A Dark Fantasy Spy

---

I’ve lived in the capital of Abas for over three years now, but this place still feels utterly unfamiliar to me.

Having never been called directionally challenged in my life, it’s definitely because I only shuffle back and forth between the residence and the Military Intelligence Agency Headquarters every day.

“Is it really possible for a grown adult to never have been to a pub or bar?”

“No, I just don’t drink much…”

“You sure drank just fine last time, though.”

Thanks to that, Camila and I are lugging heavy suitcases through the streets in the early evening. No, it’s far past evening now; the sun has completely set.

If only I had a mobile phone or a well-connected acquaintance in the capital, I could have asked about any good bars around. Unfortunately, I’m a total introvert, lacking both a phone and friends.

Ultimately, wandering aimlessly, I stumbled across a payphone booth and rushed in.

“Cash… Ah, here are some coins.”

Fortunately, I had a little cash on me, a habit I developed from always carrying emergency funds whenever I traveled abroad.

I inserted a few coins into the payphone and quickly dialed a number. It had been so long since I made a call that I fumbled a bit, but as long as I could connect, that was all that mattered.

Ring, ring.

As the smoky smell from the receiver clouded my mind, I heard a ringing in my ear.

Then, a moment later.

-“Hello?”

“Hey, sis. Can I ask you a favor? Just one question.”

Adela’s loud voice assaulted my eardrums. It was the furious shout of a Level 5 Foreign Service Civil Servant.

-“Hey! Where are you?!”

“I need to find a bar, so if you know a good one nearby, let me know. You’ve lived in the capital for so long.”

-“The country’s in shambles, and you’re looking to hit a bar with the people from the unit—”

“I’m drinking with a girl.”

-“Where are you?”

Episode 9 – Old Fashioned

The bar Adela recommended was a fancy place just ten minutes away.

It’s a favorite among diplomats residing in Abas, and even employees from the Ministry of Foreign Affairs frequently visit for social gatherings (read: networking). Adela mentioned she’s been there a few times.

But what are diplomats, really? They hide behind respectable business cards while acting like pseudo-spies.

The true calling of a diplomat isn’t diplomacy but rather espionage.

They may call it networking, but the actual aim is to extract information from high-ranking officials under the guise of socializing. If diplomats focused solely on diplomacy, international intelligence agencies would never send agents disguised as consular staff.

So, diplomats can’t openly engage in spying but can gather intelligence while socializing.

With the sun set, the bar Adela mentioned would be crawling with diplomats. Naturally, there would be plenty of official agents masquerading as diplomats. It was obvious that as soon as I entered, I’d be bombarded with requests for handshakes.

And as for Camila, she was officially staying in a magic tower. But if she just “happened” to appear at a bar in the center of the capital, well, that could spell trouble.

It was crazy to consider going there right now.

Adela must have been aware of this too. Nevertheless, the fact that Camila had entered the country was a secret that even Adela couldn’t know about.

I decided to ask Adela for a recommendation for another bar.

-“Sure. That one might be a bit pricey, though. It’s hard to afford drinks on a civil servant’s salary…”

“But you’re a civil servant too.”

-“I drink on the Foreign Affairs card. Meeting foreign embassy staff counts as part of my duties.”

“…Are you a tax thief?”

Regardless, Adela recommended a new bar. It’s a little quieter, more reasonably priced, but it has a nice atmosphere.

-“Just remember to pay me back later. And when does your leave end?”

“About two weeks, just shy of that.”

-“You should drop by the family home. Mom and Dad have been waiting for you. They’re both really excited since it’s your first leave in three years.”

As Adela neatly explained, I glanced around and quietly lowered my voice.

“…Is that ‘guy’ going to be there too?”

I was asking if my younger sister would be present.

-“Hey, why do you refer to Ayla as ‘that kid’?”

“So, is she there or not?”

-“Probably. She called me out of the blue the other day, saying she suddenly got leave after not being seen for months.”

“Really…?”

That means she’ll be around.

I hung up considering how to punish my younger sister who had snatched away the precious little money in my bank account. Just before ending the call, I think I heard my sister mention to bring something back, but I cut her off by saying I’d buy it with her money.

As I set the receiver down and stepped out of the booth, I saw Camila looking around anxiously. Then she practically jumped and asked what had happened inside.

“…Did something bad happen?”

“No, today I’m feeling great.”

“But why are you smiling so ominously? You look a bit mad. Have you seen the movie ‘The Shining’?”

“Are you referencing ‘Here’s Johnny’?”

“Yeah. Your face looked eerily similar just now.”

I decided to walk away silently with a grin, pulling my suitcase along. Camila shivered, saying my smile was creepy.

*

About thirty minutes later, we arrived at the bar Adela had described.

It was located on the outskirts of Abas, appearing more like an inn or a home than a bar, situated in a residential area.

Outside it looked shabby, but once inside, a different story unfolded.

Opening the timeworn wooden door revealed a neat, carefully curated interior that drew in the eye. The elegant wood displayed age rings, silently narrating the history enclosed within the bar, filling the air with a subtle scent of wood and soft, gentle jazz melodies.

As local patrons tossed coins and bills onto the counter, a tall elderly gentleman with a kind smile served them drinks.

Looks like we found the right place after all.

“We’ve arrived.”

I led Camila inside. The bar had a straightforward history.

Centuries of history and tradition. An establishment run for generations. There are tales of renowned scholars from history having frequented it, as well as faculty members from prestigious universities bringing their students to socialize occasionally. Adela and older brother Jerry also used to come here quite often during their university days. More accurately, they visited through the campus social club.

Normally, it’s best to thoroughly check a bar multiple times before visiting based on past experiences. But considering I wasn’t on an overseas work trip, I decided to break that long-standing rule.

I set down my luggage and took a seat while glancing around.

On the walls, there were inscriptions made by someone in their carefree university days, and signatures of famous figures were thought to be displayed on the ceiling. The crest of the local sports team hung on a pillar, filled with signatures, suggesting it was donated by a group visit.

The layout was two-story. You could see from the second floor down to the first, but it would be tough to look up from the first floor to the second. There were two doors behind the counter. One led to the restroom, while the other was a mystery.

Seeing the owner approaching that area, I pretended to head toward the restroom to check, and it looked to lead to a staircase going down. By the way, the restroom was completely enclosed without any windows or vents, making it hard to escape.

As I thoroughly examined the bar’s interior, someone who looked like a staff member approached us.

“You two seem like first-time visitors. How did you find your way here?”

It wouldn’t be wise to say I was introduced by an acquaintance. I put on a wide smile and casually fabricated a story.

“I just happened to stumble upon it.”

“I see. Given the heavy baggage, you must be travelers?”

“Yes.”

Upon my affirmative reply, the staff member smiled warmly.

“You’re in luck. Welcome. How would you like to order?”

The employee asked, but I did not respond immediately. Someone else chimed in first.

Camila answered instead.

“Do you have any special drinks?”

“There’s no drink in this world that isn’t unique. We have beer brewed right here in-house, and locally crafted whiskies. Of course, we have other options too.”

“Hmm… Then I will have the beer.”

“Of course, just a moment please.”

As the employee stepped away, a tall old gentleman who appeared to be the owner poured two glasses of beer straight from the cask. It looked like ale.

Soon, two glasses of beer were in our hands.

The bar was quiet, not noisy at all, allowing us to enjoy our drinks without interruption. We each held a glass in one hand, sitting at the table, chatting about various topics.

“It’s been a while since I had beer. I went straight to a pub as soon as I landed and drank with my sister.”

“Did you drink after returning from a medical mission?”

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

“I used to drink a lot when I was in the Information Corps. Nearly after work every day with the unit members.”

I didn’t just drink beer; we would buy crates of soju and drink like crazy. I can’t remember what mentality I had during those times, but we indeed drank a lot. Because the work was too demanding.

In hindsight, perhaps the struggle wasn’t why we drank, but rather the excuse we made to indulge in drinking. My superiors at the office were big fans of drinking, and it felt a bit wrong to decline their invites after work.

But that’s all in the past now. I hardly drink anymore, so these tales are merely trivial recollections.

“But why did you drink at a pub? You seem wealthy. You could have drunk at a bar or maybe an airport lounge.”

“Not everyone can drink there. Since we all worked hard, it’s nice to enjoy together.”

“How unusual. All the Brits I know prefer drinking in bars.”

At the mention of Brits, Camila perked up while sipping her beer.

“Brit? You knew someone from England?”

“Of course.”

“Who are they?”

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

I know many Brits, from journalists to diplomats to spies. Camila probably wouldn’t know any of them, though.

“A significant number of the foreigners I know work in intelligence agencies. North America and Europe… Oops, that might not mean much to you. I had considerable communication with intel agents from North America and Europe.”

“Really? Then why didn’t I know that?”

“You didn’t ask.”

“…Right?”

Camila slightly tilted her head in contemplation but eventually accepted that answer. Upon closer inspection, I noticed a bit of foam on her lips. Not wanting to directly point out “you’ve got something on your lips,” I casually offered her a tissue.

Fortunately, observant Camila wiped the foam off immediately upon seeing the tissue. It appeared she hadn’t noticed before.

Anyways, since we didn’t create any embarrassing moments, the conversation flowed smoothly.

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

“Um….”

Camila seemed to think for a moment, closing her eyes slightly as she spoke.

“First of all, Francesca seemed to focus on practicing magic and swordsmanship. She might have been looking into things to help me, but also investigating protective magic, sorcery, illusions, and even dark magic. She mentioned needing to be prepared for places where such skills are required.”

“I see.”

It seems Francesca is managing well on her own. Even though she’s my source of information, the conditions for proper management aren’t suitable right now, and I have no intention to change that.

She’s one of those characters living life with Veronica without a clue. While I keep tabs on her, I haven’t detected any unusual activity, and from what I gather from Camila, she appears to be quite composed.

Just to note, I might’ve placed a listening device in her belongings, but Camila doesn’t need to know about that.

I took a sip of my beer and transitioned to the next topic.

“What about Saint Lucia?”

“Lucia… As far as I know, she’s been practicing theology books and divine spells. It seems like she’s mastering some sort of abilities that could exist in a card game. Personally, I feel Francesca is the scholarly type who quietly studies in her room while Lucia is more hands-on and prefers to practice directly.”

“What kind of trait is that?”

“Um… The difference between Gandalf and Saruman?”

“…….”

Based on her mentioning Gandalf, it sounded like a reference from ‘The Lord of the Rings,’ which came out in the early 2000s, right? I’ve forgotten the plot entirely by now.

Sorry, I couldn’t understand anything since I’ve forgotten the movie.

But if I were to say that, I might hurt Camila’s feelings, so I decided to keep my mouth shut.

While quietly sipping my beer, I was organizing the information Camila provided when suddenly she exclaimed,

“Oh, and Lucia is studying medicine as well!”

“Medicine…?”

“Yes, medical skills.”

Medicine.

It’s not common for a cleric of the cult to study medicine. The association of doctors and the church is filled with constant back-and-forth criticism, branding each other as ‘dullards who can’t even distinguish between a virus and a bacterium’ or ‘merchants who charge exorbitantly without providing quality care.’

That’s how contrary the existences of clerics and medical practitioners are.

Like oil and water.

In this world, on a whim, undergraduates from theological seminaries and medical schools often brawl on the streets, ending up with broken bones and concussions, sent to hospitals and churches alike. Lucia, having grown up in the cult, must be aware of this phenomenon.

Yet here she is, the saint of the cult, studying medicine? This was beyond bizarre.

At the same time, it could also lead to political issues.

“….”

I think I should gently advise her to put her medical studies on hold, preferably before it reaches the Inquisition’s ears. I need to handle this swiftly from my end.

While pondering on how to tactfully resolve this issue, Camila suddenly threw me a question.

“But why are you asking about these things?”

Well, because it’s part of my job to keep tabs on Lucia and Francesca.

If I said that, however, it would undoubtedly lead to an irreversible disaster. If Camila started shouting on the street about “Oh my goodness, folks! A spy is surveilling civilians! And that he’s spying on a saint and an administrator!” it would create chaos.

And even if it’s not that dramatic, just making a blunder in front of Lucia or Francesca could end it all.

I needed to safeguard the trifecta of the Abas government’s reputation, diplomatic interests, the relationship between the cult and the magic tower, the Military Intelligence Agency’s confidentiality clauses, and protect my own promotions and pension. All of that demanded my mental faculties to be in high gear.

“Uh… Is it weird to be curious about what others are doing?”

“…….”

Suspicion clouded Camila’s gaze. Her brows furrowed slightly.

In a moment of panic, I hastily added.

“Actually, this is also training. Training.”

“What kind of training?”

“Information collection.”

Only then did the tension between her brows ease. The mention of information collection seemed to divert her attention.

“Isn’t that something considered training too?”

“More precisely, it relates to memory techniques and conversation skills. Normally, when agents chat with someone, they either record or listen in and document the conversation. But in situations where that isn’t feasible, you rely on memory.”

“Ah, I see.”

Perhaps finding some interest in the topic, Camila started nodding along thoughtfully.

Since we had started this, I figured it might be beneficial to teach her a thing or two.

“Camila, do you know a place where you can’t eavesdrop or bring recording devices?”

“Military facilities? Government agencies?”

“Those are correct too, but the embassies are where intelligence agents frequent as well.”

Just like here, not everyone can stroll into an embassy around the world.

To get through the entrance, one must first undergo identity verification, hand over all belongings, and pass through a metal detector. Obviously, they can’t bring recording devices, and mobile phones are totally off-limits.

“It is possible to eavesdrop within embassy premises. For example, the U.S. once managed to overhear conversations happening inside the Russian embassy. Yet generally speaking, embassies are considered safe from eavesdropping, and when intelligence agents visit such venues, they cannot record.”

“What happens if they get caught?”

“We call that espionage.”

Being expelled is just the basic consequence, and any slip-up could lead to an international diplomatic incident. If it makes the news, the governments get into a tussle.

That’s why intelligence agencies tend to discreetly expel diplomats or hide the fact that they might have to torture agents caught.

Hearing this, Camila’s face scrunched up in disgust, and she slowly shook her head.

“That sounds horrific. How could anyone torture someone?”

“Even 007 gets tied up and hit. Movies like ‘Zero Dark Thirty’ even feature waterboarding.”

“But that’s just fiction, right?”

Actually, it really happens.

“They do it in reality.”

“Is that really true? No way, you haven’t experienced that yourself, have you…?”

“I have no knowledge regarding a series of actions that might be undertaken by the intelligence agency of a certain country in Northeast Asia on the sovereignty and human rights of others abroad and have never been involved in them. Even if I were, I wouldn’t confirm or deny it.”

It’s NCND.

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

“Of course, I’m joking. Intelligence agencies don’t do things like that. Neither does the company I am currently with.”

“…….”

“I’m being serious.”

Camila took a huge gulp of her beer with an expression half-disgusted, half-worried. I awkwardly scratched my head and changed the subject.

“Anyway, a person’s memory tends to evaporate over time. Of course, there are instances where it gets distorted. After just a few hours, it’ll be tough to remember conversation details, and within a week, you’ll forget what clothes you wore back then. That’s how our brains work.”

“So?”

“Therefore, if an agent visited a place with strict security regulations, they’ll immediately start recording after exiting.”

“A recording? How do you do that?”

“Just hit play and mumble to yourself about who you met, what you talked about, how they reacted, the key issues, and if you had food, then what you ate. Also note any unusual aspects and the differences from what was discussed during the briefing….”

In short, everything you remember should be documented.

“While this might seem rather primitive, it’s a time-honored approach used by many agents since the Cold War. That’s why some still use it today. Controlled areas still exist, and these days smartphones come equipped with recording features.”

“Should I buy a recorder too?”

“Probably, there should be a few in the residence. But since they aren’t being used now, feel free to take one.”

I decided just to hand one over to Camila instead of auctioning it off. It might seem a bit like a waste, but it certainly wasn’t.

Having wrapped up our satisfying arrangement, we placed an order for new beers. And of course, some snacks too.

My wallet might be a little tight these days, but today I brought plenty of cash, so I was fine. We enjoyed our beer along with our snacks while chatting about various topics.

We discussed what we used to do, what we wanted, who our families were, how we spent our school days, our hobbies, and if there was something new we’d want to learn now….

Camila had quite a few luxurious hobbies, from horseback riding to an appreciation for classical music, and she claimed to play the violin as well. Those were typical bourgeois hobbies.

Through this, I also got to learn about her family.

“Your mother works at the courthouse?”

“Yes.”

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

“To be precise, my sister worked at a hospital. Now, she’s with Médecins Sans Frontières.”

Médecins Sans Frontières. That brought memories from when I traveled to South Sudan flooding back.

“Did you know? NGO folks unexpectedly often meet with intelligence agents.”

“Is that true?”

“It’s hard to find an intelligence officer who hasn’t interacted with NGO people working in conflict zones. Agents usually disguise themselves as aid workers during infiltration.”

Camila mentioned that she accompanied her sister on overseas volunteer missions at some point. I told her that could be a pretty solid addition to her resume if she prepared for any interviews later.

We sat across the table, swapping stories. While we usually chatted about mundane things, the conversation naturally circled back to intelligence agencies.

While we were deep in talks about our companies, an unexpected visitor appeared.

*

It was just about when the atmosphere was heating up. Our second drink had already morphed into the third, and we had consumed half of it.

The assorted snacks we ordered—tempura and salad—had become soggy over time. I told Camila to order more if needed, yet she hesitated and picked chicken. Two whole servings of it.

“…Oh, is that a bit too much? Why don’t we just have dinner here?”

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

“Yikes….”

It wasn’t a big deal; I was going to eat too.

When our order of snacks arrived, and while we were slowly finishing our third beer, I suggested we try something besides beer.

“What do you have here?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never been here before, so I’d have to look at the menu.”

To be fair, Adela had already given me a heads-up about what’s delicious here. However, I was curious if there was anything else, so I didn’t mention that.

Just as we engaged in intense discussions over the menu, a man from the second floor approached us.

I scanned the man descending the stairs.

He was well-built, with a short haircut, dressed in a suit. Not a tailored fit but a ready-made suit. I could see a belt holding up his pants, and there was a wristwatch on his left wrist. He’s right-handed.

The problem was his shoes.

Sneakers.

“…….”

Unless you’re some hipster hanging around Hongdae, typically, people stick to societal norms in how they dress. Whether it was matching clothes based on a Neighbour blog or wearing items sold by famous streamers on YouTube. Everyone keeps a certain standard; that’s normal.

In that sense, wearing sneakers with a suit isn’t exactly trendy. At least that’s what any ordinary person would think.

But I know a certain type of person who dresses like that. To be precise, I used to dress like that occasionally.

We call such individuals spies or intelligence agents.

The suspiciously friendly suit man approached me with heavy steps and greeted me.

“Hello. Nice to meet you.”

He then politely extended a business card towards me.

I glanced at the card and couldn’t help but chuckle.

The card prominently displayed the Military Intelligence Agency’s emblem.

“Wow. I’m running into work folks everywhere I go these days.”

“Haha, it’s great to see you, senior!”

Well, even on leave, they’re still watching me, damn it.