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There is no clear cure for hair loss.

Whether it’s magic, divinity, sorcery, or even black magic, the established consensus in this town’s academia is that none can fundamentally cure hair loss.

This is evidenced by the current Pope, who, during a mass some time ago, had his hat blown off by a gust of wind, much to everyone’s amusement. If the Pope can’t escape hair loss, what chance do mere Cardinals or Bishops have? Even if Saint Veronica and Lucia brought elixirs and healed around the clock, it wouldn’t fix it.

Fortunately, the members of the Nostrim Family generally had thick hair. Both my father’s family in the Ministry of Finance and my mother’s royal clan were known for their lush locks.

In other words, it means there wasn’t a single soul among the grandparents suffering from hair loss.

But alas, here I am—28 years old and already hit by baldness.

This is driving me nuts.

“…….”

Staring at the void in a daze at my desk, Pippin and Jake tentatively approached to speak.

“Um… Manager *ahem*, Colonel. This seems like stress-induced hair loss, but there’s still a glimmer of hope—”

“Shut it.”

“Yes, sir.”

—

### Episode 7 – Daily Life

—

Sitting in the office, I reflected on the various reasons I was stressed.

First and foremost, there’s the issue of my job.

Being a diplomat seems like a breeze; it appears there’s nothing to do, and even when we file complaints, responses are slow—and sometimes downright rude! However, the truth is, diplomats are among the busiest people.

“Minister is attending a meeting soon; gather data on local political trends and key issues. It should be a well-rounded compilation.”

“Uh? Didn’t the headquarters already send this information? It seems unnecessary to duplicate similar materials….”

“Come on, the minister is coming, and we, as diplomats, can’t go empty-handed. Just put in a little more effort.”

“This time, we need the data on the ruling party’s defense committee chair’s territorial dispute remarks. We need that sorted out ASAP.”

“Really? Then let’s gather past materials from both the Ministry of Foreign Affairs and Ministry of Defense. We need to compile our government’s response cases, the processes, the outcomes, and identify the differences from similar cases… Also, let’s investigate local reactions focusing on the expatriates. Got it?”

“Oh, and by the way, the Counselor just got a speeding ticket. How should we handle the traffic fine?”

“Isn’t diplomatic immunity just a fancy term?”

“If we don’t settle this time, they won’t approve any new registrations or transfers of magical tools for diplomatic cars.”

“Bring that Counselor to me.”

—

Diplomatic privileges? Fancy-looking diplomatic plates on imported cars? It’s all just a fancy façade.

Even a 6 PM regular clock-out time comes with issues. Building relationships with low-level diplomats, local dignitaries, and foreign diplomats is essential, since as foreigners, diplomats tend to be easily forgotten if they skip even a single gathering.

Rarely does anyone discuss major matters with someone they hardly remember or aren’t close to. And there’s hardly a difference between a diplomat and a spy.

Thus, to gather information, you naturally need to build rapport first. For a diplomat, a promise is just an extension of their work. It’s routine to change clothes and hit three or four receptions after work. Generally, after swallowing that schedule, your actual clock-out time could stretch until 2 or 3 AM!

For reference, this is the tale of a ‘career diplomat.’ The situation is even worse for those in intelligence agencies.

Diplomatic missions can function with even just three people, sending only one information officer. Not only do they handle the host country’s affairs, but also the affairs of nearby unrecognized countries. They borrow personnel like arms dealers or oil drilling executives with ready-made identities. They also procure necessary equipment and safe houses for sent employees. And they don’t just stay in the office; they occasionally get pulled into operations…

Even amidst all this, when they beg for additional staff, they get coldly ignored. This is even a problem faced by ‘that’ CIA, showing that it’s a shared headache of all intelligence agencies.

Of course, underlying this is a complex education system, the processes for overseas deployments, and a numerical imbalance of intelligence officers that are hard to comprehend.

“…Sigh.”

For those working in the field, no matter what justification is given, the headquarters’ directives are always unwelcome.

Suppressing those feelings as I sighed, Jake awkwardly chuckled and spoke up.

“Cheer up, Colonel. At least our situation is better than that of other Colonels.”

“Just because others are struggling doesn’t mean my problems disappear.”

“I guess you’ll feel less stressed…”

And that wasn’t my only problem.

The job of a resident officer isn’t particularly difficult, thus there shouldn’t be that stress. However, it can’t be said that there’s zero stress from work. It isn’t just a question of workload or difficulty.

“Manager, communication coming in on Line 5.”

“Is it internal or external?”

“It’s external.”

“…Who is it?”

“Magic Tower Police.”

—

“Regrettably, as the Hero is not an Abas national, I must clarify that there are no laws or regulations in place for our representative office to provide compensation. I assure you I’m conveying this clearly.”

-“Colonel, we’re aware of the circumstances. However, the protests from civic organizations and local governments are considerable. It’s only been a month since we were in turmoil over the anti-government protests, and now the Orcs are uprising—what can we do?”

“While this is truly unfortunate, I’m not in a position to discuss our representative office’s official stance.”

-“Three buildings have been set ablaze. Regardless of the reputation of Sorcerers, that Hero has not been in any trouble. If we don’t clarify liability, this will surely blow up later.”

“It breaks my heart, but this matter requires consultation with the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, so I can’t provide an immediate response.”

-“Are you really going to proceed like this?”

“Truth be told, I’ve only just taken up this post. I believe it’s best to reach out to other departments first…”

-“If you keep this up, we’ll have no choice but to file a diplomatic protest.”

**Click.**

After finishing my call with the Magic Tower Police’s foreign affairs department, I slumped into my chair.

Although it was slightly over a 10-minute call, my limbs were trembling, and I felt tears almost welling up.

“Good job…”

Pippin set down the receiver and looked at me with pitying eyes.

Dealing with complaints.

This was one of the sources of stress these days.

You might wonder why a diplomat needs to handle complaints like a municipal employee, but there’s a plausible reason for it.

First of all, I’m a colleague of Camila. The Oracle deemed it so, and the cult ensured that my identity was undeniably verified, so that’s a fact with no room for argument.

Up to this point, things were somewhat manageable. But the issue lies in my status as a civil servant.

Camila is a guest from another world, Lucia is one of only two Saints in the cult, and Francesca hails from a prominent family that dominates the wizarding society as a high-ranking civil servant.

That’s where the core issue lies.

If Camila, Lucia, or Francesca get into trouble, those involved must voice their grievances. But those three hold positions that mere politicians or officials, let alone local dignitaries, couldn’t dare to confront.

Complaining to a Saint could very well result in a knife in your back on the street, and if you approach an administrator with complaints, whispers about the dignity and authority of the esteemed Raniere family would flood the air. That said, there’s no way to pin the blame on someone from another world!

So when, for instance, Camila damaged property during a fight with monsters, or when residents or tenants were injured in the chaos, or PMC executives lost jurisdiction due to participation in crowd control, or when Lucia faced the burden of medical costs for treating people for free, local organization executives eager for compensation, and those of different races facing hardships… all of them would have no way to voice complaints or seek compensation.

But as usual, humans are creatures who seek solutions, and desperation leads to communication.

Just then, a colleague at the Abas representative office, working as a resident officer, emerged…

As soon as the rumor spread, all kinds of calls flooded into the Abas representative office.

This was a phenomenon that not even the Military Intelligence Agency, the Royal Intelligence Department, or even the Ministry of Foreign Affairs had anticipated. Of course, they also never expected that my brain would be running low on memory.

“……”

“Manager, are you okay?”

“…No, not at all.”

Jake awkwardly smiled as he placed documents on my desk.

“These are documents sent from the company responsible for maintaining order in District 19. They want to schedule a meeting, and it seems it’s related to the Hero.”

“…They want money, right?”

“Whether it’s protesting or helping them lobby to get their restricted area back, it all comes down to the same thing, doesn’t it…?”

“…Damn.”

I scowled and sat at my desk to check the documents. It contained a brief request from some PMC executive wanting to meet with me.

Honestly, from an Information Officer’s perspective, this was good news.

Whether good or bad, getting to know someone meant the start of building connections for information gathering.

Yet, I was in no way thrilled.

“What did the headquarters say…?”

“They think it’s beneficial to engage with this company, which has no ties to us. They’ve instructed me to attend with the Defense Attaché Officer.”

The Defense Attaché Office. To be precise, the overseas section of the Military Intelligence Agency decided to actively take advantage of this situation.

Even though I wouldn’t be the one staying long at the Magic Tower branch, it would be advantageous for the Information Officers stationed there to develop a new network of intelligence through me. Moreover, those people would continue their activities at the Magic Tower even after I left.

However, it was my job to connect potential informants (clients) with Information Officers.

That was the source of my overwork and stress.

“So, how many evening appointments do I have…?”

“You’ll head to dinner with the politicians from the Magic Tower’s Elemental Department right after work, then have a meeting with officials from the Ministry of Justice and the Police at the hotel.”

“What? That doesn’t sound like too many.”

“And you need to meet with the Ministry of Magic officers dispatched to the Empire regarding the Hero, as well as some officials from an international medical organization who want to deliver a letter to Saint Lucia.”

“…Is that it?”

“Yes, you’ll only meet with the representatives from the Magic Tower’s defense industry who are participating in the bid to install surveillance equipment in the No Man’s Land, and then report back to headquarters. That’ll wrap up today’s schedule.”

“……”

What a disaster.

As soon as I heard the number of appointments lined up, I wanted to hand in my resignation, but unfortunately, I was a soldier. The orders from above were absolute, and I had to execute them somehow.

I headed to the hotel as soon as I clocked out at 6:00 PM, changed my clothes, and got a diplomatic vehicle to the appointment location.

After finishing more than five meals, when I returned to the hotel, the clock read 3:41 AM.

“…I better hurry back.”

I reported the information I gathered throughout the day to Clevenz and moved up the debriefing date. I needed to return to the Military Intelligence Agency to escape this hellish routine, even if just for a moment.

Fortunately, the higher-ups saw my miserable state in real-time and granted permission. Once the debriefing was over, I’d take a short vacation to recover my health.

Desperately wishing to return home as soon as possible, I dragged my exhausted body into the hotel.

Just as I was about to pop an antacid into my mouth, I unexpectedly ran into someone.

“Oh?”

“Nice to see you, Colonel. Fancy meeting you here!”

Francesca, the Administrator from the Magic Tower Secretariat, greeted me with a heavy travel bag and a passport in her hands.

“Administrator, wait. What should I call you now?”

“I’m still an Administrator for now.”

“Oh, I see.”

Francesca was an informant providing information to the Abas Information Agency. At the same time, she also cooperated in the operations carried out by Abas at the Magic Tower.

Now, however, she was my informant. I had received her from Director Leoni (essentially passed off to me).

“You seem quite busy.”

“Just a little overloaded… So, where are you headed?”

“Ah, I’m going back to my hometown for a bit.”

“Hometown…?”

As my sleep-deprived mind tried to process Francesca’s situation, I remembered her circumstances.

A prestigious graduate of the Magic Tower, an Administrator about to be promoted, the second daughter of the Ranieri family, a subject of surveillance by the National Security Agency, and an informant for the Abas Information Agency.

Francesca was under the surveillance of the National Security Agency as someone connected to public security offenders. According to what Leoni had said, Francesca had been banned from contacting her family in exchange for studying abroad at the Magic Tower.

But now she was going back to her hometown?

As I tilted my head, trying to grasp her illogical statement, Francesca smiled softly and spoke up.

“I’m going to see my brother.”

“…Ah.”

“It’s just a family grave, so it only seems like I’m going home.”

Francesca’s brother, meaning the eldest son of the Ranieri family, was deceased.

The cause of death was suicide. He had jumped into the river, and the police, notified by a passerby who witnessed the incident, had recovered the body and handed it over to the Ranieri family.

No one knew why he had died. The specific reason for the eldest son of the Ranieri family’s suicide was never disclosed to the media, nor was it included in the materials provided by the Royal Intelligence Department that Leoni had given. Only rumors circulated.

Considering the capacity of the Royal Intelligence Department, there were likely few who knew the true cause of death. However, Francesca, as a family member, might know something. Perhaps that tied into why she decided to go abroad for studies and later become an informant.

But,

“…How long will you be staying?”

“I think I’ll be there for about three days.”

“Take care while you’re there.”

It wouldn’t be polite to pry any further, so I didn’t hold Francesca back.

Moreover, once she departed, the Information Officers would report to Leoni, and the Patalia branch would initiate protection, so I didn’t stop her departure. The National Security Agency probably knew about her exit as well.

Thinking about the fact that I’d have to manage her in the future gave me a slight headache, but thankfully, she was easier to predict than Veronica.

Right, managing informants was part of my job. It was definitely easier and more comfortable than dealing with clients. Of course, it wasn’t entirely stress-free.

“Should I bring back a gift when I return? Though I might not have the means to do so.”

“No need to force it. Are you leaving today?”

“Yep, first Warp Gate.”

“You should hurry then.”

Just as I noticed the Magic Tower Police Information Officers starting to shoot glances at us, I was about to wrap up the conversation and take my leave.

“Oh, by the way.”

As Francesca was exiting the hotel, she spoke to me.

“The Hero is waiting for you; do you have an appointment?”

“…No, nothing scheduled.”

“I see. Well then, I’m off.”

Francesca gave a short bow and headed toward the direction of the Warp Gate.

I watched her receding figure before turning my gaze up at the hotel.

The central hall, towering high above the hotel lobby. The gracefully curved railing reflected the architect’s careful attention to detail, and from up there, a familiar girl was looking down at me.

She waved her hand enthusiastically.

“…Sigh.”

The third source of my stress.

 

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