1. The File That Should Have Stayed Buried
The file labeled CASE #0002 did not sit on the desk.
It loomed.
Its edges bled dust. Its spine creaked like an old knee. Its stamp was so faded it felt embarrassed to still exist.
Ne Job poked it.
It growled.
Ne Job withdrew his finger.
"…The file growled."
Yue stared. "Files don't growl."
Qi-Yun corrected calmly. "God-files do."
The office lights dimmed further, flickering between eras. The reverse-growing plant wilted, then regrew with thorns.
The coffee machine whispered:
"oh no oh no oh no—"
Ne Job swallowed.
"So. Forgotten God of Paperwork."
Qi-Yun nodded. "Older than the Bureau. Older than titles."
"Why was it forgotten?"
Qi-Yun opened the file.
"Because it was too effective."
2. Origin: When Paperwork Was Law
The file projected an image.
A vast hall—primitive Heaven. No cubicles. No desks.
Just stone slabs and endless scrolls.
At the center sat a towering figure carved of ink and clay, hands constantly moving, stamping reality into order.
Forms became laws. Signatures became fate.
Mortals prayed. Gods queued.
Ne Job stared.
"…He ran everything."
"Yes," Qi-Yun said softly.
"And Heaven decided that was inefficient."
The image shifted.
New systems layered on top. Committees. Departments. Oversight.
The god slowed.
Then stopped.
Buried under procedures he once was.
Yue felt sick.
"They didn't kill him."
"No," Qi-Yun replied.
"They buried him alive."
The projection flickered.
And something beneath it stirred.
3. The Office Receives a Visitor (Uninvited)
The door screamed.
Not opened. Not knocked.
Screamed.
A pressure slammed into the room.
Shelves bent. Desks slid. The badge on Ne Job's chest burned cold.
A voice echoed—not loud, but absolute.
"WHO FILED A CORRECTION IN MY NAME."
Ne Job froze.
"…We did?"
Yue shot him a look. "WHY WOULD YOU ANSWER THAT."
The air tore open.
A figure stepped through—tall, broad, draped in shredded forms and ancient seals.
His face was unreadable. Not because it lacked features— —but because it had too many, constantly overwriting each other.
Every step stamped the floor with an obsolete seal.
APPROVED
DENIED
OBSOLETE
The Forgotten God of Paperwork had arrived.
4. The God Notices Ne Job (Unfortunately)
The god's gaze landed on Ne Job.
The room went silent.
"…Intern."
The word carried weight.
History.
Disgust.
Ne Job's knees locked.
"Hi. Uh. Sir. Your Godship. Former Department Head?"
The god leaned down.
Reality creaked.
"YOU BEAR AUTHORITY YOU DO NOT UNDERSTAND."
Ne Job nodded rapidly.
"That is extremely accurate."
Yue stepped forward.
"He didn't summon you. The system did."
The god's eyes shifted to her.
"THE SYSTEM IS MY CORPSE."
Qi-Yun finally spoke.
"You were buried because you could not change."
The god straightened.
"I WAS LAW."
Qi-Yun met him evenly.
"And law that cannot change becomes cruelty."
Silence thundered.
5. The God Makes a Demand
The Forgotten God raised one massive hand.
Thousands of forms unfurled.
"RETURN WHAT WAS TAKEN."
Ne Job blinked.
"…What?"
"RETURN MY FUNCTION.
RETURN MY THRONE.
RETURN ME TO ORDER."
The office trembled.
Yue whispered urgently.
"If he regains full authority—"
"Heaven collapses," Qi-Yun finished.
Ne Job's heart pounded.
"…So that's a no."
The god's gaze snapped back to Ne Job.
"YOU DARE REFUSE?"
Ne Job inhaled.
"I don't dare," he said honestly.
"I just… can't."
The badge on his chest pulsed.
Undefined clearance.
The god recoiled slightly.
"…WHAT ARE YOU."
Ne Job swallowed.
"I fix things people are afraid to look at."
The office hummed.
6. Heaven Interferes (Too Late)
A sigil flared.
Oversight descended—cold, sharp, immaculate.
"FORGOTTEN ENTITY.
STAND DOWN."
The god laughed.
It sounded like paper tearing.
"YOU STOOD ON MY SHOULDERS AND CALLED IT MANAGEMENT."
Oversight's presence tightened.
"You are obsolete."
The god turned slowly.
"SO ARE YOU."
The Archive shook.
Somewhere, rules cracked.
Qi-Yun grabbed Ne Job's arm.
"Whatever you do next," he said quietly,
"will define this department forever."
Yue's voice trembled—but steady.
"No pressure."
Ne Job looked at the god. At Oversight. At the system choking on itself.
He raised the pen.
Not to strike.
But to write.
"…Okay," he said.
"Let's talk about restructuring."
The god froze.
Oversight hesitated.
Reality leaned in.
7. Cliffhanger: A Rewrite Begins
The pen glowed—soft, uncertain, alive.
A blank page unfolded between them.
The Forgotten God stared at it.
"…YOU WOULD AMEND ME?"
Ne Job nodded.
"You deserve a job," he said.
"Just not the whole universe."
Silence.
Then—
The god reached out.
Slowly.
Carefully.
And touched the page.
The office lights flared.
The door slammed shut.
And Heaven held its breath.
END OF CHAPTER 261