How the Hell Did This Succeed
The morning commute of a ninth-grade official in the empire was miserable.
Rainy days were damp and miserable. Foggy days were impossible to see through and miserable. And on nice days? The weather was so good it somehow made everything even more miserable.
I want to commute by carriage.
Askal watched yet another carriage speed past a poor pedestrian, his heart heavy with envy. Carriages powered by mana were symbols of wealth or power in this world.
Usually, only wealthy merchants, nobles, or officials of fifth grade or higher received government support to ride them. Since Askal was none of those things, he once again trudged along on his own two legs like a diligent fool.
Stopping at the bakery he always visited on his way to work, Askal picked up freshly baked bread and a bottle of fresh milk. He took a big bite.
The bread was perfectly crisp with a rich buttery aroma. Honestly, it tasted far better than anything from his previous life.
The bread back then was expensive and tasted like absolute garbage.
He washed down the slight lump in his throat with milk and continued walking, lost in thought. Before he knew it, he had arrived at work.
Barba Empire — Government Office.
It really lived up to the name of an imperial building. The grand, ornate structure looked like someone had slathered money all over it. In fact, it was downright extravagant.
“What time is it… ten past nine?”
Askal glanced up at the massive clock that decorated the top of the building—an expensive piece commissioned from the Magic Tower—and reflexively flinched.
Work started at nine.
But he had no intention of going in right away. The key was to stall as much as possible.
He wandered around the perimeter of the office complex, killing time until the clock read seventeen minutes past nine.
“This should be enough.”
It wasn’t.
The moment Askal stepped into Evaluation Department Section 4, he fell into despair.
“Oh! You’re the first one in again today, Askal! As expected of our department’s most diligent official!”
These lunatics didn’t start showing up until well after nine-thirty, even though work officially began at nine. Some of them even reeked of alcohol, clearly having partied hard the night before.
This was the reality of the empire.
In this barbaric fantasy world, bureaucracy was still a very new concept.
“Now that I think about it, it’s about time to pick this month’s outstanding official.”
The senior officer scratched his nose and walked over to a framed picture hanging on the wall of the office.
“Time to take this down.”
Phew.
Askal let out a sigh of relief.
Seeing his own face hanging on the wall every single morning had been incredibly stressful. All his deliberate tardiness and laziness had finally paid off.
You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.
“Congratulations!”
“Congratulations, Askal!”
“You really are the hope of our section!”
Watching the officials clap enthusiastically, Askal seriously began to worry about the empire’s future. No wonder there’s going to be a rebellion and everyone gets executed. You crazy bastards.
He renewed his vow to escape this place.
However, resigning from imperial service was no easy task.
“Did you hear? That official who tried to run away saying he couldn’t do the job anymore got chased down by the hunting dogs and caught.”
“I heard his entire family was executed along with him?”
“That’s right. He was a decent guy. Too bad. Should’ve run better.”
The senior scratched his head.
Here, casual conversation about who had tried to flee and gotten caught was completely normal. There was even a strange atmosphere of encouragement. Most attempts ended in miserable failure and execution, of course.
The “hunting dogs” referred to the Intelligence Bureau, a department that answered directly to the emperor. With the emperor’s permission, they held absolute authority to monitor and investigate all officials.
Once you became an imperial official, there was no normal way out. You either worked until retirement, died in an accident, or got fired for being spectacularly incompetent.
The first option was impossible. Very few people actually survived to retirement here, and Askal knew the future. Long before he could reach retirement age, the empire would fall into chaos due to rebellion.
Dying in an accident wasn’t even worth considering. That left only the third option—the one Askal was seriously aiming for.
Getting fired for being spectacularly incompetent.
“It’s already this late. Alright, everyone, shall we take our afternoon nap?”
The senior pulled out a goose-feather pillow from somewhere, lay down, and immediately began snoring. It took him less than a minute.
Askal looked around to see if anyone else shared his serious doubts about this abnormal workplace.
Nobody.
They were all sound asleep.
It was hopeless.
These people didn’t even wait to be bad at their jobs—they simply didn’t work at all.
How the hell do I get fired from here…?
It wasn’t going to be easy.
It was only late afternoon when the Evaluation Department finally began to show any semblance of actually working.
Even then, Section 4—which didn’t handle any of the department’s core responsibilities—only dealt with attaching tags to antiques for categorization or mocking and rejecting absurd business proposals from young entrepreneurs seeking government subsidies.
“Wow. This guy wants to teach trolls how to talk and use them at construction sites? He’s properly insane.”
“It’s more constructive than that guy last week who wanted to farm with goblin shit.”
Askal half-heartedly agreed with his senior’s mocking laughter.
From what he had observed over a long period, the realism or plausibility of the business plans didn’t actually matter. What the senior cared about most wasn’t the plan itself, but the person who wrote it—and more importantly, their connections.
“Think about it. If the applicant has strong backing, they’ll have plenty of useful connections even if the business fails, right? That raises the success rate. And if I approve it, maybe some crumbs will fall my way. It’s all perfectly reasonable. Oh, this proposal is from the son of Viscount Berk. Approved.”
After putting it off as long as humanly possible, the senior finally began processing the mountain of proposals. He let out a sigh and said:
“I’ll leave the rest to you.”
The senior had just dumped his work.
Of course, even if Askal handled it, a low-ranking official like him had no real authority to take responsibility. But what if he accidentally approved a terrible proposal and the country’s money went down the drain? He could be held accountable and fired on the spot.
…Fired?
A lightning bolt of an idea flashed through Askal’s mind.
The empire's current magic stone production process is extremely inefficient. The existing manufacturing method incurs high costs and has many areas for improvement. By using new materials and alchemy, efficiency can be dramatically increased and production volume significantly expanded. Although there will be substantial initial costs, the empire will gain permanent benefits that far outweigh the expense. Therefore, we propose the following methods.
The proposal continued for dozens more pages, filled with technical jargon and concepts so advanced that anyone who wasn’t an expert in the field would struggle to even understand it.
But Askal was certain this business plan was a scam. It was far too elaborate. It reeked of fraud.
Besides, if the proposer actually had real ability, they wouldn’t have sent their plan to Section 4—a den of corruption and incompetence—when they could have sent it to Section 1.
The proposer was also an unknown alchemist.
It should have been rejected immediately.
And they’re asking for a massive sum of money? A suspicious plan like this should obviously be…
Askal Debr
Askal glanced around nervously. As expected, no one was paying him any attention.
He slipped into the section chief’s office—currently empty because the chief was out enjoying horseback riding—and secretly inserted the magic stone improvement proposal, which demanded an enormous budget, among the already-approved documents.
With this, the scammer would walk away with the nation’s money, and Askal would be branded as the incompetent official who failed to spot the fraud.
If I’m lucky, I’ll get fired. Even if not, my reputation will take a serious hit.
He might get some dirty looks, but at least he would be one step closer to getting dismissed.
Please, you magnificent scammer.
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”