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ArabicArknights: Prime Minister of Kjerag — Chapter 39
Chapter 39: Don’t Believe Rumors, Don’t Spread Rumors, Just Wait for the Rumors to Be Debunked
“Jesselton Williams.”
Vina stared down at the crisp resume in her hands, a flicker of genuine surprise crossing her usually stoic features.
From a purely objective standpoint, the document was flawless. Jesselton was a graduate of Columbia’s prestigious East Point Military Academy. While a lack of familial military pedigree had kept him from enlisting in the regular army, his academic background was absolute. His grades were impeccable across the board, bolstered by extensive internship experience at heavy-hitting corporate entities like Beach Umbrella and Weyland. Compared to the average fresh graduate, his background in security planning was remarkably extensive.
, his Originium Arts leaned toward a brutally simple and highly effective manipulation of iron. On paper, he was the quintessential security-oriented talent.
The only minor discrepancy was his experience level. Jesselton was not a fresh-faced university student, but a seasoned professional with several years in the industry, which technically violated Ernst’s primary directive to recruit recent graduates.
But Vina knew her employer well enough by now. Ernst SilverAsh was not a man to let trivial technicalities stand in the way of acquiring genuine talent. After all, Vina herself possessed an educational background that barely surpassed prenatal learning, yet Ernst had hired her without a second thought. If a candidate possessed clear strengths in certain areas, the Prime Minister of Kjerag would overlook the minor details.
Curious to see what this man was made of, Vina decided to test his mettle. She led Jesselton directly to Ernst’s office.
Upon seeing the man, Ernst felt an immediate, nagging sense of familiarity. He paused, thoughtfully pouring a measure of rich red wine into a crystal goblet provided by the event organizers. He handed the glass to the slightly bewildered Jesselton. Seeing the man’s classic, stiff posture as he accepted the drink, realization suddenly crashed over Ernst.
Ah. Was this not the infamous Mr. J, the legendary Toilet Cleaner?
If one were to rank the non-playable characters in his past life’s memories of Arknights by sheer infamy and popularity, Jesselton would undoubtedly claim a top spot.
When he first debuted during the Mansfield Break incident, players had dismissed him as a pathetic clown. This was the man who had arrogantly told Saria, “I have a tiny doubt about whether you are truly stronger than me,” only to be brutally dismantled by three of her punches. For a long time, his name was merely a punchline, a unit of measurement for embarrassingly weak bosses.
But as the lore expanded and the community dug deeper into the lore analysis, the perception of the toilet-cleaning Mr. J shifted. Compared to other villains, he wasn’t entirely a joke. Even the most arrogant of fools would have to kowtow and call him a grandmaster after witnessing his resilience.
Perhaps Hypergryph harbored a strange, inexplicable fondness for the man. By the time the Rhine Lab comics and the Lone Trail incident rolled around, the true terror of Saria had been revealed. This was a Columbian superwoman who had achieved physical sainthood—a monster who could survive a free-fall from five thousand meters, punch through military-grade power armor without leaving a scratch on her knuckles, and tear apart anti-Arts barriers with her bare hands.
Suddenly, Jesselton’s ability to take three full-force punches from Saria without instantly dying caused his stock to skyrocket.
Thus, the legendary meme was born: The terrifying strength of one Jesselton.
That was how Ernst knew him.
To be fair, Ernst maintained a perfectly neutral stance toward most of his interviewees. Even when confronted with familiar faces from the original timeline, he refused to let meta-knowledge cloud his judgment.
He was already the Speaker and Prime Minister of Kjerag. The timeline was currently galloping off in an unknown direction, much like a runaway Margaret Nearl. Who could say if the trajectories of these characters remained the same? He couldn’t condemn a man to the gutter simply because he had been a villain in a past life’s video game.
After a brief moment of internal deliberation, Ernst decided to give Mr. Jesselton a fair opportunity. It would serve as good practice for his first official round of employee interviews anyway.
Ernst straightened his posture, cleared his throat softly, and fixed the man with a calm gaze.
“Mr. Jesselton Williams. Which position are you applying for today?”
Sensing that he might actually have a chance to bypass the standard bureaucratic gauntlet and be hired directly by the Prime Minister, Jesselton’s posture stiffened with suppressed excitement. He answered with absolute seriousness.
“I believe, with my specific skill set, I am perfectly suited to serve as either a personal secretary or a bodyguard.”
The moment the words left his mouth, the ambient temperature in the room seemed to plummet by several degrees. Two distinct, razor-sharp auras of murderous intent suddenly materialized in the air, pressing against the back of Jesselton’s neck.
What was going on?
He swallowed hard, his lips pressing into a thin line as he subconsciously darted his eyes left and right. All he saw was Vina standing attentively to the side, while Aurora and Platinum maintained perfectly pleasant, benevolent smiles.
Did he say something wrong? Had he offended them?
Uncertain and sweating slightly under his collar, he hastily added an addendum.
“I also studied multiple languages during my time at the academy. I am more than capable of handling external communications and diplomatic work.”
A third wave of killing intent instantly locked onto him. Startled, Jesselton snapped his head up, only to see Vina now wearing the exact same benevolent, chilling smile as the other two women.
Strange. Everyone looked so friendly. Where was this suffocating sense of mortal peril coming from?
He scratched the back of his head, utterly bewildered.
Ernst observed the man’s erratic behavior in silence, mentally drawing a thick red cross next to Jesselton’s name.
Darting one’s eyes around and showing visible alarm during a high-stakes interview was a clear indicator of poor psychological fortitude and inadequate preparation. Mr. Jesselton’s mental resilience was simply not up to par for the inner circle of Kjerag’s leadership.
Still, mental fortitude could be trained. Raw ability was the true metric. Ernst decided to proceed with the final test.
“Since you are aiming for the position of secretary,” Ernst began, his tone smooth and unhurried, “I have a hypothetical scenario for you. Please answer truthfully, according to your own instincts.”
“If I were to pour a cup of Originium Slug milk directly into the ocean right now, and then hand you the empty cup with orders to retrieve that exact milk… what would you do?”
Jesselton froze, his brow furrowing as he plunged into deep thought.
Ernst was in no rush. He gently swirled the red wine in his glass, the crimson liquid catching the light as he unconsciously hummed a faint, rhythmic melody under his breath.
After a long, agonizing silence, Jesselton finally offered a tentative response.
“I would buy you a new cup of milk at my own expense, sir.”
In Jesselton’s mind, this was a highly emotionally intelligent answer. As an interviewee, he couldn’t exactly accuse his prospective boss of being unreasonable or deliberately making things difficult. And since the milk had already mixed with the vast ocean, retrieving it was a physical impossibility.
Therefore, if he purchased a fresh cup with his own money, saving the boss from spending a single LMD, and the boss still received his drink, wouldn’t that perfectly resolve the crisis? It would cost him a small amount of personal funds, but winning the Prime Minister’s favor was an investment that would pay dividends. He felt quite confident in his logic.
Ernst, however, let out a soft sigh. He shook his head, a flicker of disappointment in his eyes.
“What if that milk isn’t actually milk, but a massive sum of embezzled engineering funds? Can you afford to replace it? Are you truly willing to pay that price for me?”
Ernst leaned forward slightly, his gaze piercing. “And even if you possessed the wealth to afford it, and the loyalty to pay it on my behalf… do you honestly believe everything would be fine afterward?”
The rapid-fire succession of questions left Jesselton completely bewildered, his confidence shattering into pieces.
Ernst shook his head gently, his voice taking on the patient tone of a teacher addressing a slow student.
“Your solution, at its absolute best, merely fills a loophole after it has already been discovered. But it fails to address the fundamental crisis. The problem is that the loophole was discovered in the first place.”
A discovered discrepancy in funds would inevitably attract suspicion, audits, and relentless investigation. Once the corruption was confirmed, the hypothetical ‘I’ in the scenario—along with his political office and the very head resting on his shoulders—would be forfeit.
In the ruthless arena of politics, there was no such thing as locking the stable door after the horse had bolted. Once a fatal mistake was exposed to the light, the game was over.
Ernst stood up from his chair, smoothing the front of his suit, and extended a polite hand toward the stunned Columbia graduate.
“I am sorry, Mr. Jesselton. Thank you for your time and participation today. If a more suitable position opens up in the future, I will be sure to keep your resume on file.”
Jesselton stood frozen, his mind struggling to process how he had been eliminated so swiftly.
“Wait, Mr. Ernst,” he stammered, desperation leaking into his voice. “Didn’t I also apply for the bodyguard and diplomatic roles? Do those positions require answering political hypotheticals as well?”
“Oh, no. They don’t.” Ernst offered a polite, sympathetic smile. “However, those positions are already filled.”
He gestured casually with his chin toward Platinum, Aurora, and Vina.
Jesselton turned his head. He was once again met with those three identical, sickeningly benevolent smiles. The suffocating aura of violence in the room suddenly made perfect sense. A violent chill raced down his spine, freezing the blood in his veins.
He immediately snapped into a deep, frantic bow toward the three women, muttered a hasty string of apologies, and practically sprinted out of the recruitment area, fleeing for his life.
Watching Jesselton’s retreating figure disappear down the hallway, Vina finally dropped her chilling facade. She walked over to Ernst’s desk, her eyes alight with genuine curiosity.
“So, what is the actual answer to that question? How do you get the milk back from the ocean?”
“You can’t get it back,” Ernst replied bluntly, sitting back down. “Once it mixes with the sea, retrieval is impossible.”
He paused, letting the silence stretch for a brief moment before continuing.
“That question doesn’t actually have a standard, textbook answer. There are many ways to handle the crisis.”
“Let me demonstrate a simpler method.”
Ernst casually tipped his glass, pouring the expensive red wine directly into the wastebasket beside his desk. He then picked up the bottle, refilled the crystal goblet to the exact same level, and placed it gently on the desk in front of Vina.
The vibrant crimson liquid shimmered with intoxicating ripples under the overhead lights. Ernst’s voice dropped to a smooth, hypnotic register, sounding very much like a devil whispering forbidden knowledge in the dark.
“First, you pour a new glass of wine.”
“Then, you look them in the eye and declare that this is the exact same glass from before.”
“And if anyone dares to refute you… you simply accuse them of spreading rumors.”