Carlyle worked hard to keep his expression under control as he answered.
“Ah — let’s do both, then.”
Because a superior, by nature, was the kind of creature who’d demand more the moment you handed over the one thing they asked for.
But Leila’s questions didn’t stop there.
“Should we just tally the numbers? Or do you need us to draw out some kind of interpretation as well?”
“I’ll handle the conclusions. Don’t worry about that part.”
Carlyle answered her question while nearly grabbing at his own chest.
*What is this feeling?*
His heart was racing.
Faster than after three cups of coffee!
*I’ve seen Leila Rowell’s personnel file. No prior work experience listed anywhere.*
And yet she was operating at this level?
Which left only one possible conclusion.
*She has good instincts.*
His heart… was pounding fit to burst.
Anyone watching might have mistaken it for love at first sight.
Julianna Crosswell and Seamus Finley both caught the meaning of Leila Rowell’s question immediately.
And the four of them threw themselves into the work, utterly absorbed…
“That should do it.”
Carlyle took the summary the three of them had put together and nodded.
A genuinely perfect foundation for the report.
That was five forty in the evening.
“You can go. No need to stay for overtime after all.”
At his announcement, Julianna’s eyes lit up and she bowed at a full ninety degrees.
“Thank you! You’ve worked hard, sir!”
Seamus just gave a curt, sullen nod, looking somehow displeased.
“…”
And Leila Rowell…
“Good evening, sir.”
Offered a crisp, tidy bow and slipped out of the office like water finding its way downhill.
That was six-ten.
Carlyle very nearly sank into his chair from sheer emotion.
*Leila Rowell. What in the world.*
He’d never once felt his heart race from anything this positive.
And over the department’s dead-last recruit of the entire 218th class, no less!
*…I need to look into Rowell further. Right away.*
That was the thought that struck him.
That maybe — just maybe — this was fate.
Officials at the team-lead level and above were entitled to a personal aide.
Assigning them departmental work was forbidden, but there was no limit on the small errands they could be handed instead.
Which was why nobles often kept their family retainers on as personal aides.
Carlyle’s own retainer and aide, [[UNKNOWN: 세드릭 로링턴]], was no exception—
*[The Black Spoon Division handles a great deal of confidential material. I’ll manage it myself.]*
Other nobles sometimes pushed their aides into errands that crossed every line, but Carlyle was scrupulous about that sort of thing.
Which meant [[UNKNOWN: 세드릭]] had, quite by accident, been collecting a salary for doing very little. Not that he was complaining!
*Now this is new.*
[[UNKNOWN: 세드릭]] watched, puzzled, as his lord read through a report.
*Ordering a background check on someone?*
And not just anyone — on the trainee currently touring the department. Leila Rowell.
“Hm…”
Carlyle frowned as he read through what [[UNKNOWN: 세드릭]] had compiled.
*Raised at an orphanage in the 15th district of the capital.*
*Confirmed to have been raised from infancy at an institution receiving Temple funding.*
Ever since the assassination of the last Saintess.
The Temple — devoted to the God of Time and Purification — had lost much of its former standing, but it still threw itself into charity work as eagerly as ever.
*Temple funding alone probably wasn’t enough to cover everything.*
Considering the environment she’d grown up in, coming in dead last was still an impressive feat, in its own way.
The palace liked to preach that merit came first these days, but nobles still had the clear advantage, no question.
Noble children, after all, never had to give up their studies for the sake of paid work.
*If Rowell had started from the same line as everyone else, then…*
She already had a sharp sense for the work, and an eye that could see the bigger picture besides.
Carlyle made up his mind and murmured to himself.
“…Which department will Leila Rowell end up in, I wonder.”
He’d just have to make sure she wasn’t tempted by anywhere else — and win over his future junior colleague with everything he had.
We finished up our tour of the Black Spoon Division and moved on to the next department.
But on the day we headed to the new office, the heroine seemed a little…
Down. Or tired, maybe?
*She really can’t afford to look this drained. The team leader we’re headed to see next is famous for being a menace.*
The Central Bureau’s Ceremonial Protocol Team.
The one responsible for kicking off the heroine and male lead’s first real romance flag.
None other than Allison Kafres — the very first lunatic of *Beyond the Golden Gate.*
*”Ceremonial Protocol” sounds impressive enough, but—*
The throne’s actual power had shrunk considerably compared to the old days.
And when the crown’s power fades, so does the shine on everything that basked in its reflected glory.
*This team’s a textbook case. Its official name is even the lowest-ranked unit — a mere “team.”*
Allison took whatever stress the outside world heaped on her and dumped it straight onto clueless new hires.
*In the original story, that fallout landed on me. With the heroine already this deflated, who knows what happens now?*
Wait. What if this turns into some emergency deviation from the original plot—!
The heroine could not, under any circumstances, decide she wanted to quit outright!
“Julianna, whatever you hear where we’re going next, just tune it out, okay?”
“Hm?”
“I mean treat it like a dog barking nonsense. Understood?”
“Oh — okay!”
Good. She actually listens.
“And Finley, you.”
I took one look at Grape-Head’s outfit and my patience snapped clean in half. That thug look of his was going to drag the rest of us down by association!
“Hey — wait. Finley. Button your shirt.”
“Why?”
“Why? You don’t even know where we’re going right now? It’s the Protocol Team. Protocol!”
“What’s my outfit got to do with the job, though?”
Ah, so that’s how he wants to play it.
“Finley, the Protocol Team is the most conservative place in this entire palace. Why? Because it’s been running the same traditional ceremonies for generations.”
“We’re just doing paperwork and leaving anyway, what’s the—”
“Why doesn’t it matter? When we’re trying to convince someone to observe proper protocol, who’s going to listen to us looking like this?”
“…”
“If some guy who never even sat the Mage Tower’s exam tried to lecture you, would you just go along with it?”
Grape-Head’s expression darkened by degrees under my nagging.
*Right, he’s not going to listen to me, I’m not the heroine—*
But to my surprise, he slowly started doing up his buttons!
Grape-Head muttered, sulking.
“…Fair enough.”
Ha. A victory of pure logic.
“Finley. What about a tie, then? Didn’t bring one?”
“I can’t do anything around my neck.”
“Huh — really?”
I supposed some people had a psychological thing about wearing something around their throat.
Still, he wasn’t taking off that skull bracelet no matter what.
“That bracelet—”
“I got permission for this one.”
“Oh. Seriously?”
“It’s an artifact.”
A punk-rock accessory doubling as an artifact.
*Right, now that I think about it, this guy’s the future Mage Tower Master.*
Not sure why he’d choose the civil service over being worshipped over there instead.
Grape-Head kept grumbling.
“You’re the first person who’s ever criticized my clothes.”
Great, now I’m apparently building a “you’re the first person who’s ever done this to me” arc with the second lead too. As the fussy coworker who nitpicks his wardrobe.
*Patience…*
I needed every ounce of mental preparation I had for the office lunatic waiting ahead.
And Allison Kafres, once we met her, turned out to be exactly the lunatic I’d expected.
“Hmph. So you’re the top group… plus one extra at the bottom?”
She lined the three of us up first and looked us over, slowly, with obvious distaste.
“You know we had three brand-new desks brought in for you lot, at three hundred marks apiece.”
“…”
“You think you’re worth that kind of money?”
A mark was worth ten thousand won. So — about nine million won spent, then?
Not even her own money, and she’s acting like she paid for it herself. Should we go sit on the floor instead?
At times like this, saying absolutely nothing was the smart move.
*I remember Allison originally fixated on me and tormented me relentlessly.*
If I just let this roll off, maybe things would stay quiet, unlike in the original.
Grape-Head, apparently agreeing this “wasn’t rational,” wore a bored, half-checked-out expression.
But a first-year in the workforce couldn’t help herself, I suppose.
The heroine went ahead and actually answered the question.
“I’ll — work hard to prove I’m worth it—”
“Do you think this is some academy? What exactly do you think you’re here to learn?”
Damn it.
Unlike in the original story, Allison had latched onto the heroine instead.
From that point on, Allison tore into everything Julianna did, no matter how trivial.
“Ugh, no sense of judgment at all.”
“I— I’m sorry.”
“All that education and zero instinct for the job… what a waste of a desk.”
“…”
“Oh my. Did that hurt your feelings? But you kids need things spelled out plainly, don’t you?”
Having successfully crushed the heroine’s spirits, she turned her attention to me next.
“And you — still not fini—”
“The task you assigned me is complete.”
