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My grandfather was a Duke Investigator in the Central Intelligence Agency.

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

However, during the absolute grading system era, the judicial exam boasted a murderous level of difficulty, and that confident law student couldn’t cross the threshold of the exam. He kept failing the exam and migrated through the life of an unemployed exam taker, eventually succumbing to family pressure and found himself thumbing through job ads in the newspaper.

At that time, what caught the eye of the 27-year-old young man was the

[Public Recruitment Announcement for Level 7 Civil Servant at Century Culture]

Now, being a civil servant is considered the best job, but back then, to a law graduate, a civil service position was the very definition of something you’d refuse even if offered. But the 27-year-old exam failure couldn’t be picky, so he hopped on a bus to the exam center in Imun-dong, where he had casually wandered during his university days.

Thus, he arrived at the Central Intelligence Agency’s Imun-dong headquarters. His thirty-year journey with the company began there.

From 1970, when he joined, until his honorary retirement in 2001, he was promoted five times, and the company’s name changed twice.

Central Intelligence Agency.

National Security Planning Department.

National Intelligence Service.

He spent thirty years in the national intelligence agency, and at the end of a life so winding it would be hard to call it a rollercoaster, the now 27-year-old young man who looked towards his sixtieth birthday left the company to applause from his colleagues.

If he succeeded, it was a successful life.

Having fulfilled the retirement pension requirements and with a grown son capable of supporting a family, he likely had no major worries for his old age.

However, his relationship with our father, the only child, wasn’t very good. It wasn’t extremely bad; they only spoke occasionally and saw each other during holidays…?

I don’t know why that is.

It was a secret just between the two of them, a secret they ultimately took to their graves.

“……”

Were my grandfather and father happy?

I don’t really know.

Episode 5 – Journalist, Diplomat, Soldier, Spy

I turned my head and scanned the wine bar packed with people.

Maybe because it was a foreign-run hotel, the first thing that caught my eye was the suit men who appeared to be businesspeople. The way they exchanged business cards and chatted was typical business behavior.

Perhaps they had come to the Magic Tower for a vacation, as I spotted couples enjoying intimate moments, and, true to the Magic Tower’s reputation as the mecca of magicians, there were magicians dressed in hooded short capes as well.

Identifying people was pretty easy. Especially, spotting magicians was the easiest. The hooded clothing could only be worn by magicians.

This wasn’t some kind of shared sense of superiority among magicians; it was a unique culture of this town. Specifically, it came from a clause in the Nastasia Treaty that stated, “If possible, a magician should wear a mark proving they are indeed a magician.”

There were many reasons for this.

In earlier days when people carried identification documents, identity fraud was very easy, con artists often masquerading as magicians, and during a chaotic social atmosphere due to war and revolution, many magicians felt the need to reveal their identities to avoid disputes.

One demonstration of magic, and even a robber holding a knife would run scared, but it would be ridiculous to respond to every dispute with magic, so magicians indirectly communicated their identities to people through their clothing. This was the hooded cape.

With the computerization of public agency work now, there’s no real need to maintain this, but it had lingered on so long that it became entrenched as a cultural norm.

Magicians affiliated with military police wear such capes while on duty, and in academies or university magic departments, they often wore jackets emblazoned with their logos or academic symbols, akin to college jackets.

Most items were practical goods that applied lifestyle magic, and magicians often wore them casually. I’ve seen my younger sister trudge around the house in one when she was too lazy to shower. Plus, there were times she’d wear it at home regardless of the weather, hot or cold.

“……”

Maybe it was because of day drinking, but I found myself distracted by trivial thoughts.

Or perhaps it was just that I was bored waiting and ended up mulling over unnecessary ideas.

By the way, where did this person go after calling me here? They made me wait over thirty minutes without a word. Not even a call.

“…Sigh.”

Just as I was getting tired of waiting and checking my wristwatch, a familiar voice echoed from behind.

“What are you thinking about?”

It was Sophia.

“…Oh, you made it? Have a seat.”

“Sorry I’m late. The traffic was terrible.”

Sophia, with a journalist identification badge pinned to her chest, smiled lightly.

I cast my gaze on the swaying badge and posed a question.

“Was traffic really bad? There didn’t seem to be much at the Magic Tower.”

“Not exactly, but I was delayed because of a stop-and-search.”

“…Ah.”

“They thought I was part of a protest and started checking if I had any flyers in my bag. Once my journalist badge came out, an officer from the information division came over for questioning. They thought I was covering the protest.”

“And then?”

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

Hmm.

Looks like the Magic Tower police are really tightening up on stop-and-searches. Seems like they’re trying to catch the protest instigators. Or maybe some high-up officials are pressing them to do so.

“These days, they even stop vehicles, right? If you fly around on a broomstick, you’ll trigger a magic trace check, so it seems like the protestors are now traveling by car.”

“They didn’t stop mine.”

“That’s because you’re in a diplomatic vehicle.”

Sophia chuckled lightly and took a seat.

A vehicle that wouldn’t get stopped… I never expected a diplomat would have such privileges. Maybe I should sell foreign cars with diplomatic plates like in North Korea—just a thought.

But my thinking remained just that—thought. No matter how much the intelligence agency operated outside of the law, that would be too disgraceful.

While I was lost in frivolous musings, Sophia casually ordered a drink and looked at me.

“So… why did our Defense Attaché suddenly call me here?”

“You already know what I’m going to ask.”

Naturally, it’s information exchange.

“There’s a way out if there’s a way in.”

And since the activities of information agencies encompass diplomacy, national defense, and security, this principle is usually followed to some extent within the intelligence community.

This principle tends to break down when one party treats the other like dirt. It happens when a major international intelligence agency throws its weight around against a smaller one, a behavior that has been present since the Cold War, regardless of whether it involved the First or Second World.

To put it elegantly, it means “sensitive information that exceeds the scope of intelligence cooperation cannot be provided,” and in simpler terms, it translates to “that information is unnecessary for you, so don’t even bother trying to know,” or “know your place.”

The CIA did this to the French DGSE, the British MI6, and the West German BND, while the KGB played the same game with East Germany’s Stasi and the Chinese Ministry of State Security.

It’s a thuggish act, but the U.S. and the Soviet Union were superpowers capable of punching a hole in any minor country’s face, which is why such antics were feasible. South Korean intelligence agencies have also faced similar neglect from American counterparts regarding North Korean matters.

Honestly speaking, the neglect also stems from a lack of capability. The U.S. has launched hundreds of reconnaissance satellites into space, while we are still stuck using a handful from the National Intelligence Service, the Defense Intelligence Agency, the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, and the Unification Ministry. It’s all because the technical intelligence field gobbles up budget like a hippo.

Of course,

“Obviously.”

“Thanks, Merlo.”

Patalia had just as much power as Abas, so such thuggish behavior was impossible.

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

That’s the rule.

“What information do you need?”

“Hmm….”

Sophia sniffed creepily and gave me a snake-like look.

Then, she drummed her fingers on the table to start her pitch.

“First of all… can you tell me how that thing I asked last time turned out?”

“The retiree issue? I have reported it to the higher-ups.”

Sophia had requested the Military Intelligence Agency to lift the surveillance it had placed on Fabio Verati. To be exact, it was the National Security Agency that asked the Military Intelligence Agency to do so.

Just as a diplomat represents their nation, an agency agent serves as the representative of their agency’s head when they’re out in the field. Thus, the National Security Agency, through Sophia’s mouth, made a deal with me, representing the Military Intelligence Agency.

For the record, I ignored that request long ago.

But since I couldn’t let her know that, I kept a straight face and fed her a lie.

“It seems like the operation has been suspended. It’s under review, I guess.”

“Under review?”

“It looks like they’re backing off and looking for another route.”

Although I was leading that operation and received all reports from employees in real-time, I had no idea.

“I don’t know the details either.”

Anyway, I don’t know.

It’s a ridiculous clown act, but the reason it works is due to the intelligence agency’s structure.

“You know this, but an official disguise and an unofficial disguise operate differently, right? The work and reporting systems are different…. I only heard about it secondhand, so I can’t know the exact situation.”

Information officers and operatives share similarities but also differ. Their work is almost similar, but differences arise in the finer details.

To put it simply, what an information officer does is unknown to an operative, and conversely, what an operative does remains a mystery to an information officer. This phenomenon occurs because there’s no communication channel for maintaining security.

Thus, the only ones who know all reports racked up by the information officers and operatives in the field are the higher-ups. And not just any higher-ups, but the really high ones.

So, unless it’s a special case, it’s quite normal for me, as an information officer, not to know how the operation is progressing.

Sophia didn’t seem oblivious to this, nodding in understanding.

“Okay. Thanks for helping me out.”

“Nothing between us.”

I’m the one who should be more grateful.

“Is that all you wanted to ask?”

“For now…?”

Sophia kept looking at me with a smile.

Though her mouth smiled, her eyes didn’t, leaving me unable to guess her true intent, and her adding unnecessary words made her reaction pretty alarming.

However, it’s apparent she wasn’t bothered by whatever thoughts I had.

She adorned her face with a somewhat sorrowful expression, gliding her fingers over her glass before making her pitch.

“What information do you need?”

“Francesca Ranieri.”

“…….”

“The alchemist from the Ranieri family leading the Original School. I need the information you have on her.”

Her finger’s movement slowed just slightly. Sophia calmly continued to trace the rim of her glass, but I didn’t miss that moment.

She briefly closed her eyes in thought and suddenly posed a question.

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

“I need to meet her soon.”

“Officially? Or privately?”

I didn’t bother to answer her question. She was an information agency agent too.

Surely, she wouldn’t lose her judgment due to a little alcohol, and drawing conclusions from incomplete information was our specialty, so Sophia merely floundered with ambiguous words as usual.

“Um… Merlo, am I thinking what you’re thinking right now?”

“Probably.”

“Really…?”

Sophia tapped the rim of her glass with her fingers.

The sound of the glass tapping her fingernail settled in the silence.

“…….”

Amid the ensuing silence, I quietly closed my eyes, replaying the judgment I had made long ago.

Because the conclusion of this conversation had already been reached.

And, just as I expected.

“…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. Due to internal regulations, there’s nothing I can do.”

“…….”

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

The deal fell through.

The information collection had failed.

“…I understand.”

It went according to plan.

 

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