01. Prologue Yamada Keiichi

This story is fiction. All characters, organizations, names, country names, and similar elements are imaginary and bear no relation to actual persons or entities. Thank you.

A monotonous voice report echoes through the central command chamber of the ship, emanating from the automatic log device.

Report from assault vessel SII-001.

— Entered stealth mode into orbit around target planet. Circling while avoiding collision with other artificial satellites.

— Deployed four observation satellites… complete.

— All sixteen nanobot dispersal pods launched… complete.

— After nanobot dispersal, the descent pods will free-fall into the planetary atmosphere without deploying protective shields.

— Confirmed complete disappearance of all descent pods due to atmospheric compression heat.

— This vessel will retreat to the fifth planet’s orbit, construct a hyperlane gate, and begin collecting data from the observation satellites.

Stars streak across the night sky, drawing bright, faint white lines.

“Wait—was that a meteor? That was big. Faster than I expected. Can’t make a wish in such a short time, can you?”

After nine o’clock. The city lights have dimmed most stars below third magnitude, but tonight the sky is clear—luckily, a shooting star appeared. Maybe tomorrow will be good.

My name is Yamada Keiichi. Age, rounded down to thirty via rounding rules.

Another day of overtime, another round of metal strength testing. At this workplace, barely enough staff to keep things running, sudden spikes in workload mean only one thing: stay late and get it done. A few female coworkers are sent home early when possible, but even so, clocking out after seven is common enough.

Above, they’re urging faster work—yet precise inspection requires a decent chunk of time. The equipment isn’t the latest automated model that does everything by itself; it’s outdated, requiring inspectors to do every step manually.

Today’s shift has finally wrapped up. I’ve checked the inspection gear, finished packing up, and stepped out the office’s front door.

This facility lies slightly outside the urban center, so commuting is mostly by private car or suburban bus—but at this hour, the last bus has already run.

I climb into my compact car, parked in the company lot, and start the engine.

Another night of grabbing a ready-made meal and side dishes from the convenience store on the way home. If they’re still open. I wave at the security guard from the driver’s seat and pull out of the company grounds.

The routine repeats daily—no great mental effort required, just show up and get paid. That’s something to be grateful for. Whether it’s normal to stay past nine or ten every night is another matter. And yet, as a manager of sorts, working this late earns no night shift premium—purely voluntary overtime. Net pay hasn’t changed much from when I was a regular employee a few years back.

Next day.

Arrived at the office the same way as yesterday—same car, same entrance. Entered the office, same as yesterday, but today the atmosphere inside was different. Something was off.

“Yamada-kun, could you come with me to the director’s office?”

Called by the department head—someone who usually arrives far later than me—I was led to a director’s office I’d never entered before.

Inside the director’s office, a long conference table had been set up, with the director seated at the center, the head of product inspection to his immediate right, and the head of metal inspection seated opposite, beside him. In other words, all my superiors were arranged in order of rank, like a corporate banquet.

I sat down directly opposite the director, as invited. The head of management then left the office without a word.

“Yamada-kun, did you read today’s morning paper?”

The director’s question, delivered from across the table.

“No, I haven’t read it yet.”

I only occasionally picked up a newspaper from the office, never at home. The internet was more than sufficient, in my opinion.

The product inspection head pushed the newspaper—placed in front of the director—toward me.

It was a national economic daily. The front-page headline screamed in bold type: ‘Major Special Metal Producer, ○○ Works, Allegedly Faked Product Inspections?!’

“???” What? Faked product inspections?

The director looked at me and began speaking.

"Yamada-kun, what's written there refers to the special steel you inspected last year. Do you remember?"

"Um... this is the high-strength special steel used for the crank section of a passenger car diesel engine, right? You're saying I inspected it last year?...Hmm... ah! I recall now. That component was deemed too time-consuming to test here, so we temporarily outsourced the inspection through the president's office, as I remember."

"Talking about it like it's someone else's problem. Your inspection verification stamp is clearly on the inspection report. You conducted the inspection. The audit trail is confirmed. Why would you fabricate the inspection results?"

"I didn't perform the inspection, so there's no point in fabricating anything. What possible motive would I have to fake it? Maybe the company does—but not me."

"What are you talking about? Never mind. You're done for today—go home and wait there."

"Is that so? Then I'll take my leave."

What in the world was that? Dazed, I rose from the chair and left the director's office.

Come to think of it, that special steel alloy was up against competitors from other companies. Huh. Am I being used as a scapegoat, like a lizard shedding its tail?

If I don’t have to work, I might as well call it a day.

"Senior! Is something wrong?"

I ran into Ichijō Sae in the hallway, lugging something heavy. A fellow inspector, and someone I’ve had more than a few run-ins with.

"Yeah, just a bit. Sorry, but I’m heading home now—take care of the rest."

"Hold on, senior! You're cutting out early? At least help me carry this—this thing’s heavier than it looks!"

"Sorry, Ichijō, gotta rush. I’ll treat you to something later. See ya."

"Ugh. Senior, you’re definitely doing this on purpose!"

Three days after being told to stay at home—along with my personal belongings left at the office—the transfer notice, demotion order, and assorted paperwork for a posting to a branch office in Hokkaido arrived at my doorstep, as if the universe had decided to deliver a surprise package of bureaucratic despair.

Move within two weeks, they said. No handover required. I wrote out my resignation right there, stamped it, and mailed it off like it was a birthday card.

Final work: *True Involved Summoning: Is the Storage Specialist the Strongest, Though?*

URL: https://ncode.syosetu.com/n8088gm/ — please check it out if you’re bored.