I’m an Immigration Officer!

The first thing that caught my eye was the wreck her body had become.
Looks like she went through absolute hell these past three days.

There wasn’t a single unscarred spot left—clear signs of prolonged torture.
But I didn’t feel any sympathy.
— Throb.

I still remembered her foot smashing into my face.
And she did orchestrate a terrorist attack. She deserves this.
Still, those defiant violet eyes hadn’t dulled in the slightest.

She said with layered scorn:
“Been well?”
“You shouldn’t have just knocked me out back then,” she growled. “Should’ve killed you.”

Judging by her bite, she clearly hadn’t lost her fire.
“You didn’t come alone, did you? This prison isn’t the kind of place some fragile weakling like you should be wandering into alone.”
She asked the question in a low, suggestive tone.

Even now, in chains, she still had that glint in her voice—as if she were sizing me up for leverage.
Remarkable.
“Of course not. You think I’m crazy enough to be alone in a cell with a high-level felon?”

I stepped aside slightly as I spoke.
That’s when the Olfactory Inspector and Tactile Inspector entered the cell behind me.
“Yo. Long time.”

The Olfactory Inspector greeted her like an old workout buddy.
“…”
“I said, long time.”
Shahal’s expression immediately darkened.

Some unpleasant memory, it seemed.
She jerked her head to the side, snapping at the tentacled woman beside him.
“What the hell is that? Tentacle freak? Why’d you even bring something like that?”

One of the inspector’s tendrils twitched.
Lacrisa Glinaphin—the Tactile Inspector—narrowed her eyes, visibly irritated.
“…Excuse me?”

Uh-oh.
If there’s one thing she hates, it’s speciesist trash.
And she’s especially sensitive about it, being a marine hybrid…

Sensing the tension crackle, I stepped in fast.
“I’ve been granted full interrogation authority over you by the Count. Therefore, I will now begin questioning.”
She looked at me with a face that said you too?

I didn’t care. I pressed on.
“What is your name?”
“What the hell do you need a dead woman’s name for?”

Sharp response.
“…So you know when the execution is scheduled.”
That makes this easier.

“I’ll be blunt. You have no time left. When the sun sets the day after tomorrow, you die.”
The start of an interrogation is always about pressure—fear.
They’d already taken care of the physical side. My job was the psychological.

“Escape is impossible. It’s already been three days. And no one’s coming to rescue you.”
“Hah. You think so?”
“But in exchange… I can buy you time. I only want one thing.”

I stepped closer—within a meter of her.
“Er… The Saintess. That kidnapping wasn’t your idea alone, was it? Who gave the order?”
A laugh escaped her lips—dry, mocking.

“You want me to tell you about my employer? What a joke. I think it was… the Father in Heaven, maybe?”
Blatant mockery—but I caught the first word.
Employer.

That meant this wasn’t personal or ideological. It was business.
I stayed calm and thought it through.
Who would dare target the Saintess of the continent’s largest religious order?

And what could possibly make a changeling agree?
Kidnapping the Saintess would cause a political cataclysm.
If she accepted in exchange for something, that “something” must be massive.

This is progress.
Knowingly or not, she was dropping details.
Let’s dig deeper.

“Shapeshifting magic is a rare discipline. But from what we’ve seen, you also exhibit extraordinary physical ability. You’ve had specialized training, haven’t you?”
Shapeshifting was magic.
It used mana to alter physical form and was often employed in deception and espionage.

Because of that deception, shapeshifters were widely distrusted, and real practitioners were rare.
And a magician with physical prowess on par with the Olfactory Inspector? I’ve never heard of such a thing.
Most mages can’t fight worth a damn.

They spend their lives buried in spellbooks, too busy with theory to train their bodies.
But she had it all.
That means she might be known in certain circles. If I dig just a bit, I might be able to identify her.

Still, she just laughed again.
“…It’s so funny watching someone pretend to know everything when they know nothing, Inspector.”
“What is it you think I don’t know?”

“You haven’t even figured out who I am, and you think you’ll extract intel? Hah?”
She rattled her shackled arms mockingly.
“Maybe you should worry about your own body. Who knows? Maybe one day I’ll be out there, walking around wearing your skin.”

A threat.
Right then—
—Bang!

A massive fist smashed into the wall just inches from her head.
“Ugh…!”
Startled, she shrank back and looked up—wide-eyed—at the Olfactory Inspector.

“Hey.”
The wolf growled as he approached slowly.
“If you talk to the Chief like that again, I swear to god it won’t be the executioner’s axe—it’ll be my teeth tearing out your throat.”

“H-Heh… We’ll see about that, won’t we?”
She tried to sneer, but her voice trembled.
There it was again—something didn’t sit right.

She acts bold even though she knows she’s dying… and yet she flinches at a threat. Total contradiction.
This woman wasn’t brave.
The way she recoiled from the Olfactory Inspector made that obvious.

So why was she so defiant?
She’s got something up her sleeve.
I stared at her in silence.

Our eyes met.
That’s when I realized what had been bothering me.
Her eyes—they’ve never changed.

Even when she became that rural boy Sota… even when she disguised herself as me… even when she took on the Olfactory Inspector’s form…
They were always violet.
Shapeshifting magic can change everything.

Everything from hair color to the smallest body part—it’s all fair game with mana.
That meant…
This wasn’t magic. She’s not a shapeshifter.

And I don’t feel any mana, either.
Lacrisa—whose sensitivity to mana was second only to the Auditory Inspector—hadn’t reacted.
This couldn’t be magic-based.

A woman who could change her entire body at will—yet never her eye color.
Was there such a being?
I paused to think.

And then—
Yes. There is.
I remembered.

I opened my mouth, slow and deliberate.
“You… are not a shapeshifter.”
An Immigration Officer deals with countless species.

From common humans to near-mythical juvenile dragons.
Knowing each species’ traits and customs is part of the job.
And right now, one very rare species came to mind.

A race that lived by hiding—by mimicking others.
I said the name.
“Changeling.”

— Twitch.
For the first time, her eyes trembled.
“…”

Bullseye.
And I recalled the one condition for a changeling’s transformation.
They had to consume the hair or fur of another living being.

Which meant her attitude—her composure—made one thing absolutely clear.
She’s already hidden some fur somewhere on her person. She’s planned her escape.
I spoke immediately.

“Tactile Inspector.”
“Yes?”
“Conduct a full-body search.”

“Define full-body?”
A beat of silence.
“…All of it.”

“Understood. Please close your eyes, Chief Inspector. You too, Olfactory Inspector.”
The moment the order was given, Lacrisa stripped.
Both of us shut our eyes instantly.

Those born from deep-sea lineage often carry the ability to show their true form.
What we were used to seeing—this humanoid body—was just a form she adopted to suit our aesthetic comfort.
Her real form was—

— Slip. Tear.
A writhing, monstrous mass of countless tentacles.
A grotesque, otherworldly cluster of limbs, the likes of which I had never seen.

The prisoner recoiled in horror at the sight.
“W-What the fuck is that!?”
“Oh right—you called me a tentacle freak earlier, didn’t you? That’s a highly speciesist remark, you know.”

So she had taken it personally.
— Schlorp. Squish.
Wet, heavy sounds as the tentacles slithered across the cell.

Then came a terrified scream:
“Wh-What are you doing!? Don’t come near me! Get your hands—no, those things away!”
“How rude. They’re tentacles. Don’t you have eyes?”

“W-Where do you think you’re touching!? You crazy bitch! Get off me!”
“Struggling will make it hurt more.”
The Tactile Inspector’s specialty was physical inspection.

Specifically: enshrouding the entire target in writhing tentacles and searching every inch of their body.
— Glorp. Schleck.
“Aaaaghh—mmmph!”

Something squelched and slithered, like a mass forcing its way into tight spaces and writhing through them.
Then, at last—
“Ah, found it, Chief Inspector.”

“Can I open my eyes?”
“Just a moment…”
— Schllrp.

The slimy sound of tentacles folding back into themselves echoed unpleasantly in my ears.
“Okay. You’re good now.”
“Let’s see…”

When I opened my eyes, the Tactile Inspector had returned to her demure humanoid form—standing tall and composed.
Next to her was the changeling, looking completely destroyed, slumped over as if every joint in her body had come undone.
Lacrisa handed me something with a proud expression.

“She hid human hair in her mouth, and rat fur between her toes.”
“Did you find anything else?”
She casually wiggled a tentacle still glistening with an unidentifiable fluid.

“I checked her deepest points. Even internal cavities. Nothing else there.”
Deepest points. Internal cavities.
I looked away, just a little.

Must’ve really pissed her off…
I decided not to ask further.
“Hah… Hah…”

The only thing left to someone violated by a deep-sea being was total shock.
Her expression was that of someone who had seen something they never should have.
“Now then.”

I didn’t miss the timing. I stepped in immediately.
“You no longer have any means of escape. I’ll ask again.”
The psychological balance had broken.

From this point forward, the interrogation would be entirely one-sided.
I looked at her and asked again:
“Who is backing you?”

—
Her answer was simple.
“P-Please… let me live…”

For the first time, Shahal’s face held no pride. No mockery. Only desperation.
“Please… help me…”
I couldn’t blame her.

Even I had fainted the first time I saw Lacrisa’s true form.
And now that her only method of escape had been exposed, she had nothing left.
This must be her real self.

A woman who feared death. Who didn’t want to die.
Oddly vulnerable for someone guilty of kidnapping, terrorism, and assaulting an officer.
But I can’t let that shake me.

I reminded myself why I was here.
The intel comes first. Her fate comes second.
Think of this as a negotiation.

Every negotiation has its rhythm.
A hardline approach should be followed by a soft one.
After a heavy clash, you show just a bit of sympathy.

I softened my tone.
“You need to tell us what you know. If not, even I won’t be able to help you.”
I cleared my throat slowly.

Focused.
Looked her directly in the violet eyes.
“Filava Hesha’il Dekha Surubael.”
(If you speak the truth, I will help you.)

The changeling’s language rolled off my tongue.
A sharp, hissing sound like a snake’s whisper.
“W-What?”

For the first time, she looked at me with astonishment.
“You… you’re one of us?”
“…”

Silence.
No confirmation. No denial.
Let her make her own assumptions.

Let her interpret my silence as truth.
In her fragile psychological state, I would be the only lifeline she had left.
Use that.

“Tell me! You were one of us this whole time and you pretended not to know me?!”
Silence.
“I—I’ll talk, okay? Please, just answer me. I’ve searched so long for our people, and it turns out it was you!”

Shock turned to wonder. Wonder to pleading.
She started spilling everything, almost involuntarily.
That’s negotiation.

Give the minimum, extract the maximum.
Finally, the desperate changeling opened her mouth.
“M-My employer is—”

Checkmate.
She was finally ready to talk.
“—the Evil Go—”

But then—
— Whummmm.
A dark crimson magic circle began to etch itself beneath her feet.

In seconds, it had spread to cover half the cell, glowing with complex glyphs and bindings.
“Huh?”
“What’s that?”

Before I could move, I realized both of us were inside the boundary.
“Chief Inspector! Get back!”
The Tactile Inspector screamed and yanked me away with all her strength—

— CRUNCH!
Dried thorny vines erupted from the floor like spears.
“W-What!?”

“Wait, stop—!”
— CRACK!
No time to react.

The thorned brambles lunged straight at the changeling.
“N-No! What is this!? Get away from me!”
Just like Lacrisa’s tentacles before, they wrapped around her—but this time, they tore.

Not smooth. Not harmless.
These vines were tearing her apart.
A scream of agony ripped through the cell.

“Halladain! Halladain!!!”
(Help me! Help me!)
She called out in the changeling tongue, believing I was kin.
Her hand stretched toward me.

A desperate plea for salvation.
“Silaha vira Hattenshil—”
(My employer’s name is Hattenshil—)
Just as she was about to finish—

— CRACK.
The vines crushed her body completely.
— SPLAT.

Blood sprayed in every direction.
Everyone froze.
“W-What the…”

My heart pounded like it would burst.
If Lacrisa had been even a second slower…
I’d be a corpse too.

“…”
Even the Olfactory Inspector stood frozen, every hair on end.
— Creeeeak… fshhhh.

The brambles twisted grotesquely, then crumbled into ash.
It was over.
Just like that.

Sudden. Ruthless.
As if nothing had happened, silence returned to the cell.
“…”

I stared blankly at the only thing left—the magic circle.
It didn’t feel like mana.
No golden hue. No priestly structure.

Instead, a dark, crimson glow flickered hungrily—like it was devouring light itself.
“…What the hell just happened?”
No one answered.

The dead «N.o.v.e.l.i.g.h.t» don’t speak.
 
****

That same moment.
A forgotten temple in the Scadi Empire, far to the north.
— Thump.

A small stuffed doll, with button eyes of violet, suddenly toppled forward.
It sat atop a summoning circle etched with profane curses.
“Oh my.”

A woman with long, pitch-black hair picked it up.
Her crimson eyes narrowed as she whispered.
“You shouldn’t have betrayed me, Shahal. We made a deal.”

The Saintess of the Evil God Cult—Hattenshila—smiled faintly.
“For the Blackhand’s Vice-Master to break the Pact of Silence… how disappointing. And I just heard the Pilgrimage Delegation was denied entry a few days ago…”
She slowly turned her gaze south, toward the Kingdom of Crossroads.

“That must mean someone’s trying to uncover the truth about us…”
She smiled again.
There’s another obstacle now.

Not just the Saintess.
Someone else was in her way.