of unity on the regular.
"Ca-calm down just a second and hear me out. In exchange, the Foreign Affairs Ministry will provide fair compensation—"
"Central Officer, it's been three days since I last saw my mom! I spent the whole weekend just reading books, waaah! I wanna see my mommy!"
I miss my mom too, Gustatory Officer. I couldn't go home because I had to re-educate you lot.
"I'm reporting you to the Foreign Affairs Ministry. I'll say my boss is obsessed with promotions and won't let us go home! This is abuse of power! Species discrimination!"
Wasn't your early clock-out an abuse of authority? And 'you'? This wolf pup's lost it.
Finally reaching the end of my patience, I slammed the chalkboard next to me and shouted.
"Argh, shut up! Everyone, just shut it! I want to go home too! But you—no, all of you broke the no-accident streak! That's why I couldn't even refuse!"
"When did we?! Got proof? This is presumption of guilt!"
"Right on! Right on!"
Have you ever seen such shameless punks?
Proof? I've got proof.
Fueled by anger, I pointed at each one in turn.
"Gustatory Officer, death threat to a fire spirit!"
"Eek."
"Tactile and Auditory Officers, public intoxication scandal!"
"Guh."
"Olfactory Officer, unauthorized early dismissal!"
"Urk."
"It was all you idiots! Wanna get fired? Lose your performance bonus?!"
Saying it out loud just pisses me off more. You damn fools.
I want to go home too. But orders from above.
"It's been four days since I last clocked out. But we've got official orders from upstairs, and we can't refuse! The Saintess and pilgrimage have already set out—should I tell them to turn back?"
"Well, no, but..."
"Then shut it!"
"Uuu..."
Once I pointed out their blatant screw-ups, the four deflated instantly, their voices shrinking.
Managing to cool my anger at the sight, I continued softly.
"We'll be bunking here together for the time being. I know it's uncomfortable, but we'll be on emergency duty until the pilgrimage arrives. No one goes home. Got it?"
"Oooovertime..."
Their tails, ears, tentacles, and shoulders drooped pitifully.
Anyone seeing this would think I was some tyrannical boss berating innocent kids.
"Sigh, lighten up. In exchange for your hard work, the Minister promised compensation."
The four perked up.
"Huh? What kind?"
"100 extra accident-free days for normalizing operations. Plus another 100 if the pilgrimage passes the northern border without incident. Total: 297 accident-free days."
The room buzzed at the generous offer.
"2—297 days? That's..."
"Triple our salary in bonuses. Hey Tactile Officer, what's our longest streak so far?"
"128 days. And that was with the Visual Officer still around."
Their resolve wavered visibly.
I could see their ironclad determination to clock out fading.
Nail the mission and hold out three days for 300 accident-free days. Triple salary in bonuses.
No one would turn that down. Look at those eyes already calculating.
Just like with the fire spirit fiasco.
Everything shows on their faces.
"But I still wanna go home."
"Living and eating at work? That's torture."
"If the bonus is that good, maybe we can tough it out...?"
But they weren't fully sold yet.
Patriots, sense of duty, ambition—not a shred among them.
How do I make these guys blindly devoted to this mission?
A gig like this needs passion and diligence. And you can't force that.
They have to commit willingly.
Wholeheartedly, even.
Then, a flash of inspiration hit me.
The Kell family merchant secret technique: buy one, get one free.
Give one, then give more.
The Minister's being generous with rewards—I'll sweeten the pot myself.
"How about this: take the accident-free days, and on my discretion, I'll give each of you five days' vacation. Nice and restful."
"Ooooh!!"
The sense officers' eyes sparkled. They were already hooked.
But a master negotiator drives the nail home.
"Don't get too excited yet. There's more."
"M-more!?"
The four swallowed hard, faces brimming with anticipation.
I added gravely.
"Paid leave."
When you give, give big.
The first to bolt from the meeting room was the Olfactory Officer.
"Attendant!! Head to the market and grab pillows and blankets!!! Fluffy fur ones!!!"
True to his werewolf nature, his booming shout shook the building.
"W-wait! I get first dibs!"
"Mommy, I'll write you a letter! I won't be home for a while!"
The Tactile and Gustatory Officers chased after, clamoring out of the room.
The only one left without bolting was the Auditory Officer.
"Hah. So young. Falling for that."
"Auditory Officer. You don't look thrilled."
"Thrilled?"
She let out a hollow laugh and eyed me.
"You know how it is, Central Officer. Time off means little to elves. Got any other offers?"
"Ho, even for paid leave?"
"I can just work a few more days."
She crossed her arms firmly, acting like she wasn't swayed easily.
Right, you've never been as money-grubbing as the others.
And as an elf, your sense of time is way looser anyway.
'Forgot she's just a woman who finds joy in after-work drinks.'
But I've got more than one trick up my sleeve.
"Then I'll have to offer you something special."
I straightened up calmly and pulled out a large bottle hidden under the desk.
"Limited-edition Northern Tundra 24-Year Frost Dragon Wine. Got it from my father last time. It's yours."
For the first time since joining, the Auditory Officer let out a shrill scream.
"Fr-Frost Dragon Wine!? The one you can only buy one bottle of every 12 years!?"
Merchant secret: hit their exact tastes.
Offer precisely what they crave.
"And this fine crystal glass set is a bonus."
Merchant secret: buy one, get one free—again.
Nearly splintering the door on her way out, the Auditory Officer yelled.
"Attendant!!! Hit the market for late-night snacks—no, drinking snacks!!!"
Simpletons.
The last ones left in the meeting room were me and my direct attendant.
"...Sometimes, sir, you scare me."
"I'll take that as a compliment."
And so, the sense officers' rebellion ended.
Alright, now that I've erased 'going home' from my subordinates' minds. What's next on the list?
Assessing our department's current situation, I suppose.
I asked my attendant.
"On second thought, at least 1,000—no, probably 2,000 people. How many total staff do we have in immigration?"
"Including entry inspectors, attendants, you, and the sense officers: 96."
96 people.
I frowned involuntarily.
"Way too few."
Too few. Far too few.
At the southern border, it's just me and the sense officers as immigration officers. Everyone else is support staff.
Plenty for basic 'immigration checks,' but that's not all we do.
Anyone who's seen the border with their own eyes knows.
The endless lines of people and goods waiting to cross that long, jagged line.
It's on us to keep order in those lines so fights don't break out, and issues don't escalate to security threats.
And that's not all—we sort cargo, block sneaky outsiders and illegals.
In short: line up 2,000 people + prevent crime + inspect cargo + block illegals + process immigration. All at once.
"Our numbers alone won't cut it..."
"And don't forget regular traffic on top of the pilgrimage, sir."
Oh, right. Not just the pilgrims. Everyday crossers too. Makes it worse.
96 people can't handle this. Might take three straight days and nights.
And if something goes wrong and waiting crowds start fighting... how do we even stop that?
We desperately need extra hands.
'Need more people. At least 50 more.'
Reading my expression, the attendant suggested.
"Shall we hire outsiders? Offer decent pay, and they'll flock."
"No. Too unreliable."
No matter how urgent, we can't just beg randoms off the street.
This is guarding the kingdom's border. Can't risk bribes for backdoor passes.
I still remember the bloodbath from a similar incident four years ago.
'Can't let that happen again. Ever.'
That'd shatter our accident-free streak for good.
'Even handling state affairs, I need reliable people.'
Where's a department that handles national duties without bending to bribes? Think.
"Foreign Affairs and Intelligence are shorthanded, deployed to east and north. Other border inspectors? Who knows how long to get here."
"What about Interior Ministry? From the capital, three days."
"Not bad, but..."
Solid idea. But no ties to Interior, so sudden favors are awkward.
Plus, outside their jurisdiction—messy accountability.
Then, a forgotten name popped into my head.
"Border Guard."
Stationed at the border like us, but they only move for violence or crime.
Under the margrave's territory like us, yet independent with their own duties and authority. A sacred state role: guarding the border.
Perfect fit.
Not outsiders, too honest for bribes, blind loyalty to the kingdom, and brute force from their 3-meter-plus frames.
Issue: zero flexibility. Like, none.
The attendant said worriedly.
"You sure? If the Border Guard steps in, the pilgrims might see it as show of force."
Very possible.
3-meter golems with clubs? Intimidating to anyone.
Could even look like a threat.
But we'll cover that. They'll at least listen to our Immigration Office.
Not the time to nitpick.
I steeled myself and told the attendant.
"Send a message to the Border Guard."
With a reluctant face, he infused mana into the crystal orb. A blocky face appeared, huge as a door.
[State your business.]
"Good to see you, Border Guard Captain. This is Southern Border Immigration—"
[Business. Submit in writing.]
Still the same guy.
"...Paper and pen?"
I scribbled a quick summary of the situation and request, showed it. A reply as stiff as his rocky build came right back.
[Request noted. Cooperation approved. Comm link terminated.]
True to a stone golem—monotonous as hell.
The orb went dark in under four seconds.
Done.
"Great, one big worry down. Now we focus on immigration."
Yeah, they'll handle order perfectly. That alone lightens our load a ton.
Time to cool off and think about the rest.
"Sir. One thing you should know."
"Shoot."
Finally relaxing into my chair, the attendant handed me a sheet.
A quick note on the Saintess's profile, copied from what the Minister showed earlier.
"My wife's a Holy Church devotee, so she mentions this sometimes: Saintess Erzena is... well, more unique than any saintess in history, personality-wise."
"Oh? How so?"
"Intensely so, apparently."
Intensely unique. I could guess.
'Some stormy teen phase, probably.'
God's chosen or not, she's just a freshly adult girl.
Bound to hit that dragon-proof puberty stage.
What happens when a clueless teen girl gets saintess worship?
Obvious. Grows into a spoiled, power-drunk brat.
Weak to vanity and desires.
'A girl like that would be way easier to handle.'
Just nod along, flatter a bit, and she'll behave.
Toss in some jewels or crafts as gifts—perfect.
"No worries. A few items from my family merchant group will smooth it over. Let's brainstorm how to allocate the pilgrims first."
How weird could she be, anyway?