Ch.87Episode 5 – Journalist, Diplomat, Soldier, Spy

# A Sleepless Night

The civil servant yawned as he gazed at the dimly lit waiting room.

Was it because of Friday night duty, or perhaps the dark lighting? Though it was a sleepless night, drowsiness was overwhelming him.

The dimly lit waiting room.

The civil servant fought against the encroaching sleepiness as he maintained his post.

“……”

How much time had passed? As his head slowly drooped downward, and about three worm-like scribbles appeared on the paper, the civil servant was awakened by a tapping sound on the glass window.

“Oh, um. How may I help you?”

“I’m here to retrieve an item.”

“Ah, yes. Please tell me the number and password.”

He thought the man had come to catch the early morning train, but it turned out he was here to collect something. The civil servant wrote down the numbers the man recited and dragged his tired body to the storage lockers.

After turning the dial and opening the door, he handed the heavy bag from inside the locker to the man.

Upon returning to his seat, a thought suddenly occurred to him.

“…Right. The registry.”

He realized he hadn’t written down the recipient’s name in the registry.

Belatedly remembering the regulations, the civil servant grabbed the paper with the three worm-like scribbles and a pen and went outside.

However, the man had already departed somewhere.

In the dimly lit waiting room where a light drizzle fell, the footsteps of the civil servant searching for the silently vanished recipient echoed emptily.

# Episode 5 – Journalist, Diplomat, Soldier, Spy

As time passed, I began to adapt to my two lives. To be more precise, my biological rhythm was settling in.

The life of a military attaché and operative was honestly difficult to describe as comfortable, even as a polite lie.

And this is the result.

My body has grown heavy.

“Urrrgh.”

Perhaps it’s from reducing sleep. I always feel stiff and my head feels heavy.

“Frederick, are you alright?”

“Ah, yes. I’m always fine…”

When I stand up from a chair, I feel slightly dizzy, and when I turn my waist, my joints crack with screams of protest.

Honestly, even I can see that my physical condition is terrible. Everyone from Pippin and Jake who spend the most time with me, to the military intelligence staff, and even Camilla and Lucia have been worried about my health, which says it all.

Clevins also suggested I take a day off, but honestly, I didn’t think one day of rest would make much difference.

“Would you like to receive healing?”

“That would be nice. Go ahead.”

“This isn’t marijuana that needs to be rolled. What are you talking about?”

The problem was accumulated fatigue, not illness, so receiving healing didn’t particularly improve anything. Still, the priest’s healing had the effect of washing away something blackened in a corner of my mind.

Well, I might collapse from overwork, but I won’t be bedridden with illness, so that’s fortunate in the midst of misfortune.

To think I can receive a saint’s healing with just a word, when others have to donate enormous sums and still wait a year. It seems some unexpected fortune has finally come my way.

Lucia withdrew the light she had cast and admonished me.

“At least get more sleep. Your skin is getting dark and blotchy.”

“I just have so much work. But I should be fine now that I’ve received healing.”

“Sigh… As I’ve told you repeatedly, fatigue and stress cannot be cured even with holy relics. There’s no solution except simply resting.”

It was closer to advice mixed with a sigh than a rebuke. This was probably advice stemming from her experience as a military chaplain who had traversed battlefields. I could tell just from her voice.

I humbly accepted Lucia’s admonishment while snatching and eating a dragon-shaped chocolate that Camilla was holding.

“Ah! How can you just take what someone else is holding! I have new ones right here!”

“Nothing tastes better than snacks snatched from someone else.”

“Heeeng…”

This was too childish a conversation for people our age. Both Camilla, who was making crying noises because I took her snack, and me, who had snatched it. Neither of us was acting our age.

Lucia pressed her forehead and sighed.

“Please maintain some dignity.”

“There’s no one watching anyway.”

I lay down on the plush hotel suite sofa and ate the snacks.

Anyone watching might think, “Is this really a military attaché?” but who would criticize me for wanting to relax a bit today?

“I saw a journalist or paparazzi flying around the hotel this morning. What if they took photos…”

“The police cast Dispel earlier and pulled them down. I saw them catch the falling person with magic.”

“Is that allowed? Isn’t that too dangerous?”

“Well, they can save them as long as they don’t die. If they can afford the potion cost.”

The three of us sat on the sofa, chatting casually.

The reason why Lucia, who was bringing in relief supplies for medical volunteer work, Camilla, who had been going back and forth to the library for magic practice, and I, who was handling military attaché and operative duties, were lounging in a hotel room was simple.

“…They still haven’t left?”

“Judging by the lack of contact from the police, it seems that way.”

“Sigh.”

It was because protests were in full swing around the hotel.

*

I had already received intelligence about protests occurring at the Magic Tower.

From my old acquaintance Sophia, from the Abas Ministry of Foreign Affairs document, and from the local police. Three sources in total.

The protesters were an extremist mage group. Their purpose was to oppose Saint Lucia’s entry into the country and to push their grievances (complaints) against the government.

It was a common protest even by Earth standards. The only difference was that the protesters used magic.

Honestly, I wasn’t too worried. No matter how experienced they were, protesters were still just protesters, and it was obvious they would be quickly suppressed once the police stepped in. Especially since they were facing the Magic Tower police.

Most magic users in the military and police are combat mages. Although magic varies in its applications depending on specialization and use, combat mages trained for battle are effective no matter where they’re deployed. And the Magic Tower police were the group with the second largest number of combat mages after the military.

Moreover, the Magic Tower had already obtained intelligence about the protest through their information police.

Even if it was an unauthorized illegal protest, when police who were aware of the protest in advance were standing by nearby, firing tear gas (mages are still human) and casting Dispel, even an extremist mage group would be helpless.

The problem was that the protest was much more intense than the Magic Tower police had anticipated.

And I experienced the hot taste of violent protests in this world.

“Hey! Hey! Pull down that, that, that broomstick! Quickly!”

“Damn it, deploy the mounted police! Just push them back!”

“Molotov! Molotov!”

Green magic shot by the police streaked across the sky, and magic launched by protesters illuminated the smoky air as it exploded on the road.

The road was littered with broken glass and pavement fragments, and occasionally oil from Molotov cocktails rippled and engulfed the surroundings.

“…Wait, isn’t that an elemental? Why is there an elemental in a Molotov cocktail?”

Looking closely, it wasn’t oil but an elemental. The flames spreading around opened their mouths wide toward the pavement fragments, then devoured the brick pieces, grew larger, and began moving toward other fragments.

“Why is there an elemental in a Molotov cocktail…?”

“There are elemental summoners among the participants…! Goddammit!”

I had come to observe the protest site with my own eyes due to the lack of updates, and I was shocked at what I saw.

In all my life, I’ve never seen someone stuff an elemental into a Molotov cocktail and throw it. I’ve heard of elementals being placed in bidets, but never in Molotov cocktails.

The Magic Tower protest was an inferno beyond my expectations. It was shocking. In my 28 years of life, I had never seen such a scene and had no way to describe it.

The road was filled with tear gas like fog, dangerous fragments and flames were scattered on the ground, and police and protesters flew above it all, swinging batons and casting magic at each other.

This isn’t a figurative expression—both police and protesters were literally flying through the air. This was possible because both sides had mages. The numbers seemed evenly matched, as a fierce battle of pushing and shoving took place in the middle of the city.

The sight of violent protests against the backdrop of beautifully preserved historic architecture and modern buildings was incredibly unbalanced.

But before I could marvel at it, mounted police surged forward like a wave, breaking the protesters’ formation. It was so natural that for a moment I thought I was in England.

They charged in like tanks, shattering the formation, but the protesters, clearly experienced, quickly regrouped and resisted by firing magic in formation.

The police were no pushovers either. Mages in riot gear used Dispel to neutralize the protesters’ magic and created streams of water in mid-air to fire directly at them. Naturally, the protesters used magic to do the same.

When a protester was hit by a water cannon, a Molotov cocktail broke, and with wet hands, they grabbed an elemental flowing from the bottle and threw it into the air. A protester on a broomstick caught it and flew toward the police. A police mage flying through the sky descended rapidly, grabbed a protester, and crashed into a building. Seeing this, another police mage fired magic, causing the road to collapse as if an earthquake had struck.

This scene was hard to believe even if called a riot. I’ve never seen such a protest in my life. This was closer to civil war than a protest.

As I stood dumbfounded watching the protest, a police officer approached and pulled me away.

“Let’s move back! It’s too dangerous here, Mr. Attaché.”

“Wasn’t it dangerous until now?”

“We’re about to begin full-scale suppression, so it might get even more intense!”

“…You’re just now starting to suppress it?”

It was absurd, but it was true.

Police who had circumvented the scene flew in from alleys (they literally flew) and jumped onto the road covered in flickering crimson smoke, cornering the protesters. As magic scattered in all directions, the protest intensified further.

With flames flickering on the road and smoke glowing in orange, green, red, purple, and all colors of the rainbow, it truly looked like hell.

“…I’m seeing all sorts of strange things.”

Having roughly assessed the situation, I quietly made my way toward the police command post, walking under a protective barrier cast by a police mage.

*

Unfortunately, I couldn’t make contact with the field command post. The protest was too intense, and all the key commanders were focused on directing operations.

I had wanted to ask when the protest might calm down, but I had to return to the hotel without much information. At least the police contact said they would send a messenger to the hotel, so it wasn’t a complete waste.

And as the evening sunset approached, the messenger promised by the police visited the hotel.

“Pleased to meet you, Mr. Attaché. I’ve been dispatched from Central Headquarters.”

“Pleased to meet you. I’m Frederick Nostrim.”

The messenger sent by the police was a person with striking bronze skin. Judging by ethnicity, they seemed to be an immigrant from the southern continent.

He spoke Abas with quite good pronunciation, allowing us to communicate smoothly without any interpretation.

“May I ask your affiliation…?”

“Ah, I’m sorry. Due to my duties, that’s difficult to disclose.”

The messenger was from the intelligence police.

The intelligence police are the information organization within the police. They handle counter-espionage and counter-terrorism missions, collect and distribute security information, and manage international cooperation with foreign government agencies.

Generally, intelligence police hold powerful authority within the police force, and because they operate the police’s nationwide information network, they sometimes outperform intelligence agencies in domestic intelligence matters.

Anyway, intelligence police don’t catch criminals like other police; they prevent crimes. And since protest intelligence gathering is usually handled by intelligence police, this person was clearly well-informed about the current protests.

I returned his handshake with a professional smile.

“I understand.”

“Thank you for your understanding.”

Like any intelligence agency, security is the lifeblood of intelligence police.

And in the intelligence community, not prying into detailed personal information is an implicit courtesy, so I didn’t bother to inquire about his background.

After exchanging perfunctory greetings, the intelligence officer got straight to the point.

“We’re currently struggling with protest suppression.”

“Are you saying it will be prolonged?”

“Shamefully, it seems so. For safety, it would be best if all foreign guests remain in the hotel for the time being.”

He was saying the protest would be extended.

I swallowed a sigh and asked the intelligence officer a question.

“Are you saying it’s comparable to a blockade, that interaction with the outside is completely impossible?”

“Not to that extent. However, when going outside, you must definitely receive protection. More enhanced protection than the current level.”

“……”

Judging by the intelligence officer’s words, the situation was clearly not looking good.

He continued his explanation with quite a serious expression.

“The situation is challenging because radical groups are leading the protest.”

“If we receive protection from the authorities, can our safety be guaranteed?”

“I can’t say for certain. If this becomes prolonged, police manpower alone may not be enough to handle it, so we cannot guarantee perfect protection.”

The protest seems quite severe.

The police force covering the entire Magic Tower isn’t really insufficient. However, if they concentrate all their police forces to suppress the protest, it creates security gaps in other areas.

The Magic Tower police are probably gathering manpower to try to calm the protest. But the number of protesters is significant, and just adding a few more personnel won’t even put out the urgent fires. Probably.

This problem should be left to experts, so I need to report to the Military Intelligence Bureau first.

I gestured to summon Pippin and Jake, who were hovering nearby.

“Pippin, call the attaché’s office now. Tell them protest signs indicate prolonged activity, making it difficult to perform duties.”

“Yes.”

“And what’s today’s schedule?”

The Magic Tower wasn’t the only one with fires to put out due to the protests. We were in the same boat, though not as badly as the Magic Tower, which had gathered foreign dignitaries only to show them chaos.

As a military attaché, I couldn’t fulfill my schedule, Lucia had to postpone her medical volunteer work, and Camilla had to practice magic with limited borrowed spell books.

Still, the situation doesn’t seem too bad.

Pippin began his report.

“There are no important schedules, so it should be fine to reschedule later. I’ll ask the attaché’s office to handle the rescheduling when I contact them.”

“Thanks. Anything else?”

“All supplies needed for medical volunteer work are stored in the hotel, and apart from not being able to go outside, there are no major inconveniences. Oh, and we’ve received word that they’ll supply anything our party needs; we just need to ask.”

It sounded like the Magic Tower was handling most issues well. Having lost face in front of foreign guests, they seemed determined to make amends by being generous.

I quietly shifted my gaze and moved to a secluded spot.

The perceptive Jake engaged the intelligence officer in conversation to divert his attention, and Pippin followed me to the corner.

After moving to a place where no one could hear us, the report continued.

“…What about the operation team?”

“The switchboard operator reported that everyone is fine.”

The staff participating in the operation had no problems. That was a huge relief.

“Any directives from headquarters?”

“There are no specific directives related to the current situation. We did receive a document instructing us to avoid the northern region due to ongoing counter-espionage operations…”

“That’s unrelated to the Magic Tower. Anything else?”

“The desk conducted an operation assessment and responded that there are no issues, so we can continue.”

It seems the operation analysts have diagnosed that there are no anomalies in the operation.

This meant there was no possibility that our activities had been detected by counterintelligence agencies, and that our cover identities remained effective, so we could proceed to the next stage.

Normally, as an operative, I wouldn’t have access to the analysts’ evaluations, but since Pippin had connections there, I could glimpse the diagnostic results they produced.

Anyway, all clear.

“What’s Number 51 doing now?”

“Staying at home.”

Fabio Verati has apparently been staying at home since his youngest daughter was kidnapped.

Judging by his numerous phone calls, it’s clear he’s not staying home voluntarily but is being forced to by the Magic Tower representative office. Probably for security reasons.

I clicked my tongue.

“Meeting at his home is too dangerous… Is there no other way to make contact?”

“Actually, a Magic Tower representative office official came today and requested a meeting between you and Number 51. The intent was less about investigation and more about helping the victim’s family find stability through conversation with a witness.”

“Do you believe that?”

“No. Who would believe that?”

Whether the request was truly for Fabio Verati’s stability or if they planned to interrogate him in a secluded room was unknown.

I’m not a fortune teller; how would I know?

What’s important is that the Magic Tower side is exploring ways to approach me unofficially.

As I was contemplating the Magic Tower’s intentions, Pippin continued.

“I did leave a message saying it’s okay to take time with the response, but the diplomats think it would be best to make contact as soon as possible before relations with the Magic Tower deteriorate.”

Normally, an ordinary diplomat cannot be involved in an intelligence agency’s operations.

But high-ranking diplomats can. In fact, high-ranking diplomats like ambassadors or consuls sometimes intervene in intelligence agency activities as local directors.

Of course, I’m a somewhat special case. The Military Intelligence Bureau thoroughly scrubbed my identity, so the Ministry of Foreign Affairs doesn’t know I belong to the Military Intelligence Bureau.

Since I’m just a soldier from the military attaché’s office, the diplomats are simply asking me not to put them in an awkward position.

In other words, this isn’t an official order. I don’t need to ignore it, but I don’t need to follow it to the letter either.

Pippin carefully chose his words with a cautious attitude.

“With the protests erupting, how about using this as an excuse to postpone the schedule? Frankly, the inability to suppress protests is the Magic Tower’s problem, not ours. Besides, you’re not operating alone and have many people to take care of.”

“When you put it that way, I feel like I’ve become the head of a household.”

“More like a nanny, don’t you think?”

“That stings.”

Pippin’s approach is certainly the orthodox one.

For civil servants, passing the buck by saying “not our department” is routine, and turning a blind eye to most foolish actions is common in diplomatic circles.

But my thinking was a bit different.

“Tell the representative office to start scheduling.”

“Huh?”

“Why are you so surprised?”

“You want to meet right now?”

Pippin seems to have misunderstood. Just because I’m scheduling a meeting with Fabio Verati doesn’t mean it will happen immediately.

“I said start scheduling, not meet tomorrow. Besides, who knows how things will turn out?”

I didn’t bother mentioning that we could just let the diplomats drag things out by finding technicalities. After all, both the diplomats and Pippin and Jake were aware of my schedule.

There’s no need to rush. As they say, the more urgent, the more roundabout the path should be. It’s not our custom to immediately pull when there’s a bite. It’s fine to take more time and proceed slowly.

I rubbed my tired eyes and said to Pippin:

“The personal records I requested from the Foreign Ministry. Ask them to send them now.”

“What records… Oh, yes. Understood.”

“Good. Tell them we’re continuing to monitor the church and other countries’ movements, and add that there are no unusual developments yet.”

“Yes.”

There’s no need to be hasty when we’re ahead of everyone else.

It will take time for the Inquisition to establish their intelligence network, and we already have the means to draw out Fabio Verati.

The Military Intelligence Bureau is far ahead of other intelligence agencies.

For now, at least.

“……”

After sending Pippin away, I quietly sank into thought while gazing at the somewhat tumultuous night view of the city.

The alchemist, Francesca Ranieri.

The time has come to meet her.