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The subtly elevated gaze difference still seems unfamiliar even after 28 years.

Tread, tread.

With a head feeling slightly feverish, I stood before the table. My body trembled with chills.

I slipped my legs into the tailored dress pants prepared by the hotel. Not an exquisite custom suit, but a ready-made one.

Dressed in the unremarkable suit that doesn’t even fit right, I threw on a brown briefcase and a coat. With my personal pistol and two spare magazines tucked into the inside holster of my jacket, I had completed an alarmingly ordinary embassy staff look.

Thus, I finished getting ready for work.

However, since someone high up said it was fine to arrive late today, I simply sat on the sofa in my casual clothes, staring out the window and wasting time.

Outside the window was still dark, and the world painted a bluish sky, reminding me that it was early dawn.

The difference was that the leaves of the street trees were gradually turning red.

“……”

Yes, that day has come.

At the end of summer. The gateway to winter.

The 28th autumn has arrived.

—

Episode 7 – Daily Life

The seasons have changed. Autumn has arrived.

A lot has happened in the past month, and many things are changing. No, they are in the midst of changing.

Fluctuations in international trade and the stock market. A re-establishment of diplomatic relations. Anti-government protests. Elections and appointments. Labor disputes. Rebellions. Civil war. Conflicts.

The economic crisis stemming from the Magic Tower is sweeping across the continent, and the magical society worldwide is undergoing significant turmoil, but time flowed like a river, and daily life continues.

People slowly began to reclaim their daily routines. Although not everyone returned to normalcy, many were in the process of doing so. Furthermore, countless individuals were struggling to regain that normalcy.

I was no exception.

“Good morning, Colonel.”

“Yes, hello, Detective. No major incidents last night?”

“Fortunately, nothing serious occurred.”

I naturally exchanged greetings with the Magic Tower Police Information Officer and headed toward the restaurant.

Although it was an overly mundane conversation for a spy and the one hunting spies, no one questioned it. After all, I was a diplomat.

Of course, not just any diplomat, but the Resident Officer. Moreover, I wasn’t a career diplomat; I was a spy, but nobody knew that.

But there are no eternal secrets in this world.

As I chatted and smiled with the Information Officer, Veronica, who knew I was a spy, shot me a puzzled look.

“Why are you bizarrely laughing and joking with the police? Doesn’t it feel uncomfortable? I think I wouldn’t be able to say a word in your place.”

“Isn’t it strange for a saint to feel uncomfortable about that?”

“Come on. Why am I the weird one? If there’s someone more sincere and honest than me, let them come forward!”

Saint Veronica, the 58th of the cult, smirked and began to praise herself.

I hadn’t noticed while being apart, but Veronica was surprisingly chatty, making conversations quite tiresome. By coincidence, it had become routine to stay in the same hotel and listen to her self-praise.

“Kind, diligent, honest. Is there a saint who personally travels abroad and rolls up their sleeves without being asked? At this rate, I’m far better than those old-timers stuck in their offices, right? Those guys don’t even exercise… And instead of sneaking food through the backdoor, I enjoy it right in front with pride. And I’m not even ugly.”

“That’s true.”

“With no one commanding me, I could entirely quit being a saint and spend my life frolicking like an emperor somewhere. If I’m not diligent and honest while earning this pittance, then the world must be messed up.”

“Thinking about it, you have a point.”

“Colonel, are you listening to what I’m saying?”

“Yes.”

“What did I say?”

“I don’t know.”

“……”

Veronica looked at me with the expression akin to a dazed character who just got splashed with water. After a brief moment of her lips quivering, she let out a deep sigh, her voice laden with grievance.

“Ugh….”

Whether she felt comfortable enough to talk a lot or there was no rigid hierarchy, for some reason, Veronica was particularly loquacious in front of me.

And not wanting to invite unnecessary misunderstandings, I was rather displeased with Veronica’s behavior.

“Saint, no matter how comfortable I am, you need to set boundaries. What saint wakes up in a hotel room with alcohol and an outsider? You need to consider my position too. If you keep acting like this, it’s going to be terrifying to run into the staff!”

“Well, the old-timers always have affairs with the government and live it up, but I can’t do the same?”

Her bold attitude matched that of someone in a high-ranking position. Or perhaps she was just shameless.

Thinking about it, Veronica always displayed such confidence even when breaking the law.

“You need to tone it down. There are people watching, and it’s not just me who would be in trouble if you keep crossing the Central Divider and engaging in illegal activities.”

“Francesca breaks the law every day. Not me.”

“Does that mean just because others break the law, you can too? What if you get caught?”

“If I don’t get caught, it’s fine.”

“……”

“As long as it’s not me!”

With the saint’s declaration that she would go off the rails, I felt a tightness in my neck. This has become my daily life of tolerating Veronica’s nonsensical blather. I should be getting used to it, but I simply couldn’t.

Listening to Veronica’s endless chatter and drunken rants in the hotel from morning till evening made me question whether this was what I enlisted for. Honestly, I felt it would be better to be dispatched to South Sudan or Syria for three years than to live like this. Of course, I didn’t really want to go back there, but still.

This wasn’t right.

No matter how much Veronica lived a chaotic life or acted like a scoundrel (she had a long history of being a habitual offender including chain smoking, drinking during work, leaving her post, illegal entry, economic crimes, and espionage), wrong is still wrong.

Unless Veronica was a complete stranger, she was my Information Agent. If she got caught by the media like other Cardinals or Bishops, it would be my loss.

When I decided to chatter about preventing my Information Agent from going astray, Veronica crossed her arms and pouted.

“Ah, whatever. Just take this quickly. Ugh, my head hurts….”

“What is this?”

“A bribe.”

I looked at Veronica with a frown at her sudden mention of a bribe.

“That’s just a little generosity to help out my little siblings, so just keep it.”

Huh.

I don’t understand why it was “our” little siblings, but it meant she was asking me to take good care of Lucia and Francesca.

As I accepted the box she handed over, lost in thought, Veronica asked with a flirtatious expression.

“What’s wrong?”

“If it’s a sin to receive money from a spy… I was just thinking if giving money to a spy is also a sin.”

When I gazed at Veronica with a puzzled look, she shot me a bewildered stare.

“Are you crazy?”

—

Speaking the truth in a world partly gone mad got me treated like a lunatic. I’ve lived in this town for 28 years, yet I have no idea why the world is like this.

Hearing a crazy comment from an Information Agent made me want to smack her upside the head, but alas, the moment I even thought about hitting her, the Inquisition agents would come along to teach me what faith really meant, tying me to a stake and burning me alive, so I chose to just endure it. Right. It’s not that I was afraid of the religious trials; I just didn’t want to lose my military pension in case I was sentenced guilty.

Anyway.

I went to work at the representative office today, just like any other day.

In fact, although it’s called a representative office, it’s officially a diplomatic mission. It means it’s treated the same as an embassy, consulate, or legation. Since it’s a diplomatic mission, most of the personnel working here are either from the Ministry of Foreign Affairs or dispatched from the Government of Abas. The security within the mission is also handled by the security team dispatched from the Government of Abas.

I am the Resident Officer officially dispatched by the Ministry of Defense of the Kingdom of Abas, and I was in charge of various documents related to officer duties and miscellaneous tasks here.

Of course, embassy work was no walk in the park.

“Manager, where did you put last month’s activity expense report? I just got a request from head office for any documents needing to be sent over.”

“Manager, I received a request from the Operations Planning Office to confirm the quantity of lost supplies and send it over.”

“Manager, they’re asking if we can move up the debriefing date. What should I say?”

“Manager, the reporters at the Magic Tower are unsure how to align the tone of this article. How should we handle it?”

“Manager, the branch office is asking if you’re going to participate in the Kien Empire’s upcoming defense industry exhibition? It’s being held near the Magic Tower, and the Empire is actually the most likely candidate for the next deployment.”

As soon as I arrived at work, an endless stream of approval requests flooded in.

I had to tackle the incoming tasks without even a moment to take off my coat.

“I already sent the activity expense statement. Didn’t the headquarters receive it? I sent everything except the slush fund expenditure reports, and it’s nonsensical to say they didn’t get the documents I triple-checked. Tell them to verify it again.”

“Why should we confirm items used during operations? It’s a short-term deployment; how would we know? Get real… I already made a list of what Task Force 73 used and sent it over. All matters related to the Magic Tower branch’s supplies should be passed on to another department. We have employees who have been stationed here for years, and they should know better. Next.”

“An article? Why should the Ministry of Defense care about that? Printing and media releases fall under the Ministry of Culture and Public Relations, so pass it over to them.”

“The defense exhibition’s tasks are originally managed by the branch information officers. If I don’t have to go, I won’t.”

“I’ll adjust the return date separately.”

Before lunch, I had to clear as many of the work piled up overnight as possible. Having arrived an hour late, I was determined to ensure I could clock out at 6 PM on time, using the minor structural issues of the public service (Isn’t this not our job?) to wrap up everything neatly. As I handled it all according to regulations, there shouldn’t be any problems. Probably.

Of course, I hadn’t completely offloaded all the work. There were far more tasks I needed to address than the ones I pushed aside, but fortunately, they weren’t very time-consuming. I was already quite familiar with this paperwork.

Embassy work wasn’t easy, but it couldn’t exactly be called difficult either. It was simply the same routine day in and day out.

Even calling it an Information Agency didn’t bring anything new. It was just a government entity operating on taxpayers’ money, with office positions all being quite similar. Things changed when you went out in the field, but I was working in the office at the moment.

Looking at the clock, it was already 12:00. Lunchtime.

Right on cue, Jake strolled into the office and asked me a question.

“Manager, it’s lunchtime. Aren’t you going?”

“I’ll eat after I finish this. You guys go ahead.”

“Yes, then we’ll head to lunch.”

I waved Jake off and sat at my desk, flipping through documents.

So much had changed, and it was still changing.

First, the economy.

The negative news about Abas hit the economy of the Magic Tower and surrounding countries hard. When the great powers circulated rumors about changing economic policies, the world economy stirred. Numerous countries, including the Magic Tower, suffered losses, and the beasts hidden in the gold smelled blood and rushed out to disrupt the economic order.

Of course, the economy hadn’t completely collapsed.

However, most countries experienced losses, and a comprehensive overhaul of economic policies became unavoidable. This meant a shift in the flow of funds. Just looking at the Magic Tower was enough—the city infrastructure that had been smashed was being rebuilt with money being thrown around, attracting businesses. It was anyone’s guess who would benefit from the shifts in economic policies due to the Magic Tower and neighboring nations: whether it would be the Kien Empire, Patalia, or perhaps Abas.

The tremors in the economy caused a huge shock across various sectors of society, and politics was no exception.

The governing party, whose economic policies had turned sour, was under heavy fire from opposition parties, rapidly losing support in real-time. No one could predict the changes brought about by unstable political situations, making it hard to gauge the power structure and foreign policy that would flip. In short, it was the perfect time for media manipulation and chaos. Of course, whether it was politicians, journalists, businessmen, or even suspiciously politically interested foreigners making a mess of things was anyone’s guess. For reference, the biggest hit parties from this incident were the three major factions of the Magic Tower and the Oracle.

But there were definitely groups that benefited from this as well.

The most notable examples were Patalia and the Kien Empire.

Patalia saw the ruling party defeated the opposition and claimed the position of the largest party in the National Assembly during the general elections. Thanks to the halo effect of a smoothly operating president (bolstered by generous ads from companies donating political funds), they scored a victory in the elections. While it wasn’t an overwhelming win, if things continued this way, the ruling party would likely triumph in the subsequent local and presidential elections. In short, they gained a political advantage.

On the other hand, the Kien Empire profited economically rather than politically. Because Abas sold raw materials in bulk, proclaiming he would ruin the Magic Tower’s economy (due to the geographic characteristics of the Magic Tower floating in the sky, manufacturing exports were the primary source of income like South Korea), the prices of raw materials dropped.

The Empire was currently engaged in a war with the Magic Realm. Officially, the Empire maintained it was a “territorial dispute,” but it was essentially a war with the ebb and flow of borders.

As obvious as it might be, war requires money. And lots of it along with vast resources. Of course, the Empire was rich in natural resources from its vast territory, but extracting and producing resources wasn’t something that happened swiftly. However, with Abas personally selling raw materials in bulk, high-quality natural resources flooded into the market at low prices. The Empire wasn’t going to just sit back and let this happen.

The Empire eagerly lapped up all the raw materials, ignoring the manufacturing nations suffering from plummeting prices. Iron, coal, magical stones, nickel, copper. They hoarded the resources needed to produce ammunition and operate equipment at bargain prices.

I pondered while checking the documents sent from the Ministry of Foreign Affairs and the Ministry of Finance.

“…….”

The continent was thrown into chaos due to an unexpected economic crisis, and fierce battles were raging in both the ordinary and magical societies to grab at their respective interests, but the real issue lay elsewhere.

In the Mauritania Continent, there had already been two civil wars this month. One country was already on the brink of collapse, considering withdrawing its embassy. No country among the dozens had been free from civil wars, and most of them were suffering under warfare, civil unrest, or warlords and dictators.

And from my experience, whether it was a warlord, a dictator, a terrorist group, or a typical tribe, in places where survival was threatened, weapons and ammunition were the most valuable commodities traded.

What if the weapons and ammunition produced from Kien Empire’s resources made their way not to the forces in the Northern Regions but instead flowed across the sea to Mauritania?

As I thought that, images of numerous weapons displayed in markets from Africa and the Middle East flashed through my mind. Soviet RPDs, Chinese Norinco TT pistols, handmade AKMs from Pakistani forges, North Korean rifles….

Just imagining it sent chills down my spine. I trembled as I recalled a time I’d clicked on something awful early in the morning, only to find myself staring at something I should never have seen.

Lost in those not-so-pleasant memories, I remained at my desk, processing documents until lunch hour slipped away. Having foregone both eating and sleeping, handling this much wasn’t an issue.

Embassy work was filled with paperwork to the point of being boring, and working overtime was like having a meal, so my daily patterns were completely wrecked. My health had even suffered. After stepping into the bathroom to wash my face in the morning, I was shocked to see someone resembling a drug addict in the mirror, so what more could I say?

But none of that mattered.

The tasks were nowhere near difficult, and climate or food posed no problems. It was just unfamiliar.

However, a problem I was unaware of surfaced.

“Manager?”

“Uh, what is it, Pippin?”

“It’s your crown….”

After lunch, Pippin, who had come back with takeout, covered her mouth.

As I was preparing a report based on newly collected intelligence and getting ready for the debriefing, a sense of dread led me to rush to the mirror.

“…Uh, uh oh.”

The once lush black hair that had covered my crown was nowhere to be found, and pale skin peeked through the sparse, grizzled strands.

“…Damn it!”

It was baldness.

 

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