I’m an Immigration Officer!

Same day, afternoon—Intelligence Division Office.
—Scratch, scribble, rustle.
Melanie, Director of Intelligence, flipped through the documents at a furious pace.

There was little time to breathe, not when agent reports poured in like avalanches from across the entire continent every single day.
She was just about to pick up the thirty-eighth report when—
—Vmmm.

A crystal orb at the corner of her desk began to glow.
Yellow.
A signal for immediate personal contact.

‘Of all times.’
She was already swamped—who had the nerve to interrupt her now?
‘If it’s someone unimportant, I’ll just mark it as missed.’

Still flipping pages, she flicked a side glance at the receiver’s identity.
[Chief Inspector of the Southern Border: Nathan Kell]
Without a second’s hesitation, Melanie tapped the orb.

At once, the Chief Inspector’s image shimmered to life inside it.
"Ahem, khm! Ah. Aah."
He cleared his throat and checked his reflection.

‘Outfit’s neat. Hair’s fine. Makeup held. Good.’
She completed her appearance check in seconds, then lifted the corners of her lips ever so slightly.
"Hello, sweetheart."
—Greetings, Director.

Nathan bowed his head, still looking thoroughly exhausted.
"What is it this time? I didn’t think you’d contact me so soon again."
A subtle hint laced beneath her words: I wish you would, though.

But instead of replying, the Chief Inspector pulled a thick tome from his desk drawer and held it up to her.
—The cipher decryption you requested. It’s complete.
The very codebook Melanie had sent—a full year’s worth of encoded texts.

He pulled out another copy—fully translated into the common tongue.
—I didn’t skip a single character. I’ll send it out first thing tomorrow.
"…"

Melanie fell silent.
"…You do realize I gave you a week to finish that? And you’re telling me it’s done in seven hours?"
—Yes.

She sighed without meaning to.
That fool—what is he doing now?
"So? What’s the real reason this time?"

Whenever the Chief Inspector rushed a job like this, there was always something more behind it.
—I’d like to ask one more favor from you, Director.
Of course.

Melanie smiled bitterly.
"Alright. Go on. After that speed, I guess we owe you one."
Nathan stared at her for a moment before finally speaking.

—I want to know how to meet with Black Hand.
 
****

—Thunk.
The pen in Melanie’s hand dropped onto the desk.
—Have you lost your mind!?

Her voice shot up without warning.
The tip of her raised tail quivered violently.
—You want to meet Black Hand? As a government official?

It had been a long time since Melanie looked this shaken.
Understandably so.
‘The head of the border asking for a meeting with an assassin guild isn’t exactly… normal.’

Even I had to admit—it was insane.
If word got out, it’d cause a national scandal. Internally, it’d be suicidal.
But I had to do it anyway.

I spoke calmly.
"There’s a reason for this."
I laid everything out.

How we could no longer afford to just respond after the fact. That it was time to strike first.
Especially against a foe like the Evil God Cult—the worst of the worst.
—A preemptive strike, huh… Yeah. It’s true. There’s no guarantee they won’t do this again.

Melanie scowled.
—But why Black Hand?
The core question, finally.

—If you want to use someone else’s hands, there are other options.
She wasn’t wrong.
There were other candidates.

The Northern Skadi Empire. The Northern Branch of the Holy Church.
‘The Skadi Empire grew powerful by surviving endless battles against monsters in the harsh North.’
If anyone could wipe out the Evil God Cult remnants in one blow, it would be them.

But coordinating with another nation would take a mountain of diplomatic red tape.
Trade agreements alone took weeks. A joint military operation to suppress a cult? Try six months, minimum.
‘And we’d have to share all our classified intel on the Evil God Cult with them.’

And as for the Holy Church… Not even worth discussing.
Giving them the justification for a crusade would be outright madness.
‘Whatever happens, I’ll never involve the Holy Church.’

But Black Hand… was different.
"They’re the most suitable."
Whatever the circumstances, their submaster had died.

Killed by none other than Hatenchilla—the Evil God Cult’s Saintess.
Would they really let that go?
"There’s now an established grudge between the two. If we use Black Hand instead of striking ourselves, we can inflict serious damage on the Evil God Cult operating abroad."

Show them the truth.
Then let their fury consume the ones truly responsible.
"Just tell me how to make contact. I’ll handle the rest."

Two terrorist organizations, driven into conflict.
And in the end—mutual destruction.
That was my plan.

But Melanie shook her head.
—No.
Denied again.

"Director! This is absolutely necessary—"
—I know what you’re about to say.
She cut me off sharply.

—You’re trying to pull an ieojei strategy. Right?
"Yes."
—Annihilate a threat you can’t handle by pitting it against another. Use someone else’s hands to deal the blow. It’s a solid idea.

She zeroed in immediately.
—But if you’re going to do that, your hands have to stay completely clean. Even the slightest trace and they’ll catch on—and then you become the target.
She pointed straight at me.

—And you want to personally meet with Black Hand to propose this? That’s basically broadcasting your name across the entire underworld.
"…"
—You realize what that means?

I answered in a low voice.
"They’ll become aware of my existence."
—Exactly.

Showing myself means Black Hand learns who I am.
The scale of risk is no longer comparable to what I’ve faced until now.
"But I’m prepared for that."

—Preparation isn’t enough.
She shook her head again.
—Until now, you’ve just been the Southern Border’s Chief Inspector. But once you involve yourself like this, the name “Nathan Kell” will be carved into their memories.

Her tail trembled with unease.
—If «N.o.v.e.l.i.g.h.t» you show them the submaster’s corpse and say, “This wasn’t us, it was the Evil God Cult,” do you think they’ll just believe you? What do you think they’ll see you as?
—A border official who knows their secrets.

—A liability in their eyes.
—And there's a chance the Evil God Cult hears of it too.
—Having your name whispered in the shadows is never a good sign.

Melanie knew better than anyone what it meant to live in the shadows.
—And if someone like you, a national official, becomes known in those circles? There will be consequences.
I couldn’t argue.

Because she was absolutely right.
If I exposed myself to Black Hand, it wouldn’t just be me at risk—those around me might be dragged in as well.
But if I didn’t reveal myself… they’d never believe the truth.

A deadlock.
“...Damn it.”
As I froze in the grip of contradiction, Melanie finally spoke.

—Told you, didn’t I? Stop trying to do everything yourself. You’re an immigration officer, not some all-powerful fixer.
"…"
A clean hit to the gut.

—What you’re hoping for is to stop the Evil God Cult through Black Hand, right?
"Correct."
—Hmm… I have a good method in mind.

Her golden eyes darted back and forth, calculating.
—Sometimes, a shock tactic is the most decisive turning point. You have to set it off when no one’s expecting it.
Ominous words.

—All you need to do is one thing.
Melanie pointed at the clock.
—The Changeling’s execution. It’s scheduled for this evening.

At that, I looked at the clock myself.
6:00 p.m.
Come to think of it, the execution was set for 8:00 tonight.

She’d already died from the curse, but Marquis Reyes had yet to publicly confirm it.
‘Which means he must consider even a corpse symbolic enough to stage an execution.’
For someone who puts so much emphasis on public perception, that tracks.

—Stop it. No matter what.
But now she’s saying to stop it.
Why?

The Evil God Cult’s involvement can be proven by that cursed black aura anyway.
As I paused to think, the realization struck me.
"Melanie… Don’t tell me—you plan to hand over the body to them?"

—Heh. Quick as ever.
She nodded.
—This entire operation hinges on you stopping that execution. Do that, and we’ll handle the rest.

"…You’re saying I’m in charge of triggering the whole operation."
—Don’t worry. The Evil God Cult and Black Hand don’t even know you exist. In exchange, though, I’ll need to borrow Miss Erzena.
Her slit pupils fixed on me.

—You’ll light the fuse. Erzena will close the loop.
 
****

Far north of the continent, in the Great Forest region, a forgotten tower.
In a quiet room at the topmost floor, a woman leaned against the wall with her eyes closed.
"…"

All her focus was tuned to her ears, as though waiting for something.
Then—
Flap, flap.

A crow sliced through the sky and landed gracefully atop the tower.
—Caw!
A sharp cry pierced the silence.

At the sound, the woman slowly opened her eyes.
The top of the forgotten tower belonged to the birds.
The crow perched lightly on a roost directly before her.

—Rustle.
She turned her gaze toward it.
The bird gave a sudden jerk of its beak, dropping something to the floor.

A crumpled note, folded tight, landed in front of her.
She read it silently.
[No confirmed location in the North.]

Same result again. The woman scowled.
"Sister… Where are you?"
It had nearly been a week.

A full week since she’d heard from her bloodless younger sister.
Though the girl had always been fiercely independent, she’d never gone more than three days without sending a crow.
—Don’t worry. Even if I disappear, I’ll tell you what I’m doing from time to time.

With a faint sigh, she pulled a small handful of seeds from her pouch and scattered them on the floor.
"Just endure a little longer… I’ve got a bad feeling."
Crows are harbingers.

By their very nature, they are omens of ill fate.
There’s a superstition that says seeing one dooms your entire day—that they bring misfortune.
Even so, she’d taken the crow as her symbol, trained them herself.

Because, contrary to appearance, they were clever and resilient birds.
And because there was no reason for them to be scorned for what they were called.
Then—

Creeeeak.
"Lady Eliza."
A rugged-looking man stepped into the room, sunlight flooding in after him.

Instantly, her black pupils constricted, and her skin—whiter than platinum—was exposed in the light.
She turned her head slightly to shield her eyes and asked:
"Did you find her?"

There was no need to specify who.
There was only one person capable of scraping her nerves like this.
"…My apologies. We’ve yet to confirm Lady Shahal’s location."

Shahal.
The Submaster of Black Hand—and her sworn sister.
Even the humans were bringing ill news now.

Unamused, Eliza turned her gaze back to the crow.
"I see. Well done. You may go."
But the man remained.

"However, we did determine a destination."
She raised her head again.
"Where?"

"She signed a private contract with someone, then traveled to the Kingdom of Crossroads."
"The Kingdom of Crossroads…"
She remembered it.

Hardly an unfamiliar name.
Those madmen obsessed with borders.
A nation planted in the very heart of the continent, full of eccentrics who recorded every single thing that passed through.

‘Why would Shahal go there?’
It didn’t make sense.
They had nothing to gain from being recorded.

‘And a private contract?’
Her brow furrowed involuntarily.
She’d told her sister countless times not to take jobs alone.

Still, she could guess why.
‘She must’ve been promised information about another Changeling again and took the job without thinking.’
Changelings always crave their own kind. It’s practically a racial instinct.

She’d done this before—several times.
And once again, she’d likely acted on impulse.
The problem is, private contracts make it hard for the guild to offer support or verify identities.

Unless the contractor themselves reports back, there’s no way to confirm success, failure—or even survival.
Of course, someone like Shahal wouldn’t die easily. She was an expert at escape.
‘And in the Kingdom of Crossroads…’

She felt a little relief.
If they recorded everything, they must’ve documented Shahal’s presence too.
She knew all her sister’s aliases. Even if she’d hidden her real name, Eliza would recognize it.

Too much silence was never a good habit—especially when someone was worrying.
‘This time… I’ll make her learn that lesson.’
She slowly rose to her feet.

"There’s something I need to confirm. I’ll be leaving for a while."
And with that, her great wings were revealed.
Jet-black, glossy as obsidian—raven wings, sprouting from her shoulders in place of arms.

"Yes, ma’am. How long will you be gone?"
"One day."
Raven Harpy.

The most cursed of all harpy breeds.
And also the most powerful, so feared they were classified as monsters.
As she unfolded to her full height, the man looked up in reverence.

"Safe travels, Master. I’ll await your return."
Eliza Corvus, Master of Black Hand, turned her gaze to the sky beyond the window.
—Caw!

A crow’s cry.
And in this world, that cry meant only one thing—
Omen.

The jet-black harpy soared into the sky.
Unaware that an ill fate already waited for her.