Ch.155Episode 9 – Old Fashioned

# The Moment Everyone Had Been Waiting For

The deep, dark night passed, and dawn finally arrived.

[…The gunfire that had continued for hours has finally stopped! This is at the street in front of Frigis Department Store. Armed soldiers are rushing toward the entrance! It seems the suppression operation has finally begun!]

[People are pouring out from inside the department store! They appear to be citizens who were held hostage! As police shout instructions, someone presumed to be a hostage’s family member runs out in tears!]

[Yes, we just received news through our field reporter that the military and police suppression operation has begun. The government’s official briefing on this terrorist incident is now taking place.]

[The hostages at Frigis Department Store, which was occupied by unidentified armed assailants around 10:30 AM yesterday, were all rescued around 1:00 AM today. Currently, the hostages are moving to a safe location under the control of the Defense Ministry and police forces, and no casualties have been reported. The government extends its deepest sympathies to citizens who endured poor and dangerous conditions while being detained by armed assailants, and will spare no effort or support to help you return to your daily lives quickly. We also promise that we will cooperate with relevant departments to ensure such an incident never happens again.]

The deep, dark night passed, and dawn finally arrived.

“Four packages secured. All four are safe.”

“Have vehicles standing by at the back entrance. Destination is the military hospital. Clear out all reporters, and tell the medical team to wait at the back entrance. The patient is slipping in and out of consciousness, so hurry!”

“Keep your heads down and follow me, everyone!”

But as always.

Just because the incident was over didn’t mean everything was resolved.

“I express my deep regret, Minister. His Majesty is watching this terrorist incident with profound concern.”

“I never thought I’d say this, but I have to agree today. The Magic Tower’s position is identical to the Church’s. A terrorist attack in broad daylight in the middle of the capital? You may not have been responsible for protocol, but didn’t you say you would definitely handle security? How did this happen?”

“I truly regret this, Ambassador, Representative.”

“Are all three of them safe?”

“Yes. They are currently being moved to a hospital for health examinations. Fortunately, according to the expert at the scene, they all appear to be in good health.”

Diplomacy.

“Where did you say the terrorist group was from?”

“They say they came from the Uninhabited Zone. In fact, they’re estimated to be just a community rather than what you’d properly call a terrorist group.”

“If it’s the Uninhabited Zone, that’s essentially foreign territory, isn’t it? What were the Royal Intelligence Service and Military Intelligence Agency doing?”

“What kind of intelligence network could exist in a place crawling with monsters? And as I understand it, domestic counter-terrorism intelligence gathering falls under the jurisdiction of the Cabinet Security Office and Special Investigation Bureau.”

“Are you trying to shift responsibility to us?”

“Then how do you explain the series of security breaches at the capital’s checkpoints with crudely forged passports? That’s your—”

“Excuse me!”

Defense.

“Apart from the government, parliament plans to open a special committee on this terrorist incident. Although the terrorist attack was successfully suppressed, its impact on society as a whole is expected to be enormous.”

“It will be quite a shock for some time. But about the stock market—do we really need to suspend trading?”

“Prime Minister, major incidents like this always affect the stock market. Didn’t you all see the stock market yesterday? It crashed yesterday, and there’s no law saying it won’t happen again today or tomorrow.”

“The Foreign Minister says official protests have come in from the Church and Magic Tower. As you all expected, we cannot make any mistakes in the process of resolving this situation.”

Politics.

The terrorist attack in the capital’s center affected every sector. While exact statistics are unknown, it will take considerable time, cost, and effort for everything to return to normal.

And for me as well.

“Heart rate and blood pressure are both dropping. There’s no external injury, but I don’t understand why this is happening.”

“Give artificial respiration.”

“Breathing is abnormal and there’s no consciousness. Blood is coming from the nose, and it looks like there might be a problem with the skull…”

“Hey, hey, the heart’s stopping. Cardiac stimulant! Get the cardiac stimulant!”

“Get to the hospital, quickly!”

It seemed I would need time to return to normal life.

A little… a lot.

# Episode 9 – Old Fashioned

There are no foreshadowing events in life.

Novels and dramas follow scripted plots, but life has none of that.

Incidents typically have cause-and-effect relationships, but accidents don’t. Accidents always come suddenly.

A truck rushing in on a gloomy afternoon, crushing the driver’s seat, or someone being kidnapped right before your eyes.

People always suffer unexpected accidents.

Because life has neither foreshadowing nor plot.

That was why my thumb disappeared.

*

I opened my eyes in the hospital.

The surroundings were quiet, and the sky outside the window was dark. A quiet night.

The night was quiet but not holy. The hospital room was dark, quiet, and empty.

Beeping sounds echoed in my ears, and when I looked down, I saw wires and needles blurring before my eyes. I looked around at the medical equipment filling the room and carefully pressed the call button placed on my stomach.

Then, suddenly, something felt off.

I clearly pressed the button, but I couldn’t hear medical staff rushing in. I couldn’t even feel the sensation of pressing the button. Lying there with a foggy mind, I looked down again and realized my thumb was gone.

“……”

After staring blankly at my blunt hand for quite some time, I moved my index finger to activate the call button, and only then did I hear hurried footsteps as a doctor entered the room.

The doctor performed a simple examination, shining a light to check various parts of my body. Then, after hesitating as if his lips were sealed, he cautiously began to speak.

“You are currently in a military hospital.”

The doctor told me I was in a military hospital.

Typically, when soldiers go on sick leave, they visit either civilian hospitals or military hospitals, but military intelligence officers like me go to military hospitals for various reasons. We get health checkups, surgeries, and rehabilitation all at military hospitals.

So the fact that I was in a military hospital wasn’t particularly surprising.

Nodding my head with a foggy mind, the doctor shared several facts with me.

First, I was brought here directly from the terrorist scene—the department store. He said it was by order of the Defense Ministry, but it seemed more likely that Military Intelligence had moved me here.

Second, I was currently in the intensive care unit. Though no external injuries were visible, they attempted emergency treatment at the scene, but due to bleeding and unconsciousness, I was quickly moved to the hospital for examination, which revealed my body was in terrible condition. Ribs were broken, I’d lost a lot of blood resulting in low blood pressure, my skull was cracked, and organs were damaged. However, the doctor didn’t mention my thumb. I don’t know why.

Third, access to the room was restricted. Due to the nature of intensive care units, even family visits were difficult due to infection concerns and the need for mental stability, but the doctor mentioned that only authorized people could enter. This meant only those approved by Military Intelligence could see me. Even medical staff couldn’t enter freely. I was curious about who had authorization, but the doctor didn’t tell me who was approved. He probably didn’t know himself. That’s how intelligence agencies work.

“……”

As I listened to the doctor, I fell into thought, trying to recall how I ended up in the hospital and what happened to the terrorists.

But I couldn’t remember.

The doctor said:

“Due to external impact and blood loss, your memory may not be intact at present.”

“…Is it a temporary condition?”

“We’ll need to monitor your progress, but that’s our current assessment.”

This meant it might not be temporary. It also suggested that bleeding or shock might have damaged my brain, causing problems.

Whether because it wasn’t good to give lengthy explanations to a patient or because his instinct told him keeping quiet would be better for his well-being—probably the latter, or perhaps both—the doctor stopped there.

The doctor continued with various topics while I lay there. How were my symptoms, my family was coming, don’t worry, everything will be fine.

I barely nodded, affected by the medication.

My head was dizzy and felt like it would split.

My finger itched.

“For now, we’ll need to observe your condition and continue treatment. Both military doctors and chaplains are on standby, so please don’t worry too much.”

“……”

“Well then, I’ll take my leave.”

The door closed.

With the gentle sound of the wooden door closing, I fell asleep as if passing out.

*

Several days passed. Time flowed faster than a river.

I spent nearly a week just sleeping. I would wake up to eat, then sleep again. When I needed to use the bathroom, I moved with a nurse’s support, then returned to bed and slept again.

I didn’t leave the bed. Rather, I couldn’t.

When I needed help even to go to the bathroom, how could I leave the room? The path to the corridor, let alone the hospital yard, was long and difficult for me.

I sat on the bed, staring blankly out the window. The sky of Abas, viewed through the window, was gloomy with light clouds.

Occasionally, terrible pain would strike without warning, but thankfully, painkillers helped me endure.

After about a week had passed…

Someone from work came to visit.

“Are you awake?”

“Ah, you’re here, sir.”

It was Clebins.

“Stay seated. I can clearly see you’ve got IV needles in you—why are you trying to get up?”

“Still…”

“Just lie down. Don’t make people uncomfortable.”

Clebins, whom I hadn’t seen in a while, had noticeably changed.

First, his clothes.

Clebins, who always wore either a work uniform or a suit within Military Intelligence, was now wearing sanitary clothing. Since this was an intensive care unit, that made sense.

But his face was a different story.

Even when he was an aide to the Counter-Intelligence Department head, I could subtly tell he was exhausted, but now he had dark circles under his eyes. His hair was also graying—he must be under a lot of stress lately.

“You look radiant. You’ve been through a lot.”

Trudging in, Clebins sat down on a chair with a visibly tired smile.

“On my way here, the doctor told me you’re recovering well. Said you’re noticeably better?”

“Yes, that’s right.”

After a week focused on treatment, my physical condition was reasonably good.

Though I had merely moved beyond being a walking corpse, I could now sit up on my own and even walk to the window to look outside.

Thanks to the potion.

“I heard the newly developed potion was effective, and it seems that’s true.”

“A newly developed potion…?”

“Don’t you remember the explanation when you were dispatched before?”

“What dispatch…?”

“The research institute.”

The Advanced Military Magic Research Institute. The place where we intercepted unauthorized communications and raided with counter-intelligence investigators to arrest spies.

“It’s a potion they developed there. To be precise, it’s complicated, but it came from the process of improving the field medical system.”

“Ah, I remember. Wasn’t it being researched and developed in the biological field?”

“That’s right.”

Clebins nodded, adding that it was actually a project that had already produced some results.

“It can heal fractures after just a few days of consumption, which says it all. Originally, even with potions, you’d have to stay in bed, but…”

“That’s amazing.”

It sounded impressive, but I just thought, “Oh, I see.”

Looking around the room, I wanted to turn on the TV to fill the awkward audio gap, but unfortunately, there was no TV in the intensive care unit.

So I looked out the window for a moment and asked Clebins:

“What happened with the terrorist attack?”

“Though the investigation is ongoing and nothing’s confirmed yet, the investigation into the attack itself is expected to wrap up soon.”

“Is the investigation ending already?”

“We can’t send investigators to the Uninhabited Zone. Besides, it wasn’t even carried out by a proper terrorist organization. Many terrorists were killed, making it difficult to investigate further.”

More accurately, I killed them, but Clebins didn’t mention that part. So I didn’t bring it up either.

“What happened to the others? Are they safe?”

“All three are safe. Not a hair on their heads was harmed, so don’t worry.”

Camilla, Lucia, and Francesca were all safe.

From his explanation, I learned they somehow managed to radio outside and remove the barrier, helping the special forces enter the department store.

“They’re not ordinary people. They essentially broke through that chaos on their own without external support.”

“…It was quite difficult. They worked hard. So where are they all now?”

“They’re staying at the residence. Including the other saint, of course.”

“Veronica?”

“Yes.”

Veronica never entered the department store. She disappeared saying she had something to do, and we parted without meeting until the moment the terrorists rushed in.

“She went to the Church embassy. It seems she went to retrieve some important item, but the situation unfolded before she could enter the department store, separating her from you.”

Clebins calmly mentioned Veronica’s whereabouts. He must have had her followed.

Anyway, all four were safe. A blessing amid misfortune.

Afterward, Clebins shared the behind-the-scenes stories of this terrorist attack one by one.

The police’s initial response upon assessing the situation, the deployment of military and police forces and establishment of a response team, the suppression operation that began after 15 hours, and the aftermath still being handled.

Sitting on the bed, I absorbed each story he shared.

“You must have had a hard time.”

“It’s not us who are struggling, but the Foreign Ministry. They’ve been very busy since protests came in from the Church and Magic Tower.”

“15 hours… I didn’t realize that much time had passed. I must have lost my sense of time.”

“It might be related to some equipment the terrorists brought in.”

He was referring to the cargo.

“Uh, what was that? I heard the terrorists brought in some kind of cargo—did you recover it?”

“We did recover it, but it’s completely smashed, making analysis difficult.”

“Smashed? How did…?”

“It was completely burned up.”

“Ah.”

Camilla must have burned it. I didn’t think she’d actually do it.

If my memory remained, I could at least give a statement, which would be helpful. Unfortunately, I had no memory after fighting with the beast-person, so there was no way for me to assist with the investigation.

“Since my memory isn’t intact, I can’t help. If anything comes to mind, I’ll let you know.”

“You just rest. Our technicians are dismantling it, so we should get some answers. About its origin, mechanism, or at least its structure.”

“Is everything alright at the company?”

“We’re cooperating with relevant agencies to prevent another terrorist attack. We’re monitoring major terrorist organizations and paramilitary groups to develop countermeasures.”

“Everyone’s working hard. It must be difficult to prepare all the paperwork.”

I thought about how someone somewhere must be running around frantically.

Suddenly my finger itched. I unconsciously tried to scratch my thumb, but sadly, since it was missing, I ended up scratching empty air.

For a moment I wondered why my finger was gone, but then I remembered it was bitten off by the beast-person, and I found myself nodding in understanding.

Scratching the back of my hand instead of my finger, I looked out the window and spoke:

“When can I return to duty?”

At this somewhat abrupt question, Clebins let out a laugh.

“My goodness… You haven’t even had your IV removed, and you’re already thinking about returning to work?”

“I mean the field, not the office.”

“……”

Clebins fell silent.

When intelligence officers are injured, they don’t return to the field until their bodies recover. If bones are broken, they rest until they heal; if something is torn, they rest until the stitches come out.

However, if they suffer permanent, irreparable injuries, the story changes. Since intelligence officers fundamentally shouldn’t stand out, they can’t go into the field if they have scars or external injuries that could easily identify them.

And I had lost my thumb.

“Can I go back to the field?”

“…You.”

“Please tell me. Can I go back, or do I have to step down?”

Clebins didn’t answer.

That was his answer.

“So I can’t go back.”

“…Nothing’s been decided yet. Nothing is certain.”

Though he said that, to me, this was already a settled matter.

I cannot return to the field.

Not “will not” but “cannot.” Military Intelligence won’t deploy me to the field. That’s how intelligence agencies work.

Of course, I won’t be in the field, but I’ll be assigned other duties. For example, tasks that can be done sitting in an office, like information analysis or open-source intelligence collection. I might even be moved to the rear to scout and train new recruits as a recruitment officer or instructor. There are many positions in intelligence agencies besides fieldwork.

But I cannot return to the field.

Since I can’t go to the field, the operation will stop.

Since I, as Camilla’s colleague, was central to the operation, now that I’m removed from the field, there’s a high probability the operation will be disrupted.

With luck, Pippin or Jake might work in the field while I control them from behind. Or all the documents might go into the shredder and the operation completely scrapped.

As Clebins said, nothing is certain yet.

There are just somewhat predictable outcomes.

I silently bowed my head, and Clebins placed his hand on my shoulder.

“……”

“Cheer up. We could call in a priest from the Church, or even procure a prosthetic hand from the Magic Tower.”

“…Yes.”

“…Time’s up. I’ll come again later.”

Clebins patted my shoulder encouragingly before leaving the room.

I sat blankly for a long time, looking down at my hand, then pressed the button and lay down on the bed.

It itches.

The medication quickly spread through my veins. Instantly, my mind became foggy and my body relaxed.

Feeling as if my body was sinking with the approaching drowsiness, I slowly closed my eyes.

And so I fell asleep again.

*

More time passed. The tasteless hospital porridge had been replaced with regular meals, and my condition had improved enough that I could walk back and forth in the corridor on my own two feet.

Of course, even though it was called regular food, it was still tasteless, so once I joked to the medical staff that I might die from the tasteless food rather than my injuries. The doctor responded to my joke with, “Then how about having a delicious meal today and heading straight to the morgue?” The fact that we could joke around showed that my physical condition had indeed improved significantly.

But problems still remained.

First, rehabilitation was an issue.

Normally, Military Intelligence would give me a long vacation and support me to focus on rehabilitation, but I was currently on an operation. I was a military attaché at a foreign mission.

Though it was uncertain whether I would be removed from the field or not, and thus how the operation would proceed, if I was absent for too long, it could arouse suspicion from other intelligence agencies. For example, the Royal Guard Bureau, the Royal Guard Bureau, the Royal Guard Bureau….

There were other minor issues (medical expenses, schedule coordination, progress reports, contact with companions or family, whether to continue inpatient treatment or switch to outpatient care, etc.),

But the most serious problem was elsewhere.

My brain.

Falling from the third floor and being punched by the beast-person may have shocked and damaged my brain. Specifically, there’s a possibility that some brain functions were lost, like fragmentary amnesia….

I was desperately curious whether any problems could be resolved with treatment or would remain as untreatable disabilities, but even the doctor couldn’t answer my questions and just repeated like a parrot that we needed to monitor my progress.

For reference, I received a definitive answer that my finger couldn’t be treated.

More specifically, they attempted digit reattachment but gave up because the condition of the finger and the time that had passed made complete reattachment impossible.

They added that even if heaven helped and they could reattach the fallen thumb, blood wouldn’t supply properly, causing the finger to necrotize, or nerves wouldn’t connect properly, making it impossible to bend.

Though I didn’t want to admit it, reality was reality. I was somewhat mentally prepared, so I decided to accept reality cleanly.

So I was preparing discharge papers and planning to apply for a disabled veteran’s pension when….

“What the fuck?”

My finger was attached.

“Th-th-this….”

I cursed as I stared at the thumb that wasn’t there yesterday, or even just moments ago. I couldn’t control my profanity. I touched it, squeezed it, and twisted it to see if this was real, and it was.

“Wh-what…?”

“Why are you so surprised? As if this is new.”

The continent’s greatest healer rested her chin on my shoulder and grinned.

“I believe you’ve already experienced my healing once before.”

She smiled gently, narrowing her eyes.

Veronica said:

“It’s a gift, Major.”