I’m an Immigration Officer!

After sending the dwarf in and taking a short break, I walked over to Elaine.
"How’s the observation going?"
At the sound of my voice, she lifted her head slightly and looked at me.

[The Central Nervous System.]
Her eyes sparkled under the sunlight, like she’d just realized something.
At that sight, I cheered inwardly.

‘Perfect. Letting her observe the immigration inspections was the right call.’
This world is full of countless races and cultures—clashing, coexisting, weaving together.
Elaine must have realized that by now.

And maybe, just maybe, that with proper communication, misunderstandings can dissolve just as easily.
‘That little conflict with ~Nоvеl𝕚ght~ the dwarf ended up working in our favor.’
Her expression made it obvious.

Elaine was changing.
With that certainty, I asked, "The border’s not so bad, wouldn’t you say?"
But Elaine answered in a slightly flustered tone.

[There’s… too many weird people.]
“…Excuse me?”
My smile froze in place.

That wasn’t the answer I wanted.
“W-what do you mean by that?”
[Look… look over there.]
Elaine hesitated, pointing behind me with her finger.

I casually glanced around the Bureau.
“Please! You gotta let me in!”
“Paperwork? Mom didn’t tell me I needed that.”

“It’s not that dangerous! I swear, as long as no one touches it, it won’t explode.”
The scene that unfolded was painfully familiar.
Our Immigration Bureau, business as usual.

A parade of entitled applicants whining, pleading ignorance, demanding entry.
“Yeah, no, you’re denied.”
“No paperwork, no entry.”

“Do you want to blow up inside the border? Oh, sorry, that slipped out.”
The Sensory Officers handled it all with blank faces like it was just another Tuesday.
[The dwarf earlier too… Is this… normal?]

Elaine’s voice held nothing but utter confusion.
“Uh…”
To be honest, yeah, this is normal.

It’s also… technically fine.
Nothing’s exploded yet.
‘By our standards, this is going pretty peacefully.’

Immigration inspections are a battle.
A tactical exchange between those trying to get in and those figuring out why.
It’s perfectly normal for words to be flying back and forth like that.

But the problem is… for someone like Elaine, whose understanding of the world is still raw, this could paint an awful picture.
I only now realized.
The Immigration Bureau is way too intense for someone who still needs to see the world’s brighter side.

She didn’t find hope in her earlier interaction with the dwarf.
She found the outside world… weird.
‘Shit.’

This is spiraling the exact opposite of what I wanted for her.
“N-no, that’s not how it is. Look over there.”
I quickly pointed toward the right side of the Bureau.

There, our Olfactory Officer was inspecting another applicant—a fellow werewolf.
“Welcome. I’m Blaszek Winterfang, Olfactory Officer with the Southern Border Immigration Bureau.”
“Nice to meet you. Oh? You’re one of us?”

“Yeah, we can chat later.”
Despite meeting a fellow werewolf, Blaszek spoke in that same deep, firm voice, showing no hint of sentimentality.
“Please state your name, place of origin, and reason for entry. You have five minutes.”

Blaszek Winterfang.
Second-in-command of our Southern Border Bureau and my acting deputy whenever I’m away.
“Normally, inspections are that smooth and professional.”

The werewolf read through the documents with a serious expression, the perfect model of an immigration officer.
I nodded in satisfaction.
“What you saw earlier was just one of those rare… incidents.”

I can’t have her forming a negative impression of the world right from the start.
Sure, the border isn’t exactly paradise—but her first impression needs to be at least tolerable.
At times like this, I can count on the Olfactory Officer.

His steady tone and reliable demeanor say it all.
An unwavering standard, no matter the situation.
Or so I thought—until…

“Whoa, Officer, your fur is stunning. Do you have a special grooming routine?”
“Casual conversation is prohibited during inspection. Please answer the question. Where are you from?”
“Ah, the Northern Great Forest, Taiga region.”

“Taiga? That’s the village next to my hometown.”
“Wait, you’re from the Great Forest too? If Taiga’s your neighbor, then… are you from the Permafrost region?”
The inspection was… veering off-course.

[ …? ]
“…?”
An ominous chill ran down my spine.

No.
Please.
Blaszek.

Just this once, don’t do this.
“…”
“…”

The two beasts stared at each other in silence for a long moment.
Then—
“Oh, look at that! A fellow local! No wonder you’re so damn handsome!”

“Aha! I thought you looked familiar! Permafrost? We’re basically from the same place!”
They’d known each other for less than a minute, and already they were shaking hands and showering each other with compliments.
Gone was the composed, professional inspector.

In his place? A dumb mutt practically yelping, ‘We’re practically family!’
Elaine tilted her head, puzzled.
[Isn’t he being… too friendly?]

“…"
I squeezed my eyes shut.
That idiot should’ve been showing a model example of serious professionalism, and instead—

“Awoo!”
“Awoo!”
Two grown-ass werewolves howling like puppies in broad daylight.

[Is… that normal?]
Elaine muttered, clearly disturbed.
[The world… is a truly bizarre place.]

I’m screwed.
Tragically, I had no way to argue with her.
‘I completely forgot.’

Forgot what kind of lunatics my beloved Sensory Officers really were.
Sure, they hold it together during emergencies, but day-to-day?
They rot my sanity from the inside out.

‘This is not how her first day of observation was supposed to go.’
I wanted to show her the good parts, but all she’s seen is the mess.
Frantically, I changed the subject.

“Th-then, how about you come along for cargo inspection instead?”
[Cargo…?]
“People aren’t the only ones crossing the border, Elaine. All kinds of goods come through too.”

Take that dwarf earlier, for example.
He didn’t come empty-handed.
Bags full of rare gemstones, the product of his own hard labor.

Stories and history don’t belong to people alone.
The items they bring—their cargo—carry meaning too.
Just like Elaine told her story through letters, every shipment holds its own tale.

‘If she sees that, maybe she’ll change her mind.’
At least cargo doesn’t whine, beg, or act entitled.
And the Sensory Officers—at least during cargo checks—don’t do weird shit.

Which means minimal negative impact on Elaine.
This is my one chance to salvage her impression.
After a long pause, Elaine narrowed her eyes at me.

[It’ll… be okay, right?]
She looked seriously skeptical.
“You won’t regret it.”

I told her, more like reassuring myself than anything.
 
****

“Large wagons to the left, please! Uh… and any food-related cargo, please wait over there for a moment!”
The booming voice of the Gustatory Officer rang out the moment we stepped into the wide clearing in front of the Bureau.
A young nomad girl was coordinating the flow of wagons with her attendants, directing the line through the spacious lot.

Elaine, her personal attendant, and I approached her.
“Gustatory Officer. You seem busy.”
“Huh? Ah, Chief Officer! And Your Pr—”

The Gustatory Officer nearly let “Princess” slip from her mouth, but hastily clamped her hand over it and glanced nervously around.
The area was bustling with people, wagons, and cargo—too many ears for loose words.
“Ah, Lady Elaine, you’re here too… Hehe…”

With a slightly sheepish smile, the Gustatory Officer scratched the back of her head.
“Enjoying the observation? The Bureau’s not so bad, right?”
“…Mm.”

Elaine discreetly averted her eyes, dodging the question.
I turned my gaze to the wagons parked along the right side of the clearing.
“Weren’t food-related cargo inspections originally the Tactile Officer’s responsibility?”

“That’s right!”
The Tactile Officer had gone on break thirty minutes ago, meaning the Gustatory Officer would be stuck handling wagon inspections alone for at least another thirty minutes.
It was tough for someone like her—barely a month and a half into the job.

Sweat already beaded on her forehead, clear proof she was giving it her all.
Feeling a hint of pride, I spoke up.
“I’ll assist with the food wagon inspections for a while.”

“R-really?”
“Yes, of course. You just focus on directing the large wagons.”
Perfect timing.

It eased her workload, and gave Elaine a firsthand look at cargo inspections.
No way I was missing that chance.
‘At least it’ll go better than dealing with people.’

God, I hope so.
Taking the entry documents from the Gustatory Officer, I called out to the first wagon at the front of the food cargo line.
“You there! Pull your wagon up, and we’ll begin your inspection.”

A large wagon approached, steadily slowing to a halt in front of me.
It looked appropriately weathered by time, but sturdy enough for heavy cargo.
But something was… off.

“Ugh.”
The stench of fish.
A foul, gut-wrenching smell instantly filled the area.

“Kh…!”
The attendant behind me gasped for air, then promptly switched to breathing through his mouth.
Elaine reacted even more dramatically.

“Uuugh…”
She pulled the hood of her robe down tight, covering her face all the way to her chin like a makeshift mask.
I sighed without thinking.

Nothing ever goes smoothly, does it?
‘…Well, it’s definitely a unique experience.’
The stench of fish—here, smack in the middle of the continent.

Even I had to admit, that was absurd.
Of all the wagons, the one I picked to show Elaine—the very first—just had to be hauling the scent of the sea.
My luck was abysmal.

With a resigned voice, I said, “Elaine, please step back for a moment.”
At the very least, I didn’t want her exposed to this mess.
She didn’t hesitate.

Before I even finished speaking, she had already retreated far out of range.
—Creeeak.
The wagon came to a stop, and half a dozen burly men jumped down from the back.

Leading them was the largest of the bunch, striding toward me.
A muscular man with a rough, weathered face.
“So this is finally the Cross-Line Kingdom border? Damn it, we’re gonna be late at this rate.”

Guess he’s the owner of the wagon.
I cleared my throat deliberately to draw attention, then addressed him formally.
“Welcome. I am Nathan Caleb, Immigration Inspector under the Foreign Affairs Ministry—”

“Yeah, yeah, save the introductions. Let’s get this over with. We’re on a tight schedule here.”
Cutting me off mid-sentence, the man scratched his head irritably, his attitude dripping with impatience.
My attendant’s brow twitched at his rudeness.

“Show proper respect to the Inspector. This is the border.”
“Respect? Spare me. Not like we’ll be best friends after this.”
The swaggering walk, the deliberately loud voice, the profanity practically glued to his tongue, and manners straight from the gutter.

I let my eyes drift over him.
Thick arms covered in tattoos.
Calloused knuckles, worn from constant strain.

His jacket was faded leather, with several inner pockets sewn into it.
And strapped to his waist—a well-worn sword, clearly familiar to his hand.
His companions didn’t exactly scream “harmless travelers” either.

All of them built for strength, with weapons sharp enough to gleam.
The clues were too blatant to miss.
‘Mercenaries.’

The most troublesome, least trustworthy lot you could meet at the border.
I addressed them plainly.
“State your name, affiliation, the contents of your cargo, and your destination.”

Six mercenaries guarding a rickety food wagon? Something didn’t add up.
Let’s hear what explanation he comes up with.