Commander, Counseling (1)

After the Commander had laid bare that infuriating body she'd been hiding all this time for the whole world to see, a certain consensus began quietly spreading through Firma.

The Commander is no longer an impregnable fortress.

The warning signs had been plentiful enough. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠It had started with her admitting to her amnesia and asking for help, followed by a voice that had somehow grown softer than before. And most decisively of all: she never initiated affection herself, but she never quite refused the physical contact that came her way, either. Every last one of those circumstances was proof that the walls around her had crumbled considerably.

Turning suspicion into certainty had been surprisingly straightforward. Whenever they dropped by command, the Commander would greet them with a bright smile — whether she was in the middle of work or taking a brief rest.

First came a near-cardiac arrest just from that. Then, midway through conversation, that faint but lethal smile would send them into crisis all over again... but so long as they could keep their facial muscles in check with superhuman willpower, carrying on a conversation wasn't particularly difficult. And along the way, a tiny bit of... very minor, very natural physical contact came as a bonus.

And thanks to an addictiveness that rivaled any narcotic, the moment the first operative's review made the rounds, everyone and their mother started visiting command.

How on earth had Firma — an organization packed with nothing but monsters who wouldn't lose to anyone in terms of ability — ended up like this? The Former Commander's excessive perfectionism — same body, different person — had played a part, certainly. But the overwhelming share of the blame belonged to someone who thoroughly believed she was maintaining proper boundaries, when in reality she couldn't even tell where those boundaries were.

In other words: give a late-blooming thief a taste, and they won't even notice the sun coming up. The women slowly going mad over the handfuls of feed dropped their way with every visit were demons of the current Commander's own making.

"...Girls."

If they had a fault, it was this...

"Don't you have work to do?"

...that their enthusiasm had been a little too much.

The notice I sent out in exasperation was met with fierce protest from the entirety of Firma.

Well — I didn't say anything that wasn't true. The reaction was enormously intense, and I did receive a considerable number of protests. I'd probably gotten more written appeals in the past week than actual documents.

The thing was... the form those protests took was more like begging.

"Haaah..."

I clutched my throbbing head and sank back into the chair. Look, I know I went too far. I didn't want to do this either.

I like talking, too. Catching up on how everyone's doing, building some rapport along the way — what's not to love? But they shouldn't have been showing up so often that I couldn't get any work done.

Our company may be stable, sure, but lately the amount of work I get through in a day has dropped to a quarter of what it used to be. And it's not like there's nothing to do. Just look at the stack of documents piled up on my left — how many pages is that?

I'm not trying to point fingers, but at this rate I'm looking at overtime that slides right into an all-nighter. I never even pulled an all-nighter back when I was grinding away at a regular job. And now I'm about to do it after possessing this body?

That's a bit much, don't you think...?

"Still, you went a little overboard this time too, Commander."

"What else was I supposed to do? Work was piling up. I had to do something."

"Even so."

At any rate, the only operative currently in my office was Calia, my Adjutant. You're actually defending the others today? That's new. Any other time you'd be tearing into them whether they were in the room or not.

You're stationed here legally anyway. This doesn't even affect you, does it?

"I've only got a few days of that privilege left, you know?"

"Ah."

"I'll be in big trouble if I go into Commander withdrawal, okay?"

"What kind of 'substance' is that even supposed to be?"

...Right. Her stint as Adjutant was almost up. She could laugh about it now, but later she might well be adding a page of her own to that pile of appeals.

Wait a second. Why is "just seeing each other professionally" not even on the table? You all run into each other plenty without needing to make it personal. I almost let that one slide.

"We waited two years, and you've only been back for less than two months. Cut us some slack."

"I... I get how you feel, but more than ten people showing up in a single day? That's not reasonable..."

"Twenty times a day wouldn't be enough for me."

"...That much?"

Even as a joke, that was a bit excessive.

Anyway. So this was all backlash from not having seen me — or rather, not having seen the "Commander" — for so long. Framed that way, it did make sense. Most of the girls I'd met on the first day had clung to me in tears, after all. That was how precious the Commander was to every last one of them.

Guess I need to find a solution...

Now I just felt even worse. All I'd wanted was time to actually work, and somehow I'd ended up pushing them away with my own two hands. That hadn't been the plan at all. This was exactly the kind of situation that invited misunderstanding...

And as I'd mentioned, talking with the girls was genuinely enjoyable. It'd be a shame — a huge shame — to throw all those opportunities away over one momentary mistake.

I mean, come on. The characters I used to obsess over are standing right in front of me. How am I supposed to hold back? Ignoring them would be the weird part.

Besides, the Commander's disappearance was... half my responsibility to begin with.

So in that sense, I was more than willing to spend time with them. It's just...

"Nngh, still... unless I split myself into pieces, there's no way..."

Honestly, when they swarmed me like that, I had nothing. I only have one body. It might be fine for now, but if this kept up, the strain would obviously pile up and pile up, right?

More to the point — why were they suddenly acting like this? It wasn't as if they were going to carve me into dozens of pieces and take me home.

...Oh. Right. If my body got split, I wouldn't be able to work. I'm losing my mind.

"Then how about this?"

"Hm?"

"You wouldn't get interrupted at work, and you could still have comfortable conversations."

Huh? What?

That existed? You couldn't have mentioned this sooner?

"For real? You're not lying?"

"You'd have to put in a little extra effort after clocking out, but if you're okay with that?"

That was no problem at all. Even when I left early, all I did was wash up and pass out. Why wouldn't I be okay with it?

I'd been getting sick of a life where I just collapsed the moment I got off work anyway. Perfect timing. Rather than spending meaningless hours by myself, I might ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠as well treat this as picking up a hobby.

Sure, if you really broke it down, it still counted as an extension of work — but if I was having fun, it was a hobby. That's how it worked, right? Or not. Whatever.

"So basically, what I'm talking about is..."

To briefly summarize what Calia said after that:

"...Regular Counseling?"

Counseling.

The dictionary definition was an act of conferring with one another in order to solve a problem or satisfy one's curiosity... but that was the dictionary definition, and what we were going to do was a little different.

It's just chatting under the guise of counseling, basically.

A similar example: those school counseling sessions where you sat through an hour of it as an excuse to skip class. Officially it was a place to get career advice or tips on interpersonal relationships, but kids that age had an uncanny talent for sniffing out the easy gigs. And if you actually said you had a problem, they'd counsel you for real. That kind of vibe.

The difference between what I was planning and those old school days, however, was this: I would be the one visiting a specific person, for a specific period, on a regular basis.

And "visiting" meant walking right into the rooms they lived in. Like a private tutor making house calls. A door-to-door service, if you wanted to put it that way.

"...Is this actually okay, though?"

"That's because you don't get it, Commander. They'll welcome it, if anything."

"They will...?"

Kids these days were remarkably open-minded. Back in my time, this would've been a massive problem. A company of this size would have been plastered across the news for trampling on human rights — ignoring personal privacy and all the rest of it.

Thankfully, this world didn't have much in the way of a press. Most of it was already dead.

...Or maybe it wasn't that extreme? It felt closer to inviting a close friend over than forcing your boss into your home. Whether I could actually play the role of a friend was another question entirely.

I'd try to keep the conversations as equal as possible, but at the end of the day I'd still be approaching them as their superior.

But wait. Welcome it?

"They're going to be happy about their boss walking into their home...?"

"Just trust me. Are you doubting me right now?"

"It's not that... I just have a feeling the turnout's going to be abysmal."

No matter how hard I tried to understand our girls' psychology, the omniscient modern-earthling perspective kicked in uninvited. Your workplace superior, coming to your house...? And not just any superior — at minimum, C-suite level...?

One slip in your mental composure and you'd be slapping your resignation on the desk. Was that even viable? The only scenario I could picture was the kind of manga plot where you get drunk, end up taking your boss home, and somehow become a couple.

"Think of it as taking the bait. Just try it once."

"...Fine. I'll take the bait."

Right. Nothing to lose. I'd give it a shot, whether it worked or not. That was about as much ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠conviction as I had going in.

...Or so I'd thought.

"...What is this."

The next day.

Not long after I'd decided to implement what I was calling the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Regular Counseling System, I found myself facing a massive mountain range.

What even is this.

...Hold on. This looks like more than today's workload. Is this allowed?

This was a day's worth... no, not even a day. This entire mountain of paper — all of it applications that had come in within half a day...?

"See? What did I tell you?"

Well... honestly, I'd been half-skeptical.

But you didn't say it would be this much...