Chapter 25: A Window That’s Too Quiet and an Anonymous Consultation

Mornings at the Adventurer’s Guild are normally brimming with vitality.

However, for the past few days, a constantly bloodthirsty atmosphere had drifted solely around my “Mental Health Counseling Window.” Swords being drawn, magic circles deploying, and daggers dancing through the air had become an everyday occurrence.

But today was different.

“Nagi-san, about the report for this subjugation request — is the formatting alright?”

“Yes, there are no problems. More importantly, I’m glad to see you weren’t injured. Good work.”

“Thanks! Man, it’s a lifesaver that the window is so quiet today. Those girls were always glaring at each other around here, and I was too scared to get close.”

The general adventurer smiled with a relieved expression and headed home.

Bowing my head and saying, “I apologize for the inconvenience,” I satisfiedly aligned the freshly processed stack of documents with a tap, tap.

It’s peaceful.

It’s far too peaceful.

The “Ladies’ Agreement” they had supposedly formed the night before — it seemed Lise, Fran, Roux, and Luna were truly adhering to its first clause: “Do not contact Nagi at all once a week, even on work days.”

No one had been holding my right arm hostage since morning.

I couldn’t hear any lectures pointing out my nutritional imbalances down to the second.

I wasn’t being monitored with a cold blade pressed against the back of my neck.

“…Wonderful. Is this what actual desk work is supposed to be?”

With no one interrupting me, my work progressed at my own pace. Back in my previous life when I worked as a clinical psychologist, I spent my days chased by clients without a moment to rest. When was the last time I had been able to immerse myself in practical business in such a quiet environment?

They had taken a massive step forward by suppressing their dependency and following the rules.

Nodding deeply and thinking, This is fine, I cleared out my backlog of administrative work at a terrifying speed.

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Early afternoon.

Taking advantage of a lull in customers at the window, I opened the “Suggestion Box” installed in the corner of the guild.

It was an anonymous consultation post set up for adventurers who found it embarrassing or difficult to consult face-to-face. Inside were a few trivial consultations about everyday worries, but at the very bottom lay a single envelope radiating a distinctly unusual presence.

High-quality, jet-black parchment sealed with red wax.

The addressee simply read: “To the Person in Charge of the Mental Health Counseling Window.”

“…It’s been a while since a letter came from this person.”

After confirming there was no one around, I gently broke the seal.

It was from the “anonymous client” who had previously brought in a consultation with an impossibly massive scale: “I am hesitating over whether or not I should annihilate humanity.”

Last time, staying within the boundaries of my normal duties, I had replied, “Why not try narrowing down the target and organizing exactly whose betrayal, and what kind of betrayal, was the primary cause?”

This must be their response.

I quietly read the elegant handwriting to myself.