1. The Chairwoman Conceals the Finances

I'd caught wind of the rumors, that was all.

I was studying for the civil service exam and needed something to take the edge off. I liked games well enough, but I couldn't exactly sink endless hours into an MMO.

So I'd picked up a decently reviewed indie title I kept hearing about. That was it.

A medieval fantasy game split into three acts: Dark Kingdom.

After finishing Act 1, the Academy arc, my assessment was that it landed exactly where you'd expect a mid-tier indie game to land. Acceptable graphics, acceptable story, acceptable content.

But the difficulty was no joke, which explained the reputation. Clearing the Academy arc—supposedly the easiest part—took me over ten hours.

That's enough for today.

As an exam candidate, I couldn't afford to do nothing but game. I decided to save the next act for tomorrow, after my part-time shift.

I shut the laptop and went to sleep.

And then.

"Fuck."

"F-Finance Director? Why would you suddenly—"

"Nothing, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Chairwoman. A few old memories surfaced."

"If that's all it was..."

I never met a so-called god. No shady game company ever emailed me.

I simply found myself transported into the world of Dark Kingdom.

And five years passed.

Those first days were pure confusion. I kept wondering if I was dreaming, or if my goshiwon had thrown me out in the middle of the night even though I'd promised to vacate by the end of the month, overdue rent aside.

I shouted at the empty air for a status screen. On the off chance it would work, I tried saying "log out." Nothing answered.

The place I woke up was a cabin in the middle of nowhere. I walked outside in my pajamas, grabbed the first person I saw, and asked where I was. A few familiar words surfaced.

Kingdom. Mage. The Dark Sword.

That was when it clicked: I'd landed inside the game. I still retained a lot of the lore and proper nouns from the Academy arc.

"Ahem. Finance Director? Finance Director?"

If there's a silver lining, it's that I don't particularly want to go back. My parents bailed after their divorce. I scraped by on government subsidies and part-time wages just to pass the equivalency exam, then started studying for the civil service.

Compared to a life where you get kicked out of your goshiwon because you can't pay rent, shooting for a second life in another world struck me as the play with better odds.

I sold off my conspicuous pajamas for a modest price and pocketed some new clothes and a tiny ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠war chest. The merchant claimed the fabric was high-quality and swore he'd given me a great deal. Since I didn't know the market rate, I just thanked him. Looking back, I got scammed. Bastard.

"Finance Director? Don't tell me you're ignoring me on purpose."

I worked odd jobs in nearby villages and towns, and eventually I made up my mind: I'd go to the Academy.

It wasn't about wanting to meet the protagonist or the heroines, or about inserting myself into the story. It was because, according to the lore, the Academy's tuition was insanely cheap while it practically threw scholarships and grants at you.

How attached could I really be to characters from a game I'd only played for ten hours? Just in case, I looked into it, and the real Academy's tuition and scholarships matched the game's setting exactly.

Honestly, I didn't want to spend my life doing manual labor, and since I'd been studying for a government job, I had my sights on a decent administrative post. That would be a successful life by any standard, wouldn't it?

So, one thing led to another, I studied for a year, and I got into the Academy. A lot happened in that year—we can leave it at that—but I got in.

"Oh, come on, this is too much! I know I messed up badly this time, but outright ignoring me?!"

The one downside? During the rank assessment, I scored 1st Rank—the lowest tier.

I'd hoped to try magic once I realized I was in a game world, but 1st Rank is basically an ordinary civilian. Well, I'd majored in administration anyway, so I didn't dwell on it much.

For the next three years, I studied hard at the Academy. I earned scholarships, got selected as an honors student, and had a pretty solid academy life overall.

Graduates from the Academy's administration program get one special privilege.

The opportunity to secure immediate employment in the Academy's administrative corps.

Unlike other applicants, admin graduates who place in the top five of their class get what amounts to a guaranteed job. I made the top five, so I decided to simply take a position at the Academy.

After all that effort, I'd landed a job at one of the kingdom's most prestigious private academies. A quasi-government position. A lifetime career, I thought.

I thought I'd succeeded at my second life.

"FINANCE DIRECTOR!"

"Chairwoman, you're going to rupture my eardrums. You do realize that an 8th Rank transcendent shrieking at full volume can pop a 1st Rank's eardrums with ease, don't you?"

"You—! You suddenly stopped talking! And then you ignored me! And who exactly shrieked—!"

"Dignity, Chairwoman. If the other staff see you like this, their image of you will shatter."

"There's nobody here but you and me!"

Bam! Bam!

Slamming the desk with both hands—she was clearly furious. I'd drifted into old memories without meaning to, and the Chairwoman had taken it the wrong way.

The Chairwoman, the owner of this private academy, was an 8th Rank powerhouse. If those hands, the same ones making that desk-slamming look like a joke, landed a direct hit on my pitiful 1st Rank body, I'd die on the spot.

And so what?

Getting lost in a flashback was my fault, so I'd been listening quietly.

But it seemed the Chairwoman had briefly forgotten something.

"Very well. Let's return to the original topic."

"Yes! I am the Chairwoman, and ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠you are my subordinate! A minimal level of courtesy—"

"To keep this conversation productive, I'll restate the conclusion."

Under normal circumstances, maybe. But right now, the power dynamics of this meeting were something else entirely.

The reason she and I were alone in the Chairwoman's office in the first place.

"I speak as Finance Director. Based on the last five years of budgets and expenditures, if current trends continue, this academy will be bankrupt in three years."

"...Three years, you said?"

"The original projection was around five years. The revision is due to the futures trade you executed unilaterally and in secret one week ago, which wiped out roughly half of our liquid reserves."

"......"

"And rather than come clean immediately, you hid it for a full week, didn't you? The conversation we just finished involved me discovering that in the books and confronting you about it."

"...That."

"I'll give you five seconds."

"Uh, what?"

"If you cannot produce a valid excuse within five seconds, I will submit my resignation and leave. Five. Four."

"W-wait! I can explain! I can explain everything! I'm serious!"

Yeah, you'd better be able to explain. God, I hope so.

The Chairwoman I knew was volatile. Simple-minded. Impulsive. Pointlessly prideful. Irritating.

But she wasn't a gambler. If she were, this academy would have gone bankrupt before I even enrolled.

I crossed my arms and waited in silence. The Chairwoman fidgeted, then stammered.

At that, I pulled the edge of the resignation letter from inside my coat.

"I-I did it for the academy, all right? In my own way!"

"Three."

"I mean it! I knew even before you arrived that the academy was heading for ruin at this rate! I needed one big swing, not more small adjustments!"

"Two."

"You know me! I'm not ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠bragging, but you know I don't even glance at gambling! They told me the profit margin if it succeeded, and it was tempting! If it worked, the bankruptcy deadline would've gone from five years to ten!"

"One."

"Let's be blunt! This entire private academy runs on my money! The money I earned over my entire life! I built this academy! I grew it!"

Oh, absolutely true. Not a single word of that was wrong.

Unlike most academies in the kingdom—which were public—this one was private. It had become the kingdom's top institution practically overnight, all on the back of the Chairwoman's staggering wealth.

She'd recruited the best faculty with premium salaries. Tuition was so cheap even I, working manual labor, could afford it. The scholarship system was so generous that not a single student could claim they'd never received one.

The buildings and research facilities were top-tier, and she employed a small army to keep the academy spotless. I had no intention of denying that all of it was possible because of the Chairwoman's fortune.

There was just one problem.

The operative word was "was."

"How much of your personal fortune remains, Chairwoman?"

"...Half."

"You still have half?"

"Half of a half of a half of a half of a half of a half... roughly."

So basically one percent left.

Before founding the academy, the Chairwoman's fortune had ranked among the top five in the kingdom. Decades of academy operations had drained it to nothing.

The reason was obvious if you thought about why other rich people don't establish private academies. An academy—a university—is a place that burns money like water, not a place that makes it.

Even accounting for that, the Chairwoman had been uniquely bad at this. She'd vaguely figured "this much should be enough," but reality had turned out to be far more unforgiving than she'd imagined.

Should I be impressed that even with one percent of her wealth left, she could keep this massive academy running for three more years? Or should I grab whatever severance pay I could and run before the whole thing went under?

I was honestly weighing the options when the Chairwoman rose from her seat and approached me.

"F-Finance Director! You know you're the only person I can trust with this! The academy's financial situation is a secret shared only between you and me!"

"What a deeply moving secret."

Finance Director. As if. I was the entire Finance Department. And even that only existed because I'd accidentally stumbled across the financial records in the Chairwoman's office.

To hide the looming bankruptcy, the Chairwoman had handled all budget management personally. The professors and other departments didn't care much, honestly—as long as the budgets and salaries arrived on time, they had no reason to look closer.

In other words, the bankruptcy three years from now was a secret known only to me and the Chairwoman. Fuck.

"I'll do anything! I mean it, absolutely anything!"

"...Anything, you say?"

"I don't doubt your abilities! Things have improved so much since you took over—before, I was completely hopeless on my own! I trust you!"

I decided not to point out that this "improvement" was what had given her the breathing room to gamble on futures in the first place. That would obliterate what was left of the Chairwoman's fragile heart and conscience.

What mattered was that she'd said she'd do anything.

Clinging to my pant leg practically on the verge of begging, the Chairwoman looked up at me with an expression of grim resolve.

"If it means keeping you at this academy...! I'll even offer my—my body!"

"Excellent. Then go put that body to use."

"Excuse me?! I mean, even so, right here is a little—what?"

"Are you not, in name and fact, an 8th Rank martial artist? I've already compiled a list of physical-labor opportunities. Deep-sea fishing boats off the eastern coast, coal mines in the southern mountains, and there's a salt field out on the islands. Several other options as well—all capable of earning relatively high wages in a short period. Choose wisely."

"......"