Chapter 59: The Heir to the Archive
The Bureau of Cosmic Alignment had seen many deliveries, but the Giant Golden Egg resting in the center of the Grand Lobby was the first to arrive with a personalized wax seal. It didn't just have Ne Job's name on it; it had his exact employee ID number and a "Return to Sender" address that simply said: THE PROTAGONIST'S LEGACY.
"Commissioner," Assistant Yue's typewriter clattered with a rhythmic, nursery-rhyme cadence. "THE. EGG. IS. 100%. RADIATING. TEMPORAL. POTENTIAL. IT. HAS. A. HEARTBEAT. MEASURED. IN. 7.5%. SYLLABLES."
"I didn't order this," Ne Job grumbled, poking the shell with his silver stapler. "I don't have time for a pet. I barely have time for the dragon."
The Hatching of the Hat
With a sound like a tiny, high-pitched gavel, the egg cracked. Instead of a bird or a monster, out stepped a three-foot-tall figure in a miniature, perfectly tailored trench coat. He wore a tiny hat with a tiny silver plume, and he was holding a tiny, plastic-looking silver stapler.
He looked exactly like Ne Job, minus forty years and several hundred layers of cynicism.
"Archivist Junior, Reporting for Duty!" the boy squeaked, his voice a 100% pitch-perfect imitation of Ne Job's baritone, but played at double-speed. "I have already identified three filing errors in the Lobby and a 7.5% inefficiency in the dragon's napping schedule!"
The Perfectionist's Plague
The Junior Archivist—whom Pip immediately nicknamed "Ne-Junior"—didn't just start working; he started Correcting.
"He's too efficient!" Architect Ao Bing wailed, as Junior reorganized his blueprints into a color-coded system that required a PhD to understand. "He doesn't understand that art needs mess! He's turning my 'Visionary City' into a 'Zoned Industrial Park'!"
The Muse was having a worse time. Junior had followed her for three hours with a "Sparkle-Reduction Permit," claiming that her neon hair was a "Visual Distraction" that slowed down data entry by 0.04 seconds per cycle.
"Ne Job!" The Muse hissed, her hair sparking a defensive, angry red. "He's you, but without the soul! He's the version of you that never learned to enjoy the 'And'!"
The 7.5% Paternal Crisis
Ne Job watched his "Heir" with a mixture of horror and recognition. Junior was everything Ne Job had been trained to be: precise, emotionless, and 100% focused on the "Absolute."
"Junior," Ne Job said, kneeling to eye-level with the boy. "Why are you doing this? We have a system here. It's a bit messy, but it works."
"System is flawed," Junior chirped, clicking his tiny stapler. "Legacy requires perfection. If I am to be the Heir to the Archive, I must eliminate the 'Anomaly.' I must stabilize the 'Semicolon' into a 'Final Period'."
Ne Job froze. The boy wasn't a gift; he was a Biological Fail-Safe. The Author had sent a replacement—one that would be willing to finish the story that the current Ne Job refused to end.
The Stapler Duel
Junior raised his tiny stapler. "You have become too attached to the 'And,' Senior. You have failed your primary function. I am here to close the books."
Suddenly, the Lobby turned into a battlefield of paperwork. Junior was fast, zipping between desks and KA-CHUNKING "The End" slips onto every trajectory he could find.
"Pip! The wrench! Muse! We need a distraction!"
"On it!" Pip yelled, throwing a handful of "Self-Aware Screws" under Junior's feet.
As Junior tripped, Ne Job didn't attack. He pulled out the Umbrella of Yesterday he had kept from Chapter 56. He opened it, creating a canopy of "Lived-in Texture" over the boy.
The Adoption of the Anomaly
"Look at this umbrella, Junior," Ne Job said, the silver staple on the fabric glowing. "It's stained. It's used. It's 100% imperfect. And it's the only reason I'm still standing."
Junior looked at the umbrella, then at the Muse, who was now blowing neon bubbles at him. He looked at the dragon, who let out a gentle, smoky huff that smelled like peppermint.
"Does... does the Archive require laughter?" Junior asked, his voice losing its mechanical edge.
"7.5% of the time, yes," Ne Job smiled.
Ne Job used his silver stapler—the real one—to pin a "Junior Intern" badge onto the boy's tiny coat. "You aren't my replacement, Junior. You're my Legacy. And a legacy isn't about finishing the work. It's about making sure the 'And' keeps going."
The Smallest Archivist
Junior didn't vanish. He stayed, his tiny plume glowing with a soft, new-born violet light. He still liked filing, but he started filing things under "Funny Noises" and "Bright Ideas."
LOG: CHAPTER 59 SUMMARY.
STATUS: Heir integrated. Coup by cuteness averted.
NOTE: I have to buy smaller coffee mugs.
OBSERVATION: Seeing your younger self try to ruin your life is a great way to realize how much you've changed.
P.S.: Junior has already befriended the Beaver-Architect. They are currently redesigning the breakroom to include a 'Tiny Chair' section.
The Muse leaned over his shoulder, watching Ne-Junior try to staple a butterfly to a cloud. "He's a handful, Ne Job. But he's got your scowl."
Ne Job looked at the Semicolon. It was glowing with a bright, youthful intensity.
"He's an Anomaly-in-training, Muse," Ne Job said. "And speaking of training... why is the Great Mainspring starting to emit a sound like a ticking time bomb?"