---

It was a day when thoughts of my hometown didn’t come to mind for a long time.

In the listening security room located in the Magic Tower’s Abas representative office, a security terminal was making strange sounds on the desk, and I absorbed the outdated security program and numbers that appeared on the screen.

Looking at this outdated cryptographic material even by the standards of the 21st century, I couldn’t help but think, ‘This really is a different world.’

-‘… I see. Preparing for your return well, then. Are there any problems?’

“Nothing at all.”

-‘That’s a relief. We’ll discuss the details after your return.’

Rustle. The sound of paper gliding through the magic wave echoed in my ears.

-‘Are you well prepared for the debriefing?’

“Well, looking at documents is part of my job.”

I pulled out the operation manual and the intelligence reports from the desk drawer. The documents spanned hundreds of pages and contained all the information related to the intelligence operations conducted in the Magic Tower in the past.

No matter how much the information agency insists on minimizing documents for security, most of its work ends up being paperwork. The reality is that there is more time spent holding pens and keyboards than guns.

Perhaps in agreement, a chuckle came through the secure line.

-‘How’s it feel to throw away the advisor life and get back to the field? Is it hellish?’

“What do you expect? You’ve been an investigator for over ten years.”

-‘That’s how work is everywhere, you know.’

Before I could respond, a security data reception alert popped up in the corner of the screen. I clicked on the screen that popped up on the terminal and questioned Clevenz.

“What is this?”

-‘It’s the documentation you’ll need for your return. The details are written down for your reference. The password is 3174.’

The communication ended. The terminal, with the secure line cut off, turned gray to indicate the end of communication. I opened the downloaded security file and unfolded the random number book I had retrieved from the drawer to combine the password.

Inside the file were documents necessary for using the Warp Gate, methods for passing through immigration checks as a diplomat, means to contact neighboring branches in case of problems, and the locations for receiving activity expenses.

Sitting at my desk, staring at the screen for a long time, I took a deep breath and exhaled slowly.

“It’s time.”

Finally, it was time to return.

—

Episode 7 – Daily Life

Being an information officer is a boring job.

The information officers portrayed in movies often have glamorous and flashy images, but in reality, they lead ordinary lives.

You wake up, eat breakfast, get ready for work, attend morning meetings upon arrival, fiddle with some paperwork, grab a quick lunch, and then get back to paperwork until 6 PM when you clock out. Once home, there’s not much to do. If you’re family-oriented, you take care of household chores; if single, you might order a late-night snack to game or catch up on Netflix, and if you’re ambitious about a promotion, you study in your spare time. You drift off to sleep and repeat the cycle the next day.

The biggest concern of the day? Today’s lunch menu. Overtime is a no-go, after-hours work is a hassle, but payday is the best, especially when performance bonuses come in. Just seeing the words “National Military Finance Management Corps” on my smartphone lights me up out of nowhere.

There’s nothing special about being part of an information agency. It’s easier to think of it as just another job.

Things might be different if you get sent overseas or to a different region, but from my experience, there’s not much of a difference.

Of course, not everyone in the information agency has this materialistic mindset.

However, when you do the same job for over ten years, you’re bound to fall into a routine. You know those people who mark their retirement countdown after serving their time? Most of them are usually found wearing golf attire.

Once, I looked at those seniors wearing golf clothing, wandering around the office with an Android smartphone tucked into a diary-style case, wondering, ‘Will I be like that after another 20 years?’

Well, 20 years? What a joke.

I’m only a decade in, and it’s already torture.

“Good morning.”

“Ah, yes….”

After about two hours of sleep, I was on my way to the dining area for the hotel breakfast when I ran into Lucia in civilian clothes in the hallway.

Waving her hand cheerfully while descending the stairs, Lucia stopped in front of me and gave me a puzzled expression.

“You don’t look so well. Is something wrong?”

“I was working late last night.”

“Oh.”

—

Humans are creatures of adaptation.

Just like how a dog in a school can recite poetry after three years, I was starting to adjust to life abroad having been stationed for over three months.

It was the same for Camila, who had entered the third week of training.

“Accéndo.”

Whoosh! A bright red flame flickered at the tip of her fingertip. The blazing flame appeared small, akin to a candle, but its intensity was no less than that of a torch.

Watching the flame, Camila smiled broadly. In her other hand, a spellbook was precariously held.

The flames flickered according to Camila’s ability, sometimes swaying sideways in the wind or bursting forth.

“Wow! Flamethrower!”

Like a wizened old man with a turban playing a flute to charm a cobra, Camila danced around the room, commanding the flames with glee.

I quietly watched the spectacle, and when she came close, I splashed her with the water from a cup and gave her a light tap on her head.

“I told you not to play with fire indoors!”

Thwack!

“D’oh!”

With a smack on the head, Camila squinted, letting out a bizarre shriek that echoed like something from The Simpsons.

“I told you to practice magic on the rooftop! I cleared the pool for you to practice alone!”

“Kyahhh…!”

Just as I adapted to my life at the Magic Tower, Camila seemed to be getting the hang of her training as an information officer, fitting in study sessions for magic whenever she could.

Of course, she was still quite clumsy due to her lack of experience, bouncing around here and there like a ball of chaos, but under my supervision, there hadn’t been any major accidents that could result in serious harm.

But that didn’t matter to me. No accidents meant no accidents, and being scolded still happened.

“What do you plan to do if you keep carelessly using magic and burn everything down?”

Camila pouted while I ruffled her hair.

“I can’t use a gun, so I have to use magic!”

“I’ll let you practice shooting once we get a gun, but please don’t use magic in the room.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Now, let’s see what you’ve got in your pockets.”

“Why do you want to see my pockets?”

“Because there’s a cookie on the floor. I thought I confiscated it, but clearly, you couldn’t resist…!”

While scolding Camila, I discovered the cookie (a moving animal cookie) she’d secretly hidden and confiscated it. Camila protested, but ultimately, she could only pout with her lips poked out as I seized all her hidden food.

As I carried on with the search for cookies, bread, and drinks in her pockets and suite, someone came to the room.

With elongated eyes and lashes, she had a charisma about her. Eyes that resembled violets and purple hair braided to one side. An all too familiar face, known to both Camila and myself.

“Administrator? You’re back already.”

“Good to see you. Are you two doing well?”

Francesca, a senior official at the Magic Tower Secretariat and an alchemist.

“Welcome back!”

“I didn’t come back empty-handed, but I wonder if you’ll like my gift.”

She held up a luxurious-looking envelope or box. From the branding, it appeared to be from Patalia or companies and workshops with a long history associated with the Magic Tower.

“What is all this?”

“They’re items I brought back from my homeland to help with magic practice. I hope you like them. Would you like to take a look?”

“Oh, of course! But is this all for me?”

Francesca smiled slightly.

“Don’t worry. There are also gifts for the Saint and the Colonel.”

Camila expressed her relief and began to open the gifts Francesca had brought. I discreetly tried to snatch away a cookie while cheerfully greeting her.

“I heard you returned. I didn’t expect you to arrive this soon. How was your trip?”

I didn’t ask out of genuine curiosity. Considering Francesca was an important subject of the National Security Agency and that I had acquaintances there, I already had an idea of what she did while in Patalia.

But people have to pretend sometimes.

“It felt nostalgic visiting my hometown. I met some old friends and saw my brother. It’s been ten years, but it hasn’t changed at all. It was just as I remembered.”

“I’m glad you returned safely. Where did you go?”

“I just visited my old school, some friends’ workshops, stores, and the streets… I caught up with people I’d forgotten about.”

“I see. Speaking of which, you’ve been living abroad for over ten years. Did you visit your hometown?”

“I did visit the villa where I used to live. Well, it belongs to someone else now.”

“And how are your family members?”

“…….”

Francesca didn’t elaborate further and simply smiled quietly. It implied she didn’t want to discuss it. I suspected she was either still conscious of being monitored by the National Security Agency or that her family situation wasn’t good.

It seemed I had a new investigation on my hands.

I maintained a smile and tried to change the subject.

“It’s been so long since we met. Let’s eat together now that you’re back.”

“That sounds great. Thank you.”

“And if you don’t mind, could you share stories from your travels? I don’t know much about Patalia.”

She replied, “Of course.”

—

Officially, Francesca is a high-ranking official at the Magic Tower Secretariat.

She came to study at the Magic Tower as a child, graduated from prestigious universities, and entered the elemental school, one of the three major factions, as an alchemist, joining the mainstream of the Magic Tower. Currently, Francesca works as an administrator serving the Oracle in the Secretariat, and with a major reshuffling in the Secretariat, many media predict she will soon occupy a key position.

However, there are questions regarding whether Francesca Ranieri can occupy such a position due to her crucial background; the ‘Ranieri family’ is under heavy scrutiny by the National Security Agency.

Will the Magic Tower really seat a traitor from its staunchest ally, Patalia, in a crucial role? Will Patalia, the blood ally of the Magic Tower, overlook a public security felon’s rise?

Such spicy stories raise concerns among the continent’s gossipmongers and diplomats, and they will continue to do so.

Once branded with the scarlet letter of public security felon, such questions and the taint of dishonor will undoubtedly follow Francesca for life.

One thing these observers don’t know is that Francesca Ranieri is an informant being manipulated by a foreign intelligence agency.

And the information officer managing her is close at hand.

“I heard the news. There was some trouble during your trip, wasn’t there?”

I sat across from Francesca, who had returned to her suite beside Camila’s.

Looking exhausted, a visible weariness marked Francesca’s face.

“Yes, it seems the information reached you as well.”

She nodded calmly, recounting the events that transpired.

“A family member came. Someone who had worked at home for a long time. It was also my nanny.”

“I see.”

Francesca explained the context of meeting her nanny in Patalia.

Her tone sounded closer to reporting to a superior rather than sharing tales with a friend. After all, I was indeed her supervising officer, so I was essentially her superior.

“What did she say?”

“She said the head of the family wanted to see me after a long time. Well, to be precise, it was to have a meal together and see each other’s faces, but there seemed to be another intention behind it.”

The head of the family.

“You mean your father?”

“Yes.”

Patalia nominally operates as a democratic republic without a caste system, yet the government peculiarly recognizes the noble status of the Ranieri family.

Of course, this is fundamentally against Patalia’s constitution and would be hard to accept due to public sentiment against a class system, but because the Ranieri family maintains deep ties with the Magic Tower, which dominates the magical society, they have somehow managed to maintain their noble status through social consensus (or rather, the tacit approval of the state).

From what I remember, the current head of the Ranieri family would be Francesca’s father. He had taken over 20 years ago after the disgraceful fall of her grandfather, who ended up a public security felon, cleaning up the mess. The document passed down from Leoni categorically defines the current head of the Ranieri family in such terms.

The problem is,

“What is the reason for this meeting? Your family seemed to treat you as half a person who’s left the household.”

This questions the purpose behind the head finding an opportunity to contact Francesca.

The young lady of the family responded concisely.

“It seemed tied to some internal issue.”

Internal issues, huh.

“Are you unaware? Or do you not want to talk about it?”

“I don’t know that much either. I didn’t hear any details.”

Francesca explained she had only heard from her nanny that “the head wants to meet you” and “it’s an internal matter.”

“Do you have any recordings or any documents regarding this?”

“No.”

Francesca slightly hunched her shoulders and clasped her hands as she replied. Her expression had an uncomfortable air which made her response seem a bit suspicious.

“Did your nanny say anything else? What exactly is this internal affair, and where is this meeting supposed to take place…?”

“The only thing mentioned was to meet at the family home. It seemed she didn’t know any details either.”

“Was there no letter sent by the head?”

“No.”

I felt something suspicious lurking in her response and wanted to press further, but I decided to stop questioning here. It seemed I needed to contact Sophia.

“Understood.”

From then on, I asked various questions about what she ate in Patalia, where she stayed, if any suspicious individuals followed her, and so on.

After asking about these details, I found that her direct account roughly matched with the National Security Agency reports on Francesca, and I also confirmed that she hadn’t noticed the agents observing her from the National Security Agency.

Moreover, I learned some rather interesting developments that weren’t even mentioned in the Royal Intelligence documents.

“What was the villa of that family like?”

“It’s where I was born and raised.”

There’s no information available from the Information Agency, Ministry of Defense, or Ministry of Foreign Affairs. Maybe it’s a professional habit or something, but I found myself slowly probing into a little more about the villa.

Perhaps, just perhaps, I had an instinct that I might uncover the motivation behind Francesca entering this field.

“Were you not born at your family home?”

“No, I was born in the villa. My mother suddenly went into labor when she stopped by the villa for a respite, and a priest who was hard to find helped me out. I grew up there until I entered the Academy, but I often visited when I wasn’t feeling well. My grandmother was also there recovering, so I wasn’t lonely.”

“It’s a significant place.”

“It’s always a nostalgic spot.”

Of course.

“But why did you leave the villa and stay at a hotel?”

“Because it was sold.”

“…….”

I didn’t realize that Francesca’s villa, filled with her memories, had been sold at auction years ago.

I felt a bit awkward for unintentionally stirring up painful memories, but Francesca didn’t seem to mind much.

“Don’t worry about it. It’s all in the past.”

“Um… if I wanted to buy that villa back, how much would it cost? It’s still a place with memories, after all.”

“Would you want it? I would like to get it back.”

That was a positive hint. If she was willing to repurchase the villa, I would think about calculating a specific budget for future activities to give to Francesca.

But.

“What’s the price?”

“I think it was about this much.”

“…….”

The land price was no joke. I completely forgot how wrecked the real estate market was in this area.

Ultimately, I could only lick my lips in regret.

An awkward silence fell, and she gazed out the window like someone lost in distant memories.

In the dimly lit hotel room, her melancholic violet eyes blended with the night view of the gray city.

“It’s a place I miss. I always want to go back.”

*

I suggested we celebrate our return with a meal, but we couldn’t go outside the hotel to eat.

Because of the security detail.

With two saints being treated like state guests anywhere in the world, alongside a high-ranking civil servant from a prominent family in the magic society and a crucial visitor from another world, as well as a diplomat from abroad all moving together, security was a must. But we were in the Magic Tower. Given the current unstable security situation, it would be a very risky adventure to go out en masse with two religious figures for a meal.

And due to the characteristics of the Magic Tower, numerous restaurants refused entry to religious figures, which made finding a place that could accommodate Lucia and Veronica another hassle. How could we ever dine out peacefully like this?

Not to mention, if we sneaked out for a meal and something went wrong, the Magic Tower would end up in a troublesome situation, while ordering room service from the hotel felt a bit mundane since it was the same food we ate every day.

Of course,

There were still options.

“I’ve brought a chef.”

Thanks to the help of diplomats working at the representative office, I managed to invite a chef directly to the hotel.

Seeing those entering in a line, Camila, who was exercising nearby, tilted her head in confusion.

“Wow. Aren’t those the people who worked at the Arab restaurant you mentioned last time?”

“Not Middle Eastern, but from Mauritania. Upon investigating the restaurant owner, I found that the chef was quite well known in the Mauritania Continent, and apparently he was a head chef at a hotel until a few years ago.”

“Weren’t they a different religion? How did you manage to invite someone like that?”

In response to Camila’s question, I made a circular motion with my finger.

“Money, of course.”

Even if someone hates America and knows no English, they’ll still accept dollars. This is from my experience.

Anyway.

One might say it was excessive to bring in a chef for just five people dining, but since we were treating the saints of the cult, heroes, and a high-ranking civil servant of the Magic Tower, there was no need to save money.

The chef, who had closed his restaurant at the request of the Mauritania representative, came to the hotel and prepared a feast for us.

The food from Mauritania Continent has similarities to Middle Eastern and Southwest Asian cuisines. Even the method of slaughtering livestock for food preparation was alike. Just like how in Islam, livestock is slaughtered in a way that the animal is facing the ‘Qibla’ (the direction of Mecca) while reciting the ‘Shahada,’ Mauritanian chefs slaughtered livestock in accordance with their faith and prepared the dishes.

Goats, chickens, sheep, cows, and so forth.

The chefs, having procured the livestock somehow, slaughtered them in a proper manner and made them into our meal.

The reason behind the complicated process instead of simply shopping for ingredients stemmed from the religion and culture of the Mauritania Continent.

What was it called again? According to the diplomat who introduced the chef (a professional diplomat who had worked in Mauritania for 20 years), the culture in Mauritania Continent holds that serving guests with livestock raised at home is the highest form of hospitality. I couldn’t recall the exact name, but it seemed to arise from the nomadic people’s tradition of entertaining guests with their assets.

After the rare spectacle, we were treated to a feast of flavors.

Dishes from the Mauritania Continent, centered on spices, grains, meats, and fish, were adorned with sweet figs covered in olives and honey, as well as cucumbers. Dishes like pita bread, pilaf, falafel, hummus, kabsa, shurak, mandi, and kofta arrived, displaying an exotic cuisine that was hard to come by otherwise—making the dining atmosphere… well.

There was no need to elaborate.

“Wow, there’s a duck inside the camel!”

Lucia and Francesca, both not used to traveling abroad, and even Camila, who has been to Africa several times, were evidently excited to experience the dining culture of the Mauritania Continent.

“Wait, you’ve been to Africa often, but haven’t you tried Middle Eastern cuisine? The food in North Africa is just like that of the Arabs.”

“I haven’t been to North Africa. I usually go to East Africa or South Africa, where it’s just food made by kneading grains and water.”

Indeed, that was true. There was a vast difference in food culture when comparing the relatively wealthier nations of Morocco and Libya to places like South Sudan and Eritrea.

When I first went on a business trip, expecting it to be similar to Middle Eastern cuisine, I was shocked to see a rice dish (it looked like ketchup) packed with spices.

Camila, who was used to eating a flour-paste mixture, seemed to enjoy the Middle Eastern food as well.

Francesca had lived in the Magic Tower for quite a long but was probably experiencing the culinary wonders of the Mauritania Continent for the first time, while Lucia appeared to be intrigued not just by the food but also by the intricate processes and cultural flavors intertwined with their religious practices.

And I was pouring drinks for the saint sitting next to me.

“I don’t know if I’m a diplomat or a bartender.”

“Consider it an honor to serve a saint.”

“Oh, yes.”

The atmosphere was remarkably solemn, yet rather than the kind of conversation shared among officials bearing heavy burdens, it felt more like a group of older folks, who couldn’t engage with the young ones, clustering together to drink merrily.

As I poured drinks, I asked Veronica.

“Please tone it down with the drinking, Saint Veronica. Just how many bottles are you having a day?”

“Shh!”

“*Gulp-*”

Veronica, as if to silence any listeners, shoved a goat leg resting on top of the kabsa into my mouth.

The savory taste of meat soaked in soup, mixed with spices, filled my mouth to the brim. I’m not exaggerating; it really did fill me up.

As I struggled to eat the meat she shoved, Veronica glanced around and let out a small sigh as she picked up her glass.

“How could you speak like that in a place where everyone can hear…?”

“Well, do you seriously think about appearances while smoking a shisha in a tobacco shop during work hours?”

“That’s done in secret, away from the bishops.”

“You’re living quite an entertaining life, aren’t you, Saint?”

“I know that myself.”

That wasn’t a compliment.

As always, we chatted about trivial matters, slightly apart from the others, typically centered around Veronica spouting nonsense while I bickered back.

“The preparations for Raphael’s accession ceremony are almost wrapped up. Soon, Lucia will hold a canonization ceremony within the cult that will be one of the grandest in history.”

“Is that so? I can already visualize the splendor just hearing about it. Have the guest lists come out?”

“One can safely say guests are coming in from all around the world. Oh—I’m envious. A canonization ceremony fancier than mine.”

“Why on earth would an adult feel envious over something like that…”

“Envy is envy! I still have the ceremonial garment I wore during that canonization, you know. Would you like to see it sometime? It’s quite splendid.”

“Why on earth would I want to see that?”

There wasn’t much substantial conversation exchanged.

Veronica seemed preoccupied bragging about Lucia and Francesca, while I busied myself filling her drinks in sync with her praises.

“So, you see, our Lucia is an amazing person. She broke a rock the size of her head with her fist…”

“Ah, yes, yes. It seems the saint likes martial arts.”

“I’m telling the truth.”

“Of course, I believe this only exists in your imagination.”

We wasted quite a while chatting away.

The duties at the representative office were gradually normalizing, and my role as the Resident Officer was nearing its end. What remained was the responsibilities of the Information Officers at the Magic Tower branch.

Meanwhile, Camila and Lucia’s external activities were also being actively pursued, and any slight political and diplomatic issues regarding their activities, including those involving Camila, Lucia, and Francesca, were being managed by politicians like Veronica.

Moreover, Camila’s training as an Information Officer and her magical practices were also showing results, allowing me finally some relief.

“Just how long has it been since I’ve had a proper meal…”

“Want me to pour you a glass?”

“No.”

“Oh, come on, you’re kind of boring.”

Veronica pressed me to pour some drinks, insisting that self-serving would ruin the flavor. I followed her orders without complaint.

Once the mood settled and the meal was nearing its conclusion, Veronica poked me in the side.

“I hear you’re returning soon, Colonel?”

“Where did you hear that?”

“From the Abbas diplomats. They mentioned you would return soon.”

Seems some info from the Ministry of Foreign Affairs leaked.

It wasn’t something I’d intended to keep secret, so I calmly nodded.

“Yes. I need to make a quick trip back to the homeland.”

“Hmm. Is that so? I thought you were finally taking some well-deserved breaks after being so busy.”

She stretched, as if thinking she should give me a gift. I took her words as a joke and chuckled softly.

“I received a watch last time, why would you want to give me something else?”

“If I give you money, that would be a crime, but if I give you a bribe, that wouldn’t be a crime, would it?”

“Giving money to a spy is also a crime. The law indicates that is the case.”

“Just say you didn’t know.”

She casually dismissed the possibility that she might end up caught by the Protectors.

I wasn’t entirely convinced, but anyway, it felt nice.

“Thank you for your efforts, Colonel.”

Veronica extended a glass toward me. Judging by the sweet aroma, it must be date palm wine.

“The cooks brought it. I don’t like it, but what about you? Are you still on duty and can’t drink?”

“I told you I don’t drink.”

“Oh, keep insisting on that and I’m going to get hurt….”

She subtly smiled and waved the glass. It seemed that if I refused again, she might genuinely take offense.

“Saint, do you know that?”

“What is it?”

I accepted the glass she offered. Veronica probably had no idea what I was about to say.

“In the Quran, alcohol is forbidden, but wine made from date palms is not considered alcoholic in the Middle East.”

“The Quran? Hmm….”

Veronica momentarily frowned, trying to recall what the Quran was, but nothing came to mind. Therefore, she didn’t pay much heed to my trivial remarks.

“It doesn’t really matter, anyway.”

The glasses clinked together.

She downed her drink in one go, while I savored the date palm wine for the first time in 28 years.

Laughter and music mingled delightfully, and the grand glass windows filled with the luminous reflections of the magical city outside.

“Really appreciate all your hard work, Colonel.”

“It’s my job to work hard.”

This was truly the conclusion of an ordinary day.

*

After finishing the meal, I returned to the hotel room to unpack.

The night view of the Magic Tower shone brightly again today, and the streets, as always, were beautiful.

Just when I thought I was finally getting used to living in the Magic Tower, I was already set to return. I probably wouldn’t get to see this view again for a while.

As I organized my belongings, I pondered what gifts to bring back. What could I get for Camila, Lucia, Francesca, and Veronica?

“…Ah, I need to see my family too.”

-♬!

A sound echoed. The security device in my bag burst into loud beeping.

It’s Jake.

“Hey, what’s up, Jake?”

-‘C-Colonel!’

A panicked voice rang through the line. I could even hear Pippin yelling in the background.

“What’s going on? Where are you guys?”

-‘We’re at the representative office! No, that’s not important right now…!’

“Take it slow and speak clearly.”

-‘I have a senior at the Inspection Office who called me. I picked up the call, and… they said you’re on their watch list…!’

I couldn’t catch the rest. I dropped the device and stood there in shock, eventually collapsing onto the bed.

“Ah, damn it.”

I’m screwed.

 

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