Chapter 4: Secretaries, Shadows, and Silver Light

The next morning, I tried to enjoy a rare moment of peace in my apartment. The sun stretched lazily across the floor, and I thought maybe, just maybe, today would be quiet. Of course, that was a naive thought. In this isekai life, peace was a myth, like a unicorn that also owed you money. My first task of the day: check the witch's house. Maybe, just maybe, a clue had been overlooked. A leftover potion vial, a scribbled note, a plant with suspicious magical properties—anything. My hope was fragile, like a wet tissue.

When I arrived, my hopes were immediately stomped on by reality. The house was sealed. Not just slightly blocked, but fully militarized by royal guards who stared at me as though I was a criminal mastermind planning to rearrange the kingdom. Lucy had tried to salvage some evidence before the sealing, but she only managed to grab a pencil, a few papers, and some small plants. Everything else was now untouchable. Royal knights would handle the rest. Fantastic. Absolutely fantastic. My role had been reduced to existential worry.

Meanwhile, the queen was in critical condition, bedridden and deteriorating with frightening speed. Without medicine—or rather, the witch’s potion—her fate was grim. And here I was, running toward another problem: meeting that girl again at the hospital. My hands were full; I carried the plants and papers Lucy had saved. Of course, Lily came along, making the whole scenario feel like a sitcom. She marveled at every electronic appliance in my apartment—fridge, oven, microwave—all magic to her eyes. Lucy, ever suspicious, approached my blender as though it might explode or consume her soul. I couldn’t help but grin at their reactions. Even in crisis, comedy found a way.

At the hospital, I spoke with the doctor, who delivered both good and bad news. The poison was gone, which meant I could technically take her home. But “home” was undefined. And worse, I didn’t even know her name. Overhearing a few royal knights talk to her, I realized she was involved in the witch murder case as well. Great. Not only did I have to worry about a queen on the brink of death, a sealed witch house, and shadowy figures after mysterious formulas, but I also had to deal with a mysterious girl whose identity and role in this chaos was partially unknown. My brain protested.

And then I saw her. Her name is Urara. Her cheeks flushed red when she noticed me, like a sunrise timidly peeking over the horizon. My heart decided to skip a beat in solidarity. Yesterday’s kiss—the one that left me drained, utterly vulnerable, and strangely elated—replayed in vivid detail. Seeing her shy and flustered made me feel like a teenager again, except now, somehow, I was also supposed to solve murders and manage a household.

Her story unfolded as we sat together, punctuated by pauses, hesitations, and occasional laughter at herself. Urara, nineteen, from Silvi Village, had come here to work, only to be kicked out. When she gave up and returned home, prepared to marry an older uncle, the witch intervened and took her under her wing. She had been working with the witch for nearly a year. Her family was small: only her mother, thirty-nine, and her sister, twenty-two, a tailor who made clothes for the villagers and earned a modest living. A spark of inspiration lit up in my brain: if her sister could sew, maybe Urara could make me new clothes too. Anything to replace this ridiculous delivery uniform the system had assigned me. Honestly, I had lost all faith in system fashion. Thought its my own world delivery uniform.

Then came the moment that nearly made me drop all the plants I was holding. Urara looked at me with wide, innocent eyes and said, “I don’t wanna go home… please give me a job, sir.”

My brain went on strike. Me? Give her a job? I didn’t even have money. How was I supposed to pay Lily? I was currently functioning on instant noodles, rice, and hope. Panic swirled in my chest like a tornado, threatening to lift me into the stratosphere.

At that exact moment, the system chose to intervene. Of course. A bright, obnoxious notification popped into my vision.

NEW MISSION: ACCEPT URARA AS YOUR SECRETARY: REWARD: UNLIMITED HOUSE BARRIER
OLD MISSION: FIND THE MURDERER: REWARD: GUN (STILL ACTIVE)

Unlimited house barrier? Well, that was… something. At least now my apartment would be safe from random beasts. I let out a relieved sigh. One less immediate threat in this otherwise apocalyptically weird life.

I turned to Urara, attempting to appear calm, although internally, my thoughts were a mess of panic, strategy, and overwhelming cuteness overload. “Hey… want to live in my house and be my secretary?”

She froze. Her hesitation was palpable, mixed with curiosity, confusion, and maybe a hint of terror. I had to explain what the job entailed: organizing notes, helping with tasks, assisting in investigations—basically, staying in the same room as me without causing any catastrophic incidents. She nodded slowly, processing everything with the caution of someone who had survived a witch’s domain.

Then came the question that broke all laws of common sense. “Do I… have to give babies too?”

I blinked. My brain flickered between confusion, denial, and absolute panic. Babies? Babies were not mentioned in the secretary handbook. Not once. And yet, she asked earnestly, as though expecting a simple yes or no.

“I… I will do my best,” she added with unwavering sincerity.

I just stared at her, unsure whether to laugh, cry, or run away screaming. Detective work had never, in any conceivable universe, included the literal creation of children as part of a job description. I sighed and led her home, bracing for her reaction to my chaotic apartment.

She was amazed. Shocked. Slightly horrified. And, secretly, I loved every second of it. Her expressions—eyes wide, mouth slightly open—were priceless. It was the kind of look that made you forget momentarily about murder investigations, poisons, and shadowy conspiracies. In the middle of chaos, she reminded me what small, human joy felt like.

Lunch was a simple affair: noodles, perhaps a little overcooked, but filling. We gathered around the table, and I finally asked her about the witch. Her eyes grew serious as she explained that the witch had been preparing a potion for the queen. With the witch gone, everything had spiraled out of control. Shadowy figures sought the formula, hoping to sell it for an astronomical sum. They had stolen the potion but never discovered the real recipe, producing countless useless potions—GRIVE—and tossing them into the basement. The real formula, of course, remained hidden.

And then, out of nowhere, Urara remembered something. A poem. Something the witch had taught her:

“In silver light where shadows play,
I sip the dew of break of day,
Mix night’s whisper with clay…”

Riddles. Naturally. Because life wasn’t complicated enough already. Silver light, shadows, dew, whisper—each word seemed like a clue, a trap, or both. My mind twisted around the possibilities, forming connections and panicking simultaneously.

Evening arrived. Lucy and Lily joined us once again, discussing the queen’s health, the missing potion, and the various dangers surrounding us. Hope seemed scarce, but determination was not.

That night, I arranged Urara’s room. Lucy and Lily would stay for a while; apparently, my cooking was magical, better than anything in their world. Then Lily, ever unpredictable, dropped another bombshell. “I will live here too. Arrange a room for me.”

I blinked. She had a royal house, for crying out loud. Why did she need mine?

“Master… I will earn my own money. Now I’m your assistant. Cases can come anytime. So I have to stay here, right?”

Point taken. I couldn’t argue.

The moon rose high, silver light spilling across the streets. Pretty, yes, but my mind raced with thoughts: unsolved murder, queen’s life at risk, mysterious riddles, secretaries with bizarre “responsibilities,” and my own ridiculous feelings. Chaos, comedy, and chaos-comedy intertwined in a messy, unending dance.

Lucy departed to assist with the queen’s relocation. Lily mentioned something intriguing: “My brother is called the Silver Light Knight. People say he can defeat anyone.”

Silver Light Knight? That matched the first line of the poem. Eureka! Excitement and panic collided within me. Reality, however, reminded me that the queen, Lucy, and Urara were all in danger. We were exposed.

“Lily, Urara… get on the bike. Quick!” I commanded.

They jumped, shocked but obedient. Time to chase clues. Time to solve mysteries. Time to survive.

We sped through the streets, wind whipping at our faces, lights blurring into streaks of color. My mind juggled riddles, strategies, fears, and possibilities. The queen’s life, the witch’s formula, the Silver Light Knight, and the absurdity of living with two girls who now called my home theirs—all collided in my brain.

Urara’s hand brushed mine briefly, accidental, yet it sparked a strange warmth. Lily yelled about shortcuts, and I nearly crashed. Chaos, comedy, catastrophe. Yet amidst it all, life felt vivid, real, and alive. This messy, frustrating, absurd, terrifying world had somehow become home.

And as we rode into the unknown night, I realized one thing: secrets, danger, and laughter waited ahead, and no matter how chaotic life became, we would face it together—secretaries, shadows, and silver light leading the way.