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Evidence has emerged.

It’s the crucial evidence that can prove the espionage allegations.

“We need specialized equipment to decode the microfilm.”

“Although we can’t check its contents right now, just possessing such an item is enough for an arrest.”

The investigators acted immediately.

The Captain swiftly left the scene to report to the Team Leader, while the Sergeant transformed into a forensic agent to photograph the scene, and I continued the search for more evidence.

My eyes first fell on the desk cluttered with countless storage devices.

There were devices that resembled bricks, long tube-shaped devices, and thin disks reminiscent of floppy disks.

I examined them slowly and asked the Sergeant.

“Can we open these storage devices right now?”

“Disks? We don’t have the equipment here, so we need to take them to the office and plug them into a terminal. They are delicate, so please handle them carefully.”

I see.

“Ugh….”

I licked my lips and set the disk down. I was really not fond of this area’s poor equipment.

I wanted to just swipe the RFID chip while passing by, hack with a spam email on a smartphone, or extract the hard drive from a computer. But no, I had to take it back to the office for verification. It was incredibly bothersome.

Although it was a treacherous and cringing way of handling things, what could I do? If there’s no teeth, you have to live with gums.

While I searched for evidence in the chaotic room, the Captain returned, opening the door. It seemed the report was already finished.

“Have you made contact? If the support request is done, we should start moving.”

“No, I can’t reach the Team Leader right now.”

What does this mean? Isn’t the person in charge of directing the operation supposed to be sitting in the office? This shouldn’t be happening.

As I tilted my head in confusion, the Captain quickly clarified.

“Apparently, he’s gone up to the surface with Squad 1. Something seems to have happened up there.”

It seems some significant evidence has emerged on the surface.

Considering that the Team Leader of the Information Agency is either a Grade 5 Civil Servant or a military officer (specifically, a Lieutenant Colonel or a Major), it was clear that some extremely critical evidence had been found.

The reason is simple. The Team Leader is a middle manager.

The Team Leader must compile the information brought in by agents into reports and submit them to higher-ups, adjusting and directing the team’s tasks based on medium to long-term or short-term goals. In other words, the volume of documents and information to handle exponentially increases compared to when they were agents.

Thus, most Team Leaders prefer to send their team members to the field while they stay back and guard the office.

Of course, this is not a universal story. After all, as human beings, there are Team Leaders who prefer the field over the desk, and if they are assigned crucial matters like orders from higher-ups or joint operations, they’ll need to be in the field as well.

I was a good example of this. I had been sent abroad on a mission for two whole months following directives from the Information Agency.

However, things were different for the Counterintelligence Department, specifically the Inquisition Team dispatched to the Advanced Military Magic Research Institute.

Why is it that investigators cannot move freely? The answer can be found in the nature of counterintelligence work and the field.

In counterintelligence work, investigators must never be spotted by spies. This is because spies might notice and flee or resist. Likewise, investigators must not be seen by civilians either, as a suspicious person lurking would cause civilians to panic and retreat.

Thus, investigators always operated not in the research facility, but in the office building, specifically in the most remote corners. They even ate in the office, only using the restroom right in front, and slept in the adjacent duty room.

But suddenly, the Team Leader leaves the office for the surface? With only minimal personnel left behind?

I don’t know the full details yet, but if the Team Leader is moving personally, it must mean something unconventional has come up. Or perhaps a major incident has occurred.

But what’s important right now isn’t what evidence has emerged.

The important thing is that the Team Leader has left their post, and the communication network linking the surface and underground is being tapped by the agency’s interception division and military eavesdropping unit. Therefore, to prevent a security incident, someone must go up and bring the Team Leader back.

“I don’t distrust the investigation division, but we should avoid communicating over the internal contact network of the research institute. That’s the Team Leader’s order.”

“Looks like someone has to go up to the surface.”

Riding the elevator up and passing through the security checkpoint to call the Team Leader in the housing area would definitely take at least 15 minutes. That’s considering I would have to run to the housing area without being checked.

“Colonel, how much time do you have left?”

“About 20 minutes.”

It would be tough to bring the Team Leader back, explain the situation, and devise an arrest plan within that timeframe.

Taking into account the time it would take to return to Camila Lowell, it becomes even tighter.

As I contemplated this, the Sergeant neatly summarized the situation.

“It seems we need to split here. Colonel, you go back to monitor the spy, and one of us will go up to fetch the Team Leader.”

As soon as the Sergeant finished, the Captain stepped forward, declaring he would go get the Team Leader.

“I’ll go up and get him.”

“Please pass through the check as quickly as possible. We can’t hold you up for long with the next inspection coming.”

“I can pass through the check with my Information Agency ID, so I’ll be back quickly.”

He sounded so firm that I had no desire to stop him, so I let him go.

In the meantime, the Sergeant handed the Captain the film containing the scene photos, and the Captain pulled out a small piece of paper from his pocket.

“What is this?”

“It’s an anti-magic protective talisman. You might need it, so take it with you.”

“Why do I need this…?”

Why on earth are you giving me such a suspicious looking item?

I was about to question this but the Captain swiftly continued speaking.

“Because you are the closest person to the spy.”

Given that I am the closest person to the spy, it may be perilous.

We are ordinary civilians, and our opponent is a magician.

Keep it on hand in case anything happens.

The Captain didn’t bother explaining why he gave me the talisman, but his intent could be summarized in about three lines.

Though we belong to different divisions, as colleagues, it’s natural to offer a little caution when helping each other out in a dangerous situation.

However, there was a world of difference between simply giving a warning and providing a talisman. No, it wasn’t just a matter of difference. It was like comparing heaven and earth.

This was akin to saying, “Just in case you might get stabbed while lurking, make sure to wear protective gear.”

Considering that the magic a magician unleashes is more threatening than any weapon wielded by a criminal, this is more like giving me a bomb-disposal suit.

I’m not responsible for the arrest, I’m merely a support tasked with monitoring the situation.

But, as always, the future is unpredictable, and nobody knows what could happen, so I quietly folded the talisman and tucked it into my pocket.

Of course, receiving the talisman didn’t miraculously make my anxiety disappear.

“…Why do you look like that?”

“Why?”

“No, you’re sitting there with a face like you’ve just eaten something sour….”

Facial expressions too.

“Did something happen?”

“No.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

When I answered curtly, Camila Lowell stopped questioning me. However, seeming unsatisfied, she tilted her head with a confused expression while running her fingers through her wet hair.

Watching her, I let out a short sigh.

“It’s just something personal.”

“Oh, I see.”

Given the nature of the Information Agency, revealing your identity, duties, or internal matters to someone who’s not involved in the mission without permission is strictly prohibited.

This applies not only to unofficial agents known as black agents but also to those with some degree of openness in their official identity.

Naturally, I could not disclose to Camila Lowell that “we need to catch the spy who’s been lurking around the research institute.”

That would be completely insane.

Should I have done so and the Information Agency caught wind of it, I would be immediately excluded from all duties and dragged to the Inspection Office. I’d be imprisoned for divulging confidential information, and when released, I’d be kicked out of the military without severance pay. Or worse, I could face execution.

In any case.

Before I could babble nonsense, I quickly changed the subject.

“What kind of inspection made your hair so drenched?”

“It’s nothing special. I just got a little monster blood on me, so I took a shower. A faint burnt smell lingered too… Do you still smell it?”

Camila Lowell extended her hand, still holding her damp, reddish hair. A vivid crimson hue. It was even more pronounced and vivid than when we first met.

I raised my hand to push her hand away.

“I can’t smell due to my rhinitis….”

I was reflexively inclined to say that I couldn’t smell it, but soon realized that my rhinitis was nonexistent.

“-I can’t smell it, but still, this is a bit….”

“Oh.”

Camila Lowell let out a short sigh, flushed a bit, and apologized to me.

“I’m sorry. I used to play around like this with former colleagues…!”

What kind of workplace allows such pranks where freshly showered hair gets shoved into someone’s face?

“What kind of company does that to colleagues…?”

“Well, it’s kind of a company that goes to remote areas a lot, you see. So, the hygiene management is lacking, and we play around like this.”

“And where exactly is this remote area…?”

“Africa! No, if I say it like that, you might not understand….”

Camila Lowell kept babbling on, trying to explain the area known as Africa to me.

In truth, I was far too familiar with that territory, but saying that would surely label me as a strange person, so I kept my mouth shut. What followed was a series of comedic exchanges. She tried to enlighten me about Africa, while I pretended not to know and made efforts to follow her explanation.

“The entire continent is a region engulfed in civil wars and terrorism. Not all countries are like that, but most face instability in security and dysfunction in administration…!”

“I see. So it’s a politically unstable and underdeveloped area.”

“There’s no electricity or water for 24 hours, and when you open the tap, muddy water comes out…!”

“Seems like many countries are not functioning properly. The security must be unstable, and the healthcare services must be terrible. Is it true that the groundwater and rivers are infested with diseases and parasites, so you have to boil everything to drink?”

“Yes! Plus, the highways are only two lanes and the road conditions are terrible…!”

“Sometimes dead animals are sprawled on the roads?”

“Exactly!”

So it was indeed the Africa I knew well.

Camila Lowell stopped me and began explaining why such jokes were made regarding her hair. In short, her elaborate explanation implied that it’s hard to shower in the area, and due to the tough working conditions, they often play around to lighten the mood. I found it puzzling how emanating a foul smell could be seen as a prank, but I just nodded along.

After all, she’s British. If a British person would put sardines in a pie, they might as well do anything quirky.

Eventually, I decided to sweep her faux pas under the rug silently.

“Right. It’s understandable to pull a bad prank sometimes when you’re living in tough conditions.”

“…Really?”

“Yes. I take it that the closeness between Camila Lowell and I allows for moments like presenting a hair smelling of burnt things.”

“Ah, for real!”

The dialogue between SpongeBob and Patrick couldn’t be more dignified than this.

And it probably wasn’t.

*

The conversation with Camila Lowell not only helped me gather information about her background but also eased my tension greatly.

Especially, there’s nothing as soothing to the mind and body as conversing with someone from the same world, even if not from the same hometown.

I had been living with the mindset of a temporarily displaced illegal immigrant worker, and it felt a bit comforting to talk about something related to home after so long. Information collection was a bit of a professional hazard, but that’s how it is. Anyway.

As the ten-minute conversation drew to a close, the person I had been waiting for finally appeared.

“Thank you for waiting. Have I kept you long?”

The Senior Researcher from the Biological Analysis Lab, Giada Bianchi.

She appeared with a very friendly face and greeted us.

“Are you alright, Hero? I heard you got covered in monster blood.”

“I’m fine now, I just took a shower. How did the inspections go?”

“Inspection results for 34 out of 37 items have been completed. All data has been accumulated, and starting next week, we’ll explore how your body’s magic power reacts when using magic.”

“That’s great! When will the results come out?”

“It should take about five days.”

Giada Bianchi pushed up her glasses as she attentively responded to Camila Lowell.

Seeing them converse felt just like a doctor and patient interaction.

However, one shouldn’t judge a book by its cover, as considering she had hidden dozens of disguised coins containing microfilm within her mattress, I couldn’t possibly guess what lay beneath that cheerful facade.

She was a woman capable of smuggling away dozens, perhaps hundreds, of documents.

Yet, I already knew that she was a spy, and she had no clue that the nets of investigation were closing in around her.

So I smiled at her and could shake her hand.

“I’ve been waiting, Senior Researcher.”

Good to see you, you scheming little one.

 

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