The moment she opened her eyes, an unfamiliar ceiling greeted her. Stone-built, a dull gray ceiling. Wooden beams ran horizontally across it. The smell of burning firewood filled the air. Against her cheek was rough fabric—nothing like the cushion of the desk chair she'd used in her previous office. Mizuno Misaki lay still, staring at that ceiling for a while. (…I'm dead, aren't I?) The memories were vivid. The night before the app release. Two in the morning at the office. A mountain of specification documents spread across her desk. Her team members had gone home long ago; only Misaki remained in the glow of the screen. When she came to, she was on the floor. After that, nothing. Thirty-two years of life, ended the night before an app release. It's not a funny story, Misaki thought. Yet she felt a small sense of relief that she had enough composure to think that. Panic would be useless here. She rose slowly. Her body felt light. The chronic shoulder pain from her previous life had vanished like a lie. Glossy black short-bob hair fell against her cheek, and soft chestnut-colored eyes quietly surveyed the dimly lit room. A slender but healthy frame. Small earrings that glimmered faintly remained on her ears for some reason. Stone walls. Wooden window frames. An old carpet on the floor. Beyond the window, the pale blue sky before dawn. (First, assess the situation.) A PM's habit. No matter what happened, the first step was always to grasp the current state and organize the issues. Emotions came later. Whether this was a moment to panic would be decided once she had all the information. The door opened. An elderly woman entered—a servant of the mansion, dressed in dull gray clothes. "You've awakened," the servant said. The language—somehow, she understood it. "Yes. …Where is this place?" Misaki asked. The woman looked slightly surprised, then explained politely. The Luminous Kingdom, a provincial lord's mansion in the north. Misaki had been asleep in this room for three days. She'd been found near the border of the territory. "You may be a reincarnator," the servant said. Misaki accepted those words quietly. There was no reason to deny it. The next morning, Misaki completed the registration. The Luminous Kingdom had something called the "Reincarnator Registration Ordinance"—a law to protect those whose souls had transferred from another world, so-called reincarnators. Despite only one or two appearing per year, the kingdom had established this system long ago. Those who registered received three years of residence permission and minimum living support. However, participation in politics was fundamentally prohibited. Their status was "guest citizen"—a special classification between commoner and nobility—placed under the kingdom's protection but barred from any involvement in governance. Whether this was caution against reincarnators entering the kingdom's power structure, or a measure to protect the reincarnators themselves, remained unclear. The first day of project kickoff was always about confirming the rules. That was Misaki's way. (There's a loophole in the "advisor" clause.) As she read through the documents, her eyes stopped on that single line. Political participation was prohibited, but activities as an "advisor"—offering unofficial opinions to nobles and bureaucrats—had no explicit restrictions. The clause left room for interpretation: one was merely "offering opinions," not "participating in decisions." It was a loophole in the law, likely an unintended application. But if something existed, one used it. That was also Misaki's way. --- In the carriage heading toward Felthain, Misaki gazed out the window the entire time. Felthain, the capital of the Luminous Kingdom—a fortress city bearing the ancient name "Field of Light"—was positioned in the upper reaches of the Felm River. The Felm River was a great river that pierced the continent eastward, functioning as the center of trade routes since ancient times. Controlling its upper course had been the foundation of the kingdom's national power. Or so it should have been. As the carriage advanced along the road, the landscape changed. The fields were vast. But the harvest was thin. The stone embankments of the irrigation channels were crumbling, with no sign of repairs. The farmers they passed walked with downcast eyes, and when Misaki turned her gaze toward them, they didn't look up. By the time the city walls came into view, a task list had already formed in her mind. (Agricultural infrastructure deterioration, financial deficit halting repairs, exhausted populace—) The city walls bore mortar patches in several places. The shops in the old quarter had few items on their shelves. The currency was based on gold coins called Zol, with silver coins called Halp and copper coins called Kupfer. Judging by the prices, the economic scale wasn't particularly large. And to the south loomed the Zeevaldt Empire—a military superpower beyond the Volg Mountains that divided the continent north and south, with a population exceeding eight million. Luminous had thirty-four thousand. The numbers alone showed a gap that would blow away like dust. (Financial deficit, agricultural decline, military exhaustion… It's exactly like that company I took on a turnaround project for in my previous life.) A wry smile leaked out. That time too, the first documents shown to her had been a red ledger. The department head had simply said "I'm counting on you" before throwing her into the conference room. The only difference was that this time the scale wasn't just one company. (Why do I keep attracting these massive problem cases in my reincarnated life too?) At this point, she could only laugh. Alone in the carriage, laughing quietly, Misaki turned her gaze forward. This was the battlefield ahead. --- Getting permission to tour the Prime Minister's Office was easier than expected. When Misaki approached the official with the "advisor" clause from the Reincarnator Registration Ordinance, they seemed troubled by how to respond and readily approved it. Probably, they hadn't anticipated reincarnators taking such active initiative. The Prime Minister's Office—the building called Tsaarlhaus—was the central administrative organ of the kingdom, positioned in the west wing of Hohenruminasu Castle, the royal residence built on the hill of Felthain and the symbol of the kingdom's rule. Though part of the palace, it was also the heart of the bureaucratic organization. Its exterior was merely a succession of orderly white stone corridors and aged wooden doors, but within lay countless records related to the nation's decision-making. The archive they were shown was on the first basement level, and beyond the thick iron door lay the scent of old paper. "Thirty minutes," the official said, then left for the corridor. Misaki surveyed the shelves. Organized documents, disorganized documents, and—deep in the shelves, a mountain of documents bundled haphazardly. She reached out. She pulled down the top volume and opened it. Numbers and symbols filled the pages. (…It's a cipher.) She sensed it immediately. That feeling from her previous life when she'd analyzed system design documents. The frequency of symbol appearance, the periodicity of numbers, the arrangement of blank space—there was a pattern. Not completely random. Someone had structured it with intent. Misaki began turning pages. First page, second page, third page. Following the pattern of symbol appearances, searching for correspondence with the numbers. The countless nights spent on log analysis and code reading in her previous life moved through her now. Around the twenty-minute mark, the structure became clear. (Finance Ministry accounting categories… That's the base cipher, and the number periodicity indicates fiscal years. Which means this "▽" symbol is—) Her page-turning accelerated. On the final page, Misaki steadied her breathing. She confirmed the remaining volumes on the shelf. One, two, three… twelve. Twelve volumes total. Symbols lined the spines. Reading them through the cipher system, they corresponded to "Finance," "Agriculture," "Military System," "Diplomacy," "Trade"— "Finance, agriculture, military system, diplomacy… This isn't just a national project," Misaki said aloud. Her voice echoed in the archive. No one was there. Misaki's face flushed slightly. She'd been talking to herself. (The name Gais appears at the end of each volume. The former Prime Minister. I heard he died a few days ago.) The elderly Prime Minister who had supported the kingdom's governance for thirty years. This was what he'd left behind. Financial reconstruction, agricultural reform, military reorganization, diplomatic strategy—twelve volumes of national reform plans. Documents that the old man, who must have known the kingdom's condition better than anyone, felt compelled to leave in cipher form. Trusting that someone, someday, would read them. Something burned hot in her chest. At the same time, memories from her previous life surfaced. Not the night she collapsed from overwork—but before that. When she'd pushed an unreasonable schedule on her team members and three had fallen ill in succession. When she'd indirectly heard the words "We can't keep up with Mizuno's pace." The project had succeeded. And her team never returned to its former atmosphere. (The question of whether I'll do the same thing again is still there.) The desire to succeed this time, to see it through—that occupied the same space. The two collided within her chest. No answer emerged. None could. But—placing her hand on the cover of the first volume, Misaki slowly cradled it. (I can think about it while I walk.) Thirty minutes had passed. Heading toward the iron door, Misaki emerged into the corridor, the first volume still cradled against her chest. The official started to say "You can't take that out," but faced with Misaki's interpretation of "reference authority as an advisor," fell silent with an indescribable expression. (Loopholes exist for a reason.) Misaki walked the corridor. White stone walls continued. Beyond the windows, the night city spread out. Suddenly, her steps stopped. A door to the courtyard stood slightly ajar. Wind flowed through it. Before she knew it, she stood before the door. She didn't know why. Perhaps she simply wanted to feel the night air. Or perhaps she needed distance from that question. She pushed the door slightly open and looked outside. A figure stood in the courtyard. --- In the moonlight, a young man was wielding a sword. There was no sound. No footsteps, no breathing. Only the sword moved, cutting through the air. Arcing, stopping, flowing smoothly into the next form. Light and shadow were alternately sliced apart. It was beautiful, she thought. At the same time, the skin on her back grew faintly cold. (That's a movement meant to kill.) Separate from the sword's elegance, instinct told her so. It was a sensation she'd never felt in her previous life. Perhaps this was the moment she first recognized a sword as "real." Misaki stood frozen. The first volume cradled against her chest, unable to move. The young man stopped abruptly. His gaze turned toward her. Sharp, golden eyes. Deep chestnut short hair that caught the night breeze, taking on a reddish hue in the light. Around one hundred seventy-eight centimeters tall. His muscular frame, even at rest, carried the tension of a swordsman. His age seemed slightly younger than hers—perhaps early twenties. His eyes were appraising. Not welcoming, not cautious—simply measuring what he was seeing. A cold, quiet gaze. Silence fell over the courtyard. Misaki felt her heart skip a beat. Had she been overwhelmed by the presence of the sword? Or—was it because his face, illuminated by moonlight, was unexpectedly refined? She couldn't judge for herself. But she thought, perhaps for the first