Ch.167Episode 9 – Old Fashioned

# Despite living in the capital of Abas for over three years, I’m still not familiar with the geography here.

I’ve never been called directionally challenged in my life, but the fact that I’m getting lost is clearly because I only ever commuted between my quarters and Military Intelligence Headquarters.

“How can a grown adult never have been to a pub or bar? Is that even possible?”

“Well, I don’t really drink much…”

“You seemed to enjoy it just fine last time.”

Thanks to this exchange, Camilla and I are now wandering the early evening streets, dragging heavy suitcases. No, that’s not right anymore—the sun has completely set, so it’s no longer early evening.

If I had a mobile phone or knew someone familiar with the capital, I could ask about good bars. Unfortunately, I’m the ultimate loner—no phone and no friends.

Finally, after aimlessly wandering around, I spotted a phone booth and dashed toward it.

“Cash… Ah, there are some coins here.”

Fortunately, I did have a bit of cash on me, thanks to my habit of always carrying emergency funds when traveling abroad.

I inserted a few coins into the payphone and quickly dialed a number. It took me a moment to remember how to make a call after so long, but as long as it connected, that was all that mattered.

Ring, ring, ring.

As the cigarette-stained smell from the receiver made my head spin, I heard the ringing in my ear.

And then, a moment later.

-“Hello?”

“Hey, sis. I need a favor. Just one quick question.”

Adela’s loud voice hammered my eardrum. The angry shout of a Grade 5 foreign service officer erupted.

-“Hey! Where are you?!”

“I need to go to a bar, so tell me if there’s a decent place nearby. You’ve lived in the capital for a long time.”

-“For fuck’s sake, the country’s in shambles, and you’re out drinking with your unit—”

“I’m drinking with a woman.”

-“Where are you located?”

## Episode 9 – Old Fashioned

The bar Adela recommended was an upscale establishment just ten minutes away.

She said it was frequently patronized by diplomats stationed in Abas, and civil servants from the Foreign Ministry often went there for “entertainment” (which really meant networking). Adela mentioned she’d been there a few times herself.

But what is a diplomat? A species that hides behind impressive business cards while essentially acting as a quasi-spy.

A diplomat’s true duty isn’t diplomacy but espionage.

What they call networking is actually an excuse to loosen tongues, butter up high-ranking officials, and extract information. If diplomats truly focused only on diplomacy, intelligence agencies around the world wouldn’t bother dispatching intelligence officers to consular positions.

In other words, a diplomat is someone who can’t openly engage in espionage but can gather intelligence under the guise of networking.

By now, after sunset, the bar Adela mentioned would be crawling with diplomats. Naturally, there would be many career diplomats as well as official cover intelligence officers (known as “whites”). It was obvious that as soon as I opened the door, I’d be bombarded with handshake requests.

And Camilla was officially supposed to be staying at the Magic Tower. Imagine if she, who was supposed to be at the Magic Tower, suddenly appeared at a bar in the heart of the Abas capital. What would happen?

So going there now would be insane.

Adela probably knew this too. However, the fact that Camilla had entered the country was a secret I couldn’t reveal even to Adela.

I asked Adela to recommend a different bar.

-“Right. That place is a bit expensive anyway. On a civil servant’s salary…”

“You’re a civil servant too.”

-“I drink on the Foreign Ministry’s card. Meeting foreign embassy staff counts as official duty.”

“…Tax thief, are you?”

Anyway, Adela recommended a new bar. Somewhere quieter and less expensive but with a good atmosphere.

-“Pay me back later. And when does your leave end?”

“A little less than two weeks left.”

-“Visit home once. Dad and Mom are waiting for you. They were so excited when they heard you got leave after three years.”

After Adela’s neat explanation, I looked around and lowered my voice.

“…Is ‘that bastard’ there too?”

I was asking if my younger sister was there.

-“Hey. Why are you calling Aila a bastard?”

“So is she there or not?”

-“Probably. She disappeared for a few months, but she called the other day saying she suddenly got leave.”

“Is that so…”

I see.

I hung up the phone while contemplating how to deal with my younger sister who had stolen my hard-earned money from my bank account. I think my sister said something about bringing something before I hung up, but I cut her off, telling her to buy it with her own money.

After putting down the receiver and exiting the booth, Camilla, who had been looking around nervously, stared at me. Then she asked in alarm what had happened inside.

“…Um, did something bad happen?”

“No. I’m in a good mood today.”

“Then why are you smiling so menacingly? You look like a madman. Have you seen The Shining?”

“You mean ‘Here’s Johnny’?”

“Yes. Your expression just now was very similar.”

I just kept grinning silently as I started walking with my suitcase. Camilla shuddered, saying my smile was creepy.

*

About 30 minutes later, we arrived at the bar Adela had recommended.

The bar was located in the suburbs of the Abas capital. Situated in the middle of a residential area, it looked more like an inn or a private home than a bar.

While the exterior was quite shabby, the interior was a different story.

Opening the wooden door that showed traces of age, one is greeted by a neat, well-organized interior. The aged wood reveals its annual rings, silently telling the history contained within the bar, while the subtle woody scent and gentle jazz melodies tickle the ears.

When scruffy locals place coins and bills on the counter, a dignified elderly gentleman smiles gently and hands them their drinks.

We’ve come to the right place.

“We’ve arrived.”

I led Camilla into the bar. The history of the bar, as Adela had described, was simple.

Hundreds of years of history and tradition. A bar preserved through generations. There were stories that scholars mentioned in history books frequented it, and prestigious university professors occasionally brought their undergraduate students here. Adela and her brother Jerry had visited occasionally during their college days. Specifically, they had visited through a university social club.

Normally, based on experience, it’s best to thoroughly check out a bar before visiting. But since I wasn’t on a foreign assignment now, I decided to break the old rule.

I put my luggage down on the floor, sat in a chair, and looked around.

On the wall were inscriptions carved by some immature college student, and on the ceiling were what appeared to be autographs of famous people. A local sports team’s emblem hung on a pillar, covered with signatures, suggesting they had donated it during a group visit.

The structure was two-story. You could look down at the first floor from the second, but it was difficult to look up at the second floor from the first. There were two doors visible behind the counter. One led to the restroom, but I couldn’t tell where the other one led.

When the proprietor headed in that direction, I pretended to go to the restroom and checked—it seemed to be stairs leading to the basement. For reference, the restroom was completely sealed, with no glass or ventilation, making it difficult to exit to the outside.

While I was busy examining the interior, someone who appeared to be an employee approached and spoke to me.

“You seem to be first-time visitors. How did the gentleman and lady come to find us?”

It’s not good to say we came through a personal recommendation here. I smiled broadly and calmly told a lie.

“We just happened to see it while passing by.”

“I see. Judging by your heavy luggage, are you travelers?”

“Yes.”

The employee smiled gently at my affirmative response.

“You’re lucky then. Welcome. How would you like to order?”

The employee asked, but I didn’t answer. Someone else had responded first.

Camilla answered instead.

“Do you have any unusual drinks?”

“There’s no such thing as an ordinary drink in this world. We have beer that we brew ourselves, and whiskey specially made in the region. Of course, we have other options too.”

“Hmm… Then I’ll have a beer, please.”

“Very well. Please wait a moment.”

As the employee withdrew, the elderly gentleman who appeared to be the owner poured two beers. Watching him draw the beer directly from a cask, it seemed to be ale.

And so two glasses of beer came into our hands.

The bar wasn’t noisy but quiet, and we could enjoy our drinks without anyone bothering us. Each of us held a glass in one hand as we sat at the table, chatting about various things.

“It’s been a while since I had beer. When I arrived at the airport, I went straight to a pub by taxi and drank with my sister.”

“You drank after returning from medical volunteer work?”

“Why not? Beer is delicious. Do you like beer?”

“I drank a lot when I was in intelligence. Almost every day after work with my unit members.”

It wasn’t just beer—we also bought soju by the crate and drank like crazy. I don’t know what possessed us to drink like that back then, but we drank a lot. The work was too hard.

Of course, looking back now, I think the difficulty of the work wasn’t a reason to drink but an excuse. My superior and warrant officer really loved drinking, and it was a bit awkward to refuse when they suggested drinking after work.

But that’s all in the past. I hardly drink now, so this is just trivial reminiscing.

“But why did you drink at a pub? You seem wealthy enough. You could have drunk at a bar. Or even in an airport lounge.”

“Not everyone can drink there. After working so hard, it’s nice to enjoy together.”

“That’s interesting. The British people I know all drink at bars.”

Camilla reacted to the mention of British people as she sipped her beer.

“British? Do you know British people?”

“Of course.”

“Who?”

“Journalists, diplomats, soldiers too… and of course, intelligence officers.”

I know many British people—journalists, diplomats, soldiers, spies. Of course, Camilla wouldn’t know who they are.

“A significant number of foreigners I know are from intelligence agencies. North American and European intelligence officers—I had a lot of exchanges with them.”

“Really? Why didn’t I know this?”

“You never asked.”

“…Is that so?”

Camilla tilted her head before nodding in agreement. Looking at her now, I noticed she had a bit of foam on her lips. Not wanting to directly point out that “there’s something on your lips,” I just discreetly handed her a tissue.

Fortunately, the perceptive Camilla immediately wiped the foam from her lips as soon as she saw the tissue. She must not have noticed until just now.

Anyway, we avoided creating an awkward situation, so the conversation continued to flow naturally.

“What were the others doing? I saw them at the resort, but I don’t know what they were up to.”

“Hmm…”

Camilla closed her eyes slightly, as if thinking about something, before speaking.

“First, Francesca seemed to be mainly practicing magic and swordsmanship. She was probably looking into things to help me, but she was also researching protection? Defense? Magic and sorcery, illusions, black magic, and such. She said we might need to go somewhere that requires these things.”

“I see.”

It seems Francesca is doing well on her own. Although she is my informant, I don’t have the proper conditions to utilize her right now, nor do I intend to, so I’m leaving her alone for now.

She’s one of those people who, along with Veronica, lives with a mindset I can’t comprehend. I was keeping an eye on her, but based on what I’ve found, no unusual activities have been detected, and from what Camilla, who is close to her, says, she seems to be living quite calmly.

For reference, I did plant a listening device in that woman’s luggage, but Camilla doesn’t need to know that.

I drank my beer and moved on to the next topic.

“What about Saint Lucia?”

“Lucia… Lucia is practicing theology or sacred? Something like abilities a priest would use in Hearthstone, as far as I know. Personally, I think if Francesca is more of a scholarly type who quietly researches books in her room, Lucia is more the type who practices directly? That’s what it seems like.”

“What kind of type is that?”

“Umm… like the difference between Gandalf and Saruman?”

“……”

Since she mentioned Gandalf, I assume she’s referring to The Lord of the Rings. Wasn’t that a movie from the early 2000s? It’s been so long since I’ve seen it that I’ve forgotten the content.

I’m sorry, but I don’t understand at all because I’ve forgotten the movie.

However, not wanting to hurt Camilla’s feelings, I decided to just keep quiet.

As I was quietly sipping my beer and organizing the information Camilla had shared, she suddenly exclaimed:

“Oh, and Lucia is also studying medicine.”

“Medicine…?”

“Yes, medical arts.”

Medicine, huh.

It’s not normal for a church cleric to study medicine or medical arts. Especially considering how the medical association and church districts are always on broadcast criticizing each other as “blockheads who can’t even distinguish between viruses and bacteria” or “merchants who charge exorbitant fees without properly healing people”—their mutual criticism rivals North Korea’s. That’s how antithetical clerics and medical professionals are.

Like oil and water, you might say.

It’s a world where university students from theological colleges and medical schools regularly get into street fights, breaking bones and getting concussions, only to be carried off to hospitals and churches. Lucia, having grown up in the church, would surely be aware of this phenomenon.

Yet she, especially Saint Lucia of the church, is studying medicine? This was beyond bizarre.

At the same time, it could potentially escalate into a political issue.

“……”

I should probably gently suggest that she put her medical studies on hold for now. Preferably before it reaches the ears of the Inquisition. I need to handle this quickly at my level.

While I was contemplating how to delicately resolve this issue, Camilla, who was drinking her beer, suddenly asked:

“But why are you asking about these things?”

Because monitoring Lucia and Francesca is part of my job.

If I said that, it would lead to an irreversible disaster. Camilla might shout in the street, “Oh my goodness, everyone! A spy is surveilling civilians! And not just any civilians—a saint and an administrator!” It would cause an uproar.

Even without that, if I made a mistake in front of Lucia or Francesca, everything would be over.

I fully activated my brain to protect the face of the Abas government, diplomatic interests, the relationship between the church and the Magic Tower, the confidentiality clauses of Military Intelligence, and my promotion and pension.

“Um… is it strange to be curious about what others are doing?”

“……”

Suspicion flickered in Camilla’s eyes. Her brow furrowed slightly.

Realizing my mistake, I hastily added:

“Actually, this is also training. Training.”

“What kind of training?”

“Information gathering.”

Finally, the tension in Camilla’s brow eased. The mention of information gathering seemed to have diverted her attention elsewhere.

“That counts as training too?”

“More specifically, it’s about memory techniques and conversation skills. Typically, when an intelligence officer talks to someone, they record or eavesdrop on the conversation. But if that’s not possible, they have to rely on memory.”

“Hmm…”

Seemingly interested for once, Camilla hummed and nodded her head.

Since I’d started, I decided to continue with the explanation, partly as education.

“Camilla, do you know what places don’t allow eavesdropping and where you can’t bring recording devices?”

“Military facilities? Government agencies?”

“That’s correct, but embassies, which intelligence officers visit most frequently, are also included.”

Here too, but embassies around the world don’t let just anyone in.

To pass through the entrance, you first need to undergo a background check, then leave all your belongings and pass through a metal detector. You definitely can’t bring a recorder, and phones are absolutely forbidden.

“It is possible to eavesdrop inside embassies. For instance, the United States has eavesdropped on conversations within the Russian embassy. However, embassies are generally safe from eavesdropping, so when intelligence officers visit such places, they can’t record.”

“What if you get caught doing it?”

“We call that espionage.”

Deportation is the minimum consequence, and it’s basically a diplomatic dispute. If it makes the news, governments start fighting.

That’s why intelligence agencies usually deport diplomats secretly if they deport them at all, and if they kidnap an intelligence officer for torture, they do it quietly. The same goes for assassination.

Hearing this, Camilla grimaced as if disgusted and shook her head slightly.

“That’s terrible. How can anyone torture people?”

“Even 007 gets hit in the testicles with a rope, and movies like Zero Dark Thirty show waterboarding.”

“Those are just movies.”

No, they’re not. They really do that.

“They do it.”

“Really? For real? Surely you haven’t done it yourself…?”

“I don’t know about any series of actions that an intelligence agency from a certain Northeast Asian country might have taken abroad, violating the sovereignty and human rights of other countries. I have not been involved, and even if I were, I would neither confirm nor deny it.”

That’s NCND.

“NCND? I didn’t expect to hear that here…”

“Of course, I’m joking. Intelligence doesn’t do that. Neither does my current company.”

“……”

“Really, I mean it.”

Camilla downed her beer with a half-disgusted face. I awkwardly scratched my head and changed the subject.

“Anyway, human memory tends to evaporate over time. It can also be distorted. Even after a few hours, it’s hard to remember the content of a conversation. After a week, you might forget what clothes you were wearing. That’s how the human brain works.”

“So?”

“So when an intelligence officer visits a place with strict security regulations, they immediately turn on a recorder when they leave.”

“A recorder? How?”

“They just turn it on and mutter to themselves. Who they met, what conversations they had, how the person reacted, what the main agenda was. If they ate, what they ate. If there was anything unusual. How it differed from what they heard during the briefing…”

In other words, you need to record everything you remember.

“This might seem like a crude method, but it’s a time-honored approach that many intelligence officers have used since the Cold War era. It’s still used occasionally today, as controlled areas still exist, and smartphones now have recording functions.”

“Should I buy a recorder too?”

“There should be a few in the quarters. Since they’re not being used now, you can take one.”

I decided to give it to Camilla since it was too much trouble to sell. It might look like I’m just getting rid of old stuff, but that’s absolutely not the case. Anyway, that’s that.

After concluding this satisfactory agreement, we ordered new beers. And snacks too, of course.

My wallet is thin these days, but I brought enough cash today, so it was fine. We took sips of beer, picked up snacks, and engaged in various conversations.

What we used to do, what we want to do, who our family members are, how we spent our school days, what our hobbies are, if there’s anything we’d like to learn even now…

Camilla had several sophisticated hobbies, from horseback riding to classical music, and she could even play the violin. These were textbook bourgeois hobbies.

And incidentally, I was able to hear about her family.

“Your mother works at the court?”

“Yes.”

“And your older brother and sister work at a media company and a hospital?”

“To be precise, my sister worked at a hospital. Now she works with Doctors Without Borders.”

Doctors Without Borders. That reminds me of when I went on a business trip to South Sudan a long time ago.

“Did you know? NGO people often meet with intelligence officers.”

“Really?”

“It would be hard to find an intelligence officer working in conflict zones who hasn’t contacted NGO personnel. In fact, unofficial covers sometimes disguise themselves as aid workers when infiltrating.”

Didn’t Camilla say she had gone abroad for volunteer work with her sister? I told her that could be quite a good credential if she ever interviews.

We sat across from each other at the table, talking about various things. We mostly discussed ordinary topics, but eventually, the conversation circled back to intelligence agencies.

As we were talking about the company for quite some time, an unexpected visitor arrived.

*

It was when the atmosphere had heated up considerably. The second glass had already been replaced by a third, and even that was half gone.

The various foods we had ordered as snacks, including fried items and salad, had become soggy over time. I told her to order more if she needed anything, and Camilla chose chicken without hesitation. Two whole chickens, at that.

“…Um, is that too much? Let’s just have dinner here.”

“I don’t mind, but you know we’re training tomorrow morning too, right?”

“Heeeng…”

I really didn’t mind. I was going to eat too.

After the ordered snacks arrived and as we were finishing our third beer, I suggested trying something other than beer.

“What else do they sell here?”

“I don’t know. This is my first time here too, so I’d have to look at the menu.”

Actually, I already knew what was good because Adela had tipped me off in advance. But I was curious about what else they had, so I deliberately didn’t mention it first.

As we were in the middle of a heated debate over what to drink next, with the menu between us, a man from the second floor walked toward us.

I looked over the man who had come down the stairs.

Strong build. Short-cropped hair. Wearing a suit. Not a tailored suit, but an off-the-rack one. A belt visible keeping his pants from falling down, and a wristwatch on his left wrist. That means he’s right-handed.

The problem was his shoes.

Sneakers.

“……”

Unless someone is a hipster with Hongdae disease, people generally dress according to social norms. Whether they match their outfit based on Naver blogs, wear clothes sold by famous YouTubers, or wrap themselves in otaku merchandise, they follow certain rules when dressing. That’s normal.

In that sense, wearing sneakers with a suit wasn’t particularly advisable. At least not by ordinary people’s common sense.

However.

I know the type of people who dress like that. To be precise, I occasionally dressed like that myself.

We call such people spies, or intelligence officers.

The suspiciously friendly man in a suit walked up to me and greeted me.

“Hello. Nice to meet you.”

And he politely handed me a business card.

I looked at the card and smirked.

The card had the Military Intelligence emblem prominently displayed.

“Well, well. Running into a company person here.”

“Hahaha. Nice to meet you, senior.”

So they’re monitoring me even when I’m on leave? Fuck.