Ne Job — Chapter 168: "The Desk Walks"
Arc: Vein That Should Not Sing
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1. The Desk Did Not Fall
When Yue threw the Desk of 10,000 Years, the world should have broken.
Paper history should have obliterated itself. Forms should have scattered like ash. The Bureau should have sighed and quietly replaced it with a newer model from Procurement Sector B, which nobody ever questioned.
But the Desk didn't fall.
It stood up.
Its legs lengthened—wooden joints cracking and growing like bones reshaping themselves. Drawers slid outward, unfolding into ribs. Handles rotated, turning into jointed claws.
Ne Job stared as the desk rose taller than a person, taller than the Forgotten God, taller than the office.
"…I'm going to pretend I don't see that."
Yue stared, jaw slack.
"You can't pretend away a walking desk!"
The Desk's surface pulsed like a heart—runes glowing across the laminate like veins of responsibility.
It turned toward them.
Each step sounded like a stamp.
THUD.
THUD.
THUD.
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2. The Ancient Office
The Forgotten God of Paperwork bowed his head, trembling.
"We sealed it beneath thirty millennia of bureaucracy. It should not have woken."
Yue brandished a stapler like a knife.
"Maybe try sealing it better next time!"
The god wheezed.
"Do you know how much paperwork is required to seal a divine artifact?"
Ne Job raised a hand.
"Is it burdensome or—"
The god stared at him.
"Have you ever filled out the Seal of Eternal Labor, Form E-666-C?
Three carbon copies?"
Ne Job shuddered.
"I don't even know what carbon copies are."
The Forgotten God placed a shaking palm on Ne Job's shoulder.
"Then pray you never learn."
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3. The Desk Remembers
The Desk flexed its legs, shaking dust off like loose deadlines.
Its top drawer opened with a scream—papers flooding outward like a tongue of white flame.
Yue yanked Ne Job behind a filing cabinet.
Sheets slapped against the metal like arrows.
"I thought the Audit was the big threat!" she hissed.
Ne Job peeked out just in time to see the desk's underside glowing.
"Nope. The desk is the boss fight."
The Desk's voice boomed—not sound, not vibration—corporate announcement:
> INTERNSHIP HISTORY DETECTED.
PRIOR SIGNATURE LOCATED.
RETRIEVAL PROTOCOL INITIATED.
It reached for Ne Job.
He flinched back behind the cabinet.
"I don't like how it said 'retrieval.'"
Yue slapped his head lightly.
"You don't like anything here!"
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4. A Drawer With Teeth
The desk lunged.
Ne Job and Yue sprinted across the office floor—dodging shrapnel of memos and invoice shreds. The Desk chased them, stamping the carpet with every step.
One drawer split open like a jaw, rows of sharpened paperclips lining the inside like teeth.
Yue scooped Ne Job off the ground as he slipped.
The drawer snapped shut inches from his ankle.
"That desk just tried to EAT you!"
Ne Job yelled back,
"I didn't even fill out a reimbursement for that!"
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5. The Forgotten God Intervenes
A thunderclap of staplers echoed.
The Forgotten God slammed his palm onto the ground.
Piles of filing cabinets erupted upward—forming armored towers around the desk.
"Containment Protocol Alpha!" he chanted.
The cabinets closed in, clamping around the desk like a steel cage.
For a heartbeat, it worked.
Then the handle on the top drawer rotated 360 degrees.
The cabinets froze.
Their locks unlocked by sheer managerial authority.
The desk stretched, tearing free.
The God of Paperwork sank to his knees, defeated.
"It… outranks me."
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6. Ne Job's Past Returns
The desk corner turned toward Ne Job like a predator sniffing blood.
From deep within its surface, a phantom brand glowed—Ne Job's signature, carved into an ancient layer of wood.
Yue gripped his sleeve. "You stamped it. You started something."
Ne Job looked horrified. "I'm not taking responsibility for a haunted IKEA!"
The desk thudded forward, each step sending shivers through Bureau reality.
> RETURN TO ORIGINAL POSITION.
THE INTERN MUST SIT.
THE WORK IS UNFINISHED.
A chair materialized behind Ne Job.
Not a normal chair.
One made of paperwork sinew, padding stuffed with overdue forms, legs bolted with eternal contract clauses.
Ne Job backed up.
"No."
The desk replied:
> YES.
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7. Yue Throws Hands
Yue had enough.
She stepped in front of Ne Job and held up her staple gun—the industrial, auditor-approved, 4.7mm death machine.
It glowed like divine lightning.
"Listen, you oversized storage solution—he doesn't sit, he doesn't stamp, and he doesn't get eaten by administrative furniture!"
She fired.
The staple streaked across reality—pure kinetic paperwork.
It embedded into the desk's corner.
The wood cracked.
The desk staggered.
Yue had hurt it.
Ne Job stared.
"Was… was that a boss health bar moment?"
Yue pumped the stapler like a shotgun.
"Watch me do it again."
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8. The Desk's True Form
The Desk roared.
Its legs expanded, splintering the carpet, turning into roots of petrified deadlines.
Drawers unfolded into arms—accordion folds of tax receipts and handwritten complaints.
The surface split open, birthing a spine of binders.
It towered over them, an avatar of corporate agony.
The world dimmed as the Fourth Vein's song seeped through the ceiling—harmonic terror vibrating like a chorus of overdue clock-ins.
The Forgotten God whispered:
"This is the Desk that outlived empires.
Every workplace born in chaos made a piece of it stronger."
Ne Job swallowed.
"It's… megadesk."
The god nodded gravely.
"It is V1.0: The First Administrative Instrument."
Ne Job whispered:
"…Megadesk."
Yue elbows him.
"Focus!"
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9. The Stamp Answers
As the desk charged, a force erupted from Ne Job's chest.
The bone stamp appeared in his hand—unbidden, glowing with ancestral ink.
The world around him stilled.
Paper froze mid-air. Drawers halted their snapping jaws.
The desk paused.
> THE INTERN AWAKENS.
Ne Job lifted the bone stamp.
It pulsed once, radiating judgment:
PENDING.
Time resumed.
The desk screamed—a blast of contracting wood and shrieking metal.
Ne Job grinned through terror.
"Oh, so you hate pending, huh?"
The desk lunged.
He charged to meet it.