Defeat hostile gangs: 16/??

  The number hovered quietly at the edge of my vision, steady and patient, as if it had all the time in the world.

  I’d been busy these past few days. Very busy.

  I didn’t know how the others were faring, whether they were struggling, playing it safe, or already licking their wounds, but I was having the time of my life. Every fight sharpened my instincts, every victory fed that strange thrill curling in my chest.

  “I never thought I was such a violent person,” I chuckled, cracking open a can of soda as I leaned against the tiny fridge in my dorm.

  The hiss of carbonation was oddly satisfying.

  I took a long sip before flopping down onto my bed, the thin mattress creaking beneath my weight. My eyes drifted around the room, taking in the space for what felt like the first time since I’d moved in.

  It was… minimal.

  A single bed pressed against the wall. A desk barely large enough for a terminal and a stack of notes. A cramped bathroom tucked beside a kitchenette with a lone sink and microwave. A narrow closet that echoed when opened.

  No decorations. No personal touches.

  “Not much I can do here anyway,” I muttered.

  I pulled out my phone, thumb hovering over the screen as I scrolled through the available apps. New world, new rules, but at least some things were universal. Movies. Games. Entertainment libraries curated by the system itself.

  If I was going to be here a while, I might as well enjoy myself.

  I’d just settled into the bed, soda balanced precariously on my knee, when a knock echoed through the room.

  Sharp. Deliberate.

  I frowned.

  “Coming,” I called, setting the can aside as I stood.

  When I opened the door, I found a woman standing in the hallway. She had long brown hair tied loosely behind her back, tired eyes, and the unmistakable air of someone who’d been thinking too much and sleeping too little.

  “Yes?” I asked. “Can I help you?”

  “My name is Emily,” she said. Her voice was calm, but there was tension underneath it. “I was in the same batch as you. The one that arrived at the library.”

  That alone caught my interest.

  “Okay,” I said, leaning against the doorframe. “And?”

  She hesitated for half a second, as if weighing her words.

  “I came here to ask for your help.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “Help with what?”

  Emily exhaled. “Other bookkeepers from our batch have already made moves. Some of them… became minor bosses in the schools they were placed in.”

  That wiped the relaxed edge off my mood.

  “They’re consolidating power,” she continued. “Taking over gangs, forcing the locals under their control. We’ve confirmed at least three groups doing it openly.”

  I straightened slightly.

  “And?” I prompted.

  “And we’re preparing for a clash,” Emily said. “It’s only a matter of time before territories overlap. When that happens, it’ll turn violent.”

  I glanced at the faint task indicator still lingering in my peripheral vision.

  “They’ll be counted as hostile entities,” she added quickly, clearly noticing my silence. “If you fight them, it’ll count toward your tasks. You’ll gain rewards, records, progress, maybe more.”

  Clever. She knew exactly which angle to push.

  I studied her for a moment. She didn’t look like someone trying to manipulate me. More like someone backed into a corner, doing the best she could with limited options.

  “And what do you get out of this?” I asked.

  Emily met my gaze without flinching. “A chance not to get crushed.”

  Honest. I appreciated that.

  I turned back into my room, pacing slowly as I considered it. Fighting gangs was one thing, disorganized students drunk on borrowed power. Fighting other bookkeepers?

  That was different.

  They might have access to records. Skills. Experience. Maybe even backing.

  It would be risky.

  But the thought of clashing with opponents who actually understood the system made my blood stir.

  “…Sounds like things are getting interesting,” I said at last.

  Emily let out a breath she’d clearly been holding.

  “So?” she asked.

  I grabbed my jacket from the chair and shrugged it on.

  “Tell me where they’re gathering,” I said, a grin creeping onto my face. “If they’re calling themselves bosses already…”

  I stepped past her into the hallway.

  “Then it’s time someone reminded them they’re still rookies.”

  Philip had been placed in Oracle High, the school marked by a single golden eye.

  It was the most prestigious institution in the region, top scores, top funding, top reputations. Its students walked with their chins slightly raised, their uniforms immaculate, their words sharpened to cut.

  Prestige, however, did not breed kindness.

  Cruelty here was refined. Calculated. Oracle students didn’t throw punches in back alleys unless it benefited them. They ruined reputations, orchestrated ambushes, dismantled rival groups piece by piece and called it strategy.

  The bookkeepers assigned here were no different.

  If anything, they were worse.

  Right now, Philip sat in the cafeteria’s second level, observing as several student leaders and two fellow bookkeepers mapped out a trap for Behemoth High. A holographic projection hovered above the table, marking streets, alleyways, and known hideouts.

  “They’re predictable,” one of the Oracle bosses said, tapping the projection with a pen. “Behemoth students respond to provocation with force. We hit one of their outer groups, leak the location of this base, and draw them in.”

  A red circle blinked over an abandoned warehouse.

  “We collapse on them from three sides.”

  Efficient. Clean. Ruthless.

  Philip rested his chin against his clasped hands.

  Without records, this is gambling, he thought.

  Oracle High’s bookkeepers had chosen to conserve their strength so far. Minimal exposure. Minimal skill usage. They’d built influence quietly, embedding themselves into the school’s hierarchy.

  Behemoth High, on the other hand, was an unknown variable.

  Without activating records, it was nearly impossible to measure another bookkeeper’s strength accurately. And against someone competent, a single miscalculation could spiral into elimination.

  The cafeteria doors slammed open.

  “Boss! We got a problem!”

  A student sprinted in, breath ragged, eyes wide. He rushed straight toward one of the Oracle bosses seated near the projection table.

  “Behemoth High took down one of our elite groups,” he blurted. “They’re heading toward one of our hideouts!”

  Silence rippled outward.

  “What?” the boss snapped, rising so abruptly his chair toppled backward. “Which hideout?”

  “The west storage facility, the one near the canal!”

  Philip’s gaze sharpened.

  That wasn’t the decoy.

  One of the Oracle bookkeepers swore under his breath. “They moved before we did.”

  The boss didn’t wait for further details. Panic cracked through his composed facade as he rushed out of the cafeteria, barking orders into his phone.

  Students scrambled after him.

  Philip remained seated.

  So they chose the bull-headed approach.

  Behemoth High bore the symbol of a horned beast for a reason. They valued strength above subtlety. Dominance through direct confrontation. It fit that they would respond to Oracle’s maneuvering by charging straight at one of their bases instead of waiting to be lured.

  But something about it bothered him.

  He closed his eyes briefly, sifting through names.

  Which bookkeepers had been placed at Behemoth High?

  The first name that surfaced was Jayden.

  Philip frowned slightly.

  Jayden was reckless, yes. Aggressive, undeniably. But this? Launching a direct assault on an enemy base before securing full intelligence?

  It didn’t align.

  Jayden preferred chaos, but he wasn’t foolish.

  That left only one other Silver-ranked bookkeeper from their batch capable of orchestrating something like this.

  Vincent Ferhorn.

  Philip’s eyes opened slowly.

  A rookie born from the Canvas. On paper, that didn’t mean much, plenty of Canvas-born bookkeepers failed to adapt. But Vincent wasn’t just anyone.

  He came from the Ferhorn family.

  A lineage that had existed within the library for centuries.

  A family that specialized in close combat, in breaking opponents at arm’s length. They cultivated brutality into art. Efficiency into doctrine.

  Their influence stretched deep into both the library and the Canvas world. They recruited promising newcomers aggressively, strengthening their network generation after generation.

  If Vincent had decided to make a statement, he wouldn’t waste time with traps.

  He would crush Oracle’s forces publicly.

  Philip stood at last, adjusting his blazer.

  If this was Vincent’s move, then it wasn’t just a reckless charge. It was a calculated display of strength. Take down an elite unit. March toward a hideout. Force Oracle High to respond under pressure.

  Establish dominance early.

  He’s testing us, Philip realized.

  Testing how quickly Oracle would mobilize. Testing whether their bookkeepers would reveal records to protect their influence.

  The cafeteria had nearly emptied by now, tension hanging thick in the air.

  Philip glanced once at the golden eye emblem etched into the wall.

  Oracle prided itself on foresight.

  But foresight meant nothing if you hesitated.

  He slipped his hands into his pockets and walked toward the exit at a measured pace.

  If Vincent Ferhorn was truly behind this…

  Then Behemoth High wasn’t just charging blindly.

  They were hunting.

  “Who are we fighting?” I asked, sitting on a dusty crate inside the skeleton of an unfinished construction building.

  Concrete pillars rose like the ribs of some giant beast. Steel bars jutted from half-formed walls. There were no proper floors yet, just layered slabs connected by exposed staircases and temporary planks. The wind whistled through the open structure, carrying with it the distant hum of the city.

  “Leviathan High,” Emily replied. She stood near one of the pillars, arms folded, eyes scanning the perimeter. “The bookkeepers there have already taken over most of the classes. They’re working directly with the school boss.”

  I let out a low whistle. “Damn… school violence is basically warfare here.”

  It wasn’t even an exaggeration.

  I counted roughly thirty students from Goliath High gathered around us. First years gripping metal pipes too tightly. Second years with bruised knuckles and hardened expressions. A few third years stood closer to the front, clearly veterans of past clashes.

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  This construction site sat directly between Goliath and Leviathan territory. Neutral ground in theory.

  In reality? A battlefield.

  No real hiding spots. No rooms. No narrow corridors to trap opponents in. Just exposed beams and wide-open spaces.

  No ambushes.

  Only raw confrontation.

  Footsteps echoed from the entrance.

  A large group approached, their silhouettes framed by the fading afternoon light.

  Leviathan High.

  I immediately recognized one of them.

  Tanned skin. Relaxed posture. A long metal pipe resting across his shoulders like it weighed nothing.

  Percy.

  He gave a lazy roll of his neck as if he were about to start warm-up stretches rather than a street war.

  Walking beside him was someone new.

  Sharp eyes. Spiky hair. A grin that revealed teeth a little too pointed to be comforting. He walked with a loose sway, like a predator pretending not to care.

  “That’s their school boss,” Emily murmured. “Arlan. They say he fights like a beast.”

  Arlan’s gaze swept across our group, and when his eyes landed on me, his grin widened.

  “Well,” I cracked my knuckles and stood up from the crate, “I was bound to fight a school boss eventually.”

  The air thickened.

  “If I lose,” I added lightly, “it’ll be a valuable lesson.”

  Arlan stepped forward, rolling his shoulders. “So this is Goliath’s new toy?” he called out. His voice carried easily through the hollow building. “You don’t look like much.”

  I grinned back. “You talk too much.”

  That was enough.

  Leviathan students surged forward.

  For half a second, Goliath hesitated, then both sides collided.

  The sound was immediate and chaotic. Metal clanged against metal. Fists met bone. Someone shouted in pain. Another laughed wildly.

  I didn’t hold back.

  A first-year from Leviathan swung a pipe at my head. I ducked under it and drove my fist into his ribs. I felt something give. He folded instantly.

  Another rushed me from the side. I grabbed his collar, yanked him forward, and smashed my forehead into his face.

  Blood sprayed.

  Two more came at me together.

  Better.

  One aimed low, the other high. I stepped into the gap instead of retreating, taking the high swing on my forearm while driving a knee into the low attacker’s jaw. The impact snapped his head back violently.

  The one whose strike I blocked looked surprised.

  I didn’t give him time to process it.

  A straight punch to the throat dropped him.

  I exhaled slowly, adjusting my stance.

  These weren’t like the wandering gangs I’d been dismantling the past few days.

  They were coordinated.

  Disciplined.

  A group of Leviathan second years tried to surround me. One feinted. Another actually committed. I pivoted, using the feinting one as a shield when Percy suddenly lunged in.

  The metal pipe whistled through the air.

  Fast.

  Too fast for a regular student.

  I shoved the unlucky shield forward and stepped back just in time. The pipe crushed into the other student’s shoulder instead of mine.

  Percy blinked once. “Oops.”

  He grinned.

  So they weren’t hiding it completely.

  Bookkeepers.

  I felt the familiar thrill rise in my chest.

  Good.

  Percy came again, this time spinning the pipe like a staff. The movement was fluid, trained. I raised my arms to guard as he thrust forward.

  The tip of the pipe blurred.

  I barely tilted my head in time.

  It grazed my cheek instead of cracking my skull.

  Fast.

  I closed the distance before he could fully retract. My hand shot out and grabbed the pipe mid-shaft. I twisted sharply and stepped in, slamming my elbow toward his jaw.

  Percy released the pipe instantly and leaned backward in an unnatural arch.

  My elbow missed by centimeters.

  He kicked upward from that bent position.

  I crossed my arms to block, but the force still sent me skidding back across the concrete.

  Okay.

  That confirmed it.

  Before I could re-engage, the crowd around us shifted.

  A path cleared.

  Arlan stepped forward.

  “Percy,” he said lazily, cracking his neck. “Back off.”

  Percy shrugged and retreated without complaint.

  So this was it.

  I rolled my shoulders and stepped forward to meet him.

  Up close, Arlan’s presence felt… wrong.

  Too light.

  Too loose.

  Like a coiled spring pretending to be slack rope.

  “You’ve been causing trouble,” Arlan said. “I was hoping we’d meet.”

  “Happy to oblige,” I replied.

  He disappeared.

  Not literally, but his first step was so explosive it might as well have been teleportation.

  His fist was already inches from my face.

  I jerked my head aside on instinct. The punch skimmed past my ear, but before I could counter, his body twisted unnaturally and his elbow came from below.

  I blocked late.

  Pain shot up my arm.

  He flowed backward immediately, not committing to the exchange.

  Superhuman reaction speed.

  Every time I shifted my weight, his eyes tracked it instantly. When I twitched my shoulder to fake a jab, he didn’t bite.

  He laughed softly.

  “You’re fun,” he said.

  He attacked again, low kick, high punch, spinning backfist.

  There was no rhythm.

  No predictable pattern.

  It was like fighting someone who chose attacks at random, but each one landed with perfect timing.

  I ducked under a hook and countered with a body blow.

  He was already gone.

  My fist hit empty air.

  A sharp pain exploded across my ribs.

  He had slipped to my blind side.

  I staggered back, breathing heavier now.

  He wasn’t stronger than me.

  But he was faster.

  Cleaner.

  Every micro-movement I made, he reacted to instantly. It was like he was reading the intent before I fully committed.

  I wiped blood from the corner of my mouth and grinned.

  “Now this,” I muttered, rolling my neck, “is more like it.”

  Arlan’s eyes gleamed.

  Around us, the fight between Goliath and Leviathan blurred into background noise.

  This wasn’t about them anymore.

  It was predator versus predator.

  And for the first time since this event started, I felt genuinely challenged.

  “They’re really going all out, huh.”

  Ellaine slowed her steps as she passed the viewing lounge, glancing through the wide pane of reinforced glass that overlooked the simulated districts below. The artificial skyline flickered faintly, projections shimmering as clashes unfolded in different sectors.

  Inside the lounge, bookkeepers sat scattered across curved sofas, watching the live feeds projected midair. Some were relaxed, sipping drinks. Others leaned forward, analyzing movements and skill usage like scholars dissecting rare manuscripts.

  Suzanne stood near the railing, arms crossed loosely.

  “Isn’t your sister participating?” Ellaine asked casually.

  Suzanne didn’t take her eyes off the projection. On one of the larger screens, a school district burned faintly under the setting sun. Students clashed in unfinished buildings, rooftops, abandoned streets.

  “She hasn’t done anything notable,” Suzanne replied evenly.

  There was no disdain in her voice, only indifference.

  Ellaine tilted her head slightly, studying her friend’s profile. “You’re not worried?”

  “If she can’t stand on her own in a controlled event like this, worrying won’t help her.” Suzanne finally turned away from the projection. “What’s the news on the ruined world you wanted access to?”

  The shift in topic was deliberate.

  Ellaine accepted it without comment.

  “Still three months,” she said with a faint sigh. “The administrators claim the world is still unstable. The spatial fractures haven’t settled.”

  Suzanne hummed softly. Ruined worlds were volatile by nature, collapsed narratives, shattered systems, corrupted laws. Some tore apart those who entered without warning.

  “How many requests so far?” Suzanne asked.

  “Around fifty.”

  Suzanne’s brows lifted slightly.

  “That many?”

  Ellaine nodded. “The setting’s an active war. Multiple factions. High-tier combatants. A large dive group won’t cause narrative rejection.”

  They moved further into the lounge, settling into a quieter corner as the ambient murmur of observers faded into background noise.

  “Considering it’s a ruined world with numerous powerful characters,” Suzanne said thoughtfully, “even failing to clear it would still be profitable.”

  Ruined worlds were treasure troves.

  Broken relics. Corrupted skills. Rare records.

  Even partial completion could yield enough benefits to elevate a bookkeeper’s rank.

  “Did any low ranks submit requests?” Suzanne asked.

  “Not directly,” Ellaine replied. “But some of them are attaching themselves to higher-ranked teams. Safety in numbers.”

  Suzanne gave a faint, unimpressed smile. “Smart. Cowardly, but smart.”

  Ellaine chuckled. “Even the Gun and Rose team signed up.”

  Suzanne visibly rolled her eyes.

  “Of course they did.”

  The Gun and Rose team was hard to miss within the library’s circles. A duo of strikingly beautiful women who had built both reputation and spectacle around their synergy.

  Reina, the “Gun”, was a master marksman. Her firearms weren’t ordinary weapons; they were relic-bound constructs enhanced by precision-based records. She could alter trajectories mid-flight, split bullets into cascading volleys, or condense shots into armor-piercing rounds.

  Ashley. the “Rose”, specialized in plant magic. Elegant, lethal, and versatile. Vines that moved like serpents. Thorned barriers that could withstand artillery. Blossoms that released toxins or restorative pollen depending on intent.

  Individually, they were formidable.

  Together, they were terrifying.

  “Platinum Five,” Suzanne murmured. “They’re aiming for Emerald.”

  Ellaine nodded. “If they perform well in this world, promotion is almost guaranteed.”

  Beyond rank advancement, there was another incentive.

  “Relics,” Suzanne said.

  “Exactly,” Ellaine confirmed. “A war setting means legendary weapons, cursed artifacts, shattered divine armaments… If they record the right support gear, they’ll solidify their position.”

  Suzanne leaned back against the sofa, gaze drifting toward the ceiling where faint constellations shimmered, an aesthetic choice meant to mirror the endless possibilities of the Canvas.

  “Any Diamond ranks?”

  Ellaine hesitated briefly before nodding.

  “Diantha.”

  Suzanne’s expression sharpened slightly.

  “She’s diving?”

  “Mm.” Ellaine crossed her legs. “I heard she’s completing a Valkyrie record. Same path I’m walking.”

  For a moment, there was a flicker of competitive fire in Ellaine’s eyes.

  Diantha was not someone to take lightly. A Diamond-ranked bookkeeper whose combat prowess bordered on myth among the lower tiers. Calm. Precise. Ruthless when necessary.

  “If she’s entering,” Ellaine continued quietly, “we might actually have a shot at clearing the world.”

  Suzanne’s lips curved faintly, not quite a smile.

  “Don’t get your hopes up.”

  Ellaine arched a brow.

  “Every Ruined World,” Suzanne said calmly, “contains at least one Grandine-ranked threat.”

  The word lingered in the air like a shadow.

  Grandine.

  A rank that separated elites from legends.

  Not every ruined world had a clearable endpoint. Some were broken beyond repair, warped into endless battlegrounds dominated by beings that had outgrown narrative constraints.

  “If there’s even one entity at Grandine level,” Suzanne continued, “Diantha alone won’t be enough. Not unless she’s hiding something.”

  Ellaine didn’t respond immediately.

  Her gaze drifted back to the projection screens.

  Below, in the simulated districts, a school boss fell.

  Students scattered.

  Somewhere inside that controlled chaos, futures were being forged.

  “Then we’ll just have to grow stronger before the dive,” Ellaine said softly.

  Suzanne glanced at her.

  For a brief moment, the relaxed atmosphere of the viewing lounge felt heavier.

  Ambition.

  Competition.

  And the unspoken truth.

  That in the library, no one stayed at the top forever.

  The world narrowed.

  The screams. The metal clanging. The chaos around us-

  Gone.

  There was only Arlan.

  He tilted his head slightly, shark-like grin stretching wider. “You’re slowing down.”

  He vanished again.

  This time, I didn’t try to track his limbs.

  I tracked his shoulders.

  A subtle dip to the right-

  Low sweep.

  I jumped.

  His leg scythed through empty air. The moment my feet hit the ground, I lunged forward instead of retreating.

  He didn’t expect that.

  His reaction speed was monstrous, but even monsters relied on prediction. I’d been responding. Defending. Adjusting.

  Now I was forcing.

  My fist shot toward his face.

  He twisted away, but I didn’t aim for his face.

  I aimed for where he would move.

  My knuckles slammed into his collarbone.

  For the first time, Arlan’s expression cracked.

  He stumbled half a step.

  Not much.

  But enough.

  He retaliated instantly.

  A palm strike drove into my sternum before I could recover. Air exploded from my lungs as I staggered back. He followed with a knee.

  I caught it.

  Pain lanced through my forearms as his knee dug into the guard, but I held on and yanked him forward. My forehead smashed into his nose.

  Crunch.

  He hissed and tore free, blood dripping from his face, but he was smiling.

  “You learn fast,” he said, voice slightly nasal now.

  He attacked again.

  Faster.

  Cleaner.

  His reaction speed wasn’t just defensive, it amplified his offense. Every twitch from me triggered a counter. Every shift in balance was punished.

  A hook clipped my jaw.

  A kick bruised my thigh.

  An elbow sliced across my eyebrow.

  My vision blurred at the edges.

  I tasted iron.

  He’s adapting to my aggression now.

  Fine.

  Then I’d change again.

  He darted in for another rapid combination, jab, cross, low kick.

  I didn’t block.

  The jab snapped my head sideways.

  The cross split my lip.

  The low kick buckled my stance, but I stepped into it.

  His eyes widened half a fraction.

  That was all I needed.

  I drove my shoulder into his chest, ignoring the pain, ignoring the ringing in my ears. We crashed to the ground together, rolling across rough concrete.

  For a split second, his reaction speed lost its advantage.

  There was no space to dodge.

  No room for footwork.

  Just limbs. Weight. Brutality.

  I pinned one of his arms with my knee and rained punches down with the other.

  One.

  Two.

  Three.

  He twisted like a snake, slipping free with inhuman flexibility. His fist slammed into my ribs again and again. I felt something crack.

  Breathing became agony.

  He rolled on top of me.

  “You’re done,” he muttered.

  His fist descended.

  I turned my head just enough that it smashed into concrete instead of my skull.

  The impact stunned him for a heartbeat.

  One heartbeat was enough.

  I drove my thumb into the soft point beneath his jaw and shoved upward violently. His head snapped back. I bridged my hips and flipped us over again.

  We scrambled to our feet almost simultaneously.

  We were both breathing hard now.

  His nose was crooked. Blood streaked his face.

  My eye was swelling shut. My ribs screamed with every inhale.

  Around us, the fighting had slowed. Students from both sides had begun backing away, forming a loose circle.

  They knew.

  This decided everything.

  Arlan spat blood onto the floor and laughed softly. “You’re insane.”

  “Yeah,” I panted. “I’ve been hearing that a lot.”

  He moved first again, but slower.

  Just slightly.

  Fatigue.

  Even with superhuman reaction speed, his body still had limits.

  He launched forward with a straight punch.

  I slipped outside the line and drove my elbow down onto his forearm mid-strike. His arm wavered.

  Before he could recover, I stepped in and delivered a brutal uppercut.

  His head snapped back violently.

  He didn’t fall.

  He tried to counter it.

  Too slow.

  I grabbed the back of his head and smashed my knee upward.

  Once.

  Twice.

  On the third strike, his body finally gave out.

  He collapsed to one knee.

  I didn’t let up.

  A final hook crashed into his temple.

  Arlan fell flat onto the concrete.

  Silence.

  For three long seconds, no one moved.

  Then Leviathan students began retreating, dragging the unconscious Arlan with them. Percy shot me one long look, measuring, thoughtful, before turning away as well.

  Goliath erupted into cheers behind me.

  I didn’t celebrate.

  I just stood there, swaying slightly, vision swimming.

  Defeat hostile gangs: 17/??

  Defeat a school boss: 1/7

  The number flickered faintly at the edge of my sight.

  I exhaled slowly.

  Barely.

  I had barely won.

  If that fight had lasted another minute… if I hadn’t forced the grapple… if he hadn’t hesitated that one fraction of a second...

  I might’ve lost.

  Emily rushed to my side. “You’re bleeding everywhere.”

  “Yeah,” I muttered, touching my swollen eye. “He hits fast.”

  She stared at the direction Leviathan retreated. “You beat their school boss.”

  I gave a faint grin despite the pain radiating through my ribs.

  “Guess I learned something valuable after all.”

  But as I watched Leviathan disappear into the distance, one thought lingered in my mind.

  If this was just a school boss…

  Then what would happen when we started fighting the real monsters among the bookkeepers?