Philip blinked, confused, feeling as if he were being judged. He was probably making the dumbest face of his entire afterlife.
He muttered, "What do you mean 'none of them are right'?" and scratched his head. "I just want to understand the place. That's not an unreasonable request."
Allegra floated up to his eye level, the torchlight reflecting off hair that seemed to subtly change color.
She said, "Philip… you're too focused on the micro. You keep asking about salary, schedules, rooms, comfort — all of that is irrelevant."
He shot back, "Irrelevant?!" throwing his hands in the air. "That's important information! Someone needs to know if they can rest, eat, or even get paid! Those are pertinent questions!"
"That's exactly my point," Allegra replied, crossing her arms with that air of someone who just understands everything. "Questions like that show you're not looking at the macro. Normal people, when they find themselves in a world like this, ask: 'How does the kingdom function? Why does it exist? Who maintains order? What are the laws of magic? Why are there glitches in reality?'"
Philip rolled his eyes but couldn't help frowning. "Seriously? So everyone's just ignoring whether they'll starve or if the bed's comfortable? They only care about 'how the world works'? That sounds… completely useless!"
Allegra gave a faint, ironic smile. "Maybe to you. But understanding the macro explains why the micro works — or doesn't. And, from the looks of it, you don't even know you're working in the most critical level of the realm."
He sighed, frustration bubbling up like a slow storm. "Perfect. So now I'm a technician with no manual, no confirmed salary, and I'm not even allowed to ask basic questions because I don't 'see the macro.' What a wonderful interdimensional promotion."
He crossed his arms, refusing to accept no. "Fine. Can you at least give me the answers I want?"
Allegra smiled — wide and unmistakably amused. "No."
Philip stood in stunned silence for five seconds, the air thick with frustration. He took a deep breath and asked cautiously, "Okay… but you do know how to contact the System, right?"
She gave a sly grin. "I do. It's not that hard, actually. This place… it's his domain. He's like the general manager of everything. You just have to call."
Philip blinked, incredulous. "Call? Like… with a phone?"
"Exactly," Allegra nodded, clearly enjoying herself. "But don't expect quick dialing or automated service. He has his… own way of answering."
"Great," Philip muttered, massaging his forehead. "So the System exists, but only answers when it feels like it. Like a boss who replies to emails only when the universe is on sale."
"Something like that," she said, floating closer. "But now you know where to start. If you really want answers."
"I do," he said, half relief, half despair. "I want all of them. Even if I have to face infinite queues, dimensional bugs, and a customer service worse than my old job's call center."
Allegra smiled again, this time sincerely. "Then good luck, human. And try not to break anything else before you get through to him."
Philip exhaled. "What a wonderful start to a normal morning in a magic kingdom."
Hours passed in a blur. He practically turned the castle inside out, questioning plants, paintings, and statues, until he found the device: an ancient monolith covered in faintly blinking runes.
After another half-hour of agonizing hold time — with magical hold music like out-of-tune bells — Philip finally got the secretary.
"Hello, you've reached the office of…" the voice began, formal and distant.
Philip was on the verge of silent screaming. He stammered, "Yes, hello, hi! I'm Philip Hartwell, technical support for the kingdom… yes, I know, not an official title, but that's not important!" He waved the receiver like a man on the brink.
The secretary's tone remained unflappable. "Mr. Hartwell, please, one thing at a time. How may I assist you?"
He gulped, trying to steady himself. "Yes, yes, thank you. I just need information. LOTS of information about… basically everything." He inhaled, still talking too fast. "Like, how the System works, its rules, its bugs, sectors, the monsters disappearing, the invisible elves…"
"Understood. One step at a time, Mr. Hartwell," she intoned, calm as a mantra.
He swallowed the adrenaline. "Right. I was sent here by your boss maybe five, six, seven days ago — I lost count. He dumped me here with zero instructions, and I'd like to meet him. Just to talk, clear things up…" (in his head: or maybe punch him in the face).
The secretary didn't blink. "I see, Mr. Hartwell. Unfortunately, he is unavailable at the moment. But I can take your questions and forward them."
Philip closed his eyes, fingers trembling with irritation. "Oh, great… forward the questions, of course…" He snapped. "You know what? I'm done! Tell that bastard he has three hours to appear in front of me. Three! Or else I'll kill myself! DO YOU HEAR ME?! I'LL KIIIILLL MYYYSEEELF!"
The shout echoed. Silence fell. Philip panted, red-faced, hair wild. Passersby stared; an old man with a blue beard crossed himself and hurried away.
"I've had it!" Philip continued, wildly gesturing. "Had it with this nonsense! What is life anyway, huh? Nothing! I was already dead! And now the damn System thinks it can play God — tossing me here without a tutorial, without a manual, and with limited support!"
The secretary cleared her throat. "Mr. Hartwell… threats of self-annihilation are not a recommended contact method."
"Oh, yeah? Well, they should be!" he retorted, pointing at the air. "Because apparently your boss only listens when chaos threatens to break loose!"
Silence. Then the faint rustle of pages, as if she consulted a manual. "Understood… in that case, please hold, Mr. Hartwell. I'll check his availability."
Philip blinked. "Wait… seriously? That worked?"
"I can't promise anything," she said, a hint of amusement in her voice, "but you have been granted priority status."
He froze. "Priority… by threatening suicide? That's the worst protocol in the universe."
"Have a nice day, Mr. Hartwell." Click.
Silence returned. He stared at the monolith like it had betrayed him. "Great… priority." He rubbed his face. "I hope he shows up before I actually have to follow through."
He looked at the ceiling, muttering, "Unbelievable… in the novels it's never like this. The protagonists have the System with them 24/7. They don't beg for basic info or fight for attention."
He paced, voice rising. "But no — not me! I'm the unlucky one! The tech support guy! The divine help desk chosen one!" He jabbed a finger at himself. "The System dumped me in some random world, pulled me out of the afterlife — because clearly I didn't deserve heaven after everything — and threw me into this madhouse full of invisible elves, bureaucratic goblins, and rabbits that traumatized me!"
He spun, louder and louder. "And the worst — the WORST — is that I'm just a manual human! No powers! No manual! No tutorial! Nothing!" He took a breath for the final line. "And to top it all off… NO. DAMN. MAGIC!"
Philip stopped, hands on his knees, panting. "Ugh, I should stop thinking about it before I turn purple from rage." He straightened and muttered, "If that System shows up, I swear I'll punch his source code until it crashes."