A Dark Fantasy Spy

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My grandfather was an investigator for the National Security Agency.

According to my grandmother, my grandfather’s original dream was to become a prosecutor. There wasn’t any particular reason; he graduated from law school with decent grades, which caught the attention of judges and prosecutors.

However, during the time of the absolute evaluation system, the judicial examination boasted a murderous level of difficulty, and our confident law student could not cross its threshold. He repeatedly failed the exam, living a life of a judicial nomad, and eventually yielded to family pressure, becoming someone who browsed job advertisements in newspapers.

At that time, the opportunity that caught the eye of the 27-year-old youth was

[Public Recruitment Announcement for 7th Level Civil Servants at the Century Cultural Association].

These days, being a civil servant is seen as the best job, but back then, to a law graduate, a civil service job was like a benign tumor that wouldn’t go away. Nonetheless, the 27-year-old judicial nomad was in no position to be picky about food; he boarded a bus he hadn’t taken since college, heading to the Iwundong examination center.

Thus, he arrived at the Iwundong office of the National Security Agency. This marked the beginning of his thirty-year relationship with the agency.

From his hiring in 1970 to his honorable retirement in 2001, he underwent five promotions, and the agency changed its name twice.
National Security Agency.
National Security Planning Department.
National Intelligence Service.

He spent thirty years in the national intelligence agency and after a life filled with twists and turns, the 27-year-old youth, who had now become a man nearing his sixties, exited the company to the applause of his colleagues.

If he succeeded, it had been a successful life.

Having fulfilled the pension period and with a grown son capable of supporting a family, he likely had no real worries for retirement.

However, his relationship with our father, his only child, was not particularly good. It wasn’t very bad either; they just sometimes talked on the phone and saw each other during holidays…?

I don’t know why that was.

That was a secret between the two of them, a secret they both took to the grave.

“……”

Were my grandfather and father happy?

I’m not sure.

—

Episode 5 – Journalist, Diplomat, Soldier, Spy

I turned my head to look around the wine bar crowded with people.

Maybe it’s because it’s a foreign hotel. The first thing that caught my eye was the suit men who looked like businessmen. They were exchanging business cards and chatting, embodying typical business behavior.

It seemed like some had come to the famous Magic Tower for a vacation, spending cozy moments with their partners, along with wizards dressed in short capes with hoods, true to the Magic Tower’s identity.

Identifying people was quite easy. Especially identifying wizards was a piece of cake. Hooded robes could only be worn by wizards.

This wasn’t some kind of shared sense of superiority among the wizards; rather, it was a culture peculiar to this area. It in fact originated from the clause of the Nastassia Treaty, which stated, “If possible, wizards should wear marks that can prove they are wizards.”

There are various reasons for this. During a time when people carried identification cards, it was incredibly easy to forge identities, and many fraudsters posed as wizards to deceive people. Moreover, in the chaotic social environment due to wars and revolutions, where law and order were shaky, most wizards needed to outwardly express their identity to avoid confrontation.

If you show magic, even a robber with a knife would flee, but it would be absurd to respond to every little provocation with magic, so wizards used clothing to indirectly signify their identity. That’s the purpose of the hooded cape.

Now that public agency work has been computerized, there’s no particular need to maintain this custom, but as it persisted for too long, it settled into a cultural norm.

Wizards belonging to the military police wear such capes while on duty, and academies or university wizard departments have their logos or affiliated school symbols emblazoned on them to wear like school jackets. They are practical items imbued with everyday magic, so many wear them often. My younger sister sometimes wears hers around the house when she’s too lazy to shower. And of course, depending on the weather, she wears it indoors too.

“……”

Maybe it’s the day drinking talking. I’ve got too many thoughts floating around.

Or perhaps I’ve just got a lot on my mind because I’m bored waiting.

Anyway, where did she go after calling me here? She hasn’t shown up for over thirty minutes after telling me to come here. No phone call or anything.

“…sigh.”

Just as I was checking the time on my wristwatch, a familiar voice reached my ears from behind.

“What are you thinking about?”

It’s Sophia.

“…Oh, you’re here? Have a seat.”

“Sorry I’m late; I got caught in traffic.”

Sophia, with her press ID badge attached to her chest, offered a gentle smile.

I glanced at the swaying ID and asked her, “Was traffic bad? There weren’t many cars around the Magic Tower.”

“Not really, I got delayed due to a random check.”

“…Oh.”

“They thought I was part of a protest and checked my bag for flyers. When I showed my press ID, the information agency officer came over and started interrogating me, thinking I was covering a protest.”

“And?”

“Since I was on my way to the hotel, they asked me a few questions and let me go. They told me to carry my press ID to avoid being stopped.”

Hmm.

Looks like the Magic Tower police are pretty strict about random checks. I guess that’s to catch protest leaders. Or it might be because some high-ranking folks are a bit anxious.

“These days, they’re stopping vehicles too? Guess even the protesters are starting to drive around instead of flying on broomsticks, huh?”

“I didn’t get stopped, though.”

“That’s because you have a diplomatic license plate.”

Sophia laughed lightly as she sat down.

I never thought a diplomat would have these kinds of perks when it comes to avoiding random checks. I briefly considered selling foreign cars with diplomatic plates like North Korea does — but that was just a thought. No matter how rogue the intelligence agency is, that would be too disgraceful.

While I was drifting off into useless daydreams, Sophia casually ordered a drink and looked at me.

“So, why did our Defense Attaché suddenly call for me?”

“You know why, stop pretending.”

Of course, it’s an information exchange.

—

I slightly shifted my glass and began.

“I need information. Specifically, the profile data on domestic individuals that your company has.”

“It’s tricky to ask for it just verbally.”

Sophia, an investigator for the Patalia National Intelligence Service, smiled.

It was a rather unsettling smile, with just the corners of her lips curling upwards while her eyes stayed the same.

“You know the industry rules. As a Defense Attaché, you should know.”

“The principle of proportionality?”

The principle of proportionality.

Just as the logic of the market governs the economy, the principle of proportionality is upheld in diplomacy.

You return what you receive; it’s essentially a one-to-one exchange.

“Right. If there’s something going out, there should be something coming in.”

Moreover, since all activities of the intelligence agencies are managed by the realms of diplomacy, defense, and security, this principle is generally ‘somewhat’ adhered to in the intelligence industry as well.

When this principle breaks down, it’s usually when one party treats the other dismissively. This often happens when a major international intelligence agency abuses its power against a lesser one, a behavior that has been occurring since the Cold War, without regard to the first and second worlds.

To put it politely, “We cannot provide sensitive information that exceeds the scope of information cooperation,” and in plainer terms, “Don’t try to find out information that’s useless to you. Stay within your means.”

The CIA has done this to the French DGSE, British MI6, and West German BND, and the KGB did the same to the East German Stasi and Chinese Ministry of State Security.

It’s gang-like behavior, but the US and the Soviet Union could afford to stick their fists into the mouths of various countries as superpowers, making such actions possible. South Korea’s intelligence agencies have had experiences of receiving shabby treatment from US intelligence regarding North Korean issues.

To be honest, it’s less about shabby treatment and more about lacking capability. While the US has launched hundreds of reconnaissance satellites into space, we had the National Intelligence Service, Military Intelligence, Ministry of Foreign Affairs, and Ministry of Unification sharing a handful of satellites. It’s all due to the budget-eating hippo that is technology and intelligence.

Of course,

“That’s only natural.”

“Thanks, Merlo.”

Patalia, with its comparable might against Abas, couldn’t behave like a thug.

In other words, if I wanted to request information, I had to offer something of equal value to Sophia.

That’s the rule.

“What information do you need that badly?”

“Hmm….”

Sophia gave a chilling snort, looking at me with a snake-like gaze.

Then she tapped her fingers on the table, preparing to speak.

“First… can you tell me how things went with the last request I made?”

“The issue with the retirees? I’ve reported it to the higher-ups.”

Sophia had asked me to lift the surveillance placed by the Military Intelligence Agency on Fabio Verati. Technically, it was a request from the National Security Agency to the Military Intelligence Agency through Sophia.

Just like a diplomat represents their country, an agent represents their agency when they step outside. Thus, the National Security Agency, through Sophia, made a deal with me, representing the Military Intelligence Agency.

By the way, I had already ignored that request earlier.

But I couldn’t let that show, so I maintained my poker face and spun a yarn.

“From what I can tell, it seems the project is on hold. It looks like they’re reconsidering.”

“Reconsidering?”

“It appears they’re backtracking and looking for another route.”

I’m the one leading that operation, and I receive real-time updates on every report from the staff, yet I don’t know.

“Honestly, I have no idea.”

Anyway, I don’t know.

It’s a ridiculous act, but it works due to the structure of intelligence agencies.

“You know how it is; official disguises and unofficial ones follow different lines, right? Both in work and in reporting structure… I only heard it secondhand, so I can’t provide a detailed situation.”

Information officers and operatives have similarities but also differences. While their jobs are almost identical, distinctions arise in the finer details.

Simply put, anything the information officer does, the operative doesn’t know, and vice versa. This occurs because there’s no means of communication for security reasons.

Thus, only the higher-ups — the very top — know all the reports submitted by information officers and operatives on the ground.

Given that, it’s completely natural for me, an information officer, not to know how operations are progressing, unless it’s a special case.

Sophia didn’t seem unaware of this, nodding in agreement.

“Okay. Thanks for hearing me out.”

“Don’t mention it.”

I should be thanking you more.

“Is that all for questions?”

“At least for now…?”

Sophia still wore a smile, gazing at me.

Her mouth was smiling, but her eyes weren’t, making it difficult to guess her true intentions, and the fact that she made unnecessary remarks only made me feel uneasy.

But she seemed uninterested in what I was thinking.

With a somewhat sorrowful expression, she traced the rim of her glass with her finger and commenced.

“What information do you need?”

“Francesca Ranieri.”

“……”

“The alchemist from the Ranieri family, who leads the Originalist School. I need information about her that you all have.”

Her finger movements slowed just a fraction. Sophia calmly adjusted the rim of her glass with her finger, but I didn’t miss that moment.

She gently closed her eyes, contemplating for a brief moment, before suddenly throwing a question at me.

“Are you curious about her? What’s the reason?”

“I have to meet her soon.”

“Officially? Or privately?”

I didn’t bother answering her question. She was an intelligence officer too, after all.

Even with some alcohol, my judgment wouldn’t fail me, and deducing conclusions with insufficient information was our specialty, so Sophia would merely continue her usual vague phrasing.

“Hmmm… Merlo, am I correct in assuming what I’m thinking right now?”

“Probably.”

“Is that so…?”

Sophia tapped her finger on the edge of the glass.

The sound of her nail hitting the glass settled into the silence.

“……”

In the ensuing silence, I quietly closed my eyes, rethinking the judgment I had made long ago.

Because the conclusion of this conversation had already been reached.

And, as I had anticipated,

“…Merlo.”

“I’m listening.”

“I’m sorry. I don’t think I can fulfill this request.”

Sophia smiled with an apologetic expression.

“You know the reason, right?”

“Roughly.”

“I’m really sorry. Because of the regulations, I can’t help it.”

“……”

“Sharing information about subjects under observation is beyond my authority.”

The deal fell through.

I failed to gather information.

“…I understand.”

It was as expected.