1. The Chairwoman Conceals the Finances
1. The Chairwoman Conceals the Finances
The budget meeting, which had been nothing short of a war, concluded with 60 percent allocated to the Magic Department, 25 percent to the Martial Arts Department, and 15 percent to the Administration Department.
Looking purely at the result, you might argue a hair-loss remedy alone couldn't justify such an excessive allocation—but the Magic Department had always claimed at least 40 percent, Administration hovered around 10, and the Martial Arts Department took what was left.
And what made the outcome decisive was the fact that several professors had thrown their enthusiastic support behind Professor Kirke's research topic.
"Even if our own lab budgets shrink, we stand with Professor Kirke."
"We are scholars and researchers, after all. Investing more heavily in research for humanity's future is only right."
"Professor Kirke's work may well save the world."
The fact that the crowns of those who had risen to their feet in an emotional fervor all gleamed conspicuously hardly needs further comment.
Even those who still retained a lush head of hair were, with the exception of a tiny minority of professors, largely convinced. And given Professor Kirke's proven track record in life-magic innovations, the prospect of success wasn't entirely fantasy.
I, of course, had absolutely no shortage of hair, so I focused purely on the revenue side.
'If she really manages to develop a hair-loss drug, it could buy the academy a lot of time before bankruptcy.'
Hell, unless I was seriously underestimating the spending power of the bald, it might even become a long-term revenue stream for the institution itself.
To make that happen, I needed to negotiate with Professor Kirke. The right way, this time.
'If she donates the research to the Church like last time, we're back to square one.'
Honestly, it ticks me off. The academy pays for your meals, your lodging, your research—it's an investment, isn't it? Is it really so outrageous to ask for a return?
Whether Professor Kirke could actually pull off the feat of developing a hair-loss drug within the three years we had left was anyone's guess.
But before the research kicked off in earnest, I needed to sit down with her and talk through the details.
'Fine. I'll finish drafting this budget report and go see her immediately.'
The remaining tasks weren't so many. Rough out the basic planning document, itemize the detailed budget allocation, transcribe the meeting minutes, draft an impact assessment based on the allocation results, along with a priority research-proposal forecast, circulate it to the working-level departments for review, receive reports on intra-department distribution of funds, compile those into yet another report, and finally secure the Chairwoman's approval on the budget resolution.
Ah, and in between all that, field the objections and questions raised about the allocations, prepare the supplementary budget proposals mandated by academy regulations, send packing the professors who drop by to beg for just a little more funding, keep tabs on the academy's operating costs, repair bills, payroll, tuition revenue, and expenditure records, and maintain the bookkeeping—all of that comes as a bonus.
Once all of it was done, I'd personally head over to Professor Kirke's office and schedule a meeting? Like hell I would.
Fuck, there's no way I'm meeting her.
'Last year I was even busier—I forgot what she was even researching. This year I have to make it happen.'
Her healing-potion improvement work had taken about two years, from what I'd heard. Even under the rosiest assumption that a hair-loss remedy would take another two years, developing the drug is only the first step toward revenue.
I'd need to build a distribution network through trading companies, secure sales permits from every territory, clear the mandatory inspections by the Royal Medical Bureau and the Church since it's a pharmaceutical, and even once sales began, it would take at least a month before income started flowing properly.
Obviously, three years wasn't just tight—it was borderline impossible. But we had no other options, so here I was, clinging to this one.
If I could lay these circumstances bare, it might be different. But the academy's brink-of-bankruptcy finances were a secret shared only by the Chairwoman and me.
'I need people.'
It was a thought I'd had since the day I accepted the Finance Director position a year ago, and it hadn't changed one bit.
Finance Director, they called it. The Finance Department consisted of me and no one else. And yet, as the head of a department, the post was far beyond what words like "meteoric rise" could capture, considering my age and experience. My peers who'd joined the academy alongside me were still the youngest members of their respective departments, and here I was, a director.
Worse, I had the Chairwoman's favor—ostensibly to stave off bankruptcy. Any right-thinking academy employee would naturally regard me with a jaundiced eye.
If some new hire caught the eye of the Chairwoman, shadowed her like a personal secretary, and landed a director's seat overseeing budget allocation and management, I'd curse them out behind their back too.
That was exactly why I had to show up in person to schedule a meeting with Professor Kirke. A real director would send a subordinate. But I'd somehow ended up a one-man island.
You're suggesting I give orders to someone from another department just because my rank is higher? I'll assume you're not asking that in earnest. I already have to deal with other departments constantly because of budget management—pulling that kind of stunt would send my reputation straight into the abyss.
'...Honestly, it's probably already hit rock bottom.'
Ever since I'd accidentally overheard that preposterous rumor about me being the Chairwoman's secret lover. Don't they consider the age gap? She's not my lover; she's a grandmother. A little respect for the elderly, please.
In any case, once the bankruptcy problem is solved, Grandis Academy would be a job for life. Unless we were truly one step from collapse, I wanted to maintain amicable relations with the other staff as much as possible.
'If we've got three years left, we aren't quite one step away.'
Probably. At least we weren't going under tomorrow.
...While these idle thoughts wandered through my head, my hands had kept working on the necessary reports. If I couldn't multitask this much, I wouldn't be able to hold this position.
'Purchase of new exercise equipment? Tell them to repair the old stuff and make do. Training-ground repairs... we've always contracted the Artisan Guild; maybe we could negotiate a regular-customer discount this time? I'd like to cut labor costs, but the Chairwoman would refuse.'
I was processing budget allocations, new-equipment purchases, repairs, and assorted financial reports when—
Knock knock.
"Come in——Laura?"
"It's been a while, Adam."
The sudden knock had me shoving the sensitive documents—the ones that could reveal the academy's true financial state—into the safe.
Someone opening the door without waiting for permission made me frown. Sure, plenty of the staff resented me, but this seemed excessive even so.
Seeing who it actually was, I could only tilt my head.
"It has been a while. First time I've seen you since we got hired. A whole year, right?"
"Right. You... seem pretty busy?"
"Tell me about it."
Laura Edelwein. My classmate from the academy's Administration track, a fellow graduate who'd ranked in the top five and landed a job here at Grandis alongside me.
She was a rare noble-born among the administration students, pretty on top of that, and sharp-witted—popular all around.
We'd overlapped majors and drifted into friendship, but I'd been keeping her at arm's length lately.
To an outsider, I'm sure it looks like a guy with a beautiful classmate acting far too spoiled for his own good.
"How have you been, Laura?"
"Honestly? The work doesn't suit me at all. But what can I do? Serving three years or more at the academy gives you an edge when applying to graduate school."
"...Uh, right."
"I am absolutely going to become a graduate student."
This woman is a genuine, certified lunatic.
And more to the point.
"So, Adam—how about you?"
"How about... what?"
"Why are you avoiding my eyes? I'm obviously talking about going to graduate school together. You're a capable person; you'd have your doctorate in no time."
She was inviting the people around her to join her in graduate school.
She really is a good person, I'll grant. It's just that something snapped in her during our third year, and she's been on a graduate-school crusade that honestly terrifies me.
I'd given her a firm, unambiguous refusal. But after three years of friendship and shared memories, I'd kept the relationship somewhat intact—and that was my mistake.
Eventually, the only people left around Laura who could still be called friends were me and a handful of our classmates.
What this meant was that Laura had become that unfortunate friend who pitches graduate school to anyone she still has ties with.
'After I became Finance Director, we had no reason to run into each other, so it was manageable.'
Now I was breaking into a cold sweat watching Laura's zeal remain absolutely undiminished after a full year.
Laura studied me for a moment, then sighed and folded her arms. I caught a glimpse of something swaying, but my fear of Laura far outweighed any interest, so I kept my eyes averted.
She seemed to hesitate before speaking.
"Anyway... I didn't come as a classmate this time. I'm here to ask something of the Finance Director."
"A request?"
"Yes. You aren't offended that a lowly staff member would dare make a request of a department head, are you?"
"Of course not."
I genuinely felt a little guilty about dodging her all this time, and when she wasn't pushing graduate school, Laura was a perfectly decent friend.
Besides, I'd been worrying about my image—if someone came to me with a request first, I had no reason to refuse. The only problem was the towering stack of paperwork still waiting for me.
Laura glanced at the mountain of documents on my desk, flinched slightly, and continued in a noticeably softer voice.
"You do... have the time, right?"
"For a request from you, of course."
"...Okay."
Question was, what could Laura possibly need to ask me for?
As far as I remembered, she was handling clerical work for the Food Supplies Department. Anything routine she'd have taken to her own department head. If she'd come all the way to me instead, the reason had to be...
"So—you know the Raven Trading Company?"
"Naturally. They supply our foodstuffs."
Every dining hall, snack bar, and canteen on campus ran on ingredients brought in through Raven.
They were a mid-sized operation, but with a long history—from what I'd heard, they'd been doing business with the academy since before I enrolled.
"We received a formal notice from them... about this year's contract renewal."
"That's a yearly routine, isn't it?"
"It is, but..."
"What is it? Out with it."
"...The terms have changed. There won't be a price reduction on the food supplies."
"Ah, now that you mention it, Raven did mention they were considering a price cut last year."
I remembered it because it had come through in a report. If I recalled correctly, it was framed as a courtesy to Grandis Academy for our long-standing relationship.
Between the students, professors, and staff, the volume of food we purchased was enormous. Even a small price cut would have freed up a welcome chunk of the budget.
'Why not just report this directly to your department head?'
Was she coming to me because she was afraid of getting chewed out by her boss? This wasn't Laura's fault. It was Raven's fault for going back on their word after making a show of goodwill.
The head of Food Supplies was a reasonable man. Even if Laura reported it honestly, he wouldn't have taken it out on her. You forget sometimes that Laura is also fresh out of school.
It was me who was the abnormal one, having been pummeled by paperwork, tasks, and people for the past year. Normally, worrying like Laura was perfectly natural. Relying on a slightly insufferable friend who'd ended up in a high place was only human.
"There's another change too..."
"What? If it's a price hike, tell them we absolutely won't accept it. Your department head will handle it."
"It's not... a hike."
"Then?"
"...They're cutting the supplied quantity to two-thirds."
Wait.
What did she just say?
"So, if I'm understanding this correctly—"
"Yes."
"The price from last year stays the same, but the quantity drops?"
"...Yes."
"Those goddamn bastards."
"A-Adam?"
"Laura, I'm sorry, but I need you to do a little more work. Contact those sons of bitches' trading company. Tell them I want to have a word. Face to face."
"S-sons of bitches... I mean, Raven... all right. What timescale should I—"
"Today."
"Huh?"
"Tell them if they don't haul themselves over here right this instant to explain themselves, we're cutting all ties!"
I'd already shipped the Chairwoman off on a deep-sea fishing trip for turning a five-year bankruptcy into a three-year bankruptcy, and my fury still hadn't fully subsided. Their timing couldn't have been better.
The moment Laura rushed out to relay the message—
I plucked a few documents from the mountain on my desk and the binders wedged against the wall and started sorting through them.
To deal properly with those sons of bitches' trading company, I needed information on my side.
Recalling the maxim coined by the CEO of some seaside city's finest restaurant—"Money is always right"—I began reviewing the reports on that pack of bastards.
[Fi-Finance Director! Can you hear me? You can, right!? It's so miserable out here! I've been pulling all-nighters for five straight days doing nothing but catching tuna, and I really miss——]
"...."
...If I sold this communication magic tool, would it help the budget?