kazema

...My apologies, Councilor Jones.

I will make sure to stay quiet.

January 27th, 6:42 P.M.

'We will continue to push for the bill to let the Infected buy housing...'

'We expect it to be implemented by next year...'

The recorder organizes the documents, carefully filing them into their respective envelopes, and writes the date on the label before placing them into the filing cabinet.

There is a thin layer of dust on top of the cabinet, and she picks up a rag and wipes it.

She turns to her desk and begins to tidy up the area—the Records Room is packed with people looking for information during the day, and keeping the desk neat and tidy is also part of her disguise.

A potted flower sits on the corner of the desk, its petals drooping.

*crash*—!

An unstable flower pot is buffeted by the wind and falls from the sky, throwing streaks of soil and scattering petals everywhere.

The clay pot falls straight down with the mud and hits a young woman just passing by square on her head.

She does not let out any kind of cry after her collision, but simply touches the mud on her face in a daze.

The recorder looks at the pot of dropping flowers on her desk, which she had just tended to earlier, and finds its position perfectly secure.

She stretches a hand out.

*crash*—!

January 27th, 10:39 P.M.

Aaaahhhhhh—!!

What was that?! Did you hear that? Was that even human? That gave me a real fright!

The whole of Caladon probably heard that scream.

It sounded like it came from the villas. Maybe the nobles are playing around with some new toys again.

Whew, that ding dong clanging sure sounded like someone waltzing around with furniture strapped onto their back!

Haha, a waltz with furniture? How posh!

Ten minutes ago, Councilor Jones had been lounging comfortably on his sofa, sipping the wine his servants had prepared for him. Their backs blended into the light, while the shadows of his guards were reflected at his feet.

In Caladon, such an arrangement allows him to enjoy many a perfectly peaceful night in his mansion.

But few things are absolute.

Ah—Ahh—!

What is this, what's happening?!

The books on the shelf and the medals on the wall all stand up, taking even the bookshelf straight towards the couch where the councilor is lounging.

As if alive, a bunch of paper folds itself, becoming tiny figures, mouths, sharp knives.

They swirl around the confused councilor—

Help! Someone, help! What's all this!

My books? My... files? They're alive!

The paper dolls vibrate in mid-air, and tiny voices seep out from the words written on them—

'We urge the Infected to wear special Infected clothing going forward!'

'We propose issuing a special series of banknotes for the Infected, to boost domestic demand!'

'Let them buy housing? Yes, of course! Let them buy houses, we have many uses for the Infected!'

Ahhh!!! What's going on, someone! Anyone? Guards? Guards!

'Cystymilk is delicious, and we should increase our supply! The Infected—'

'The Infected should pay a reparations fee! We propose issuing half of the Infected's wages in the form of consumer vouchers!'

What are these! Get, get away from me!

The Councilor falls to the ground on his back, flailing his hands in an attempt to drive away the paper dolls encircling him.

He picks up a wine glass, aiming its contents at a paper doll. The wine seeps into the paper, and the swirl of white turns red as it fills the room with an alcoholic aroma.

Head in hands, the councilor huddles in a corner of the room, leaving only his rotund backside shaking in view.

Ah! Ahh!! AHHH!!

The paper dolls continue to close in on him, the overlapping voices encircling the Councilor.

Who are you? What do you want?!

W-What, what do you want from me?!

I'll do anything you ask! Anything! Let me go, just let me go, please?!

As if they had gotten what they wanted, the paper dolls stop spinning around the councilor and instead hover quietly.

Then, they stretch out their bodies, reverting to their original sheets of paper before landing on the ground. The councilor panics and crumples them, afraid that they might once again take flight.

In the midst of the flurry, a document lands quietly on the middle of his desk.

His hands trembling, Councilor Jones picks it up—

'Report on the City's East End Development Project'...?

After glancing at the open document for just a few seconds, the councilor crumples it into a ball with a twisted expression on his face. He is about to throw it into the trash, but hesitantly smooths it out instead, folds it, and carefully places it in his inner coat pocket.

This... What is this doing here...? Who found this? Didn't I already...

Sir... did you call for me? Should I come in and help you clean up?

You dolt! What are you standing outside for!

R-Right away!

Wait... No! No need!

Out! Get out! Get away from here, now!

The councilor bends down and scrambles to gather the papers scattered on the floor, fearfully scanning the heading and contents of each sheet, as if afraid to see something else on them.

He looks around, wary of the entire room. He then pulls back the curtains with a flourish.

Someone is definitely behind this! And he's going to find out who!

Ah, if it isn't Councilor Jones? Still at work at such a late hour, tidying up your papers?

You?!

(Loudly) I expected no less of you, Councilor Jones! To still be hard at work sorting through your files at such a late hour, polishing your proposal into an even better bill to better serve everyone!

(Loudly) I just now finished discussing the east end factory with the Infected representative earlier, and he's so grateful to see you working so hard for the council!

(Loudly) Truly a councilor who looks after the Infected! Come come, representative, you must thank him in person!

Truly, thank you so much, Councilor Jones! Our brothers in the factories will surely remember you for this!

...Haha, hahaha.

Y-Yes, yes! Haha...!

February 3rd, 9:19 P.M.

Councilor Jones, withdrawing a proposal is unprecedented. Do you realize what your actions are implying?

Everyone here has been working hard on their own preparations these last few days, all based on that proposal.

...No, I'm saying... I... I want to withdraw that bloody proposal!

Please forgive me, I... I've come to my senses over the last few days. This was a foolish idea.

Councilor Jones, the City Council is no place for playing around. Perhaps if you told us of any difficulties you've encountered recently, we might be able to help you.

No! Nothing of the sort!

Recorder? Recorder, are you there? Kite, Kite! Quick, note down my decision to withdraw the proposal! And file it! Quickly!

The recorder clicks her pencil, and as per her usual, writes down every word from the session in her minutes.

Got it, Councilor Jones.

February 7th, 3:18 P.M.

What a pity I went home early that night. Who would've expect something like that to happen in Councilor Jones's own home?

I've heard others say that the house was completely fine, but suddenly the stationery started moving and dancing. It could even speak!

Here are the business certifications and permits. You can return to the landship now, captain.

Good job on your end, too.

I heard his servants say that the councilor was frightened by something, but he didn't let them or even his guards enter the room. He tidied up his room himself!

I also heard that ever since that day, the Jones family has forbidden the use of paper, saying that some kind of foul evil lies within, haha! Then, how do you think he does his business in the loo...?

Seems like they're talking about what happened to Councilor Jones the other day? News spreads so fast, doesn't it?

...*cough*!

Hey, enough about this, the captain's still hard at work so we should be too!

Kazemaru.

Did you...?

Captain, do you have the inside story? Share it with us, we won't tell a soul!

Ssh.