I’m an Immigration Officer!

“Everyone.”
The moment I raised my voice, the entire Immigration Office went still.
All eyes turned toward me — glimmering, hopeful, worn out, but alive.

“We’ve finally hit our target. In just forty-eight hours.”
I pointed toward the [Evidence Locker].
The box was stuffed to the brim with paperwork — a swollen, bursting carcass of truth.

“Thank you all for your hard work.”
“YEAHHHH!!”
Cheers erupted from every corner of the room.

There were only twenty-four hours left until the royal decree arrived.
And we had gathered everything we possibly could.
Evidence. Testimonies. Witness statements.

The fruits of our effort sat there — heavy, overflowing — inside that box.
It would be a significant advantage if we brought it all to trial.
My aide, standing beside me, spoke up.

“Honestly… I didn’t think we’d end up compiling this much material for just one trial.”
A faint sense of pride stirred within me.
“For aides to work this hard — I suppose miracles do happen.”

There was no point in denying it.
Once the goal of “proving the Chief Inspector’s innocence” was made clear, the Immigration Office had mobilized with terrifying efficiency.
They organized themselves into rotating shifts and ran to the crime scene day and night — desperate to secure every piece of evidence they could.
The fact that they did it all willingly, just to help me… that was humbling.

All I did was ask one thing, plainly:
— “Would you help this officer?”
— “YES!!!”

I smiled slightly.
“Perhaps I should consider raising salaries.”
“WOOOOOOOO!!!”

The cheers exploded again, louder than before.
Pathetic little opportunists.
But today… I’d let it slide.

Through the noisy celebration, the Olfactory Inspector quietly approached.
“Chief Inspector.”
“Ah, Olfactory Inspector. You’ve worked hard as well.”

But unlike the others, he didn’t seem happy.
“First, congratulations. At the very least, we’ve made a minimal preparation.”
“Yes. We’ve caught our breath, at least.”

“But… do we have any real chance of winning?”
His face was grim as he cut to the core of the issue.
Surrounded by noise and laughter, the three of us went silent.

“What we’ve collected is entirely defensive. Crucial for proving innocence, yes — but…”
The werewolf’s gaze drifted toward the window.
“…I have a feeling they’re planning something on their end, too.”

“What’s the situation like over there?”
Beyond the glass, we could see hundreds of tents lined up.
“Too quiet,” he muttered. “Unnaturally so. Like they’re preparing for something.”

A valid concern.
Given how closely the Queen and the Pope are aligned, they’d do anything to take me down.
To the Church, I was no longer just a thorn in their side — I had become a liability.

“…They could bring a witness to the trial too.”
I considered the worst-case scenario.
What would be their most devastating move?

What if the Queen invited the Pope? The Holy Knight Commander? Or even the Saintess?
Just imagining it made my skin crawl.
Even if we submit mountains of evidence and dozens of witnesses, if the one who authored the protest letter steps into court and says:

— “I take this as a personal insult,”
…then that’s all it would take. The case would collapse.
And even if not him, the Church still had at least two others whose testimony would outweigh ours.

“If that happens, we’ll likely be crushed in court.”
Their words carry a different weight.
Even if we gather a hundred ordinary citizens to testify, a single statement from one of the Church’s elites would tip the scale.

Rules and principles are absolute.
But in the face of power and authority, they shake like leaves in the wind.
Even if I present thousands of documents to prove my innocence, one sentence from the Pope could nullify all of it.

And we don’t even know who’s presiding over the trial yet.
“We need a witness.”
I spoke quietly.

“Someone whose testimony they can’t deny. Someone powerful enough that the opposition can’t even dare to call them a liar.”
There was no other way.
Our shield was fragile. Their spear, razor-sharp.

We might be able to fend off minor attacks — but if a titan steps in, we’ll crumble.
We needed a hidden card. A trump.
Then my aide asked:

“But do we have anyone like that?”
Right to the heart of it.
“On the day of the incident, it was just us and the pilgrim group. Besides them, there were a few other immigrants and the border patrol.”

There was no real counter to that.
The border patrol might have made decent witnesses — if they hadn’t nearly clashed swords with the Holy Knights. Neutrality was long gone.
“If only someone from the Church would testify for us…”

But that was a fantasy. The Church would never side with us.
No way in hell.
And so, the three of us — myself, the Olfactory Inspector, and my aide — sat in silence.

Only anxious sighs filled the air.
“…I understand. You’ve both done enough. For now, take a break.”
They say hope always comes with despair.

We’d prepared as much as we could — and still, it felt like we were leagues behind.
The aides’ cheers, which had once sounded sweet, now rang in my ears like a grating hum.
Eventually, I couldn’t take it anymore and stood up.

“Chief Inspector, where are you going?”
“Just going to check in on the Tactile Inspector. I need to breathe, or my head’s going to explode. I’ll be back soon.”
“I’ll come with you,” said my aide.

“No. Stay here. Get some rest.”
“But—”
“Your eyes have been bloodshot for hours. Rest.”

We’d done all we could.
Now, what we needed was rest.
Who knows… maybe some miracle will fall from the sky.

Clinging to that ridiculous thought, I stepped outside the strategy tent.
In the distance, at the outdoor inspection post, the Tactile Inspector was alone, checking a wagon.
She always preferred quiet spots to crowded ones.

“…This one passes, but this one’s a little off…”
I walked over without hesitation.
“Tactile Inspector. I’m taking over.”

“Huh? Chief Inspector? What are you doing here?”
“Needed some air. I’ll cover for the next three hours. Go rest.”
I wanted to be alone — and I’d take her shift to make it happen.

Thankfully, she got the hint quickly.
“Thank you! I’ll be back in three hours!”
Her feelers wiggled, and she hurried into the building.

I took her place and raised my voice to the next cart in line.
“Next wagon!”
If nothing else… maybe while I’m doing this, the anxiety will stay quiet.

 
****
Meanwhile, somewhere in the dark…

— — —!
A noise echoed from far away.
“Ah… ngh…”

Consciousness returned slowly.
Her head throbbed. Her entire body ached.
It felt like a raging hangover mixed with fever — nauseating and disorienting.

— —cha!
Erzena blinked a few times.
What… what was I doing?

A few seconds later, the memories surged back.
The intruder with purple eyes.
“Ah—! Mmmph!”

But her voice was muffled — gagged.
That’s when Erzena realized she was trapped — locked away in some pitch-black place.
No… that shapeshifter…!

She tried to get up, but something yanked her back down.
— Clang!
A heavy chain. Pain in her ankle.

She was restrained.
Luckily, her hands were free.
Erzena reached toward her ankle, trying to undo the chain.

Or rather, she tried to.
She couldn’t reach it.
…What?

She bent forward, reached again.
Still couldn’t reach.
No matter how many times she tried, her hands couldn’t get to her ankle.

Why…?
Her arms weren’t short. On the contrary, they were slender and long — usually enough to touch her feet with ease.
And then she remembered.

That shapeshifter… made her drink something.
What did she give me?!
She didn’t know what it was, but it had clearly done something to her body.

Or her mind.
Whatever it was — it was bad.
— —ma!

And then, that strange sound — calling out, over and over.
“Mmgh!! MMMMPH!!”
Overwhelmed by terror and despair, Erzena screamed into the darkness, struggling against her restraints.

Let me out! Please— let me out!
But salvation didn’t come.
— — next wagon!

Just that strange, repeating voice.
Too late.
That shapeshifter’s words echoed in her mind.

And just like she said — Erzena was now paying the price. A terrible price.
She was being devoured by fear — dragged off somewhere unknown, with no way to fix it.
Oh… Lord…

Tears ran down her cheeks.
Chief Inspector… I’m sorry…
Regret upon regret.

But there was no going back.
Her head slowly sank.
The punishment for her sins… was only just beginning.

Yes… this is my punishment…
Just as she was about to give in to despair—
“Next wagon!”

The Chief Inspector’s voice rang out.
 
****

“Next cart!”
Screech.
The fourteenth wagon pulled up.

It was the last one of the day.
“Welcome. This officer is Nathan Kell, Immigration Inspector of the Kingdom of Crossroads.”
I gave a short, dry greeting — only for a boy in a straw hat, seated alone on the driver’s bench, to wave wildly.

“Hi, mister!”
“…A boy?”
I tilted my head at the strange sight.

A kid barely past puberty… showing up alone at a border checkpoint?
I stayed silent for a moment, then spoke.
“State your name, place of origin, reason for entry, and the contents of your cargo. You have five minutes.”

“Oh, okay! I’m Sota, from Sweet Potato Hill in the southern Mahallan Kingdom!”
Sweet Potato Hill.
Just beyond the plains that framed this border. Not far at all.

That… actually made sense. The closer the region, the less risk from bandits or monsters.
The boy continued.
“I’m transporting livestock to your country!”

“Livestock… You came alone?”
“Hehe, yep! Dad says a real man should cross a border by himself at least once in his life!”
“…Charming man, your father.”

What kind of lunatic sends his underage son to a foreign checkpoint alone?
Suppressing a sigh, I turned my gaze toward the back of the wagon.
“Very well. Let’s begin the cargo inspection.”

At those words, the boy flinched. Then, all at once, his voice dropped to a near whisper.
“Careful, sir. The ones in the back… they’re mean.”
“…What, did you bring a bear?”

“No, no… You’ll see.”
With that, he opened the wagon’s rear door.
Squeeeeeak! SQUEEEEEEAK!
Oink! Oink oink!

An assault of screeching and squealing hit my ears like nails on a board.
Four-legged beasts with pink skin.
Short tails. Flat, ugly snouts.

One of humanity’s most common protein sources.
Pigs.
“…Dear gods.”

A rotten stench burst free, flooding the air. The pigs shoved their faces toward me, desperate for food.
I grimaced and began to count.
“One, two… Seventeen.”

Seventeen in total.
“…Wait, no. One more.”
There, at the very back — a small piglet sat completely still. Not moving. Not even twitching.

Something was off.
That one… had a chain around its leg.
“…And what’s with that one? Why is it chained?”

It even had a muzzle strapped to its snout.
The boy hesitated, then replied.
“Oh, that one’s real nasty. Ate its mom, they said. Ever since then, it tries to bite anyone it sees.”

“…Lovely.”
He said it so casually, like he was talking about the weather.
But it added up.

Piglets that lose their mothers often go half mad.
“I’ll still need to check. I’m boarding.”
Even if it was a simple wagon owned by some hick kid, there were no exceptions.

I had to inspect everything.
“W-Wait, sir—!”
Too late.

I stepped onto the wagon.
“All right, move aside, pigs. Move or you’re all turning into sausages.”
Oink! Oink! SQUEEEEE!

The pigs scattered in all directions, screaming like they were about to be butchered.
All except the chained piglet, who just sat there.
Staring at me.

“…”
…
No reaction. It simply looked up at me, unmoving.

Doesn’t look that aggressive to me…
I was about to shift my attention back to the inspection—
Drip.

A single tear rolled down its cheek.
“…What the hell?”
A pig.

Crying.
“I-I’m not here to hurt you, okay?”
Oink.

A small grunt.
But I couldn’t understand it.
My Talent Manifestation didn’t cover animals. Only sentient beings.

Besides, the muzzle distorted the sound too much.
I stood there, watching it quietly grunt to itself.
From behind, the boy shouted:

“Inspector, you’d better not stay near that one too long! It goes crazy!”
“Ah, right!”
Right on cue, the piglet started thrashing.

Oink! OINK! SQUEEEEE!!!
Its ankle scraped against the chain, tearing skin. Foam leaked out between the gaps in the muzzle.
It was a wretched sight.

Whatever anguish it was feeling — it was leaking out in waves.
Even the most cold-blooded inspector would feel a pang watching that.
“…You poor thing. You’re gonna be bacon soon, but let’s make you a bit more comfortable.”

Moved by a rare flicker of sympathy, I reached forward to remove its muzzle.
The moment I touched it—
CRACK.

A golden spark flashed.
“Huh?”
Startled, I immediately pulled my hand back.

The piglet, too, froze, staring up at me.
“…”
…

Silence.
“…What…”
What just [N O V E L I G H T] happened?

I reached out again, slowly, brushing the piglet’s side.
Snap.
Again — that same golden spark.

One more time.
CRACKLE.
Finally, I pressed gently against its body. The air shimmered — warm, golden, like the sun itself.

Golden shimmer.
There was only one thing I knew that ever gave off that kind of aura.
Before I could stop myself, the words escaped:

“…S-Saintess?”
The piglet began to sob.