I, the Reality Janitor!

"Right... just an accident," Leon echoed softly, his shoulders easing as he watched color return to his sister's cheeks.

...

The truth was stark: yesterday's catastrophe—a berserk Corrupted Entity that had infected 500 souls—had been erased from history. After Leon's kill shot and Senior Emma's filed report, reality itself rewrote the script.

Per the red-haired Director's briefing, an eldritch relic lay buried beneath the Cleansing Bureau. Its power activated upon case closure, scrubbing witnesses' memories. Thus, the entity's rampage became a "gas explosion" in public record.

In Anna's revised memories:

First blast — A cracked gas line detonated, shattering an anesthetic storage room. Vapors flooded vents, knocking out hundreds.

Second blast — Sixth-floor director's office and fourth-floor ICU obliterated. Redbrick Hospital's dean died instantly; Anna's room became rubble.

She'd smelled leaking gas moments earlier, rallying two nurses to climb out windows. Glass shards lacerated her thigh mid-escape. One nurse fell three stories, fracturing every major joint.

Third blast — Averted when Leon and colleagues arrived, valve wrench in hand. Heroes who saved hundreds.

...

Indeed, that supposedly "ridiculously OP" anomalous entity didn't just spin cover-up narratives—it even preserved Leon and Emma's heroic roles to prevent their morale from tanking.

More absurdly, to help the Bureau fraudulently claim government bonuses, it implanted fabricated memories of Redbrick Hospital's price-gouging investigation triggered by "public complaints"—a masterclass in shamelessly practical bureaucracy.

Hearing this, Leon—who understood the chasm between programmed rules and true AI—instantly suspected sentience. Something this... adaptable can't be mindless.

The red-haired Director's reply stunned him: "Oh, it's got brains alright. Literally—it is a brain."

This memory-altering Entity of Unfathomable Class originated from an unprepared eldritch deity captured mid-invasion. After its execution, the Bureau repurposed its extraordinary neural matter into the Mirage Vat—a containment vessel specializing in mass memory overwrites.

Yet such power demanded safeguards. Activation required majority consent from the Twelve Directors. Otherwise, it remained buried deep beneath headquarters, dormant until cataclysmic scenarios.

...

"Define 'very dangerous.'" Leon pressed, leaning forward. "If someone attacks the Bureau—does that qualify?"

The red-haired Director's explanation had ignited epiphany—why did nations tolerate, even cooperate with this shadow organization?

They're not willing partners. They're hostages.

That memory-twisting god-brain alone could give any rebellious kingdom nightmares. And who knew what other eldritch horrors the Bureau—older than most civilizations—kept in its vaults?

Now understanding the Bureau's invincibility, Leon embraced his fate: frontline guardian of humanity, wielder of forbidden truths, recipient of superhuman abilities…

Add royal civil service status with premium benefits? Sold.

Especially the civil service part. Rumor had it government employees dominated the capital's marriage market—

Wait. Didn't I swear off relationships? His train of thought derailed. Why am I—

Is it the Black Goat's taunts about "raging hormones"?

...

"Brother? Brother!"

Anna blinked, soup spoon hovering. Her brother's face cycled through gravitas, boyish grins, and… was that a blush?

Setting down her milky broth, she pressed oil-glossed lips to palm and unleashed a delicate cough.

The sound—a Pavlovian trigger from two years of bedside vigils—snapped Leon back.

"Anna! Are you—" He lunged to her side, relief flooding him as she waved him off.

"Just… broth steam." Avoiding his gaze, she gestured at her cooling soup.

"Let me—" He lifted the bowl, ears pink. "I'll feed you."

"No! I mean…" Her fingers twisted the sheet. "...Maybe a little."

Anna's eyes softened as Leon jerked toward her at the cough. She shook her head—No, not choking—but accepted the offered spoon nonetheless.

Leaning into the pillows he'd fluffed for her, she let him support her elbow. Each sip of broth came with practiced delicacy, though inexplicably, her throat hitched more now than when drinking alone.

"Another cough?" Leon fretted.

She shook her head, smiling as she parted oil-glossed lips for the next spoonful. Let him fuss.

Mom... Dad... Are you watching?

Let this bowl never empty. Just... five more bites. Enough to keep him here.

Tap-tap-tap.

The girl at the door seemed carved from contradictions—baby-faced at sixteen yet swamped in a woman's pinstripe suit, nameplate gleaming over ill-fitting lapels. Her eyes were swollen peaches.

"I—I approved Redbrick's gas pipes!" she blurted upon entering, executing a ninety-degree bow so sharp her chignon unraveled. "My negligence caused the explosion! Your wife's injuries—I'll compensate everything!"

"...Pipes? Inspections? Explosions?" Leon scratched his nape, throat tightening at the girl's tear-swollen eyes—round as summer peaches brimming with guilt.

Had this truly been a gas leak that nearly killed Anna, he'd have torn her limb from limb. But truth coiled darker—this "accident" was woven by that god-brain relic, the hospital attack orchestrated by its dean.

The gas company intern before him? Just collateral damage in the Bureau's reality-warping antics.

"Your... sincerity's enough." The words tasted like ashes. "Cover the medical bills, and we're square."

Internally, he cringed. Anna's lung treatment used Bureau-issued medical coverage, her leg wound costing mere Silver Wheels. This farce of compensation? Theater for public eyes.

The baby-faced inspector jerked upright, bangs sticking to damp cheeks. "That's… all?"

Leon glanced back at Anna—flushed cheeks, distant gaze, no objections—then turned to the sniffling girl with a guilt-ridden nod.

"Just the bills. We're done."

...Only that?

People like this... exist?

The corporate-skirted girl froze, slit-like swollen eyes widening comically.

Most victims merely inhaled anesthetic fumes—easy compensation with lost wages and medical reimbursements.

The deceased hospital dean? A villain destined for gallows anyway.

As for the fourth-floor escapees:

Senior nurse: trauma counseling

Joint-shattered junior nurse & fiancé: extorted a hefty sum from their employer

"Then he—he said he needed supplies!" The baby-faced girl hiccuped, dabbing at smudged eyeliner. "Ran off with all the compensation money! When I warned her he'd abscond, she berated me nose-to-nose for an hour!"

Sniffling louder, she gazed at Leon with tear-glazed wonder—Some people exploit tragedy... others radiate grace.

The last victim's leg bore glass shrapnel wounds. Had she hesitated, sixth-floor pavement would've claimed her like the dean.

Preparing for vitriol, maybe violence, the girl found only compassion. They asked nothing beyond hospital fees... Saints disguised as paupers.

"Please—let me compensate more!"

Leon's threadbare coat. The two-Wheels-a-night ward. Their noble poverty demanded intervention.

Clenching fists in teary-eyed resolve, she leaned forward: "You're young newlyweds! Medical bills plus lost wages—how will you rebuild savings?"

"With extra compensation, you could hire a nurse for your wife! Proper care without work disruptions—"

"Hold on." Leon's brows knitted. "We're siblings."

The baby-faced inspector blanched. "But the registry shows matching surnames! And her golden hair versus your—"

"Apologies!" She bowed repeatedly, ponytail whipping like a metronome. "Cultural insensitivity! Professional failure! I'll resign—"

Anna chuckled, fingers toying with sunlit strands. "Common mistake. We share fathers, not features."

Propping herself up with sudden urgency: "Aunt Hannah? The senior nurse? Has she—"

"Triple hazard pay plus psychiatric care," the girl rushed. "Though... the trauma may require... long-term confinement."

"What?" Anna gripped Leon's arm, hauling herself upright. "Aunt Hannah was fine when we parted yesterday!"

The baby-faced inspector shriveled. "Her husband said... she seemed stable last night. But this morning—" A hiccup. "Delirious ramblings. Denied the explosion. Claimed floorboards devoured patients."

Leon stiffened.

"—And a mummy-like woman lowered her through a window? Trauma-induced psychosis, surely..."

No explosion. Cannibal floors. Bandaged savior.

Leon's nape prickled. Those weren't delusions—they were case files.

"You're suggesting that nurse is an innate Entity-bearer?" The crimson-haired director arched an eyebrow. "Emma's report noted her resistance to the dean's control. We'd attributed it to moral fortitude—remaining uncorrupted by power despite that authority-type relic's influence."

Her vermilion nails tapped case files. "Turns out she carries her own anomaly. Excellent work, Leon."

Bullshit. Leon blinked owlishly as she continued:

"Volunteering for fieldwork after containment ops? Meticulously tracing victims to uncover new Entities? Textbook Bureau dedication!"

"With respect, Director—I took personal leave to visit my sister. The lead came from—"

"Half-day pay deducted for leave." Her lips quirked. "Two Gold Wheels reimbursement per field excursion."

Leon's eyelid twitched. "...Which I conducted while liaising with gas company adjusters. Applying your and Senior Agent Emma's protocols, I extracted critical intel."

"Precisely why you're Bureau material through and through."

The Crimson Director beamed at Leon's compliance. "File the after-action report as discussed—omit my and Emma's contributions. Funds-fudging is funds-fudging, but credit flows where earned." She winked. "The Maiden Bureau doesn't play those games... unlike certain departments."

Leon's mumbled gratitude dissolved into corridor echoes.

Funds-fudging yet scrupulous. Shameless yet honorable. Leon struggled to categorize this enigma of a superior.

But subordinates thrive under leaders who fight for their interests without claiming glory... No wonder Senior Agent Emma reveres her. Wait—

"Director," Leon pivoted abruptly, "Requesting fieldwork tomorrow."

The woman's pen froze mid-signature. Her feline smirk emerged. "Funding addiction, Leon?"

"Legitimate investigation." His index finger tapped air—Emma's tell for earnest conviction. "Redbrick Lane Hospital's archived files... The patient surge wasn't natural."

"Bed capacity: 120. Yet through 'coincidental' Waterworks and Roads Department failures?" Leon leaned in. "Someone manufactured a Corrupted buffet."

"So, I was thinking, could we investigate these two places to see if there's a hidden hand causing trouble, or if there's something wrong within the Hydraulics Company and the Road Administration itself..."

"While we're at it, we could also leverage our position at the Bureau to dig up evidence of negligence on the part of the Hydraulics Company and the Road Administration, in order to secure some compensation for those patients still lying in the hospital... Am I on the right track?"

The red-haired woman opened her beautiful fox-like eyes, gazing softly at the startled Leon with a smile.

"Hehe, it seems that goat actually had a point. You really are the type with a strong sense of morality. Whenever you encounter something you disapprove of, you can't help but want to step in and do something about it."

"Uh… don't be nervous. Although your suggestion does contain a hint of 'self-interest,' I actually don't mind. After all, a naïve and kind-hearted little guy like you is always quite endearing—"

After giving Leon a strange and cryptic compliment, the red-haired woman lazily stretched, revealing her alluring curves.

She then comfortably leaned back against the soft chair and said with a smile, "If you want to go, then go. And this time, it's considered fieldwork for you, but let's not make it a habit."

"Thank you, Director!"

"You're welcome, but..."

Propping her chin on her hand, the red-haired woman looked at Leon with interest and smiled, "Are you just planning to thank me verbally? How about some actual action?"

"Uh..."

Caught off guard by her sudden 'request for a bribe,' Leon glanced at the mountain of empty wine bottles piled on the red-haired woman's desk and tentatively said, "Well... how about I buy you a few drinks after work today?"

Hmm? Drinks, you say?

Leon's invitation ignited a spark in the Crimson Director's eyes. Her posture snapped to attention like a triggered spring.

Ah youth... When I said 'action', I meant overtime investigating Hannah's case post-Hydraulics inspection. But if you're offering drinks—

Her fingers discreetly brushed an empty coin purse at her waist. "Ethically speaking," she declared with statesmanlike gravitas, "leaders shouldn't fraternize with rookies. However!"

A beatific smile bloomed. "Welcoming our newest Bureau member merits celebration."

"Great!" Leon turned toward the door. "I'll ask Senior Agent Emma and—"

"—Occupied!" The director's pen stabbed imaginary paperwork. "Parental duties for Emma. The others?" She scribbled phantom orders. "Urgent night mission. Departure before dusk."

Her smile turned saccharine. "Alcoholic team bonding builds trust... efficiently."

"...You drinking alone... Wait, you're not even pretending anymore?" Leon gaped at the director's abrupt metamorphosis—from tactical genius to a logic-leaking sieve. Black Goat's warning echoes...

"That ice queen's sharp as a stiletto when sober," the Goat's gravelly voice resurrected in memory. "But get liquor near her? Brains start oozing vodka tonic. Competent? Hell yeah. Drunk? Hotter mess than Chernobyl's dumpster fire. Pray she never finds your liquor cabinet."

Leon's palms grew clammy.

"Ruthless sober. Reckless drunk. Moral compass? Down the toilet with the tequila shots." The Goat's spectral chuckle haunted him. "You're digging your booze-soaked grave, rookie."

...I've unleashed the alcoholic tornado.