Ch.127Episode 7 – Daily Life

The subtle difference in eye level still feels unfamiliar even after 28 years.

Trudge. Trudge.

I drag my feverish head to the table. My body shivers.

I slip my legs into the pressed suit pants provided by the hotel. It’s not a high-end tailored suit, just an off-the-rack one.

I put on the unremarkable suit, pick up my brown briefcase, and throw on my coat. Add a personal handgun with two spare magazines in the holster under my jacket, and my perfectly ordinary embassy employee look is complete—suspiciously ordinary.

With that, my morning preparations are done.

But since the person in that high position said I could come in late today, I simply sat on the sofa in my outdoor clothes, staring out the window, wasting time.

Outside, it was still dark, and the world revealed itself with a bluish sky, letting me know it was dawn.

The only difference was that the leaves on the street trees were gradually turning red.

“…”

Yes, that day has come.

The end of summer. The gateway to winter.

The 28th autumn has arrived.

Episode 7 – Daily Life

The seasons have changed. Autumn has arrived.

Many things have happened over the past month, and much has changed. No, is changing.

Fluctuations in international trade and stock markets. Reestablishment of diplomatic relations. Anti-government protests. Elections and appointments. Labor disputes. Rebellions. Civil wars. Conflicts.

While the economic crisis originating from the Magic Tower sweeps across the continent and the global magical society experiences tremendous internal strife, time flows like a river, and daily life somehow continues.

People have gradually begun to reclaim their routines. Though not everyone has returned to normal, many are in the process of doing so. Countless people are struggling to regain that normalcy.

I am no exception.

“Good morning, Military Attaché.”

“Hello, Detective. No incidents during the night?”

“Fortunately, nothing major happened.”

I exchanged greetings naturally with the Magic Tower police intelligence officer and headed to the dining hall.

It was too ordinary a conversation for a spy and someone hunting spies, but no one questioned it. After all, I was a diplomat.

Of course, not just any diplomat but a military attaché. And not even a career diplomat but a spy, though nobody knew that.

But there are no eternal secrets in this world.

As I chatted amicably with the intelligence officer, Veronica, who knew I was a spy, gave me a strange look.

“Why are you laughing and chatting so comfortably with the police? Isn’t it awkward? I’d be too uncomfortable to say a word.”

“Isn’t it strange that you, a saint, find that uncomfortable?”

“Oh, please. Why am I the strange one? Show me someone more diligent and honest than me.”

Veronica, the 58th Saint of the Order, grinned as she praised herself.

I hadn’t noticed when we were apart, but Veronica was more talkative than I expected, making conversations with her quite exhausting. Somehow, staying at the same hotel and listening to her self-praise had become part of my daily routine.

“I’m kind, diligent, and honest. What saint goes abroad without being asked and actively helps out? Aren’t I much better than those old fogies stuck in their offices? They don’t even exercise regularly… And I don’t do things secretly through the back door; I do them openly and proudly. I’m not even ugly-looking.”

“That’s true.”

“There’s no one micromanaging me, so I could quit being a saint anytime and live like an emperor for the rest of my life. But here I am, working hard for a pitiful salary. If I’m not diligent and honest, then the world is wrong.”

“Now that I hear it, you’re right.”

“Major, are you listening to me?”

“Yes.”

“What did I just say?”

“I don’t know.”

“…”

Veronica stared at me with an expression similar to someone who’d been smoking marijuana and suddenly got doused with water. Her lips trembled for a moment, and then she sighed deeply with a voice dripping with indignation.

“Haah…”

I wasn’t sure if she talked so much because she felt comfortable with me or because our relationship wasn’t rigidly hierarchical, but Veronica was particularly talkative in front of me.

And not wanting to cause any misunderstandings, I wasn’t particularly fond of Veronica’s attitude.

“Saint. Even if you’re comfortable with me, you should maintain some boundaries. What kind of clergy wakes up in a hotel room after drinking with a strange man? Think about my position too. If you keep acting like this, I’m afraid to face your attendants.”

“Oh, come on. Those old fogies are always keeping mistresses and living extravagantly. Why can’t I do the same?”

She had a very confident attitude, befitting someone in a high position. Or perhaps she was just shameless.

Come to think of it, Veronica always maintained a confident attitude even after breaking the law.

“You should be more discreet. There are eyes watching, and if you keep crossing the median strip and doing illegal things, many people will be in trouble.”

“It was Francesca who broke the law all the time, not me.”

“Are you saying that because others break the law, you can too? What if you get caught?”

“I won’t get caught, so it’s fine.”

“…”

“As long as it’s not me!”

The saint’s declaration that she was going to be crooked made the back of my neck tense. This is my daily life now. Putting up with Veronica’s nonsense. I should be used to it by now, but I just couldn’t get accustomed to it.

From morning till evening, dealing with Veronica’s endless chatter and drunken ramblings at the hotel made me question if this was why I was commissioned. I thought it might be better to be deployed to South Sudan or Syria for three years rather than living like this. Of course, I didn’t really want to go back there, but still.

This wasn’t right.

No matter how chaotic Veronica’s life was or how recklessly she lived (Veronica was a habitual offender of smoking, drinking on duty, desertion, illegal entry, economic crimes, and espionage), wrong was wrong.

If Veronica were a complete stranger, it might be different. But she was my informant. If Veronica got caught by the media like other cardinals or bishops and ended up in hot water, it would be my loss.

As I gritted my teeth to prevent my informant from going astray, Veronica crossed her arms with a sulky expression.

“Ah, forget it. Just take this quickly. My head hurts…”

“What is this?”

“A bribe.”

At the sudden mention of a bribe, I looked at Veronica with a skeptical expression.

“It’s a gesture of goodwill to take care of our siblings, so keep it.”

Hmm.

I wasn’t sure why they were “our” siblings, but anyway, she was giving me a gift to take care of Lucia and Francesca.

I took the box she handed me and pondered deeply, and Veronica asked with a casual expression:

“What’s wrong?”

“I was thinking… if receiving money from a spy is a crime, I wonder if giving money to a spy is also a crime.”

I looked at Veronica with a puzzled expression, and she stared back at me with an incredulous look.

“Are you insane?”

*

In a half-crazed world, speaking the truth got me labeled as insane. Even after living in this neighborhood for 28 years, I still didn’t understand why the world was like this.

Being called insane by my informant made me want to smack her, but unfortunately, the moment I hit Veronica’s tiny head, Inquisition agents would tie me to a stake and burn me alive to teach me about faith. So I decided to just endure it. Yes, I was afraid of the religious tribunal, not at all worried about losing my military pension if found guilty.

Anyway.

Today, as always, I went to work at the delegation office.

Actually, while we call it a delegation office, it’s technically a diplomatic mission. That means it’s treated the same as embassies, consulates general, and legations. Being a diplomatic mission, most of the staff are dispatched from the Ministry of Foreign Affairs or the Abas government. The security within the mission is also handled by a security team sent by the Abas government.

I am a military attaché officially dispatched by the Abas Kingdom’s Ministry of Defense, and I handle various paperwork related to military affairs and other miscellaneous tasks.

Of course, embassy work isn’t easy.

“Section Chief, where did you put last month’s activity expense statement? The head office sent a message asking us to forward any pending documents as soon as possible.”

“Section Chief, the Operations Planning Office has requested confirmation of the quantity of lost or damaged equipment.”

“Section Chief, they’re asking if we can move up the debriefing date. How should I respond?”

“Section Chief, the press corps stationed at the Magic Tower says they’re unsure about the tone for the upcoming article. How should we handle this?”

“Section Chief, the branch office is asking if you’ll be attending the defense industry exhibition that the Kien Empire is about to hold. It’s being held near the Magic Tower, and the Empire is the most likely next assignment location.”

As soon as I arrived at work, numerous requests for approval followed.

I had to handle the incoming work without even having time to take off my coat.

“I already sent the activity expense statement. Didn’t they receive it at headquarters? I sent everything except the black fund expenditure details, and I checked it three times. It doesn’t make sense that they didn’t receive it. Tell them to check again.”

“Why are we confirming equipment used during operations? We’re on short-term assignment, how would we know that? That doesn’t make sense… I’ve already compiled a list of what Project 73 used. Forward equipment-related tasks for the Magic Tower branch to another department. There are staff who have been stationed here for years; they would know better. Next.”

“Articles? Why is the Ministry of Defense concerned about that? Printing and media reports fall under the Ministry of Culture and Public Information, so forward it to them.”

“Defense exhibition matters are usually handled by branch intelligence officers. I don’t need to go unless there’s a specific reason.”

“I’ll handle the return date adjustment separately.”

I needed to clear all the work that had piled up overnight before lunch. Having arrived an hour late, I efficiently wrapped up all tasks to ensure I could leave at 6 PM sharp, using the structural issues of civil service (This isn’t our job!) to my advantage. I handled everything according to regulations, so there shouldn’t be any problems. Probably.

Of course, I didn’t actually pass off all my work. There was much more to handle than what I delegated, but fortunately, they weren’t particularly time-consuming tasks. These were paperwork routines I’d done countless times before.

Embassy work wasn’t entirely easy, but it wasn’t particularly difficult either. It was just the same old routine.

Intelligence agencies aren’t anything special. They’re just government institutions running on taxpayer money, and office work is office work everywhere. Things would be different if I were in the field, but right now, I’m working in an office.

Looking at the time, it was already 1200 hours. Time for lunch.

Sure enough, Jake sauntered into the office and asked me:

“Section Chief, it’s lunchtime. Aren’t you going?”

“I’ll eat after I finish this. You guys go ahead.”

“Yes, we’ll go have lunch then.”

I gestured Jake out and sat at my desk, shuffling through documents.

Many things had changed. And more were changing.

First, the economy.

The economic crisis originating from Abas had hit the Magic Tower and neighboring countries hard. When a major power circulated rumors about changing economic policies, the global economy was thrown into turmoil. The Magic Tower and countless other countries suffered losses, and predators hiding in gold emerged at the scent of blood, disrupting the economic order.

Of course, the economy hadn’t completely collapsed.

But most countries had suffered losses, and a major overhaul of economic policies was inevitable. This meant a change in the flow of capital. Just look at the Magic Tower—aren’t they throwing money around to attract businesspeople to rebuild the shattered urban infrastructure? Whether the Kien Empire, Fatalia, or Abas would benefit from the changes in economic policies of the Magic Tower and neighboring countries was anyone’s guess.

The economic turmoil had sent shockwaves through all sectors of society, and politics was no exception.

The ruling party, which had botched economic policies, was under concentrated fire from the opposition and was losing support in real-time. No one could predict the changes that would come from the unstable political situation, nor the power structures and diplomatic policies that would be overturned as a result. In short, it was the perfect time to stir up trouble by manipulating the media. Of course, whether it would be politicians, journalists, businesspeople, or suspiciously politically interested foreigners who would turn a country into a muddy battlefield was anyone’s guess. For reference, the parties that suffered the most damage in this crisis were the Magic Tower’s three major schools and Oracle.

But there were clearly groups that benefited from this situation.

Prime examples were Fatalia and the Kien Empire.

In Fatalia, the ruling party defeated the opposition in the general election to become the largest party in parliament. They secured victory thanks to the halo effect of the president who had been running the country smoothly (and the substantial advertising from companies that provided political funds). Although it wasn’t an overwhelming victory, if things continued this way, the ruling party was likely to win both the upcoming local and presidential elections. In other words, they had gained political benefits.

On the other hand, the Kien Empire gained economic rather than political benefits. This was because Abas had massively sold off raw materials (due to the geographical characteristics of the floating Magic Tower, exports through manufacturing were its main source of income) in an attempt to disrupt the Magic Tower’s economy, causing raw material prices to plummet.

The Empire is currently at war with the Magic Realm. The Empire’s official position is that it’s a “territorial dispute” rather than a war, but logically, when borders fluctuate up and down, it’s not a territorial dispute but a war.

Needless to say, war requires money. And, of course, vast resources. Although the Empire was a country with abundant natural resources from its vast territory, extracting and producing resources doesn’t happen as quickly as one might think. But when Abas personally sold off large quantities of raw materials, high-quality natural resources became available in bulk. And at cheap prices. The Empire wasn’t going to let this opportunity pass.

The Empire greedily consumed all the raw materials, outmaneuvering manufacturing countries that were groaning under the collapse of raw material prices. Steel, coal, magic stones, nickel, copper. They essentially scooped up resources needed to make ammunition and operate equipment at bargain prices.

I checked the documents sent by the Ministry of Foreign Affairs and the Treasury and fell into deep thought.

“…”

While the continent was thrown into confusion by an untimely economic crisis, and both ordinary and magical societies were engaged in dogfights to secure their interests, the real problem lay elsewhere.

On the Mauritani continent, two civil wars had already broken out this month. One country was already on the verge of collapse, to the point where embassy evacuation was being considered. Among dozens of countries, none had escaped civil war, and most were suffering from wars, civil conflicts, warlords, or dictatorships.

And in my experience, whether it’s warlords, dictators, terrorist organizations, or ordinary tribes—in places where survival is threatened, weapons and ammunition are the most valuable commodities.

What would happen if weapons and ammunition produced by the Kien Empire using Abas resources were diverted to Mauritani across the sea instead of being supplied to troops in the northern theater?

As I pondered this, images of numerous weapons displayed in markets I had seen in Africa and the Middle East flashed through my mind. Soviet RPDs, Chinese Norinco TT pistols, handmade AKMs from Pakistani forges, North Korean rifles…

It was a horrifying memory even to imagine. I shuddered like someone who had clicked on a concept post at dawn looking for a game guide, only to stumble upon a disturbing image.

As I groaned at these unpleasant memories, I sat at my desk and continued working through lunch. Having lived a life of skipping meals and sleep, this was hardly an issue for me.

Embassy work was so full of paperwork that it was easy to the point of boredom, and working overtime so regularly had completely ruined my lifestyle. It had even affected my health. When I went to the bathroom to wash my face in the morning and was startled by what looked like a drug addict in the mirror, what more needs to be said?

But none of that was a problem.

The work wasn’t difficult at all, and neither the climate nor the food was an issue. It was just unfamiliar.

However, a problem I hadn’t known about was discovered.

“Section Chief?”

“Yes, Pippin?”

“Your crown…”

Pippin, who had brought back packaged food after lunch, covered his mouth.

As I was preparing a report on newly collected intelligence and getting ready for a debriefing, I rushed to the mirror with an ominous feeling.

“Uh, uhh.”

The lush black hair that had covered my crown was nowhere to be found, and between patches of graying hair, the white scalp was playing peekaboo.

“…Ah, shit!”

It was hair loss.