The Doll Has a Name Chapter 13 - Recruitment Ad

 

“The time it takes to save someone isn’t the issue, is it?”

 

She changed into the most formal outfit among the clothes she had brought and sat in front of the mirror.

 

To gauge the atmosphere, to spy a little, and to offer support if possible—or at least make contact—she decided to head out to the Marée Société without delay.

 

After brushing her hair in front of the mirror, she took out her makeup tools. 

 

Herciana’s gift had arrived just in time to be useful. She fixed the slightly smudged and faded areas from sweat and carefully refined her appearance.

 

A kind face, but not one to be taken lightly. 

 

‘Approachable, yet untouchable!’

 

With the concept of being the kindest-looking witch in the world, Kise meticulously adorned her face.

 

Leisurely stepping out of the inn, she asked the innkeeper for directions to Melbur 6th Street. 

 

That street, she was told, was a bustling commercial district packed with merchants’ warehouses, various guild offices, and trading companies like the Marée Société, all clustered tightly together.

 

Since it was within walking distance, Kise set off under the sun with a map in hand. 

 

Along the way, she stopped by a flower shop and picked up a bouquet of pink lisianthus and purple irises.

 

‘Whether you’re chosen depends on whether you catch their fancy,’ she thought. She wasn’t sure if she’d even need to use it, but she bought it anyway as a potential bribe.

 

When Kise arrived at Melbur 6th Street, she was momentarily stunned by the sight.

 

A wide canal flowed alongside the curved street.

 

The densely packed buildings, with no space to spare, all stood with their backs to the canal, yet each had pulleys installed on their outer walls.

 

They were mechanisms designed to haul cargo directly from the boats into the buildings.

 

But for some reason, only pulleys are visible on the walls, and not a single entrance is in sight. They said this was the place with the clown sign, but to see what the sign looks like, they’d first have to find the main gate.

 

Kise cautiously stopped an elderly woman passing by and asked, “Excuse me, may I ask for directions?”

“Yes, of course.”

“I’m looking for the building with the clown sign on this street.”

“Are you trying to get to the Marée Société?”

 

She understood immediately—no need for further explanation. Thanks to the company’s high reputation and recognition, it was easy to keep things brief.

 

The woman kindly explained that all the buildings on Melbur Sixth Street were designed to face the canal on the west side, with their main entrances on the east.

“So you’ll need to take that side path and go around. Officially, it’s Melbur Sixth Street, but most people call this side ‘Sixth Street.’ When they first built these structures, they arranged them this way for convenience—you can’t exactly dock a boat right in front of a door.”

“I see.”

“Oh, and if you’re looking for the Marée Société office, be careful not to enter through the blue gate, even if it has the same clown sign. That’s not the office—it’s the warehouse. The main entrance has a white marble arch.”

 

The woman chuckled and added, “Lots of people have been going there for interviews lately.” 

 

Feeling as though she’d met a divine messenger in this harsh world, Kise repeatedly expressed her gratitude.

 

And to return the kindness, she made sure to offer a heartfelt compliment.

“Thank you so much. Now that I look closely, the shoes you’re wearing are truly stylish. The shawl you have draped over you matches the colors and patterns so well. You must have an exceptional eye for fashion. I’m sure you hear that often, don’t you?”

 

It was a habitual compliment, one that still carried traces of his previous profession, a habit she hadn’t quite shaken off.

 

“Huh? Oh, no, this is just something I made as a hobby at home…”

 

“You made this dress yourself, didn’t you? I could tell at a glance. The way the cuffs flow so naturally, and the seams are so meticulously done. Honestly, it’s incredible. I wish I had such skill.”

 

Most of it was a well-intentioned lie, meant to convey genuine gratitude.

 

🫧

 

“Across the seas, we see the world; we break down walls and surpass limits. No matter the people, no matter the language.”

 

An inscription was carved along the facade of the building’s entrance. 

 

Kise walked past it, signed his name on the visitor list handed to him by the guard, and entered without issue.

 

“…There’s no garden.”

 

No garden. The moment she passed through the door, she was met with a central courtyard. 

 

Despite the towering floors and the way the structure seemed to dominate the surrounding area, this massive mansion—no, calling it a mansion might be a stretch—was surprisingly devoid of extravagance.

 

Rectangular buildings surrounded the courtyard in a long, vertical layout.

 

Even if he had extensive knowledge of landscaping, it would be useless here. Kise walked along the unfamiliar, angular corridors that curved around the perimeter.

 

Her past efforts—memorizing every detail of aristocratic garden design as part of his so-called noble education—felt like dust crumbling away.

 

Then again, she had heard that the people here prioritized pragmatism above all else. It was as if the wind whispered in his ear, tousling her hair, saying they’d rather build another storage warehouse in the space meant for a garden.

 

Kise entered the central building, marked with a plaque reading Main Hall.

 

The reception office on the first floor must mean the ground floor of this main building. 

 

Stepping into the lobby, the plush fibers of the carpet beneath his feet, he felt an unfamiliar energy in the air.

 

People of varying ages and genders sat at their respective stations, each absorbed in their own tasks.

 

In front of a massive hanging world map—clearly crafted from meticulously engraved prints—stood a signboard that read ‘Application Submission.’

 

Weaving through the murmuring crowd, Kise headed in the direction the sign pointed. There, she spotted a clerk seated at a desk, frantically flicking beads on a 15-row abacus.

 

‘Hmm… Hmm… Guess I’ll have to wait.’

 

The man, with dark circles heavy under his eyes, was engrossed in his calculations, letting out occasional groans of “Uuugh!” 

 

Interrupting him with a casual “Excuse me?” would make her the worst kind of person. She had enough kindness and manners to know better. 

 

So Kise stood patiently, waiting as he wailed, “Wrong! The balance is wrong again!” two more times before finally achieving some sort of triumphant breakthrough.

 

“Ah? Since when have you been standing there…?”

 

“Since the moment you looked like you were facing death while reading the notice about Momaree porcelain pricing adjustments based on patterns.”

 

“Gah!”

 

Flustered by the belated realization of her presence, the clerk scrambled, but Kise responded with nothing but a polite smile. 

 

Yet beneath that smile was a quiet, relentless pressure—urging him to hurry up.

 

Come on, hm? Faster, hm? How long do I have to, hm? Wait, hm?

 

Paling slightly, the clerk rummaged through a drawer and pulled out two sheets of paper.

 

“You’re an applicant, right? Just fill out this résumé and self-introduction form and hand them back to me. Since there aren’t many applicants today, you might even get your interview right away.”

 

“Hold on, a self-introduction form?”

 

“Yes, you’ll need to write it here and submit it immediately. The rules changed. Before, we’d just hand it out, but then we got flooded with people bringing in ghostwritten ones. There’s a desk and writing tools in the room over there—you can use that. And don’t overdo it; one or two lines per section is enough. We’re looking for sincerity.”

 

Sincerity? What am I supposed to do when you suddenly demand a virtue I don’t possess?

 

An 18-year veteran idol raised on pretense, Kise swallowed her discomfort, sat down in the assigned room, and pulled out a pen.

 

Once a woman draws a pen, she must write something. The ink-laden nib poised itself over the paper.

 

〈Name: Kise Ohara. Gender: Female. Nationality: Kingdom of Haven. Experience? None. Certifications? None. Awards? No idea what that even is, but also none.〉

 

A newcomer with experience isn’t a newcomer at all. 

 

By definition, a rookie should flaunt their fresh-faced, clueless charm to the fullest.

 

After filling out her resume from name to work history, Kise swiftly moved on to the self-introduction letter. They even demanded a cover letter despite requiring an interview. 

 

At least they didn’t ask for a recommendation letter—she should count that as a blessing. Though exasperated, she read through the questions while reminding herself of the 300 ducat salary.

 

〈Describe your upbringing. State your strengths. What is the greatest failure you’ve faced in life? Describe a conflict you experienced and how you overcame it. Do you have any aspirations upon joining the company?〉

 

The questions were varied, but she couldn’t forget that the position being recruited for was in the Business Support Department.

 

That meant every answer had to be tailored to showcase that she was the perfect fit for the job.

 

‘A and B must be of equal exchange.’

 

Having established the formula ‘Cover Letter (A) = Prepared Newbie Trader (B),’ Kise quickly recalled the traits of B.

 

Then, carefully shaping her story to match, she gave birth to a splendid work of self-introduction fiction.

 

🫧

 

The interior was unpretentious, favoring simplicity. 

 

Following the employee leading the way, Kise walked down the third-floor hallway. The neatly aligned tiles stretched ahead with the precision of a company manual.

 

Aside from candlesticks, the corridor was nearly devoid of decorations. 

 

The occasional paintings were all restrained still lifes filled with Protestant symbolism.

 

Everywhere she looked, the design prioritized functionality. Even the sight of herself holding flowers felt slightly out of place.

 

Kise tried not to grip the bouquet too tightly, worried that the warmth of her palm might cause the flowers to lose their freshness.

 

“You must be nervous. You’re walking like a ghost. You can make a bit more noise with your steps,” an employee remarked, glancing back at Kise as he opened a closed door and ushered her inside.

 

Following him in, Kise felt dazed, as if she had overheard something she wasn’t supposed to. She had always been taught that silent footsteps were the mark of good manners.

 

The interior led to a series of interconnected rooms.

 

Passing through a reception area lined with rare objects as if for an exhibition, she also saw a space where a cobalt-blue plate filled an entire wall like a framed painting.

 

The employee explained that these were all rooms for external use as they moved from door to door. 

 

Finally, he stopped upon reaching the fourth room.

 

“Please sit and wait here,” he said, pointing to a long, plush armchair beside the fifth door. 

 

The moment Kise sat down, she let out a soft “Oh!” in admiration.

 

The instant her bottom touched the seat, a thrilling sensation surged through her—this was clearly an expensive piece.

 

“Will the interview be held in the office?”

 

“Yes. Normally, we don’t do it this way, but the Signore is very busy.”

 

“I see.”

 

“The person before you is currently being interviewed, so please wait here. Once they come out, you can go right in. They should be done soon.”

 

Having said that, the employee excused himself, saying he was in a hurry, and then hurried away with quick, heavy steps.

 

Indeed, he walks very loudly.

 

Kise found it absurd that he had so boldly encouraged her to make the same kind of noise. 

 

That was just plain noise. She lifted her leg slightly and looked down at her foot—a foot trained solely to move without a sound.

 

Kise, reacting swiftly, turned her gaze. Her eyes met those of the person who had just stepped out of the office—midair.

 

‘Ah… I’m screwed, aren’t I?’

 

The interviewee who had gone in before her was a polished urban woman around her age. But the moment Kise saw her expression, the sinking feeling hit her like a punch.

 

Most applicants, the moment they close the interview room door behind them, can predict with high accuracy whether they passed or failed.

 

So if the prediction was, ‘I failed,’ then unfortunately, it was almost certainly correct.

 

Had she been torn apart by the interviewer or something? Just as pity began to creep in, the woman brushed past her with a scoff and muttered,

 

“Hmph, are they hiring based on looks now?”

 

“…”

 

Huh? So that’s how it is! 

 

The sharp realization hit her. This place operates like this. 

 

Got it! 

 

She stomped down hard on the presumptuous pity she’d almost let surface and shoved it back deep inside.