---

The night spent in one of the remaining communist-socialist countries on Earth wasn’t so bad.

Coca-Cola cheaper than water and exotic night streets. Thanks to the socialist dictatorship, security is reasonably decent.

In fact, someone might feel something odd seeing an Asian person in civilian clothes watching cable television in a building at a naval base in Cuba, which the US has leased indefinitely and where US troops are stationed, all while Fidel Castro is living with his bright blue eyes wide open. But that’s as far as it goes.

No one questions affiliations or reasons for visiting. The guard at the entrance didn’t, the sergeant passing by in the hallway didn’t, nor did the soldier standing at the door now.

So I comfortably sat in a chair, lighting up a cigarillo that Cuban workers had brought to the black market.

…Sizzle!

Smoke began to rise.

As the grayish breath floated up towards the ceiling, a fluent English voice resonated from the corner TV.

There was the American president quietly delivering a speech to the audience.

[I have said repeatedly that America doesn’t torture.]

Oh, what a voice.

[I’m going to make sure that we don’t torture.]

The pronunciation was impeccable. Perhaps he had Senate experience, as his tone was smooth. I casually pulled out a portable ashtray from my pocket and flicked it once.

While I admired the neatly dressed president’s remarks, a somewhat awkwardly accented exclamation came from behind me. It was in Korean.

‘What the hell is that?’

A slightly plump white man wearing horn-rimmed glasses pointed at the TV and asked.

‘Michael is here? After spending a few years in Pyeongtaek, he’s practically Korean now. Swearing and everything. Is this your first time seeing him in Cuba?’

‘Mr. Kim, I’m so damn glad to see you. What’s that guy doing?’

‘What, Obama? He’s your president, right? Why act like you’ve never seen him before…?’

In response to that comment, the president on television answered the moderator’s question.

[Those are part and parcel an effort to regain America’s moral stature in the world.]

To that, an American former soldier stationed in Korea muttered in disbelief.

‘What the hell is he saying?’

‘Obama said, ‘I’ve repeatedly said that America doesn’t torture. We absolutely won’t torture. Anyway, we won’t do it, and the specifics, oh ho ho, I have no clue~’ right?’

‘…I’m a native speaker, you know?’

‘Right, I guess so.’

As the small talk came to an end, my American friend cheerfully extended his fist. It was our first proper greeting in the three minutes since he walked into the room.

I smiled lightly and asked him.

‘So why are you here? Other guys are already filling in for me. Cubans and all.’

‘Actually, I came about that issue. I need to find you inside.’

‘Now?’

‘yup.’

‘Alright, I’ll head where they say to go. Can’t believe they have me working before I even adjust to the time zone…’

‘Work life is always like that. They rented out the whole building, so take it slow.’

‘Thanks. It was tough finding you since it’s urgent.’

‘What’s the big deal about that?’

As I opened the door, I nonchalantly tossed the cigarette butt onto the floor. The wind blew and scattered the sand, while the flag of the United States proudly flapped on its pole.

I walked under that flag, crossing through the area where the terrorists were caged in, adorned with masks and earmuffs, and reached a makeshift building.

It looked like a building sliced in half, resembling an igloo at the airport. Inside were colleagues and one red-faced guy.

The red-faced guy was hanging from the ceiling, just like something out of a third-rate slasher movie.

As I half-pushed myself through the iron door, my colleague standing nearby greeted me with a disheveled appearance.

‘You made it?’

‘What’s going on?’

‘We caught that red-faced guy in Venezuela. He won’t answer the questions and just keeps babbling nonsense. Can you handle him instead?’

‘Hey, I just got my entry stamp. Why am I being tasked with work… what nonsense is he spouting?’

‘He says what we’re doing is illegal. Uh, what was it? If you get the card…’

‘It’s the Hughes-Ryan law.’

‘Huh?’

‘It’s the anti-torture law, you idiot. How did you even pass the written exam? This is common sense.’

‘What are you saying? Ah, I don’t know about stuff like that. I’m just trying to smoke a cigarette, so can you sort out how to make that guy shut his mouth? Damn it…’

‘Got it.’

‘Oh, by the way. Can I have a cigarette?’

As I pulled out a new cigarette, my colleague lit it with me.

He took the cigarette and gestured to the Cubans to step out for a moment, and I approached the guy hanging from the ceiling, taking a few puffs.

‘Hey, red-faced guy? Can you hear me?’

‘…….’

‘You must have picked up some strange info… the Hughes-Ryan law only prohibits torture on American soil, you know? And South Korean law protects criminal suspects from violence or coercion during the investigation process, and in court, right?’

Hmmm.

‘This is Cuba, you idiot. It’s not American soil.’

The discarded cigarette butt flew through the air in a graceful arc.

After a brief flight, it landed behind the plastic covering laid out on the floor. The room was completely filled with the plastic the employees had spread.

Before long, it seemed the break was over as the employees filed in, and an American friend, closing the door, gestured for me to get in touch once he was done.

‘Let’s finish this as cleanly as possible and get out.’

The door shuts.

‘I could do this all day.’

Darkness descends.

It was pitch black.

—

Episode 7 – Daily Life

Time flowed and flowed, and before I knew it, November was right around the corner. The relentless passage of time felt so swift it was almost cruel, like the footsteps of a giant.

Lucia remained in the Magic Tower, continuing her medical work for the critically ill and the poor. With the new pope’s enthronement and the birth of a second saint approaching, the cult was preparing for the most splendid canonization ceremony ever, but Lucia, the star of the ceremony, seemed uninterested in such things.

Veronica went back and forth between the Magic Tower and the cult to assist Lucia. Her abilities, representing the emperor’s position, shone in the midst of the complicated political landscape. As soon as she grasped the turbulent political climate filled with dukes, terror, and political machinations, Veronica swiftly threw herself into the Magic Tower. She explained that she was using the power of diplomacy and international politics to widen her influence within the cult, but watching her regard Lucia like a child put out in the water, it seemed she was genuinely worried for Lucia’s safety.

Francesca Ranieri finished her personal schedule and returned to the Secretariat. To be precise, she had visited the grave of the deceased elder son of the Ranieri family, spent a brief time in Patalia, and was about to enter the Magic Tower soon.

“Yeah, I read the report, Sophia. Are you saying Ranieri is returning home on the late flight today?”

-‘That’s right.’

“I checked the gate entrance and the time, so I’ll send the kids. It’s been over a week since we’ve received any news, so let them sleep a bit while you take care of things.”

-‘Taking care of things is our job; there’s no need to mention it.’

Stationed at the Magic Tower’s representative office, I received that news from Sophia, an informant working for the National Security Agency from Patalia.

“Oh, and about Ranieri. Was everything okay in Patalia?”

-‘There was a bit of a commotion back home, but… well, nothing worth worrying about.’

“What happened?”

-‘The Ranieri family tried to make contact with Francesca.

Suddenly, the words Leonie had said before came to mind. Francesca had supposedly severed ties with her family as a condition for studying at the Magic Tower. I had heard she personally went to the National Security Agency headquarters, signed documents, made her fingerprint, and even swore an oath.

But the family was trying to make contact first. What a surprise.

“I can’t believe they don’t understand what a vow means to a bunch of magicians. Are they really a family of mages?”

-‘How would I know? Who knows what they’re thinking? In any case, the Ranieri side contacted us through a servant first, and headquarters is currently checking the details.’

“Okay. Just let me know what comes up. I’ll reach out if anything happens on my end. You’re working hard with all the civilian affairs.”

-‘Want to share a drink when you get back to the Magic Tower?’

I shook my head lightly.

“When you return, I’ll probably be back.”

-‘Oh, really? What a pity. Well then, see you later, Merlo.’

“Yeah. See you, Sophia.”

There had been a minor incident, but it seemed Francesca was returning well. Lucia, Veronica, Francesca—they were all doing their jobs well. Now, there was only one person left.

I hung up the secure line and gazed out the window.

Outside, the dark blue sky of the Magic Tower unfolded. Beneath that dark sky, brilliant lights clustered into a river, and people bustled about on the streets, stretching out like veins.

Sitting in the dim office watching the beautiful night view reminded me of a cigarette, but the fact that I had been smoke-free for 28 years suddenly crossed my mind, and I smacked my lips.

Unconsciously, I moved my hand that had been rummaging in my pocket to lift the receiver. This time, it was a regular line.

The dial tone rang, and a moment later—

-Click.

With the sound of the receiver being lifted, the other party answered.

-‘…Ugh. Hello?’

“Hey, Camila.”

-‘Oh, Colonel!’

It was Camila.

-‘Are you still at the embassy?’

“No. This is the representative office. But anyway.”

-‘Yes?’

“Are you eating something right now?”

-‘…….’

An awkward silence lingered for a moment. About two seconds.

-‘…Um, no? I’m not eating! They told me to watch my weight.’

“…….”

I momentarily covered the receiver with my hand and let out a deep sigh.

“…Hoo.”

I really can’t take it anymore.

 

---