Ne Job: The Intern from Hell — Chapter 130: "Clause of Creation"
Time had no pulse inside the Audit Dimension. Only the scratching of pens—endless, mechanical, suffocating.
Ne Job stood in the middle of a void lined with ledgers that stretched beyond logic. The parchment beneath his feet glowed faintly, etched with his name across a thousand forgotten reports. Every mistake he'd ever made had become a floor tile.
Assistant Yue floated nearby, her manual flickering like a shield of light. "They're rewriting history in real-time," she said, voice strained. "If they finish the audit, everything you've done—including your existence—gets purged from every timeline."
"So… like getting fired from reality itself?" Ne Job asked.
Yue shot him a look. "Yes. Permanently."
The shadow-auditor loomed above them, robes rippling like ink in water. It opened a tome the size of a mountain. Each page shimmered with divine authority—laws that predated Heaven itself.
> "Clause One," the auditor intoned. "Creation shall not deviate from designated order."
"Clause Two: Chaos shall not assume bureaucratic authority."
"Clause Three: All records shall end where they began."
With each clause, reality bent inward. The Bureau itself began folding, merging, collapsing into script.
Ne Job clenched his fists, his Chaos Spark burning through his uniform. "I've had enough of rules that only work when they crush the small guy."
He stomped once, and the ink beneath him shattered like glass. Waves of raw, unformatted data spilled out—unfiled souls, forgotten prayers, half-signed miracles.
Yue's eyes widened. "You're using the unprocessed queue?! That's—!"
"Exactly what they threw away," Ne Job said. "So I'll make it work for me."
The Spark pulsed brighter, and the discarded files fused into armor—jagged, radiant, absurdly overdesigned like a divine intern's fever dream. His pen became a spear of light, its tip dripping with errant code.
The auditor tilted its head. "Unauthorized form detected."
Ne Job grinned. "Unauthorized's my middle name."
With one swing, he slashed across the first clause. The words "shall not deviate" cracked apart—and the world flickered. For a heartbeat, the Bureau returned to color.
Yue gasped. "You just voided a divine law!"
"Good," Ne Job said. "Now we're in business."
But the shadow didn't fall. Instead, it smiled—a soundless curve in its mask.
> "Clause Four: The Creator who defies form becomes creation itself."
Suddenly, Ne Job's Spark twisted. Pages and memories fused into him—every error, every joke, every reprimand—turning his body translucent, alive with bureaucratic scripture. He stumbled, shouting, "Yue—my file's merging!"
Yue dashed forward, slamming her manual against his chest. "Don't let it define you! You are the clause breaker, not the clause!"
The auditor raised its quill again. "Then let the Final Review commence."
Reality cracked open once more—this time revealing an impossible sight:
Lord Bureaucrat Xian's signature.
It hovered above the void like a sun, written in radiant gold.
Yue whispered, horrified, "They're invoking Xian's original seal… the one that created the Bureau itself."
Ne Job looked up, feeling his Spark pulse in sync with the signature.
"Then maybe…" he muttered, "that's where this ends."
He took a deep breath, pointed his pen at the cosmic seal, and said with a grin, "Time to correct the Creator's paperwork."
The void trembled as light and ink collided—
and the Audit Dimension began to reboot.
End of Chapter 130.