After the Head of Shipping was temporarily removed, the guildmaster immediately shoved the department into "stabilization mode."
Which in guild language meant:
"Everyone panic, scream, and hope someone smart fixes it."
So naturally, I was assigned to "help."
Risenne was assigned as my "handler."
Which was hilarious, since at this point she wasn't handling me.
She was studying me.
Watching how I moved.
How I read documents.
How I talked.
How I sliced people's weaknesses open with a polite tone.
She didn't stand far away anymore.
She stood close.
Not in a romantic way.
More like someone observing a dangerous animal — from a distance close enough to get bitten, but too curious to step back.
The Deputy's First Mistake
The temporary head of Shipping was a man named Dovrin.
Tall. Nervous.
Sweatier than soup.
Spine made of noodles.
He greeted us with shaking hands.
"M-Montig. Risenne. T-Thank you for coming. I, uh… I'm under a l-lot of pressure."
Risenne crossed her arms. "We noticed."
"Yes— I mean— sorry— I mean— HGHH—"
I held back a sigh.
Men like Dovrin weren't corrupt.
They were worse:
They were weak.
Weak leaders caused more damage than outright villains.
I scanned the room.
Half-filled crates.
Papers in random piles.
Workers looking lost.
Clerks copying numbers with trembling hands.
Chaos, but not malicious.
Just neglected.
I turned to Dovrin.
"Show me yesterday's logs."
"Y-Yes!"
He scrambled, nearly tripped, found the logbook, and handed it over.
I flipped through the pages.
Jesus.
Even the birds outside would've managed better handwriting.
Risenne Watches
As I worked through the mess, Risenne didn't speak.
She leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, eyes sharp.
But her gaze wasn't on the documents.
It was on me.
Quiet.
Steady.
Searching.
I pretended not to notice.
Her voice finally broke the silence.
"How can you read that?"
"Years of suffering."
"Hm."
Another minute of silence.
Then:
"You like this, don't you?"
"Like what?" I asked.
"Picking apart systems. Pulling threads until people unravel."
I looked up at her.
She didn't flinch.
She met my eyes, serious, curious, and unnervingly steady.
I held her gaze for a beat.
Then I said softly:
"I like truth."
She blinked.
Not the reaction I expected.
Not confusion.
Not disbelief.
Understanding.
Like she was starting to get me.
Not fully.
Not clearly.
But a step.
"Truth is messy," she said.
"It always is."
She exhaled, almost a laugh.
Then stopped herself.
She hated admitting she found any part of me interesting.
But the crack was there.
The Deputy's Second Mistake
Dovrin approached again.
"M-Montig, sir— I mean, not sir— oh gods— I mean—"
I held up a hand. "Speak."
He swallowed. "The merchants… they don't trust me. They expect decisions. Orders. Signals. I can't… I can't keep up."
"Because you're scared," I said.
He froze.
Risenne raised a brow but didn't interrupt.
"You try to please everyone," I continued. "You apologize too much. You bend too quickly. You make uncertain decisions because you're terrified of conflict."
"H-How do you—?"
I turned the logbook toward him.
"Your own handwriting changes depending on who gave the order. That's fear."
He looked like he might faint.
But I wasn't finished.
"You're not corrupt. You're overwhelmed. And that makes you dangerous."
He opened his mouth — nothing came out.
Risenne cleared her throat quietly.
"Montig," she murmured. "Ease up."
That made me pause.
She'd never told me to soften anything before.
She glanced at Dovrin's trembling hands.
Her voice dropped to a whisper only I could hear:
"He's cracking. Push too hard and the guildmaster will blame you for breaking him completely."
She didn't say it kindly.
She said it logically.
But her eyes… flickered toward me in a way that wasn't purely professional.
Like she didn't want me getting blamed.
Or punished.
That was new.
I adjusted my tone slightly.
"Dovrin."
He looked up like someone thrown a lifeline.
"You're not alone. I'm here to help you clean this mess. But I need your honesty."
He nodded rapidly. "Y-Yes!"
"Where do the delays happen most?"
He pointed to a stack of papers.
"C-Cargo routing. The docks send requests late. Sometimes with missing seals."
I frowned.
"Missing seals?"
"Yes. It's been happening for months."
Risenne stiffened slightly at that.
She caught it too.
Missing seals = intentional tampering.
This wasn't incompetence anymore.
This was a hole.
A big, delicious hole.
The Third Mistake — The Fatal One
"Who handles the sealed cargo requests?" I asked.
Dovrin hesitated.
"Um… Valden."
"Who?"
"Senior clerk. Been here longer than anyone. But he's on leave today."
"How often?" I asked.
"Twice a week."
Risenne let out a slow, cold breath.
"Convenient."
I met her eyes.
We both understood.
Valden wasn't incompetent.
He was siphoning.
Sneaking.
Manipulating logs.
Hiding tampered seals.
Possibly stealing goods.
Possibly sabotaging shipments.
Possibly connected to the earlier chaos.
The guild didn't know.
Dovrin didn't know.
I knew.
And Risenne knew.
Our eyes met a second time.
Longer this time.
She wasn't looking at me suspiciously anymore.
She was looking at me like someone watching a storm gather behind a calm face.
Like she wanted to know:
What will he do next?
How far will he go?
How dangerous is he really?
Her interest grew by one quiet notch.
She didn't step away from me.
She didn't comment.
She didn't warn me.
She just stood beside me — ready to see.
The Quiet Execution
By sunset, Valden's entire section was rewritten.
Not forged.
Not altered.
Not sabotaged.
Just reorganized.
Neatly.
Clearly.
So that tomorrow, when Valden returned…
The guild would see his crimes laid bare by his own logs.
No need for me to accuse him.
Or reveal anything.
He'd bury himself.
Dovrin wouldn't survive this politically — but he'd stay alive.
Valden would fall.
The guild would panic.
And I would move one seat closer to leadership.
As I packed my things, Risenne approached me again.
She spoke quietly.
"You didn't destroy Dovrin today."
"No."
"You could have."
"Yes."
She paused.
Then said:
"…Thank you."
I blinked.
She had never thanked me before.
Not once.
Her voice softened even more.
"And Montig?"
"Yes?"
"Don't disappear tonight."
I raised a brow. "Why?"
"I want to see what happens tomorrow," she said.
"And I don't want to miss your reaction."
Then she walked away.
Her interest had shifted again.
Curiosity → Fascination.
Fascination → Attention.
Attention → Something unnamed.
But still slow.
Still quiet.
Still real.
And I didn't mind.