The Flip Side of Potential
"Totally! I ate so well...!"
Drunk and beaming, Mira wobbled as she grabbed my hand and shook it. This girl always turns clingy the moment alcohol hits her—that's her problem.
"You gonna make it home okay by yourself?"
"Uh... maybe a teeensy bit iffy?"
"......"
"Oppa, will you take me home?"
Mira looked up at me with those big eyes, grinning like a fool.
"What a pain..."
I had a movie waiting for me at home.
"Ugh, you are such a jerk sometimes!"
She latched onto my sleeve and dragged me to the main street, hailing a taxi.
"Hey!"
She shoved me into the back seat by force, and we were off.
"Driver, to Queen Nutrias Street, pleeease!"
"What the hell kind of strength..."
For some reason, the dark elf avoided my gaze. Mira, still facing away, started snoring softly within five minutes. Her grip on my clothes hadn't loosened.
"......"
Sealed space. Close quarters. That's when it hit me.
"...Nice shampoo. Smells expensive."
I'll ask her the brand tomorrow. Might get some myself.
* * *
I woke Mira in front of the staff dorms near HQ, let her out, then took another cab home. The meal had cost a pretty penny, but I didn't regret it one bit.
Mira's intel had been gold.
"An outpost, huh..."
I changed clothes and fired up a movie, but my mind kept replaying what she'd told me. No way to focus.
-Beep.
I shut off the TV and reviewed her info instead.
Obviously, I knew what an outpost was. The term referred to small-scale branches, but the difference from full branches wasn't just size. While branch managers were department head level, outpost managers were usually deputy or assistant manager rank. Staff typically numbered four or five. Most were in urban areas like regular branches, but some sat in city halls, district offices, corporate HQs, factories, hospitals, and the like.
Naturally, since they were smaller than branches, experience there slowed performance accumulation compared to major branches, making promotion tougher. But that was only for ordinary outposts.
Outposts in broadcast stations, casinos, the National Assembly, airports, and such were dubbed special operations points—known express lanes to the top. They were often helmed by HQ execs on the cusp of promotion, staffed exclusively by top-tier aces.
The same went for spots too tight for full branches, like city halls or the Assembly, where compact outposts filled the gap. These elite gigs demanded not just stellar skills but top-notch comms and schmoozing for dealing with bigwigs.
And this new outpost? It was in a league of its own, apparently classified as an ultra-special position.
"A special ops point and an innovative branch..."
The new outpost doubled as a testbed for cutting-edge tech. Apparently, pulling me from untouched Dimension 3-1 Earth to HQ had taken serious effort. The revolving door I'd passed through used dimensional leap tech from a Dimensional Credit Vault-backed firm—patent pending back then, now refined to perfection.
Per Mira, the board planned to leverage it for attracting clients across dimensions without local branches. In short: Set up shop in Dimension 6-2, let customers hop over freely for services. The flagship guinea pig? The Dimensional Credit Vault's first-ever multidimensional outpost.
They'd cherry-pick the bank's absolute best tellers for it.
'My mentor told me never to breathe a word about the innovative branch. Haven't told the other trainees either. You're the first, Jian oppa.'
Mira was dead certain the docs she'd glimpsed listed candidates for the multidimensional outpost. My name on it meant my Job Authority had reached the top brass.
"Who'd pull such a sweet string for me...?"
Unlikely the president slotted me personally. Even as his parachute hire, no way he'd know my powers without meeting me. If he'd pushed blindly, internal pushback would've killed it.
So, my inclusion? Job Authority valued over raw performance.
"...Hmm."
Polomi's visit? Probably to nail down details on candidate-me. I'd never hidden it—helpful for promotions—so someone had reported it pre-this.
"Mira, Isaac, Oatanocha, Irool..."
Besides today's Polomi visit, few knew my powers. Post-awakening, I'd shared in the trainee chat with those four special hires, plus Fred, the sick section chief, the on-leave deputy manager, and Del Monte. Eight total.
Trainees or Fred pushing/pulling me? Plausible, we're tight. But none had pull for HQ recs.
Reporting to the higher-ups? Likely the section chief, deputy, or Del Monte.
"Unexpected."
Never had deep chats with them, so no clue who. Del Monte, maybe—from that reporter swarm day?
"Wait... three factions, right."
Suddenly, Fred's smoke-break rundown on the Dimensional Credit Vault's power structure flashed back.
If the reporter was from the president's faction, it clicked. As his rumored parachute, prime push material. Fresh teller nabs a win? Powers proven—straight to HR.
Outposts maxed at four or five tellers. Factions would cram in their guys for performance scraps. One each leaves an awkward slot. Toss in a greenhorn like me to balance without rocking the boat.
"Some political chess, no doubt."
Still, the new outpost was a fast-track. Whatever the motive, I wanted in. Promotions meant bigger authority, more funds for folks like pre-bank me—avoiding that misery. Higher up, more loans to change lives.
"Can't get cocky yet."
Beneficial so far, but candidacy wasn't a lock. Others fit the bill too. Beyond trainee Isaac, public hires had hotshots—with connections I lacked: blood, school, regional ties.
To punch through? Pile up more performance. Easier said...
"Can't just will performance into existence."
Schmoozing CEOs on golf outings? Deputy level minimum. Grunt like me? Cover for sick chief on loan desk, hawk products, push cards for fees—that's it.
"Hope Muse Partners pans out big."
If Polomi's report wowed HQ, great. Another fat win in three months? Odds up. But luck-dependent—pointless worrying.
Just grind daily.
"...Bedtime."
Especially today—work tomorrow.
* * *
Next day. No customers, so I stretched with a massive yawn.
Glancing back, the day had been dead calm. Three personal loans, two corporate. Scales tipped mildly right—docs checked, apps to Fred.
Deposits busier, though. Lunch rush from Podoks City CG firms opening accounts.
"What day is it?"
Fred propped his chin, muttering curiously. I'd Googled their firms—knew why.
"Muse Partners subsidiaries, I bet."
"Aha..."
Main bank's switch pulls the subs. Who'd guess Olympus training ground ripples hit 6-2?
"Oh yeah. Buddy at HQ says they're launching low-interest loans for artsy types. Flat Loan or something?"
"They get Flat's okay?"
"Gotta, right? Tier-one bank."
Who names it like some shady Sunshine Loan? Chuck it in the desert.
"VP named it himself. Flat Sharpendora starring in ads, too."
"Not some punk—a big shot."
"What'd you say?"
"Nothing."
Your Honor, I said zip.
"All 'cause you didn't stiff Flat Sharpendora."
"Kinda embarrassing hearing that."
"Brag away. You earned it."
Hit me again: what we do matters. Banks lend entrusted funds to the needy—overcomers, dreamers, opportunists. We make the world better. Remind daily: HQ examiners, branch signers, desk jockeys like me.
"Thanks for the nudge, sunbae. Fires me up."
"Yup. Lend to future tycoons, build bonds!"
"Makes me sound villainous."
"Nah, you got the chops."
Fred lobbed the goof, returned to his seat. His words lit a real fire.
Who next? With this Job Authority, top goddess in lending.
...Or so I thought. Ten minutes later, reality check: lending ain't just handing cash.
"Customer B-001, please to window 4."
Spotless-suited troll, smile plastered.
"Hello. How can I help?"
"From Apex Engineering. Here to extend loan maturity—and apply for more."
Pre-my-time case, other teller. System check: 1.5 billion gulden prior loan. Mid-tier regional builder, public-works reliant. Longtime West Podoks client.
"Thanks for coming in person. We could've visited your office."
"No, no. Our place to come."
Heard loan work's all field trips—none yet. Beg Fred next time?
"Docs look good."
Financials, ledgers clean. App time—activate Job Authority on corp—
-Fwaaah!
Above the troll's saint-dragon nose, the scale appeared—tipped right.
Issue: white orb on right dish, rotting with foul black mold.
"......"
"Something on my face?"
"No, nothing. Be right back with more forms."
I knew instinctively what it meant. Bolted up, signaled Fred: emergency.
"What's up, Jian?"
"Branch manager's office. Now."
Forgot: lending's not just approving. Can't recover? Deny. Collect or sell debt—entrusted funds demand it.
And by my gauge, Apex Engineering? No loan.
"What? Your Job Authority show something?"
"Scale tipped right."
"Ain't that good?"
"Exceptions exist."
Apex had big-money potential, sure. But that discolored orb screamed:
"That company's planning a crime."
How they'd earn it? Dirty as hell.