The Auditor Arrives

A few days after my grand, heroic, and entirely self-serving victory, an atmosphere of unnatural dread descended upon the Department of Public Health and Sanitation. It began when Director Godwin, a man I had assumed was carved from a single, unmovable block of granite, burst into my office without knocking. His severe mustache was visibly trembling.

“Sukebe! On your feet! Look alive!” he barked, his usual gravelly voice an octave higher with panic. “She’s here! An Auditor from the Bureau of Order is in the building!”

I slowly opened one eye, peering at him from my fortress of solitude behind my desk. I had been in the middle of a very important experiment to see if I could nap with my eyes halfway open to simulate attentiveness. “An auditor?” I mumbled. “Great. It’s like the ghost of my old life has come back to haunt me with its most boring specter: middle management.”

“This is not a joke!” Godwin hissed, frantically straightening my already-crooked badge on my chest. “The Bureau of Order audits everyone. The Royal Knights, the Treasury, the Court Mages… they answer only to the King himself. One bad report from them, and our funding could be cut in half! We’ll be using single-ply toilet paper for a decade!”

The horror of that statement actually made me sit up.

Edgar, my new and overly-earnest subordinate, appeared in the doorway, clutching his clipboard so tightly his knuckles were white. He was, impossibly, even paler than usual. “Director, sir! The Auditor has requested to see the authors of the report from the Pavilion of a Thousand Dreams. That’s… us.”

“Exactly!” Godwin frantically smoothed down his own uniform. “So, for the love of all that is holy, Sukebe, try to act like the hero they keep saying you are for the next hour. No yawning. No slouching. No asking about the kingdom’s gambling laws. Just… stand there and look powerful. Edgar, you do all the talking. Let’s go!”

He herded us out of the office and down to the main atrium. The entire department was in a state of quiet, disciplined terror. Clerks who I’d only ever seen in a state of near-hibernation were now scribbling furiously on parchment, their quills moving at supernatural speeds. The air, usually thick with the scent of lemon polish and apathy, now hummed with a palpable tension. We stood there, a sad little reception committee of feigned competence. I leaned against a marble pillar, resuming my nap experiment.

The grand double doors at the far end of the atrium swung open with a soft whoosh, moved by a silent, invisible force. All activity in the hall ceased. Framed by the bright morning sun stood a tall woman.

She was the physical embodiment of the word ‘severe.’ She wore the crisp, unadorned navy blue uniform of the Bureau of Order, a single silver insignia in the shape of a balanced scale pinned to her lapel. Her red hair was pulled back in a bun so tight it looked like it could cut diamonds. Her eyes, a cool, piercing gray, swept across the room once, and in that single glance, I felt like she had already audited my soul and found it wanting. Tucked under one arm was a slim, black notebook. It looked less like a ledger and more like a list of everyone who was about to have a very bad day.

Her polished black boots clicked with sharp, intimidating precision on the marble floor, the sound echoing in the cavernous silence. She stopped before our pathetic trio. A small, simple nameplate on her uniform read: ELIZA — BUREAU OF ORDER.

Director Godwin bowed so low I was worried his spine might snap. “Auditor Eliza. A profound honor to welcome you to the Department of Public Health and Sanitation.”

“Director Godwin,” she replied, her voice calm and cool, yet carrying an authority that made everyone in the room stand up a little straighter. “I trust you received my summons.”

“Of course, of course!” Godwin stammered, gesturing between me and Edgar. “As requested, I present Inspector Sukebe and Junior Inspector Edgar, the two officers responsible for the successful neutralization of the cursed artifact in the Street of Red Lanterns.”

Eliza’s gaze slid past me, dismissively, and landed on Edgar, who looked like he was about to be sick with a combination of terror and pride. Her eyes softened by a fraction of a degree. She took the report Edgar was holding out with trembling hands.

“This is the one,” she stated, not asked. She flipped through a few pages. “The penmanship is exemplary. The detail is archival quality. The cross-referencing of municipal codes with magical containment protocols is…” Her eyes flicked up at Edgar. “Magnificent. The Bureau was very impressed.”

Edgar’s ears turned the color of a ripe tomato. “Th-thank you, ma’am! I just… I just wrote down what Inspector Sukebe did!”

“Indeed,” Eliza murmured, her gaze finally settling on me. It was like being examined under a microscope. She took in my slouch, my half-lidded eyes, my unbuttoned coat. “The report describes a display of immense, god-like power, wielded with pinpoint precision. It describes a hero of unimaginable ability.” She paused, her eyes narrowing slightly. “And then there is the man himself. They call you a Max-Level Hero, but all I see is a man who seems utterly bored by his own story.”

Before I could respond, which I probably would have done with a yawn, Godwin cleared his throat. “Auditor Eliza will be shadowing our department for the next month,” he announced to us, though it was clearly for my benefit. “She wishes to gain a comprehensive understanding of our methods and operational effectiveness.”

Eliza’s cool gaze never left mine. “My official purpose is to observe the department as a whole. My personal purpose,” she said, her voice dropping slightly, “is to understand how a report so full of dynamic action could be generated by an inspector who looks like he’s about to fall asleep standing up.”

I finally pushed myself off the pillar, a lazy grin touching my lips. “It was a compelling story the first time I lived it,” I drawled. “The retelling in paperwork is always a bit dry. You should’ve been there for the premiere. It was a real splash.”

Edgar’s lips twitched. Godwin looked at the ceiling, as if praying for a meteor to strike.

Eliza was unmoved. “I’m sure it was. Which is why I will be personally accompanying you on your next inspection. I find that direct observation is always more illuminating than even the most ‘magnificent’ of reports.”

“You’re gonna tag along?” I gave her a lazy salute. “Fine by me. Just try to keep up, and don’t get any foam on your fancy boots.”

Her gray eyes glittered with something that looked like a challenge. “I don’t scare easily, Inspector.”

I leaned a fraction closer, dropping my voice to a playful whisper. “Neither do cursed bath sponges, but look how that turned out for them.”

Godwin cut in before the tension could escalate into a full-blown sass-off. “Enough! Auditor Eliza, our records room is at your complete disposal. Inspector Sukebe, Junior Inspector Edgar—prepare for your next assignment. I expect the same standard of reporting.”

As Godwin led a still-flustered Edgar away, I ambled toward the exit, hands clasped behind my head. But I couldn't resist a final glance back. Eliza had already opened her slim, black notebook. Her pen was moving swiftly across the page. I couldn't see the words, but I could guess.

Subject: Okina Sukebe. Max-Level Hero.

Her pen paused for a moment, then tapped against her lips.

Hypothesis: Or max-level fraud.

A faint, almost imperceptible smile touched her lips. She snapped the notebook shut. This wasn't just an audit for her. This was a puzzle. And I was the most interesting piece she’d seen in a very long time.

Well, this is gonna be fun, I thought to myself, a genuine smirk spreading across my face. Let the games begin.