Ne Job: The Intern from Hell — Chapter 134: "Audit Reversal Protocol"
The light from the crate was alive.
It pulsed in time with the Bureau's heartbeat—no longer the sterile rhythm of Heaven's order, but something fractured, almost human.
Ne Job squinted against the glow as layers of divine encryption unfolded before him, turning into symbols that fluttered like feathers. Yue raised her manual, its pages automatically translating celestial code.
"Protocol designation," she read, voice steady but tense. "Audit Reversal — Class Omega. Origin: Former Heaven Central Archives. Authorization: Lord Bureaucrat Xian."
Ne Job whistled. "Omega class? They skipped straight past 'catastrophic' and went to 'please don't exist.'"
The box split open completely. Inside was not an artifact, but a cube of frozen light—memory condensed into geometry. The faint outline of a sigil glowed at its core: the Bureau's original crest, the one from before the celestial reforms, before everything fell apart.
And beneath it—burned faintly into the code—was a name.
NE ZHA (REDACTED).
Yue's breath caught. "That's… your deletion file."
The entire room tilted. The interns who hadn't fled stood frozen, watching from behind glowing partitions. Even Dreivery Bao hovered midair, snack box forgotten.
Ne Job's smile faltered. "Didn't think the old Heaven kept souvenirs."
"Souvenir?" Yue snapped. "This is the record that erased you from existence! The same audit that started the Rebirth Bureau in the first place!"
He looked down at the cube, his reflection fractured into infinite versions across the mirrored light. "Then I guess it's about time I graded my own exam."
He pressed a hand against it. The cube screamed.
Not sound—a feeling. The weight of divine bureaucracy collapsing through time. Pages from forgotten audits, prayer slips, celestial tax reports—all pouring out like ghosts of paperwork past. The Bureau's walls rippled as its systems tried to reconcile the data.
Yue clutched her manual, stabilizing the dimensional field. "It's rewriting our archives—merging the deleted with the active!"
Ne Job's Chaos Spark flared through his body, burning like liquid starlight. "Good! Maybe the system'll finally remember who it fired!"
The light exploded.
Suddenly, they were standing in a memory. The Bureau around them dissolved into a vast marble hall—the original Heaven's Office of Continuity. Infinite desks stretched into the horizon, and rows of angels sat filing in silence. The air smelled of ink and cold light.
In the center of it all stood Lord Bureaucrat Xian, younger, pristine, untouched by regret. He was auditing a form labeled:
> Subject: Ne Zha
Classification: Disruptive Entity.
Action: Erase from Celestial Registry.
Yue's voice trembled. "This is the day they deleted you."
Ne Job stared at the scene. His younger self—still bound by divine chains—stood defiant before Xian's desk. "You can't delete chaos," he had said back then. "It's what keeps your order alive."
Xian's past self had only sighed. "That's what makes you dangerous."
The memory began to fracture. Golden cracks ran through the floor. The past and present were overlapping.
Yue reached for him. "Ne Job! If this merges with now, we could collapse both timelines!"
He clenched his fist. "Then we rewrite it before it writes us."
He stepped forward, through the dissolving memory, facing Xian's projection.
"You audited me out of Heaven," Ne Job said quietly. "Now I'm auditing you."
The light in the cube responded. The old crest of Heaven flickered—then shattered, revealing a swirl of chaos energy intertwined with divine order. The cube dissolved into a storm of luminous pages, circling them both.
Each page was a record, a form, a verdict—every divine judgment ever issued by the old system. And at the center of it all, Ne Job saw something that wasn't supposed to exist:
A Reinstatement Order.
Signed by Lord Xian, dated the day after Ne Job's deletion.
Yue's eyes widened. "He… tried to bring you back."
Ne Job stared at the signature. For the first time, the grin slipped from his face. "Then… why didn't it work?"
Before she could answer, a low hum filled the chamber. The pages twisted, fusing into a shape—something vast, mechanical, and furious.
The Audit Reversal Protocol had taken form. A celestial automaton of pure bureaucracy, forged from discarded divine law, its voice monotone and absolute:
> "Error detected. Unauthorized reactivation of deleted subject. Correction in progress."
Its gaze locked on Ne Job. "Reinstatement anomaly identified."
Yue drew her manual like a weapon. "Protocol's self-correcting—it's going to delete you again!"
Ne Job's Chaos Spark erupted, swirling with black-and-gold light. "Then let's teach it what 'correction' means."
The two forces collided—law and chaos, divine audit and defiant intern—turning the Bureau into a storm of pure metaphysics.
Every desk, every form, every echo of Heaven's system trembled as Ne Job laughed, voice echoing through the collapsing records.
"Sorry, Heaven!" he shouted. "You can't reverse an audit—if I'm back, it's because the paperwork said I earned it!"
The automaton cracked under the strain, its circuits flickering between code and prayer. The cube's fragments scattered into starlight.
When the light cleared, only Ne Job and Yue remained—standing amid the ruins of a memory that was never supposed to survive.
The crate was gone.
The Bureau was quiet again.
Yue exhaled slowly, lowering her manual. "It's over…"
Ne Job shook his head. "No. That was just the cleanup crew."
He looked toward the Bureau's upper halls, where faint light pulsed like an awakening heartbeat.
"Now we've got Heaven's attention."
End of Chapter 134 — "Audit Reversal Protocol."