Chapter 61: The Department of Future Tense
The transition into Volume II had left the Bureau feeling strangely... fresh. The dust of the first sixty chapters had been swept away by the narrative reset, but as Ne Job opened the brand-new, silver-rimmed ledger at 09:00 Cycles, he realized the "New Volume" smell came with a side effect.
The ink on the page was already there.
"Commissioner," Assistant Yue buzzed, her hybrid chassis glowing with a predictive blue light. "WE. ARE. EXPERIENCING. A. TEMPORAL. OVERFLOW. THE. BUREAU. HAS. ACCIDENTALLY. SYNCHRONIZED. WITH. THE. AUTHOR'S. ROUGH. DRAFT. OF. NEXT. MONTH."
The Pre-Post-It Notes
Ne Job looked at his desk. It was covered in "Memo-Glitches"—translucent sticky notes that flickered in and out of existence.
One read: [TO-DO: Clean up the mess from the Great Ink Explosion of Chapter 64].
Another, floating near his ear, whispered: "And then, Ne Job realized the silver stapler was actually a key to the Author's desk."
"I haven't exploded any ink yet!" Ne Job shouted at the air. "And the stapler is just a stapler! It staples things! It doesn't unlock the Fourth Wall!"
"Not yet," Pip said, walking into the office while wearing a suit that looked suspiciously high-tech. "But according to the Department of Future Tense, you're 100% scheduled to have an epiphany by Tuesday. Also, apparently, I'm going to grow three inches and start a rock band called 'The Anomalies'."
The 7.5% Ascendance
The most troubling "Future-Leak" was located in the center of the Grand Lobby. A shimmering, holographic throne had appeared, hovering exactly 7.5% higher than the Commissioner's chair.
Above it, a title pulsed in golden letters: NE JOB: AUTHOR-ELECT.
"The files are predicting a 'Promotion,' Ne Job," Architect Ao Bing said, looking at the throne with both awe and architectural jealousy. "There is a narrative trajectory where you stop being the character and start being the one who holds the pen. You won't just align the trajectories; you'll create them."
"I don't want to create them!" Ne Job barked, his silver plume bristling. "I like my desk! I like my hat! If I become the Author, who's going to do the actual work? Who's going to make sure the Semicolon doesn't get lonely?"
The Spoilers of War
The Future Tense began to leak into the present in dangerous ways. Junior started talking about "Chapter 72" as if it were a fond memory. Barnaby the dragon started avoiding the breakroom because he "remembered" getting his tail stuck in the vending machine next week.
"It's a Spoiler Infection!" The Muse cried, her hair turning a frantic, flashing yellow. "If we know the ending, the 'And' loses its tension! The story will collapse because there's no mystery left to pull us forward!"
Ne Job realized that the "Future Tense" wasn't a gift; it was a trap designed to make them stop trying. If everything was already written, their choices didn't matter.
The Administrative Paradox
"Pip! The wrench! We need to tighten the 'Spontaneity Gland' of the Mainspring! Muse, give me a 'Spark of Uncertainty'!"
Ne Job walked up to the golden throne of the "Author-Elect." He didn't sit in it. He took out his silver stapler—the one the future-memos claimed was a key—and used it to KA-CHUNK a "Notice of Intent to Remain Unpredictable" directly onto the holographic seat.
The throne flickered. The golden letters wavered.
"I am Ne Job," he declared to the rafters. "And I refuse to be promoted! I am a 7.5% anomaly, and an anomaly doesn't follow a rough draft! I am staying right here, in the mess, with the ink and the errors!"
The Erasure of the Predicted
With a sound like a pencil being snapped, the holographic throne vanished. The "Future-Memos" on his desk dissolved into harmless silver sparkles.
The Department of Future Tense went silent. The "Future" returned to where it belonged: behind a veil of "What If."
Ne Job returned to his desk. The ledger was blank once again.
LOG: CHAPTER 61 SUMMARY.
STATUS: Future-Leak sealed. Author-Elect status declined.
NOTE: I am 100% staying a character. The pay is worse, but the coffee is real.
OBSERVATION: Knowing the future is the fastest way to ruin the present.
P.S.: Pip is still convinced they're going to be a rock star. I've confiscated their air-guitar just in case.
The Muse leaned over his shoulder, her hair back to its comfortable, electric-neon blue. "So, you didn't want the throne, Ne Job? You didn't want to be the Author?"
Ne Job looked at the Semicolon. It was glowing with a vibrant, unpredictable violet.
"I'm an Archivist, Muse," Ne Job said, opening a fresh bottle of ink. "I don't write the world. I just make sure it stays aligned. Now, let's see why Princess Ling has arrived at the front desk with a 7.5% emergency and a suitcase full of 'Forbidden Adjectives'."