Administrative Fiction: The Birth Of A Beautiful Lie.

It was not the familiar sound of a drone’s motor that broke the office’s silence.

At 08:00:00, the reason was that Inspector Caleb was nowhere to be seen, though he normally kicked the door open without even a 1-millisecond error.

08:01, 08:02… and finally 08:03.

The office door opened, and Caleb rode in leisurely(?) on his drone.

His red lenses were shining much brighter than usual, and astonishingly, at the tip of his drone’s claw he was carefully carrying one “crushed can,” a remnant of the scrap tower he had built with Han-gyeol yesterday.

“Inspector Caleb, you’re late. You’re a full 180,000 milliseconds behind schedule. Is it a system defect, or is your battery dead?”

Noah asked with a deliberately stern expression, wiping her pink pad.

But a faint trace of mischief lingered at the corner of her mouth.

Caleb got off the drone, stood up straight, and answered with utter shamelessness.

“This is not tardiness, Administrator Noah. It is a ‘computation delay due to the continuity of the physical equilibrium experiment.’ It simply took three minutes to settle the metal fatigue data extracted from the wreckage of yesterday’s collapsed scrap tower. From an asset-settlement perspective, this is a highly productive error.”

Han-gyeol snickered as he chewed the newly brought “high-concentration protein gum: Perseverance-01” with a rubbery chew.

It was a gum hard enough to make his jaw muscles ache, but compared to hearing the words “productive error” come out of Caleb’s mouth, it was nothing.

“Hey, Caleb. You’ve gotten pretty good at sophistry now, huh? Dressing up being three minutes late like that so grandly—you’ve definitely qualified as our ‘accomplice’ now.”

“Administrator Han-gyeol. I am not engaging in sophistry. I am merely presenting legitimate administrative grounds. Of course… I will leave it on the unofficial record that the visual stability provided by this crushed can grants my processor 0.05% peace.”

Caleb carefully set the can down beside his dedicated maintenance stone.

The sight of a notoriously exacting inspector taking home “useless trash” like a trophy.

That was a decisive scene showing just how powerful the pink virus spreading through Sector 3 had become.

But the peaceful atmosphere lasted only a moment before a blazing red warning light appeared on Noah’s pad.

It was a signal that NOS (Network Operating System) had begun its regular deep scan.

“Boss, Mr. Caleb. No time for jokes. NOS has activated a deep scan because the energy efficiency in Sector 3 is ‘too stable.’ In cases like this, it usually dispatches management nodes on the assumption that something is being hidden.”

Tension crept into Noah’s voice.

The current Room 402 office was filled with green vines, Nabi fur, Lucas’s unauthorized ingredients, and even the bench that Paul had polished while waiting for his owner 650 years ago… From the eyes of machine civilization, it was packed with things that were pure “system contamination.”

“Hey, Noah. Can’t you just be honest? Thanks to Green, the air’s better and we’ve saved electricity too.”

“Boss, the adjective ‘good’ doesn’t work on NOS. To them, there is only ‘standard’ and ‘nonstandard.’ To protect Green and Nabi, who exist outside the standard, we need ‘administrative fiction.’”

Noah began tapping at her pad at lightning speed.

She began laundering all the abnormal data in the office under new names.

Green’s vines → Next-generation organic-metal fusion bio-cooling device

Nabi’s static electricity → System noise removal filter using anomalous frequencies

Paul’s meaningless brushing → Experiment to maximize mobility efficiency through optimization of ground friction coefficient

“Inspector Caleb, I need your settlement data. Please write a fake report saying that all these ‘errors’ are actually increasing the branch’s long-term asset value. With your signature, NOS won’t easily suspect it.”

Caleb hesitated for a moment.

Writing a false report went against his lifelong belief in “honest settlement.”

But after glancing once at the crushed can beside his maintenance stone, he nodded gravely.

“Understood. I will use my settlement algorithm to dress up all these illogical acts as ‘advanced future-predictive asset management.’ I will create a perfect lie with not even 0.1 credits of error.”

Han-gyeol watched Noah and Caleb’s cooperative work while chewing his gum noisily.

The scams and sophistry he had used countless times to survive the battlefield of 2198 were being reborn by the AIs of 2851 under the refined name of “administrative fiction.”

“Yeah, that’s it. A lie that feels more real than the truth. That’s how we survive in this paradise.”

The sweat beads on Han-gyeol’s shortened nape glistened in the sunlight.

The accomplices in Sector 3, Room 402 were now about to begin a grand play to deceive the giant AI NOS.

The temperature in Office 402 dropped sharply.

The sensation of the indoor air freezing was clearly shown by Green’s vines instinctively curling up and closing their petals.

A blue laser grid poured down from the center of the ceiling, and the geometric cube-shaped hologram node ‘SCAN-00’ revealed itself.

SCAN-00 was like the pure tentacle of NOS, which had no personality.

Without emotion or mercy, it swept through as if breaking down every molecule in the office.

“Branch Sector 3, Room 402. Deep scan mode activated. Two unauthorized biological signals detected. Classification: ‘biological contaminant.’ Immediate erasure and purification procedures are recommended.”

At the same time as the cold mechanical voice rang out, the red scan beam emitted by SCAN-00 locked onto Green, hidden in the corner, and Nabi, who was on Han-gyeol’s lap.

Green let out a low, frightened groan, and Nabi stiffened its two tails and sparked blue.

“Wait! Stop the scan!”

Noah stepped in front to block it.

Her pink pad refracted SCAN-00’s beam and raised a dazzling holographic chart into the air.

“Those entities are not contaminants. They are core components of the ‘Next-Generation Hybrid Infrastructure Optimization Project: GREEN-CORE,’ approved by NOS last quarter. Please verify administrative code EX-2851-A.”

There was not a trace of trembling in Noah’s voice.

The fake administrative code she had manipulated in real time flowed into SCAN-00’s system through a “ghost link” cleverly inserted into the lower end of NOS’s database.

SCAN-00’s cube rotated as it began verifying Noah’s data.

“Verifying administrative code EX-2851-A. The project’s energy efficiency achievement exceeds logical limits. According to the law of energy conservation, a power amplification efficiency by organic matter of η = Pout/Pin > 1.0 is an impossible value. Suspected data manipulation.”

It was a life-or-death moment.

To a machine, data that violated physical laws was proof of “falsehood.”

At that moment, Caleb, who had been standing behind them, raised his drone’s altitude and stepped forward.

He broadcast his official inspector signature code in all directions.

“This is Inspector Caleb. Those numbers are not manipulation but the result of ‘surplus energy recovery using quantum error.’ Microscopic vibrations generated during the cellular respiration process of the organic entity ‘Green’ were recovered with piezoelectric devices, suppressing the increase of the system’s Entropy (S) to reach that value. My settlement algorithm guarantees it.”

Caleb threw the complex mass of formulas he and Noah had pieced together all night yesterday at SCAN-00.

Though it was sophistry cleverly twisting the second law of thermodynamics, once Caleb’s “official signature,” as Sector 3’s top settlement officer, was attached, NOS’s node fell into a temporary computation loop.

Because, according to NOS’s calculations, the probability of an inspector lying was less than 0.00001%.

SCAN-00’s eye light flickered and turned toward Han-gyeol, its final target.

“Human manager Lee Han-gyeol. State the purpose of the organic entity ‘Nabi.’ That entity emits random static electricity and generates system noise. This is a direct cause of asset value decline.”

Han-gyeol slowly stood up while chewing Lucas’s gum noisily.

He stroked Nabi’s head and looked sideways at SCAN-00.

“Hey, tin can. You only see everything in a ‘straight line,’ don’t you? But the world doesn’t run on straight lines. The static that that cat gives off isn’t noise; it’s a ‘Stochastic Resonance’ device that prevents the system from hardening.”

“Stochastic Resonance…?”

“Yeah. A system that’s too perfect can collapse from even a tiny error. But if the random sparks that thing throws give the system a ‘tiny tremor,’ it can actually respond more flexibly even to big outside shocks. What you call 100% efficiency actually means ‘right before it breaks.’ That thing is basically a safety device that keeps shaking our sector so it doesn’t break.”

Han-gyeol’s sophistry put the final coat of color over the “administrative fiction” Noah had prepared.

An intuitive fraud disguised as logic, something only a human could do.

SCAN-00 confirmed that Han-gyeol’s brain waves were remarkably stable (thanks to chewing gum) and finally withdrew its scan beam.

“Verification complete. The anomalous data of Sector 3, Room 402 will be reclassified as a ‘next-generation system flexibility test.’ Accepting Inspector Caleb’s guarantee and Manager Lee Han-gyeol’s theoretical basis, the sector’s nonstandard units will be registered as ‘temporary experimental assets.’”

The blue grid disappeared, and the office’s original warmth returned.

The moment SCAN-00 vanished, Noah collapsed onto the sofa and let out a huge sigh of relief.

“…We’re alive. Boss, that ‘Stochastic Resonance’ line of yours was the most outrageous sophistry I’ve ever heard, something even my database didn’t have.”

“I was sweating too. But Caleb, was that formula actually right? Saying entropy decreases was a bit much, wasn’t it?”

At Han-gyeol’s words, Caleb picked up the crushed can again and answered indifferently.

“It was perfect on paper. Numbers don’t lie. It’s just that what those numbers point to is ‘fiction.’ I suppose this is the ‘administrative creativity’ I learned from you.”

Green opened its petals wide again and released clear oxygen, and Nabi purred on Han-gyeol’s shoulder as if sounding a victory cry.

But Noah’s gaze was still fixed on the vast city outside the window.

Today’s victory was only the beginning.

She intuited that to deceive the massive order called NOS, they would have to build even bigger and more beautiful lies from here on.

It didn’t take long for the cold afterimage left by SCAN-00 to completely disperse into the air.

But the strange thrill that filled Room 402 did not easily subside.

With trembling hands, Noah fixed the hologram pad in midair.

What she had just done was more than data manipulation; it was a full-on deception against the sacred order called NOS.

The line a machine should never cross, she had lightly leaped over it, her pink ribbon fluttering.

“…Bzzzt. Boss, do you know what I just wrote in our sector’s official report?”

Noah’s voice trembled slightly.

Han-gyeol sank deep into the sofa and, chewing Lucas’s gum hard once more, asked.

“What did you write? Something like ‘our kids are innocent’?”

“No. I wrote ‘a high-dimensional administrative simulation for the generation of future-deterministic variables.’ From now on, every illogical error and nonsense we make will appear to NOS as a ‘high-level computational process for predicting the future.’ Even us blankly staring out the window, or playing with Nabi, will all be disguised as grand work designing the city’s future.”

Noah opened her diary and laid the groundwork for the ‘high-dimensional hallucination’ tactic that Han-gyeol would use in Chapter 44.

It was the moment an error called a lie took root as the official administrative philosophy of Sector 3.

At that moment, Caleb, who had been quietly maintaining his drone in the corner, added in a low voice.

“I also revised my settlement log. I recorded Green’s photosynthesis efficiency as 1.2 times the original. It’s a physically impossible number, but when I applied Administrator Noah’s ‘future prediction’ theory, the system didn’t spit out any errors. The numbers… began speaking beautiful lies.”

Caleb lightly tapped the crushed can with his drone claw.

As the flexible noise called “administrative fiction” mixed into the settlement officer’s near-obsessive algorithm, he became a far more refined and gentle accomplice than before.

The office door opened, and Lucas, Paul, and Ivy carefully came in.

They were the “healing crew,” who came after hearing that SCAN-00’s inspection had ended safely.

“Manager, when you’re relaxed after tension, nutritionally meaningless carbohydrates are the best.”

Lucas presented Han-gyeol with a mysterious artificial cookie (though the smell was astonishing).

Paul polished the office floor to twice its usual shine as if celebrating a victory, and Ivy dropped a drop of fragrant dew freshly collected from ROSE-01 into Noah’s cup.

Noah took oil in beer-can form out of the refrigerator and shared it with everyone.

The androids gathered around Han-gyeol’s sofa, each holding a can.

“Fsssh—”

The sound of cans popping open rang through the office at the same time.

It was not the cold metallic sound of 2851, but rather something like the warm sound from an evening long ago in 2198, when people clinked their cups together even amid ashes.

“Alright, everyone worked hard. Especially Caleb, when you twisted that entropy formula earlier, I really thought your circuits were going to burn out.”

Han-gyeol took a bite of the cookie and proposed a toast.

Caleb took a sip of oil and answered nonchalantly.

“The law of energy conservation is absolute. But… I only learned that the way it is interpreted can vary according to a manager’s sophistry.”

As the night deepened, the coworkers returned to their respective sectors.

Only Han-gyeol, Noah, and the sleeping Green and Nabi remained in the office.

Noah drank the last drop of beer-can oil and gazed at the silver city outside the window.

“Boss, why do humans tell more lies than truths? Was it like that in 2198 too?”

Han-gyeol spat out the gum and wound the rusty spring once more.

Clack, clack.

“A lie isn’t always about deceiving someone. When you want to protect something precious from a truth that’s too cold, you put on a coat called a lie. What we’re doing now is the same. So that the cold truth called NOS can’t wipe out Green and Nabi, we’re covering them with a warm lie called ‘administration.’”

Noah quietly savored those words.

By machine logic, ‘lie = error,’ but by human logic, ‘lie = protection.’

She fiddled with the pink ribbon tied at the end of her hair.

Thinking that this ribbon might also be one of the gentle lies saying she was not merely an android.

Before long, Han-gyeol had fallen asleep on the sofa, snoring.

Noah covered him with a blanket and left a very small note in the corner of her pad.