Chapter 39: The Shard Court's Whisper
The Shard Court was not a place most celestial officials ever saw twice.
Once was enough.
The corridor leading there was carved from obsidian-like divine glass. Every step Yue took echoed with a note of judgment, as if the hallway itself were writing her record. The walls reflected faint whispers—old testimonies, verdicts, confessions—all of them murmuring in the same flat bureaucratic tone.
At the end stood an enormous crystalline door etched with the sigil of Absolute Compliance.
Ne Job, trailing behind, whispered, "So… this is like HR, but if HR could smite you?"
Yue gave him a sharp look. "Do not speak once we're inside."
He nodded solemnly. "Got it. No talking, no smiling, no breathing too loud."
"Also no spontaneous speeches about teamwork."
"…Can I hum encouragement?"
"Absolutely not."
With that, Yue took a steadying breath and pushed the door open.
The chamber inside was vast and dimly lit, the air thick with the scent of cold parchment. Seven floating shards of crystal hung in the air above a circular dais—each shard glowing faintly, representing one unseen Judge.
A voice, calm and mechanical, filled the room.
> "Assistant Yue of Celestial Logistics. You stand before the Shard Court under review of procedural integrity and record accuracy."
Yue bowed. "Acknowledged."
> "Your department's documentation shows… anomalies."
Her pulse quickened. "Define 'anomalies,' your honors."
Another voice—feminine, detached.
> "Duplicated workflow forms with contradictory signatures. Requisition orders authorized under nonexistent departments. And—most disturbingly—records bearing two divine seals when only one is permitted."
The chamber dimmed further.
Yue's breath hitched. Two seals? That was impossible—unless someone had been tampering with the Bureau's archives.
Behind her, Ne Job coughed nervously. The shards flickered toward the sound.
> "The intern speaks."
Yue hissed under her breath, "Don't—"
Ne Job straightened. "Your Honor Crystals! I'd like to testify that Assistant Yue is the hardest-working, least-chaotic person in all of Heaven's filing network! Also, if there's any problem, it's probably—uh—quantum paperwork interference!"
Silence.
One shard pulsed faintly violet.
> "Quantum… paperwork?"
"Yes!" Ne Job said brightly. "It happens when forms overlap realities and create duplicates! Totally normal in modern offices!"
Yue closed her eyes. He's improvising under oath.
> "Noted," said one shard flatly. "The intern's testimony will be archived under 'Unverified Nonsense.' Proceed."
Yue sighed quietly. "Thank you for your contribution, Intern Ne Job."
He smiled proudly. "Teamwork."
> "Assistant Yue," the lead shard continued, "until these anomalies are resolved, your access to the Bureau network is suspended."
Her stomach dropped. That was professional exile—no clearance, no communication, no ability to defend her case from inside.
But before she could respond, one of the shards flickered again—faster this time. A distorted static whisper bled through the air.
> "—do not… trust… them…"
Everyone froze. The shards pulsed erratically.
Yue's eyes widened. "Your honors?"
> "System interference," one voice said sharply. "Disregard the transmission."
But Yue had caught it. That tone—subtle, urgent—sounded like the Forgotten God of Paperwork, the very entity Ne Job had accidentally summoned weeks ago.
Why would he be warning her?
While the Court stabilized itself, Ne Job had somehow slipped away from the dais. No one noticed until he tripped over a filing imp.
"Oops. Sorry, little guy."
The imp hissed and darted off, dropping a glowing scroll. Ne Job blinked. "Hmm… 'Evidence Record #404: Missing Log of Rewrites.' Sounds important!"
Curiosity won. He unrolled it—and nearly dropped it. Inside was an image stamped into divine ink: Yue's signature, duplicated perfectly beside another identical one… except the second bore a faint sigil that wasn't hers.
It was Lord Bureaucrat Xian's.
Ne Job frowned. "Wait… Lord Xian co-signed her file? Without telling her?"
Before he could think further, a voice boomed behind him.
> "Unauthorized personnel in evidence sector."
A dozen spectral clerks materialized.
Ne Job panicked. "I'm just, uh, doing surprise inventory!"
The clerks advanced silently.
"Okay, okay, maybe not surprise inventory!"
Meanwhile, on the dais, Yue was trying to keep her composure as one of the shards descended closer to her. The crystalline glow revealed faint cracks—almost like stress fractures.
> "Assistant Yue," the shard whispered, now with a distinctly human tone beneath its mechanical calm, "someone has altered your records. This Court is not what it appears."
Her heart pounded. "Who are you?" she whispered.
> "A remnant. A Judge who remembers before the rewrites."
Yue's eyes widened. "Rewrites…"
> "Find the missing log," it murmured, "before the Court resets your memory too."
Then it flickered out—its light vanishing, leaving six shards where seven had been. The remaining judges stirred in confusion.
> "System anomaly. Adjourn session. Assistant Yue is to remain under observation."
Yue bowed stiffly, concealing her shaking hands. She turned to find Ne Job—only to see a commotion in the archive corridor.
"NE JOB!"
He was sprinting toward her, chased by spectral clerks and clutching a scroll. "I found something important! Also, I think I'm technically arrested!"
"Give me that!" she hissed, snatching the scroll and hiding it in her sleeve. "What were you thinking?"
"I wasn't! That's how I think best!"
The clerks halted before them, mechanical voices monotone.
> "Return classified document."
Yue straightened, face calm. "This document is part of my defense case. You'll have to file a retrieval request—Form 91-B, in triplicate."
The clerks blinked. Processing. Processing. Processing.
Ne Job whispered, "They're buffering."
"Exactly," Yue muttered. "Run."
The two dashed down the corridor as the spectral clerks froze mid-calculation. The echo of their footsteps faded into the maze of glass and light.
When they finally stopped in a dark alcove, Yue unrolled the scroll. The duplicate signatures glowed faintly—hers and Xian's, connected by an unfamiliar rune.
Ne Job tilted his head. "So… Lord Xian forged something?"
Yue frowned. "No. This isn't forgery. It's authorization—done behind my back. Someone used his seal to approve a rewrite of our entire department's records."
"Rewrite? Like… memory editing?"
She nodded slowly. "Exactly. The Bureau of Celestial Logistics has been tampered with at the root level. Someone's rewriting reality through paperwork."
Ne Job blinked. "That's… impressive. Terrifying, but impressive."
"Focus," Yue snapped. "If they discover we know this, we're both erased from the system."
He saluted nervously. "Understood. Operation: Stay Un-erased begins."
Yue sighed. "Please don't give it a name."
But deep down, she couldn't shake the whisper she'd heard in the Court:
Find the missing log before they rewrite you too.
The obsidian walls around them shimmered faintly, as if listening.
And somewhere far above, the remaining Shard Judges whispered quietly to each other—voices flat, cold, and inhuman:
> "Audit Phase One: Complete. Initiate Containment Protocol."
Yue felt the air grow colder. "They're coming."
Ne Job grinned nervously. "Then let's file a miracle request."
She gave him a look that could melt stone. "You're banned from miracle forms."
"Appeal pending?"
"Denied."