"Zeus. I'll catch you."
"Zeus. I'll catch you."
Courtroom.
The sound of a chisel echoed between the pillars.
Kkang. Kkang.
Someone down below was chiseling away at something. It was probably yesterday's ruling.
Semia walked past the sound, heading further inside.
Eunomia was standing in front of the scales.
She placed a wax tablet on it. The pan tilted slightly.
"I'm going to hire a human."
Her hand stopped.
"...A human. Where do you intend to use one?"
"The investigator's seat."
"..."
Eunomia put down the tablet she was holding.
The scales swayed before settling.
"There is no precedent. A human has never sat in that seat."
"I know."
"..."
"So this will be the first."
'...Even knowing that.'
"Do you know how many years a human lives? Forty. And out of those, only twenty are usable."
"I know."
"It takes twenty years to train a single investigator. By the time they become useful, they're old, and by the time they get used to the job, they die. That is why we haven't used them. Not because we couldn't."
"I know."
"If you know, then why—"
Semia offered a wooden tablet.
"Take a look."
Eunomia took it.
It was a wooden tablet.
'...It's a human item.'
One page.
'...It's categorized.'
Two pages.
'...The points of contention are written separately.'
Three pages.
Her hand slowed down.
'...It grouped identical matters together.'
Kkang. Kkang.
The sound of the chisel continued from below.
Around the seventh page, her hand stopped.
"There's something attached at the back."
Eunomia turned to the last page.
「Contradictions」
Below that was a list.
'...Seventeen.'
She read from the top.
She stopped at the third one.
'...This is a case I handled.'
Eunomia raised her head.
She looked at the pillars. She knew roughly where it was chiseled.
She found it.
And then she looked at the adjacent pillar.
It was the same matter, but the conclusion was different.
'...'
The sixth one.
'...This one too.'
At the ninth one, Eunomia set the tablet down.
'...Nine.'
When chiseling them, everyone thought they were right.
They just hadn't thought to look sideways.
"...Who did you say made this?"
"A human attending school made it."
"..."
"He's eighteen, apparently."
Eunomia turned back toward the scales.
"............"
She was silent for a long moment.
Then, she picked up a wax tablet and placed it on the scale.
The pan tilted.
"...Bring him. But with one condition."
Eunomia raised her hand.
Two wooden tablets floated down.
"You must present both together. It is a regulation."
"...The one-year contract too? There won't be a need to use it."
"Because it is a regulation."
Semia picked up the second one.
"When is this used?"
"When dismissing a useless person after one year. It was created, but never used."
"Why?"
"Because the humans have never chosen it."
"...Naturally."
"Yes."
Semia turned around.
"Ah. And."
Eunomia asked, adding another tablet to the scale.
"Is the Department of Justice still vacant?"
Semia stopped.
"...None this year either. We opened applications, but no one came."
"..."
"It was the same last year, and the year before that. Opening it up has become a mere formality now."
Eunomia put the tablet down.
"...I see."
The interior was visible through the pillars.
One seat was vacant.
There wasn't even dust. It looked intact, as if someone had been sitting there until yesterday.
Eunomia asked no further.
The scales tilted once more.
Kkang. Kkang.
Below, they were still chiseling.
Three days later.
When the principal's office door opened, a fragrance entered first.
'...'
Lysias held his breath briefly.
It was the same fragrance as three days ago. Not flowers, but something heavier than that—one whiff made the back of his head throb.
'...I thought I'd get used to it.'
Semia walked in and stood in front of the desk.
The hem of her clothes brushed the floor. Once again, it made no sound.
The principal had completely left the room.
'...He ran away.'
Instead, a scribe stood pressed against the wall. It was the fellow who had grabbed my arm and opened the door three days ago.
"...You came again."
"...Yes."
"..."
"...Am I allowed to be in here?"
"How should I know?"
'...Wait, then why are you standing there?'
Right. Spurt out formal speech and it actually sounds scarier, and it feels so different from Episode 1 when she just said "Come to our side."
"I've settled things with the temple side. I sent someone, so there's no need for you to go, Investigator."
"...Ah, yes."
'...Wait, you already took care of that too?'
"Then what remains is the contract. There are two options."
When the goddess raised her hand, two wooden tablets landed on the desk.
Lysias didn't see where they came from.
"One is an Official Appointment."
Her finger rested on the first tablet.
It was long.
'...'
'...Wait, that's not what's important right now.'
"Your name goes on the roster. The position is maintained until the day you die."
The scribe beside them gasped.
'She brought out an Official Appointment.'
"The pay isn't large, but it never stops. Even if you grow old or fall sick, your name won't be erased from the roster."
The goddess had observed humans for a long time.
Humans live short lives and break easily. Thus, they search for things to hold onto.
They cling to land, cling to their names, cling to their children.
'He'll be surprised.'
"The second is a one-year contract."
She didn't push the second tablet forward.
She didn't even touch it.
"After fulfilling one year, we evaluate performance. If you're useful, we renew it; if not, it ends. In return, the pay is three times higher than the other one."
'...He won't even look at this one.'
It meant that after one year, nothing would remain.
The thing humans feared most.
The goddess leaned down.
"Which one will it be?"
Lysias looked at the two tablets.
He looked at them with his mind going blank.
'...'
'...Wait a minute.'
'This is it.'
It was a temporary contract work.
It wasn't important that the pay was three times as much.
It was that it automatically ended after one year.
It wasn't me quitting; the contract just expired.
'Quitting is betrayal, but expiration is just expiration.'
He looked at the Official Appointment side again.
For life.
'...'
They said there was no night here. His homeroom teacher had trailed off, and three days ago, this goddess asked what a finish-work time was.
'Work for life in a place like that?'
He had done it for several years in his previous life.
It was a permanent position.
And that was why he died.
Even so, his hand moved on its own.
He picked up the second tablet.
"..."
The scribe dropped what he was holding.
'...What?'
'What the hell did that punk just pick up?'
'...The one-year contract?'
The goddess looked at Lysias's hand.
And then she looked at the desk.
She looked at his hand again.
'...Did I place them wrong?'
The goddess picked up the remaining tablet.
She held it in her hand, looked at it, and flipped it over.
On the front, it said "Official Appointment."
On the back, there was nothing.
'...I placed them correctly.'
The goddess set it back down and pushed it half a span forward.
Toward Lysias.
Lysias didn't grab it.
"This side is the Official Appointment."
"I know."
"Once your name is on the roster, it won't be erased. Even if you grow old, lie sick in bed, or become unable to do anything, it remains. A human has never received this."
"..."
"Even the valedictorians of each school couldn't get it. It's been thirty years since I last brought this out."
'...'
'...Ah, so this really was a big deal.'
"That one is for a single year."
The goddess shifted her eyes toward the second tablet.
"If I say I won't employ you after one year, that's the end of it. Nothing will remain on the roster. No one will know you were here."
"Even so, you still choose that one?"
Lysias briefly looked at the tablet.
'...'
'...Ah, what should I say to this?'
'Because I plan to bolt after a year.'
Of course, he couldn't say that out loud.
"...Because I am still lacking."
"Lacking."
"Yes. We've met for the first time today, so Goddess, you do not yet know what I am capable of. Nor do I know what kind of place this is."
"..."
"If I try it for a year and turn out to be useful, you can extend it; if not, you don't have to employ me. Wouldn't that be more convenient for both of us?"
"..."
The scribe looked at Lysias.
'...What?'
'He voluntarily downgraded that position to a single year?'
'...Does he not trust his own skills?'
'...No. That's not it.'
'...He's offering to be tested. Before a deity.'
The goddess nodded ever so slightly.
"...Is that so."
"Yes."
"You are someone who knows the measure of your own vessel."
'...'
'...No, that's really not it.'
"Very well. We'll make it one year."
The goddess placed her hand on the tablet.
Something swooshed across the tablet.
"We'll speak again in a year."
'...'
'I won't be here by then.'
The house was flipped upside down that night.
"...The Court?"
"Yes."
"...The Court of the Gods."
"Yes. It's a one-year contract. After one year, they say they'll evaluate performance and decide again—"
"...The Court?"
'...Ah, she's not listening at all.'
His omma was already slipping on her shoes and dashing outside.
When evening came, the yard filled with people.
Straw mats were laid out, and lanterns were hung. His appa had even summoned his old comrades-in-arms.
His omma was constantly frying something in the kitchen. The smell of oil drifted all the way into the yard.
"I heard the son of the Herakleidai household is entering the Court of the Gods. Where is that located?"
"I don't know. But they say it's where the gods gather."
"Not a temple?"
"I heard it's not a temple. Anyway, it's an incredible place. Has anyone from this village ever gone to a place like that?"
"Of course not. If there was, I'd know."
"That family has wielded spears for generations, but the son lifted a brush?"
"That's why it's so amazing."
'...Nobody even knows where it is.'
Lysias sat at the edge of the wooden porch, eating noodles.
Someone patted his back as he walked by. It was a mister he didn't know.
"Are you that son! Admirable, truly admirable. I rolled around in the east with your appa back in the day."
"...Yes."
"Do you know how your appa was back then? Ah, I'll tell you later. That's a story that only comes out after some liquor goes down."
'...Who is this?'
Beside him, his appa was holding a drink glass and laughing out loud.
It was the first time Lysias had seen that old man laugh so heartily.
'...'
'...It's only for one year though.'
He didn't say it out loud.
The smell of frying oil continued to waft through the air.
It was the first morning.
The Court was on top of a hill.
The stairs going up were damnably long.
'...'
As he breathed, his throat felt chilly.
'...Is it always like this here?'
Stepping up one more stair, his ears popped, just like when climbing a mountain.
'...Ah, it's because this is where a deity resides.'
Lysias paused for a moment to catch his breath.
'...What if the commute to work is like this every morning?'
In front of the door, he ran into a familiar face.
"Oh. You're here too?"
"Yeah."
It was Dion. The guy who was the very first to borrow the twenty-page chart.
"Hey, I rested three times on the stairs on the way up. You too?"
"...Yeah. I rested twice too."
"We really have to climb this every single day, right? Driving me crazy, seriously."
Dion squared his shoulders.
"Ah, but I received an Official Appointment."
'...Ah.'
"...I see. Congratulations."
"My house went wild. My appa went around the whole town for three days straight. How about your house? A family of spear-wielders sending their son to the Court must have flipped upside down."
"...Well, a grand feast was held in our yard yesterday."
"See? So, what did you get?"
"A one-year contract."
"..."
Dion's expression froze for a moment.
"...One year?"
"Yeah."
"..."
"Why."
"...No. Nothing. Let's go."
Dion walked toward the door first.
'...Did he lack confidence?'
'Well, exams and actual practical work are different.'
'Even if he was good at making charts.'
'...Yeah. Well. Everyone's vessel is different.'
Lysias followed behind him.
'...Poor guy.'
The homeroom teacher had said it. There's no night over there.
And that guy just signed a lifetime contract.
The door opened.
Kkang. Kkang.
The sound came in first.
'...'
It was the pillars.
He looked up, but couldn't see the top. Even breaking his neck tilting up, he couldn't see the end.
Every pillar was densely packed with words. The lower parts were fresh. Stone dust was still clinging to them.
Someone down below was pressing a chisel against them.
Kkang. Kkang.
'...'
'...So those are all legal precedents.'
Lysias stood there for a moment.
In school, he had memorized tens of thousands of cases. It took three years.
'....'
He looked at one pillar. From top to bottom, words were packed densely.
And there were six such pillars.
'...No, holy shit.'
'...Is what I learned in school not even worth one of those pillars?'
Dion, walking ahead, looked back.
"What are you doing? Aren't you coming?"
"...Yeah. Coming."
Dion went further inside. They said the Official Appointments had seats in there.
I went to the corner.
The investigator's seat was in the corner.
It was dark under the shadow of the pillars. It wasn't that light didn't enter, but that the pillars blocked it all.
One desk. One brush.
And wooden tablets were piled up. As tall as Lysias's height.
"What is this?"
"Unsettled cases. Things left behind by your predecessors."
The guiding scribe answered casually.
"There were three before you, and all three started right there and ended right there. Well, you'll find out soon enough too."
"...How much is piled up here?"
"Who knows."
"...You don't know?"
"Because no one's ever counted them. Counting those would take half a day anyway, and what changes if you count them?"
'...'
"Sit down there and you'll find out on your own. Ah, and we don't provide lamps here. The higher-ups said the darkness caused by pillars can't be helped."
'...Wait, what kind of nonsense is—'
"Well then, good luck."
The scribe left.
Lysias was left alone in front of the pile.
'...'
'...Ah, fucking hell.'
He reached out and picked up the top one.
Dust smudged onto his fingertips.
'...'
'...There's dust on it.'
Flipping through the tablet, he saw something written on the front page.
There were three names.
'...Ah, these are the predecessors.'
Beside the names, something more was written.
First one: 2 Years, Illness.
Second one: 1 Year, Illness.
Third one: 4 Months, Death.
'...'
'...Huh?'
Lysias looked at those lines again.
Illness. Illness. Death.
'...Wait.'
'...They didn't quit.'
Two went out bedridden with illness, and one didn't leave at all.
And that was in just four months.
'...'
'...Ah, fucking hell.'
Lysias put down the wooden tablet.
What was his cause of death in his previous life?
'...Overwork death.'
He had collapsed on his desk and died. At twenty-seven. While editing the Q3 audit report for three straight hours.
'...I didn't come here to do that again, did I?'
Lysias looked at the stack of tablets.
Piled as high as his height, with no dates, no one knowing what was where, and no one having counted them.
'...This is why they died in four months.'
You don't die from this because there's too much work.
You die because no matter what you do, it doesn't show.
Even if you process ten tablets today, that stack stays the same. No one knows what you did yesterday, not even yourself.
Then what happens to a person? They do more. They work at night, work at dawn, and because the stack still doesn't shrink, they do even more.
'...'
'...Ah, I know this feeling all too well.'
Because that was how he had died in his past life.
Lysias sat back down in his seat.
'...But not me.'
Not a second time. Once was enough.
'...'
When he was first appointed in his past life, it was just like this. Files jammed into twelve filing cabinets, no one knowing what was where, and when asked, everyone just said, 'It's probably inside there somewhere.'
How did he handle it back then?
Assign numbers, write dates, make an index list, and separate processed items.
That's all. Nothing special.
'...How long did it take back then?'
He recalled it took about a month, but that was twelve cabinets while doing other work on the side.
'...'
Lysias looked at the stack.
Wooden tablets piled up to his height.
'...This should take about three days.'
Assign numbers sequentially; since dates aren't written, the order of receipt is unknown, but that can be matched later; an index list would only take one page.
Condensing tens of thousands of cases at school into twenty pages took one month.
'...That's only a few hundred pages.'
'...Three days is more than enough.'
'...Or wait, two days?'
Lysias picked up his brush.
'...Well, I'm just spending two days out of my one year.'
He wrote the date on the first line.
In the pile of pending cases, that was the very first tablet to have a date written on it.