A Dark Fantasy Spy

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Evidence has surfaced.

It’s crucial evidence that can substantiate the suspicion of espionage.

“To decode the microfilm, specialized equipment is required.”

“We can’t examine the contents right now, but possessing such an item alone is sufficient grounds for an arrest.”

The investigators acted promptly.

The captain immediately left the scene to report to the team leader, while the sergeant, channeling his inner forensics agent, took pictures of the scene, and I continued the search for further evidence.

The first place my gaze landed was a desk piled high with countless storage devices.

Devices shaped like bricks, long tube-like contraptions, and thin plates reminiscent of floppy disks were all present.

I inspected them slowly and asked the sergeant, “Can we open these storage devices right now?”

“Floppy disks? We can’t do that here; we need to take them to the office and plug them into the terminal. They’re sensitive, so handle them with care.”

I see.

“Ugh…”

I licked my lips and set the disk down.

This area really didn’t sit well with me due to the subpar equipment.

Hacking with an RFID chip while passing by, sending spam mails to implant hacking tools into smartphones, and simply yanking out a hard drive from a computer wouldn’t suffice. I actually had to take them back to the office for verification? How bothersome.

It was an unpleasant and uneasy way of proceeding, but what could I do? If there are no teeth, one must live on gums.

Amidst the disorderly room searching for evidence, the captain stepped back in through the door, signaling that the report was already finished.

“Have you made contact? If the support request is completed, we should move soon.”

“No, I can’t reach the team leader right now.”

What’s the meaning of this? Has the dignified person supposed to be commanding the operation left his station? That can’t be right.

As I cocked my head in confusion, the captain quickly unraveled my question.

“Apparently, he’s taken Squad 1 up to the surface. Sounds like something’s come up above.”

—

Episode 3 – A Fantastic Vacation

It seems that some important evidence has come up on the surface.

Considering that the team leader of the information agency is either a grade 5 civil servant or a field officer (specifically, a lieutenant colonel or a major), it was clear that, regardless of what it was, incredibly significant evidence had been found.

The reason is simple: the team leader is a middle manager.

The team leader must formalize the information brought by agents into documents and report them to the higher-ups while coordinating and directing the team’s tasks according to medium to long-term or short-term objectives. In other words, the amount of paperwork and information handled increases exponentially compared to when one was just an agent.

Thus, most team leaders prefer to send their team members out to the field and maintain their position in the office.

Of course, this isn’t universally true. Since agency personnel are still human, there are team leaders who prefer fieldwork over paper, especially when serious matters are at stake or collaborative operations from the higher-ups are involved.

I was a prime example of that. I had also been rolling around abroad for two months on orders from the Information Bureau.

However, the investigation team dispatched to the Counterintelligence Department—specifically, the Advanced Military Magic Research Institute—was a different story.

Why couldn’t the investigators move recklessly? The answer can be found in the nature of counterintelligence operations and the field.

Due to the nature of counterintelligence work, investigators must never be spotted by spies. There’s a risk that a spy might catch on and flee or resist. Similarly, investigators must not be visible to civilians. If suspicious persons loiter around, civilians can become frightened and withdraw.

Thus, investigators always operated not in the research facility but rather in the office building, specifically in the darkest corners. They’d even eat lunch in the office, use the restroom directly across, and sleep only in the adjacent duty room.

Yet suddenly, the team leader moves away from the office towards the surface? And leaving only minimal personnel behind?

While I didn’t know the details yet, the fact that the team leader was moving directly indicated something amiss had arisen with the evidence. Or perhaps a significant incident had occurred.

However, what was vital wasn’t what evidence had come up.

What mattered was the fact that the team leader had vacated his post, and that the communication network connecting the surface and underground was being intercepted by the internal investigation department of the institute and the military interception unit, meaning that someone had to go up and bring the team leader back to prevent a security incident.

“I don’t distrust the internal investigation department, but we should avoid communicating through the internal line of the institute. That’s the team leader’s instruction.”

“Looks like someone needs to head up to the surface.”

Taking the elevator up, passing through the security checkpoint, and calling the team leader in the residence area would take at least 15 minutes. And that’s assuming we could sprint directly to the residence without getting checked.

“Colonel, how much time do you have left?”

“About 20 minutes.”

That’s not nearly enough time to bring the team leader back, explain the situation, and formulate an arrest plan.

Considering the time it would take to return to Camila Lowell, it’s even tighter.

As I pondered quietly, the sergeant succinctly rounded up the situation.

“It seems we should split up here. Colonel, you return and keep watch on the spy, while one of us will go up and bring the team leader.”

As soon as the sergeant finished speaking, the captain stepped forward, saying he would fetch the team leader.

“I’ll go up and come back.”

“Get through the security as quickly as you can. We won’t have the luxury of being delayed for the next inspection.”

“I can pass through security with my Information Bureau ID; I’ll be back soon.”

Since he spoke so firmly and I had no desire to stop him, I let it happen.

Meanwhile, the sergeant handed the captain the film containing the site photos, and the captain pulled out a small piece of paper from his pocket.

“What’s this?”

“It’s an amulet blessed with anti-magic protection. Just in case, take it with you.”

“Why on earth….”

Why are you handing me an item that looks clearly dangerous?

I was about to pose that question when the captain swiftly interjected.

“Because you’re the one closest to the spy.”

—

Being closest to the spy certainly poses a risk.

We are ordinary civilians, whereas our opponent is a magician.

Keep this with you in case something goes wrong.

The captain didn’t bother explaining why he handed me the amulet, but his intention could be summarized in three lines.

While we may belong to different affiliations, as colleagues in the same workplace, it’s only right to caution someone on the possibility of getting hurt while trying to help.

But simply warning someone and providing them with an amulet are two entirely different things. No, it’s not just different; it’s a difference as vast as the sky and the earth.

This is akin to telling me to grab a stab-proof vest because I might get stabbed while laying low.

Considering that the magic fired by a magician is far more threatening than a criminal with a katana, this is equivalent to being handed bomb disposal gear.

Although the arrest wasn’t my responsibility and I was merely asked to assist in the surveillance, the future was always uncertain, and because one could never know what would happen, I quietly tucked the amulet away in my pocket.

Of course, receiving the amulet didn’t miraculously soothe my unease.

“…Why do you have that expression?”

“What do you mean?”

“Your face looks like you’ve just bitten into something sour…”

My expression, huh.

“Did something happen?”

“No.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

Responding shortly caused Camila Lowell to cease her questioning. But since her curiosity seemed unquenched, she tilted her head in confusion while toying with her dripping wet hair.

Watching her, I let out a brief sigh.

“It’s just some personal matters.”

“Oh, a privacy concern.”

Due to the nature of the intelligence agency, it’s strictly forbidden to disclose one’s identity, missions, or internal affairs to those not involved without permission.

This rules out informal undercover agents, known colloquially as black agents, and also applies to officially recognized agents.

Naturally, I couldn’t tell Camila Lowell, “We need to catch the spy causing chaos in the research institute.”

That would be genuinely insane.

If I were to utter such words and the Information Bureau were to hear, I would be instantly excluded from all duties and dragged into the Inspection Office. Then I’d be imprisoned for a breach of confidentiality and, upon release, be expelled from the military without retirement benefits. Or worse, I could face execution.

Anyway.

Rather than rambling, I shifted the topic of conversation.

“What kind of inspection was it that you came out with soaked hair?”

“It’s nothing special; it’s just that I got some monster blood on me, so I took a shower. And there was a faint smell of burning… Does it still smell?”

Camila Lowell extended her hand with her damp crimson hair held in it. Her hair, now an even more vivid red than when we first met.

I raised my hand to push her offered hand away.

“I couldn’t smell it because of my rhinitis…”

I was about to reflexively say I couldn’t smell it when I realized I didn’t actually have rhinitis.

“I don’t smell it, but still….”

“Oh.”

Camila Lowell let out a short sigh before blushing and apologizing to me.

“I’m sorry! I played this prank with my old coworkers…”

What kind of workplace plays around like this by waving freshly showered hair in someone’s face?

“What kind of company does that…?”

“W-well, it was a company that went to remote places a lot. Hygiene management was lacking, so we ended up playing pranks like this.”

“Which remote area?”

“Africa! I mean, saying that might not make sense to you….”

Camila Lowell rambled on trying to explain the area known as Africa to me.

Although I was incredibly familiar with Africa, I kept my mouth shut, fearing I might be labeled as a strange person. The conversation continued to be comedic. She tried to clarify what Africa was while I pretended not to know, trying hard to grasp her explanation.

“The entire continent is one plagued by civil wars and terrorism. While not every country is like that, most of them have unstable security and poor governance…!”

“I see. It sounds like a politically unstable and underdeveloped area.”

“And electricity and water don’t come on for 24 hours, and when you turn on the faucet, muddy water comes out…!”

“From what you’re saying, it seems many countries aren’t operating properly. Security must be unstable, and healthcare services must be a mess. Is it true you have to boil groundwater or river water to make it safe to drink?”

“Yes! Also, the highways are only two lanes and poorly maintained…!”

“Are dead animals sometimes lying on the road?”

“Exactly!”

So, it was indeed the Africa I knew.

Camila Lowell seized my attention by talking about Africa and began explaining why she played such pranks. In summary, her extensive and arduous job made it difficult to wash properly, so she sometimes pulled these ridiculous stunts. I was doubtful how such stinky behavior could be considered fun, but I decided to let it pass.

She must be British. If a British person could stuff sardines into a pie, it was no surprise for them to do anything strange.

In the end, I chose to silently cover for her mess.

“Right. Living in tough conditions can lead to silly pranks. I understand.”

“…Really?”

“Yes. That shows how intimate our relationship is since we can casually bring like that smelly head so close to each other, right?”

“Oh, really!”

Even SpongeBob and Patrick’s conversation wouldn’t be this refined.

It probably wouldn’t.

—

The conversation with Camila Lowell served to both gather information about her background and ease the tension.

Particularly, there’s nothing as soothing for the mind and body as talking to another person from your home world, albeit not the same region.

Up until now, I had lived in the mindset of an illegal foreign worker, feeling a bit distanced from societal norms. Engaging in conversation related to home for the first time in a while put me in a somewhat better mood. Acquiring information is more or less a professional hazard I couldn’t escape. Anyway.

As our conversation, which had lasted over 10 minutes, began to wind down, the person I had been waiting for finally appeared.

“Thank you for waiting so long. Did I keep you waiting too much?”

The senior researcher in biological analysis, Giada Bianchi.

She approached us with a friendly face and greeted us warmly.

“Are you okay, Hero? I heard you were covered in monster blood.”

“I just took a shower, so I’m fine. How did the examinations go?”

“The tests on 34 out of 37 categories have been completed. All the data is collated, and starting next week, we’ll be exploring how your magic reacts within your body when using your powers.”

“Sounds great! When will the results be out?”

“Probably in about five days.”

Giada Bianchi adjusted her glasses as she attentively engaged with Camila Lowell.

Observing her and Camila Lowell chatting felt like the classic doctor-patient dynamic.

However, one shouldn’t judge by appearances. Considering she had hidden dozens of disguised coins carrying microfilm inside her mattress, one could only conjecture what lay beneath her smiling exterior.

She was certainly capable of smuggling dozens of documents. Perhaps even hundreds.

Nevertheless, I already knew she was a spy, and she remained blissfully unaware that the net was closing in on her.

So, I maintained a smile on my face and held her hand.

“I’ve been waiting, Senior Researcher.”

It’s delightful to meet you, you cheeky spy.