I’m an Immigration Officer!

"Two days…"
I frowned before I even realized it.

There’s not enough time.
Execution in just 48 hours?
Even if I’ve been granted interrogation rights, how much can I really do in that time?

As an Immigration Officer, I know the bare minimum when it comes to interrogation procedure.
Just enough to determine someone’s origin—or if they’re lying—through conversation.
But extracting classified intelligence? That’s beyond my jurisdiction.

That’s the kind of work tailored for the Intelligence Division.
Trying to interrogate a high-grade criminal like a shapeshifter? That’s not something the Immigration Office can handle alone.
Especially not on a deadline.

The optimal approach would be to coordinate with other departments.
But even if I request cooperation from Intelligence right now, it’ll take a full day for an agent to arrive…
Even being generous, assuming they take a high-speed carriage, we’ll still lose critical time.

With that conclusion in mind, I spoke to the soldier.
“…Understood. I’ll discuss the specifics with the Count.”
“Yes, sir. Then I’ll take my leave.”

The moment he exited the office, I ordered one of my aides to activate the communication orb.
“Yes, this is the Reyes Border County, speaking~ What’s your businessss~?”
Appearing in the orb was the same slow-drawling secretary as always.

I cleared my throat and spoke in a low voice.
“This is Chief Inspector Nathan Kell.”
“Y-Yes?!”
The moment she heard my name, she visibly flinched.

Apparently she still remembered the blood-soaked face from the pig-hunting operation. The secretary nearly went into convulsions.
“Ch-Ch-Ch-Chief Inspector?!”
So the "seeing is believing" effect still lingers, huh.

“Is the Count in his office? If so—”
“I-I’ll connect you right away!”
Thanks to that, my request for an audience with the Border Count Reyes went through at record speed.

In less than a minute, a familiar, stocky middle-aged man appeared on screen.
“Count Reyes. I apologize for requesting an urgent audience.”
— “Chief Inspector. This is the first time I’ve seen you since that day. I see your face has recovered.”

“Yes. Thanks to your assistance, everything was handled smoothly.”
After a brief formal exchange, I got to the point.
“I’ll be direct. I’d like to request a postponement of the shapeshifter’s execution.”

— “…So you’ve finally received my message.”
“I’m truly grateful for your granting me interrogation rights, but that individual holds highly classified information. Completing a full interrogation within two days is simply not feasible.”
Let’s not forget: the shapeshifter wasn’t captured within our jurisdiction, but in the Count’s own territory.

Interrogating criminals apprehended within a territory is entirely the lord’s right.
So yes, granting me access was a major favor.
But still—was it necessary to rush the decision on her execution so aggressively?

Surely we could afford at least one or two more days.
I spoke politely.
“I respectfully request that the execution be delayed.”

But the Count’s reply was absolute.
— “That’s not possible.”
“…Excuse me?”

— “Her crimes are simply too severe.”
Count Reyes frowned as if suppressing irritation.
— “Smuggling of strategic bioweapons, assault on an Immigration Officer, escape from custody, a border terror incident, destruction of property, impersonation of a public servant…”

He rattled off the charges with no pause.
Each one was a felony in its own right.
Crimes heinous enough that summary execution [N O V E L I G H T] would raise no objections.

She would die, no matter what.
Still, if she was going to be executed anyway, then the best outcome would be to extract all available intel before disposing of her.
So why was Reyes refusing?

— “Of course, technically speaking, we could postpone. But keeping a high-level felon like her alive any longer sends a message—to both the people of my territory and foreign visitors.”
The moment I heard that, I understood his reasoning.
“…You wish to make an example of her.”

— “Exactly.”
The Count gave a small nod.
— “This needs to be a lesson in the rule of law and harsh justice. Crimes committed at the border or in my territory are crimes against the nation—and a challenge to the authority of the Border Count.”

To a lord, their territory is not just land.
It’s the sum of the people who live there, the laws and order that govern them, and the sovereignty that upholds it all.
All of that—combined—is what defines a territory.

To have an incident of this magnitude occur and then allow the criminal to linger unpunished… it would mean the Count was turning a blind eye to his own domain.
— “It’s already been five days since she was captured, and there were witnesses among the locals. If we keep her locked up without sentencing, what do you think they’ll start to believe?”
They might begin to see the Count’s law—or the Count himself—as something optional.

In this world, reputation is defined by action more than anything.
And that’s what the Count was trying to protect.
Five days. That meant…

I shut my eyes tightly.
We wasted three whole days in the capital. That’s how much time I lost here.
Which meant I’d technically had interrogation rights for days now, but lost the opportunity while I was stuck in the royal city.

Even if it couldn’t be helped, the fact was, I’d already burned the usable time window.
Grasping at straws, I asked,
“Still… isn’t there anything you could do?”

— “There is one way. If she confesses everything—identifies her backers in full—I’ll delay her execution.”
In other words, get her to spill.
If the shapeshifter disclosed everything, that alone might be enough for the Count to save face.

He added one last thing.
— “Also… the execution will be carried out after sunset rather than in the morning.”
That was probably the most leniency he could offer.

“Thank you for understanding. I’ll come to see you soon.”
With that, the orb’s light faded.
I rose to my feet immediately.

There was no time to waste.
I need to go now.
Every second mattered.

Think.
What’s necessary for interrogating a violent criminal?
To my knowledge, successful interrogation requires strong psychological pressure—an overwhelming atmosphere of threat.

That means going alone isn’t a good idea.
Especially since I’ve already been assaulted once. I’m not exactly intimidating.
I glanced around.

What would scare a shapeshifter?
That’s when I saw the two people focused on their work.
“Olfactory Inspector.”

The werewolf looked up.
“Yes?”
Right.

He was the one who took her down. That alone would carry weight.
Add to that his massive build and fearsome expression—perfect for the job.
Even if it’s mostly faded now, werewolves were once called a grotesque mix of wild instinct and rational intellect.

Next, I turned toward the woman juggling eight case files and immigration clearances at once.
“Tactile Inspector.”
“Yesss~?”

Her tentacles lifted in greeting as she replied in her soft voice.
It might sound speciesist, but aquatic species just feel inherently other to us landwalkers.
And she’s a quarter-kraken.

Someone with a thick bloodline from a colossal sea monster.
Her body was composed of an unsettling number of tentacles—more than enough to stir primal fear.
If things go south, I can just have her drop her human form.

The last time I saw it, even I nearly passed out. No doubt it would have an effect.
Perfect.
I told the two of them,

“We have an off-site assignment. Come with me.”
 
****

Drip. Drip.
 
****
In the stillness of the underground prison, water droplets echoed rhythmically through the air.

“Kh… hah…”
Beyond rusted iron bars, a woman with violet eyes let out a ragged, pain-filled sigh.
Her arms were shackled high above her head, and her body was a wreck—covered in whip marks and scars from every kind of abuse.

“How… many times do I have to tell you.”
Shahal spat bloody saliva to the floor as she glared at the man before her.
“Go choke on your own dick, you pathetic fuck.”

The guard standing in front of her flinched at the venom in her voice.
“Bitch…”
Five days.

This monstrous criminal had endured five full days of torture—and yet she offered nothing in return but insults and mockery.
She never screamed. Not once.
Even the guards had started breaking down first, too exhausted to keep going.

Still trying not to look intimidated, the man forced himself to speak.
“You’re going to die in two days anyway. You know that, right?”
“…”

“Just tell us who’s backing you. If you do, I’ll ask the Count to make your death easier.”
A death-threat wrapped in mercy.
But Shahal only tilted her head slightly and murmured,

“Hah. Who knows? Am I really the one getting executed?”
Then slowly, something began to stir inside her mouth.
“What the—”

— Crunch. Crack.
A grotesque sound accompanied the contorting of her face.
Moments later, Shahal grinned—now wearing the exact same face as the prison guard.

“If it’s your face that gets chopped off, I’m sure your kids will just love it. Don’t you think?”
“Y-You psycho bitch—how did you—?!”
“You’d be shocked how much hair the human body sheds. Your head’s all over this floor, you know.”

A sharp, high-pitched laugh echoed through the cell.
“You’re no threat to me. Maybe worry about your hair next time.”
Physically, Shahal was clearly the one in chains.

She was injured. She was the one scheduled to die.
And yet it was the guard who felt the pressure.
“Who knows? Maybe the one getting executed that day… won’t be me, but you.”

The threat had reversed direction.
Shahal yanked against the chains suspending her arms, rattling them menacingly.
The clanging of iron shattered the silence, the sound low and guttural—like an animal growling.

“The day I break free… you’ll be the first to die.”
“M-Monster…”
Terrified, the guard cursed and scrambled out of the room.

— Step. Step.
As his footsteps retreated into the distance, she called out after him.
“Mind your fur. Never know who’s gonna eat it and become you.”

No answer came.
The underground prison sank back into silence.
Then—

— Squeak. Squeak. Squeak.
A small rat cautiously poked its head out from a hole in the wall.
“Hey there. Back again, huh?”

Shahal spoke gently to the rodent.
She had spent the past five days taming the creature with scraps of her own leftover food.
Now, the rat approached her feet without hesitation, nuzzling against them.

She slowly lifted her foot—
And stomped it down.
— Crunch.

A sickening crack resounded as the rat’s body was crushed beneath her heel.
She plucked a tuft of fur from the corpse and tucked it between her toes.
As long as she ingested that, she could shift into the dead rat’s form.

They still didn’t understand the true nature of a changeling.
That she could transform into anything with fur—not just humans.
Once she became a rat, the chains and iron bars would no longer be able to hold her.

“Two days, they said…”
Shahal stared quietly at the rusted bars.
Then tonight’s the right time.

She would escape.
And resume the mission.
The Saintess’s abduction wasn’t over yet.

I still need to get the intel Hattensila promised me.
Several weeks ago, she had made a deal with a woman from a group known as the Cult of the Evil God.
A deal so significant, it broke one of the Blackhand’s golden rules: Never involve yourself with those of royal standing.

In exchange for kidnapping the Saintess of the Holy Order—
Shahal would receive one thing: a piece of information.
— Your kind. I know where another changeling is. I hear your kind is always searching for each other.

A lead on her kin.
Changelings were incredibly rare.
Since they always disguised themselves as others, it was nearly impossible for them to recognize each other—and even if they did reveal themselves, they’d usually be hunted down and killed as monsters.

As a result, changelings lived in constant, gnawing isolation.
An ache for someone who shared their fate.
From childhood, Shahal had been drawn to that yearning.

She’d joined the Blackhand with the hope that, just maybe, she could learn something—anything—about her kind.
Once I escape… I just need to start over.
The mission wasn’t over yet.

If she escaped as a rat, she could melt back into the Pilgrimage Delegation.
But not before killing every guard and jailer who’d mutilated her body like this.
“I’ll repay it threefold.”

The Blackhand way.
Vengeance, repaid threefold.
That was the one promise she intended to keep.

“Especially that one.”
There was one man she wanted revenge on more than anyone.
The one who’d completely ruined her mission.

“That bastard…”
She grimaced, her mind conjuring up the image of a young man with cold black eyes.
And just as she was sinking into thoughts of how best to destroy him—

“Good afternoon. I’m here under granted interrogation authority. Where is the prisoner?”
“O-Over here, sir. Be careful. Her hands are bound, but she’s extremely dangerous.”
“Yes. I’m well aware.”

A familiar voice echoed from down the corridor.
Cool. Professional. Male.
— Step. Step.

Footsteps drew nearer.
Then—
— Creeeaak.

The rusted cell door groaned open with a malevolent squeal.
“…You.”
“Good afternoon, shapeshifter.”

The face she least wanted to see.
The one she most wanted to destroy.
She spit his title through clenched teeth.

“Chief Inspector…”
Black eyes met violet.
Two people, two missions—on a collision course.

Forty-two hours remained.
The interrogation had begun.