FERH 03

Chapter 03

‘Of course, I’d appreciate it if she stayed… but devoting your whole life to a rotten department like this? That’s a bit much, isn’t it?’

Just then, Team Leader Torban, who had just returned from lunch, poked his head in.

“What’s all this? What’s going on?”

Apparently, the sudden loud noise had caught his attention.

“Um, well…”

Mel fumbled for words, unable to explain the truth.

“We were just talking about how this department is such a great place that we’d gladly dedicate our lives to it.”

Torban’s eyebrows shot up.

It was the first time he’d heard someone at his rank say something like that.

‘Usually, people either hand in their resignation because they can’t stand being in this hopeless department, or they beg to be transferred somewhere else, saying they’ll lick boots until then.’

“Well, I appreciate the sentiment, but… I don’t care much for blatant flattery.”

Torban chuckled and waved a hand dismissively.

Having worked in offices for years, Lianel knew exactly what that really meant—
“If you’re going to flatter me, do it properly and make me feel good.”

“This isn’t flattery.”

“Oh? Then what is it?”

“I heard from my senior about the kind of work this department handles, and I realized it’s a very fair and innovative place.”

‘Fair? Innovative?’

Even “fair” was a stretch—
and calling what’s left of this department after other ministries stripped it bare “innovative” was just absurd.

Mel was speechless, but Torban’s mood seemed to lift, and he nodded for her to continue.

“Just looking at the small number of staff here proves it. It’s to focus on specialized, detailed work, strengthening expertise and maximizing efficiency, isn’t it?”

‘No, it’s because everyone else ran away and only the useless ones are left!’

“And I really admire the department’s respect for personal rest time. You ensure employees have time away from work, fostering autonomy and responsibility that, in turn, enhances their capability.”

‘All that from just letting people have a lunch break?’

And besides, that wasn’t even thanks to the team leader!

‘That’s just how the Imperial Labor Law is written…’

“Hah, that’s right! Not everyone can handle the kind of work we do here. Seems like the new recruit knows her stuff.”

Lianel’s words might have sounded plausible on the surface, but anyone listening closely would notice the wild leaps in logic and exaggeration.

Still, Torban was in high spirits now—he even started humming an old pop song from ten years ago and bobbing his shoulders.

He was in such a good mood that when an accounting error showed up in another ledger, he just laughed it off.

‘This man used to throw tantrums over a single typo, and now look at him, all mild and cheerful…’

Mel thought the team leader was something, sure—but Lianel was on another level.

But then—

“Th-that speech you just gave…”

“Oh, that? I just made it up on the spot. I can’t believe he actually fell for that fluff. The team leader must be a very good-natured person.”

“Oh…”

‘This girl’s got a serious case of bullsh*t fever.’

Mel could only laugh helplessly.

The day felt unnecessarily long.

As the end of the workday approached, Lianel—who had been practicing the ancient art of “pretending to work while doodling on scrap paper”—sensed a strange unease.

It didn’t take long to figure out why.

“There’s an official banquet tonight?”

An “official banquet” was supposedly a social gathering to promote camaraderie among civil servants.

‘Wait a second—’

“Wasn’t that abolished by the former Empress?”

It had been, years ago—because those “banquets” were really just hotbeds of corruption, where officials used social ties to cover up each other’s crimes.

“It’s been reinstated. Three days after Her Majesty’s passing.”

“…Ah.”

After Ensilene’s death, the nobles had been busy erasing every trace of the former Empress.

The downsizing of the Special Taxation Bureau was one such move.

‘Of course the banquets would come back.’

“Luckily, the Bureau Chief will be attending tonight. Otherwise, other departments would pick fights with us.”

“With all due respect, if it’s such a troublesome event, wouldn’t it be better to just skip it?”

“You can only do that if you’re high-ranking. People like us—what power do we have to refuse?”

“…Right.”

So it was basically a mandatory group dinner.

‘How dreadful…’

Lianel clenched her fists, resisting the urge to grimace.

Her mood worsened when she saw that the team leader had found an excuse to skip it altogether.

“What, you can’t drink? Want me to handle your share?”

Someone who had been listening behind them suddenly joined in.

It was the woman who had only exchanged a curt nod with her on the first day.

Since she’d always sat silently, focused on her work, Lianel had assumed she was just that kind of person.

But as the woman slung an arm around both Mel and Lianel’s shoulders with a grin, she realized she was actually quite outgoing.

“Oh, I’m Wilbrin. Wilbrin Irax. You can call me Wil—honestly, I prefer that.”

“If you don’t mind, I’d be glad to.”

“Normally I wouldn’t let people call me that, but I like how you talk.”

Wilbrin chuckled, mentioning how the team leader had been humming earlier.

“I don’t even like the guy, but when the boss is happy, somehow I get in a good mood too. Funny creatures, bosses.”

“I understand completely.”

Wilbrin was loud, cheerful, and unapologetically expressive—someone who wore her emotions right on her sleeve.

On the way to the banquet, she quickly briefed Lianel and Mel on everything they needed to know: how the event would go, who to avoid, when it would end, and even how to secretly dump their drinks.

“If all else fails, just spill it on purpose! They’ll assume you’re drunk and leave you alone.”

“Or you can pass it to me. I-I can’t drink much, but I can manage a cup or two…”

Thankfully, the banquet began in a fairly pleasant atmosphere.

They’d been seated far away from the main departments—annoying, perhaps, but the food and chairs were the same, so no one could really complain.

Even those who grumbled about their table placement soon relaxed.

Some even liked it better—being out of the way meant no one would pick fights.

‘Honestly, I used to think these things were a waste of time… but this isn’t so bad.’

However—

“Well, well, who do we have here?”

That thought didn’t last thirty minutes.

“I knew that face looked familiar. Isn’t this Miss Lianel, the one who got transferred from the Ministry of Finance to the ashtray department?”

Lianel looked up.

It was her former superior—Cedric Bartello.

Officially, Lianel had been kicked out of the Finance Ministry for “losing important documents.”

‘But that was just the cover story.’

The real reason was a gaping hole in the budget—and the one who caused it was Cedric himself.

He’d lost a fortune gambling and, in desperation, embezzled funds from the Ministry’s budget.

After burning the records to destroy the evidence, he pinned the blame on Lianel.

But instead of being fired, she’d merely been reassigned—
to the Special Taxation Bureau, no less, a department directly tied to finances.

That made Cedric nervous.

‘She’s not trying to get revenge, is she?’

Then he got an idea.

‘If I humiliate her in public, she’ll probably quit on her own. Her pride won’t let her stay after that.’

And once she resigned, the truth would stay buried.

“Seems you’ve gotten lost in the crowd, Miss Lianel. The Finance Ministry’s seats are over there.”

Before Lianel could respond, another civil servant stepped in.

‘Oh? Protecting her because they’re in the same department, are we?’

Fine then. He’d show them just how pathetic that “trash department” was.

“Ah, my mistake. This must be where the rejects who handle leftover taxes sit.”

“What did you just—”

The woman next to Lianel started to rise, furious—

—but Lianel gently pushed her back down.

“Baseless insults lack persuasive logic. The Special Taxation Bureau is a key institution established to address gaps in fiscal policy. Its value is undeniable.”

Cedric narrowed his eyes. Her speech was suspiciously polished, but he dismissed it as nonsense.

“Value? It’s just a junkyard for menial tasks—”

“That’s an obvious prejudice. The Bureau holds the direct authority to collect taxes from nobles. That alone contributes significantly to the Empire’s treasury.”

Indeed, though the Bureau had been stripped of most powers, it had retained one—
the right to tax the nobility.

That authority was its founding purpose and the root of its existence.

No wonder the other departments despised it.

“Oh really? And who exactly have you taxed with that grand authority, hmm?”

“I haven’t exercised it yet.”

“See? Just as I—”

“But I plan to use this opportunity to change that.”

Cedric blinked.

Then Lianel smiled—a sharp, cutting smile.

“After all, you, Count Bartello, committed tax evasion, didn’t you?”

The counterattack had begun.