3. This Is a Bribe, Defeat the Finance Director
3. This Is a Bribe, Defeat the Finance Director
The Chairwoman was speechless, visibly overwhelmed by the sheer scale of my vision.
I set the report I'd prepared down on the desk in front of her.
"What... is this?"
"A feasibility study on future revenue streams to secure Grandis Academy's long-term financial surplus and continued operation."
"......Just call it a guide to taking bribes."
"We'll go with that, then."
The unwritten rule for this kind of thing is to dress it up in prettier language. I'd borrowed a page from how the administration professors title their papers, but the Chairwoman has no appreciation for the human heart.
At any rate.
"If you review the report, you'll find that exceedingly few of our faculty and staff accept bribes. And even for those who do, calling what they receive a 'bribe' is honestly a stretch."
"We've made every effort to operate as cleanly as possible."
"As expected of the Chairwoman."
"Hearing that from the Finance Director makes my skin crawl. Drop the gold-plating and speak plainly."
"As expected of the Chairwoman."
"............."
The Chairwoman fixed me with a deeply suspicious glare, but I meant every word. An organization of this scale—the unique nature of an academy aside—run with complete integrity? It was practically a miracle.
Not that this had anything to do with Grandis Academy being the finest in the kingdom, or with the faculty being uniformly incorruptible.
The simple fact was that the salaries were goddamn enormous.
'They have no reason to take bribes in the first place.'
Why risk a bribe when half-assing a day's work already pays five times the industry standard?
Isn't human greed bottomless, you ask? Fair point. And that's precisely where one of the Chairwoman's few virtues comes into play.
Namely, she ruled the academy as its absolute sovereign.
'According to the bribery-incident records, from the academy's founding onward, the Chairwoman dismissed anyone involved in bribery. Zero leniency.'
Imagine trying to land one huge score while accepting the risk of getting fired. Regrettably, this world is not governed by the rule of law.
The Chairwoman is a figure even royalty cannot treat lightly, a celebrity of immense social influence, and a person widely respected for her unyielding character.
Unlike certain nations where you can pull off a major scam and walk away with a slap on the wrist, if you're dismissed from Grandis Academy on bribery charges, every last coin of that bribe gets confiscated in its entirety. Hide it where? Once you're fired, the royal judiciary—eager not to offend the Chairwoman—will throw you into a cell and subject you to every manner of interrogation.
Needless to say, if your tongue isn't quick enough, you won't leave with all your limbs intact. And even if you give up and confess everything, they'll seize not only the bribe but your whole personal fortune. You walk out destitute. Your social reputation getting driven straight into the ground comes as a free bonus.
This isn't some hypothetical worst-case scenario. It has actually happened. There were numerous bribery cases in the academy's early days, and these measures stamped them out completely.
In short: nobody earned so little that a bribe was tempting, and the risk of getting caught was disproportionately, catastrophically enormous.
After enough repetitions, noble houses and merchants alike gave up trying to slip bribes into Grandis Academy. There was no guarantee that a furious Chairwoman wouldn't turn up on their territory for a visit.
'That's probably why Risha didn't grasp my bribe request the first time.'
The closest confidant of the Chairwoman—a woman who never, ever forgives bribery—suddenly demands a bribe? She must have wondered if she'd misheard.
I'm fairly confident that Risha and House Claudia currently have me pegged as either a lunatic or a complete incompetent.
A young man with scant experience and even less seniority catches the Chairwoman's eye and becomes Finance Director—of course they'd assume the position had gone to my head and I was drunkenly throwing my weight around.
Which was precisely what I wanted.
After all, they'd eagerly shove bribes my way in order to manipulate a supposedly incompetent fool.
"Madam Chairwoman, what do you believe a bribe is?"
"...What? A poison that eats away at an organization. The root of all corruption."
"Wrong. Bribery is an art of relationships."
"......Finance Director, have you been overworking yourself? It's not too late to take some leave."
"I'm perfectly sound, Madam Chairwoman."
"They say the truly afflicted always believe themselves sane. Don't worry. I won't give up on you until you're fully cured!"
Should I be touched by the Chairwoman's fierce loyalty, or flick her forehead for genuinely starting to treat me like a mental patient?
Since choosing the latter carried a high probability of cracking my own finger, I opted for the former without protest.
I managed to talk the Chairwoman—whose eyes were growing misty as she tried to steer me toward the infirmary—out of it and went on.
"Madam Chairwoman, suppose you'd accepted bribes from two nobles. Call them A and B."
"Fine."
"A bribe isn't a gift, is it? Having received something, it's only proper that you grant whatever request A and B have made. That way, you maintain the relationship and keep receiving bribes."
"That's... true."
"But what happens if A desires C, and B also desires C?"
"What?"
"You can't very well split C in two. How would you handle it?"
"...I would never be in a position to take bribes, but if I were, I'd give it to the one who paid more."
"Exactly. But then your relationship with A flourishes while your relationship with B sours. B might even stop paying entirely. People pay bribes because they want something—if they can't get what they want, why keep paying?"
"What exactly are you driving at? Summarize it in three lines or I really am sending you to the infirmary."
"The real answer is to ensure that situation never arises in the first place."
Bribes generally come with clear objectives. Admission-rigging, grade-fixing—there's always some ultimate goal in play.
'Minor' favors may crop up along the way, but the ultimate goal remains constant. So what's the solution?
Accept bribes only from parties whose ultimate goals don't conflict.
"What on earth do you mean...?"
"The fundamental error was letting A and B both want C to begin with."
Minor requests can naturally overlap. For instance, if someone asks you to turn a blind eye to cheating and you refuse, the relationship won't break over something that trivial. The sunk-cost logic of the bribe prevents it.
But refuse the fundamental reason they're paying—the ultimate goal—and they have no choice but to cut off the bribe.
Preventing that is the whole point. Grasping the psychology of the bribe-giver and managing the relationship accordingly.
That is why bribery is an art of relationships.
"You sound well-practiced at taking bribes."
"Your imagination. I'm an orphan, remember?"
"Ngh...."
The all-purpose orphan theory strikes again. Preemptively self-deprecating always leaves the other party momentarily speechless, no matter what they suspect.
At any rate, there was a single reason I was rattling on at such length about a topic the Chairwoman so detested.
"Therefore, please authorize me to accept righteous bribes."
"Doesn't that, to your own ears, sound like complete horseshit?"
"It does, but our circumstances are what they are."
"...Ugh."
If you think about it, this was entirely the Chairwoman's doing. If the finances had been managed responsibly, we'd never have been cornered into taking bribes to pad the budget.
And above all.
"I hesitate to say this."
"......?"
"At the very least, bribes offer vastly superior profitability and stability compared to futures trading."
"Gkh—."
Ah, the Chairwoman went down. She'd held up for a while, but—get up quickly, please.
I patted the shoulder of the collapsed, tear-streaked Chairwoman, who looked for all the world like a corpse, and helped her upright. Her expression was a complicated landscape of emotions.
Regret over how things had come to this. Renewed resolve that the funds poured into educational quality could never be cut. Guilt over sanctioning the very bribery she'd so long denounced.
And something else.
Bribes as part of the budget.
One step forward. A large one.
"I'll... allow it."
"Madam Chairwoman."
"I'm sorry, Finance Director. If I'd managed the finances properly, you'd never have had to stain your name by taking bribes..."
If she had, I probably wouldn't have become Finance Director in the first place.
I, of course, possessed enough tact not to voice that aloud.
"I trust you, Finance Director! I trust that you can truly revive this academy! Accept all the bribes you need. Whatever happens, I will—I will protect you, Finance Director!"
The words the Chairwoman spoke after truly taking that one step forward sounded almost like a heartfelt confession.
A declaration that even if the rest of the faculty rose up in furious protest over my future bribe-taking, she alone would stand by my side to the end.
Simple words at first hearing, but they landed with weight, knowing they came from a Chairwoman who'd until now regarded bribery with visceral loathing.
Which is why,
"What brought this on all of a sudden?"
"...Excuse me? B-Because you're about to be taking all sorts of bribes now."
"Didn't I say earlier? Bribery is an art of relationships. What's this about?"
Ah.
Don't tell me.
"Did you think I was planning to hold some king-of-the-hill bribery contest?"
"...Huh?"
"Madam Chairwoman, people don't simply hand over a bribe because you ask. It takes layers of persuasion and mutual interest. And since I'll be seeing to it that the ultimate goals don't overlap, I'll only be taking bribes from a few sources."
"You mean...?"
"I estimate three parties. Since I've already arranged to accept from Lady Risha, that leaves two."
"B-But you could get caught. If someone traces suspicious money flows..."
"...Madam Chairwoman. What's my job title?"
"Oh."
The one who manages the academy's finances? Me.
The one who writes the academy's ledgers? Me.
The one who comprehends the totality of money flowing through the academy? Me.
To put it bluntly, if I didn't report it, not even the Chairwoman would know I'd taken a bribe. Because I'm the one who writes and manages the books.
"............."
The Chairwoman sank down for a slightly different reason this time, burying her crimson face in the table.
I cleared my throat.
"—I trust you, Finance Director!"
"S-Stop."
"—I trust that you can truly revive this academy!"
"Please. Please."
"—Whatever happens, I will—I will protect you, Finance Director!"
"THAT'S ENOUGHHHHH!"
Ah, this is fun.
Now that's how you blow off workplace stress.
*
The Chairwoman balled her fists and aimed for my chest—I narrowly fled what would've been compound fractures of my ribs and sternum.
The injuries themselves weren't the problem. Having to visit the infirmary, however, was another matter entirely.
'I'd sooner resign than set foot in that madwoman's domain.'
How did someone like her end up as Medical Department Head? I understand that skill is paramount, but putting a person whose character is inversely proportional to her competence in charge of the infirmary is sheer lunacy.
That said, as a model of workplace survival—her personality aside—she was worth emulating. Younger than everyone except me, yet no one dares say a word because her sheer, overwhelming mania shuts them up.
Could I channel a similar mania as Finance Director? What do I have? Budget-slaughtering?
'The operational staff would come for my head. Let's not.'
Moments like this make being 1st Rank sting a little. If you're going to drop me into a game world, couldn't you at least have tossed in a modest 8th Rank for good measure?
I know I'm wrapped in the triple-layered rigid-energy armor of the All-Purpose Orphan Theory, my Finance Director rank, and my status as the Chairwoman's closest aide, but still—a man can dream.
I walked with idle thoughts, and even across the sprawling academy grounds, I soon reached my destination.
'The Successful Applicants' Waiting Dormitory.'
Entrance exam results were immediate. The Chief Examination Officer must have been moved by my silver tongue—his turnaround was impressively swift.
There'd be a supplementary exam later, a sort of loser's bracket, but this dormitory housed the students who'd already passed and were now, in various states of relaxation, awaiting matriculation.
My remaining two bribe candidates would both be staying here. Their families weren't grand enough to rate exclusive dormitories like House Claudia.
"So this is Grandis Academy...! I actually passed!"
"Wanna take a tour of the area? I heard from the guidebook the seniors handed out that there are tons of good places to eat."
"Can't we access the Central Library yet? Guess I'll have to wait till the entrance ceremony."
"Yes, Mom! I got in!"
The area around the applicants' dormitory bustled with soon-to-be students wearing broad smiles. Some overwhelmed with emotion, others scouting the surroundings, one already diving into coursework, another contacting their parents via a magic comm device.
They'd earned the right to be proud. A Grandis Academy diploma wasn't a guaranteed path strewn with rose petals, but it did place you at a far greater advantage compared to most.
There was also the "Grandis Cartel"—Academy alumni were famous for looking out for one another across all manner of workplaces. In some rural territory, a diploma alone could probably land you an administrative-officer post.
'I was the same way once.'
It's already been a few years. Now in a high-ranking position, looking back on my younger self drew a reflexive, wry smile.
That naive younger self had no idea.
'I should've invested in the southern rock-salt mine back then.'
Who could have known the rock-salt mine—only ever mentioned in rumors—would skyrocket like that within a single year?
I could've coasted through life on easy mode. What a waste. Get in now, you say? The Chairwoman's futures-trading fiasco that torched two years' budget was tied to that very mine.
Reflecting on its meteoric rise over the past few years and its catastrophic crash now, I'd probably have held on, convinced it would keep rising. Yes, I'm better off now than then.
"Hold—to enter the dormitory, you'll need to present your admission certificate—"
"Hey, you crazy bastard! Bow your head, now! A-Adam Caines, Finance Director! I'm so terribly sorry! This idiot is still a new recruit and he's committed a grave discourtesy!"
"F-Finance Director! I've committed an offense worthy of death!"
"Relax. Who's the Guard Corps lead here? If this is the 3rd Guard Corps, isn't that Russell's command?"
"We're truly sorry! Please, anything but disciplinary action!"
"Our sincerest apologies!!"
"That was a joke. You were doing your job; what's there to discipline? Still, even if you don't know me, at least memorize the faces of the Medical Department Head and the Chief Examination Officer. If you cross them by mistake—well, you know?"
"We'll burn it into memory!!!"
"Good. Carry on."
At least now I was in a position to offer that kind of practical, hard-earned advice.
The junior guard who'd failed to recognize a four-star officer serving directly under the academy's supreme leader, the Chairwoman, wore the expression of a man barely spared, but judging by the look his senior was giving him, he wasn't getting off that easily.
I gave him a couple of consoling pats on the shoulder and stepped inside the dormitory. The Guard Corps' voices had been abnormally loud, drawing the curious eyes of the waiting applicants, but it was no great concern.
The Finance Director had no reason to interact with ordinary students. The Medical Department Head, or at minimum the Chief Examination Officer, might cross paths with them—but not me. We'd just pass each other by, faces briefly registered.
After that commotion, the Guard Corps patrolling inside the dormitory was drilling with noticeably sharper discipline, but anyway.
I already knew which dormitory my candidate was staying in, so I headed straight for—
"Adam Caines, Finance Director. Correct?"
"Hm?"
"Found you."
Without warning, someone in the crowd caught hold of my sleeve.
The figure wore a hooded cloak pulled low. The voice told me she was female, but nothing else gave any clue to her identity.
Faculty would've worn the distinctive academy uniform or badge. She had neither.
'Wait—someone who already knows my face, took the exam and just passed, can address me informally, and isn't faculty... then that leaves only one possibility!'
I hesitated slightly, but there really was only one candidate left.
Amid the stream of people passing around us, I quietly inclined my head toward the hooded figure and murmured.
"...The Finance Director of Grandis Academy greets Her Highness, Princess Beatrice."
"I like that you're quick on the uptake."
Amatrius Delphia Beatrice.
A princess of the neighboring Delphia Kingdom, nominally studying abroad at Grandis Academy.
In truth, she was effectively a hostage—and one of the mid-bosses from the Academy arc of Dark Kingdom. A mage scorned as a half-failure, unable to control her own magic.
In the game she appeared as an enemy and later, won over by the protagonist, became an ally... No, her hostage status—her role as a boss in the original story—none of that was my concern.
My focus was on a single point.
'The Building Destroyer!'
A mage who couldn't control her power meant one thing.
Countless wrecked classrooms and training halls.
In the game it was glossed over in a few dismissive lines, but to present-day me, it was anything but trivial.
"...Finance Director? Your gaze is slightly unnerving."
"Just staying alert to our surroundings. Your Highness, let's move elsewhere first."
"Agreed."
I had just come face to face with the greatest villain of my career as Finance Director.