Secretary Chloe (2)
My first duty was managing the receipt and dispatch ledgers.
"Every document that enters or leaves the Inspectorate gets recorded here."
"…All of them?"
"Yes. All of them."
"Even the useless ones?"
"There is no such thing as a useless document."
I chose my next words carefully.
I needed something a child might say.
"Do you like paperwork?"
"No. I hate it."
"……."
"Even if you hate it, someone has to do it."
He launched straight into the explanation.
Who sent what document, when, and where. My job was simply to write it down.
3rd Company Ammunition Expenditure Report. Received 09:20.
My hand trembled, so the letters came out a little shaky.
No fingernails, thick bandages… my condition was hardly ideal for pretty handwriting.
"As long as it's legible."
"…Yes."
Copy of Chloe Winterland Medical Record for Magic Corps HQ. Scheduled for dispatch 14:00.
"I'm writing my own records too?"
"That's right."
"…It feels strange."
"Get used to it."
Hm. I wasn't particularly eager to get used to it.
A guy who died of overwork doing paperwork in his previous life, only to do more paperwork in the next one—there was a limit to how bad a joke could get.
In the afternoon I was taught how to use a typewriter.
It was a machine that moved its type when you slotted a magic stone into a small groove—similar to the typewriters I had known in my previous life, yet somehow off in subtle ways.
At first it felt novel. After about ten minutes the novelty vanished completely.
Because my fingers hurt.
"Slow."
"…I'm sorry. My nails still haven't healed."
"……."
Sergeant Müller kept his expression blank and pressed his lips shut.
Even he must have realized that was a bit much, right? Making a person with no fingernails work a typewriter—that was genuinely rotten!
I sat still and simply looked at him. Sergeant Müller averted his eyes and issued a new order.
"Start with the short documents first."
"Yes."
I began typing a short document in front of the machine.
Every letter made my fingertips throb, yet strangely I found myself concentrating well.
Perhaps because of memories from my previous life, it felt as though the paperwork itself was steering me.
And… it all felt a little distant. I couldn't tell whether this was war or children's play.
A single sheet of paper could send a soldier to the front. A single sheet of paper could pull him back to the rear.
Quieter and slower than a gun, yet it could pierce much farther.
.
.
.
After a few days the workload gradually increased. My hands had recovered somewhat.
The more work I handled, the more names I saw.
Killed in action, missing, evacuated, unfit for front-line return, magic circuit damage, symptoms of mental breakdown, self-harm attempt, desertion….
Quite interesting cases, all of them.
The name Anais Schoen must have been written down somewhere just like this.
I flinched.
An odd feeling made me snatch my hands away from the typewriter for a moment.
"…You all right?"
"No. I'm fine."
Sergeant Müller regarded me with his usual blank eyes.
He was hiding concern behind that mask.
Was this a moment for yuryeol?
When I met his gaze he hurriedly buried his face in the documents again. The sight struck me as rather amusing.
"Sergeant Müller."
"Yes."
"…Could I have a notebook?"
"What for?"
"A diary."
Sergeant Müller lifted his head from the papers and locked eyes with me once more.
"A diary?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
"…I want to put things in order."
"What things?"
I had tried to skip past without naming the subject. Apparently that had failed.
"I want to put everything that has happened so far in order."
Well, it wasn't a lie, at least.
Sergeant Müller studied my expression for a long time with sharp eyes, as if trying to read my intent, but it didn't particularly matter.
I was already a master at hiding my face, and this time there was no real need to hide anything.
He opened a drawer and took out a thin notebook. The brown cover and rough paper looked cheap.
The corners were slightly worn; it seemed to have been used before.
…Did he tear out the written pages? Why?
Sergeant Müller handed me the notebook and said,
"Don't write anything that would be inconvenient if someone else read it. Spot inspections can happen without warning."
"Yes. Understood."
"Avoid writing anything too personal as well."
"Yes."
I accepted the notebook.
He had kindly advised me not to write anything awkward for others to read. I intended to do the opposite.
So that I could be discovered when I wanted, by the person I wanted, in the manner I wanted.
This notebook was a bomb without a fuse.
I was writing it so that someday it would be found. For the sake of the moment when one person's expression completely collapsed!
I felt like raising a glass in a toast if I'd had one.
Start ordinary.
I opened the first page of the diary and pretended to hesitate over what to write.
I have decided to keep a diary starting today.
I rather liked it.
All that practice with cursive had paid off.
Cough…
A cough slipped out before I knew it.
Part of a notebook page got lightly damp with spit. I didn't care for that at all.
I had wanted to keep it neat.
"…Is the cough all right?"
"Ah, I'm sorry."
"No need to apologize."
"There's nothing particularly wrong with my body, but they say my respiratory tract and magic pool were damaged by magic circuit contamination."
"…I see."
Sergeant Müller looked at me with a bitter expression.
Roughly a few weeks passed.
I was still Sergeant Müller's clerk-soldier.
Today was one of those rare days when I arrived at the office earlier than he did, so I could enjoy a little solitary reflection.
And write in my diary while I was at it!
Creak.
The moment I opened the diary, Sergeant Müller opened the door with perfect timing.
In his hand was a small metal case.
"What is that?"
"Ah. You're early today."
With a click the metal case opened.
Inside lay something that looked rather like an asthma inhaler from my previous life.
The difference, I supposed, was that it had been made of heavy metal.
Complex grooves and metal tubes were engraved across its surface, and on the side was a round hole where something could be inserted.
"…What is this?"
"A magic inhaler."
"Pardon?"
"Something I received from the Mold Star."
Who was the Mold Star?
I asked carefully.
"…I don't know what it is, but it looks valuable."
"It is valuable."
"Is it really all right for me to use something like this?"
"Even more expensive equipment has already been expended to keep you alive."
"……."
"I didn't mean to burden you."
Sergeant Müller slipped a small, round-cut magic stone into the hole.
With a series of soft clicks, a blue light began to seep from inside the inhaler.
"The cause of your magic circuit contamination was simply ingesting unrefined magic stones as they were. Magic power itself is not bad for a mage."
"Is that so?"
"The magic powder that artillery mages use works on a similar principle. It has a stimulant effect and temporarily raises magical output. There is the minor side effect of the body breaking down if you abuse it, but…."
"……."
"Well, anything effective usually comes with side effects."
Had this man's personality shifted a little?
Sergeant Müller brought the inhaler straight to my lips.
"Inhale slowly."
I did as he instructed.
Sssip.
A cold sensation traveled down my throat.
It was similar to the cold fire I had felt when I chewed magic stones before.
Fortunately there was no sensation of fireworks going off.
It was more like soft silk soaked in ice water wiping its way down my throat—hm, a truly curious feeling.
Hooo…
When I exhaled, white smoke drifted out between my lips.
"The smoke is impurities. As your condition improves, the amount of smoke will decrease."
"…I see."
"How does your throat feel?"
Breathing had grown a little easier. No cough, and the aching in my body had quieted considerably.
A sickly beautiful girl who walks with a cane has now acquired an asthma inhaler as well—the crowning touch…!
Strictly speaking it was a magic inhaler, but since it looked so much like an asthma inhaler, it hardly mattered.
My props had increased.
At this rate, didn't the completion level of the sickly beautiful girl concept rise quite a bit?
Hm? You're saying it isn't a concept, that I'm actually sickly? Well, that much is true!
"Use it when the coughing gets bad. No more than three times a day."
"Yes."
"I'll manage the magic stones. I'll issue them three times a day."
"Understood."
"…Don't try to secretly hoard them."
"Yes."
Once he finished speaking he sat down at his desk.
Judging by how unfriendly he was compared to usual, either work had piled up or he had an appointment.
Sure enough, the moment he finished sorting a few documents he threw on his coat to leave somewhere.
My prediction had been correct.
"Where are you going?"
"To see my father."
Father… father, was it.
I smelled something.