Our Chief Isn't Sick - 2
Section 2 of the Audit Department. More support work than combat—specifically, their main duty was gathering intelligence. Thanks to that, most of the officers under Section 2 never stayed put; they drifted through every region, scraping up whatever information they could find. Of course, the territories had been divided reasonably enough that no one had to sprint from the eastern edge of the Empire all the way to the west.
And as section chief, my assigned territory was the Imperial Capital. Naturally. Who else was going to manage the capital if not the man carrying the weighty title of section chief?
Some foolish, petty types might resent the fact that their superior got to sit pretty in the capital while they ran themselves ragged. But whenever that happened, I could always fall back on the immutable truth I delivered with complete confidence:
"If you don't like it, get promoted."
It was the Chief's favorite line, and one I had long since made my own. Before I became section chief I had been worked like a dog myself. Now that I had finally climbed the ladder, what was so wrong about taking it a little easier?
Besides, I had not simply sat around breathing and somehow landed the job. I had won this prize fair and square in a gamble with my entire career on the line. Two years ago, the moment the Chief took power, I had latched onto him at once and secured my current seat.
In any case, ever since becoming section chief I had stayed in the capital whenever possible. Unless something truly unavoidable dragged me away, I planted my roots here and refused to budge. A gentleman of ambition who also knew how to enjoy life belonged in the capital, did he not?
Maybe I should start scouting a gravesite in advance.
Lately that resolve had only grown firmer. Even after I died, I was going to have my tombstone raised in this capital. So the winds of the capital could still brush against my ears.
"Chief."
"Ah, you're here."
My senior team leader, who shared responsibility for the capital and the surrounding metropolitan region with me. We often drank together, so his face was always welcome—but these days it was even more so.
"The rumors are spreading fast. At this point even the smaller villages in the metro area are starting to hear them in whispers."
"Perfect."
Nothing but pleasant reports coming in through the senior team leader.
Thank you, Chief.
I offered a sincere prayer of gratitude to the Chief, who would be at the Academy right now. For a subordinate stuck in the capital and growing bored, he had personally detonated an interesting incident. What a truly righteous superior.
I no longer needed to spend my own money on plays. Free entertainment—and thrilling entertainment at that—kept exploding whenever I was about to forget the last one.
And I returned the favor.
A warm sense of pride rose in my chest. A true superior breeds true subordinates. Since the Chief had thrown me such an entertaining drama, I had moved a little on his behalf as well.
Nothing grandiose. I had simply taken the fact that the Chief and the Magic Lord had gone to the Magic Tower hand-in-hand first thing in the morning and fanned it like a madman. A rumor that would have spread on its own anyway; I just gave it a good shove so it would race even faster.
The goal was modest: have it reach every corner of the Empire before the New Year's Audience.
"Any other rumors?"
"Completely buried."
"Flawless."
My pride swelled further. The best way to kill a rumor is to smother it under a bigger one.
The story of Section 1 Chief weeping in front of the Chief had been buried under the one about the Chief camping out at the National Cemetery. And the National Cemetery camping incident had now been perfectly buried under this Magic Lord affair.
Surely the Chief would be pleased. His own subordinate had covered up his embarrassing past, after all. As a bonus, the ominous rumor about the Magic Lord wandering the capital in tears in the middle of the night had been buried right along with it.
This deserves a reward.
I would have to formally propose it at the year-end meeting. Ask for a bonus for the whole of Section 2 for defending the Chief's honor.
"Good work. Let's keep it exactly like this."
"Yes, sir."
"Drink after we clock out?"
"Gladly."
The senior team leader flashed a grin and left the office. He would choose the drinking spot himself, as always.
If only every day could be like this.
The moment he was gone I sank into the sofa. Job satisfaction lately had been ridiculously high. At this rate I could do another twenty years of bureaucracy without complaint.
Section 1 Chief seems to be doing fine, too.
And with the Chief providing entertainment from outside the Audit Department, life inside the department itself had become thoroughly enjoyable.
Every time a rosy romance rumor about the Chief spread, eyes naturally drifted toward Section 1 Chief. In the past I had watched her carefully; now there was no need.
"It's fine! The Chief is the man who caught my eye, so of course he's going to be popular!"
"Doesn't that also mean there's a high chance he'll get stolen?"
"Heh-heh! The Chief isn't the kind of person who would throw me away!"
Even now the memory astonished me. Just how thoroughly had he enchanted her? The same Section 1 Chief who once would have reacted with extreme sensitivity had simply laughed it off with a dopey smile.
Of course it was a good thing. Her baseless confidence had let me move without restraint.
Please, let it end well for her.
I offered a short prayer while picturing Section 1 Chief's grinning face. As a fellow colleague, wishing her happiness was the least I could do.
Be happy, Section 1 Chief.
I'll go find my own happiness.
I pulled the communication orb from my coat. The instant I looked at it, laughter burst out of me on reflex.
The Magic Lord incident… putting it that way made it easy to confuse with the Crown Princess's birthday banquet. Roughly speaking, I had not contacted the Chief once since the second Magic Lord affair. Calling him now would be a monumental first contact.
My heart pounded. Exactly what expression would the Chief be wearing while writhing all over?
This is why I work for the Audit Department.
My mind grew peaceful. If the Chief had been anyone other than the man he was now, I would never have lasted long in the department.
"What is it? Why are you calling again?"
Barely a moment after I activated the orb, the Chief's face appeared—wearing an expression that promised he would kill me if this turned out to be another useless errand.
"Well now, Chief. Looks like you're doing well?"
"Does it look that way to you?"
"No."
"You son of a bitch."
The rapid-fire curse sent me laughing again.
But if I just teased him without business, he would unilaterally cut the connection. That could not be allowed.
"The capital has been rather lively lately. Not a single dull day."
"……"
At those words the Chief's mouth snapped shut.
He might be at the Academy now, but for two years he had operated as a high-ranking official in the capital. If he truly had no idea what the capital was like at the moment, that would have been the stranger situation.
"I have one piece of good news and one piece of bad news for you, Chief."
"What?"
"First the good news: the whole business about you sleeping on the ground has been completely buried."
The Chief's expression eased a fraction, as if that at least was a relief.
"As for the bad news… you already know, right?"
"Fuck."
The curse came right back out, but the lack of any further reaction told me he understood this was the best possible outcome.
Exactly. Section 2 had worked hard for this result. Complaining about it would make him a terrible boss.
"I'm looking forward to the New Year's Audience. People are probably going to start taking bets on who becomes your first wife."
Nobles were still people; when something interesting erupted they loved to place wagers—on who would guess correctly, on which way the whole affair would flow.
Between a duke and a duke's daughter, who would become the current Audit Department Chief's first wife? Even if His Majesty the Emperor forbade the betting, it would still happen under the table.
"Couldn't you just give me a little hint? I'll give you half of whatever I win."
Having delivered everything that needed delivering, I threw out one last provocation. Now the Chief would tell me to stop my bullshit and hang up—
"All of them."
…?
"Pardon?"
"I said all of them."
"…All of what?"
"The first wives."
I turned the still-connected communication orb this way and that, examining it carefully.
Was it broken?
Why did the sound come through so strangely?
I calmed my heart—which was still pounding, and not in a good way—and started walking toward the Minister's office.
Honestly, going to the Minister's office under my own power terrified me, but I happened to be the first person to notice this horrific catastrophe. As the discoverer I had a duty to report it at once.
"Does the first one necessarily have to be singular?"
"No, that's a social agreement—"
"Social agreements change with time."
The way the Chief had spoken, like a teacher instructing a student. Remembering that expression made my head throb all over again.
Yes, he was right in a way. Social consensus could shift depending on circumstances. But the idea that a first wife was singular was an immutable consensus. Like the sun rising in the east and water flowing downhill—an unchanging truth. No matter the situation, that one could never change.
"…Yes. That's magnificent."
"Right? I knew you'd understand."
Understand, my ass. But pushing back any further did not seem like something the Chief would let slide.
So I pretended to agree. Even the pretense felt like it was shaving years off my sanity, yet I alone could report the Chief's current state of madness to the Minister.
With the resolve to save the Chief, I arrived at the Minister's office. After a short deep breath, I knocked.
Knock knock.
"Minister. Lafayette Baron, Section 2 Chief of the Audit Department."
"Come in."
The sheer audacity of a mere section chief skipping both the deputy and the department chief to go straight to the Minister. A short while ago the old me could never have managed it; now it was possible.
"What is it? Already decided on a wedding hall?"
The Minister, who had been working, lifted his head slightly and spoke gruffly.
My body instinctively shrank. Ever since he had caught wind of my courtship with Lady Christina, he had been needling me about it almost every single day.
"Not a wedding hall. Something important has come up that I must report."
"So your marriage to Christina is not important, then."
Insane. How did it even flow that way?
"I'm joking."
Fortunately the Minister snorted a quiet laugh and set down his pen, as if inviting me to spit out whatever this important report was.
I swallowed dryly without meaning to. I had to tell a superior far above me that my direct superior had gone mad. Where else in the world did anyone experience something this dreadful?
Still, it had to be done. At the very least the Minister needed to know so the situation could be contained. Only a superior, not a subordinate, could treat a lunatic.
"The Chief has gone mad."
In the end I squeezed my eyes shut and spat the words out. Long explanations were unnecessary. "Mad" was enough.
But the reaction that came back was thoroughly unimpressed.
"He was always mad."
No.
For a moment I lost my words.
And at the same time I understood. It was true—if you had to choose between "normal" and "lunatic," he had always leaned heavily toward the latter.
"He's gone even madder."
After a brief hesitation I added the words quietly.
Only then did the Minister's expression harden a fraction.
"…Worse than usual?"
I simply nodded in silence.
Reporting, in that situation, that the Chief had declared he would take both the duke's daughter and the duke herself as first wives required more courage than expected.
Even the Minister, after hearing the report, remained silent for a long while.
An eerie silence settled over the Minister's office.