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There is no pleasure without responsibility.

Everything comes with a price.

These two sayings have been confirmed as facts and truths by countless historical examples throughout the ages.

A prime example of this is the former assassin living with a puppy, who exploited an infinite duplication bug using just five loaves of bread and two fish.

One ended up dead from reckless gunfire, while the other faced permanent sanctions for disturbing the market economy and using unauthorized external programs.

(Three days later, he briefly returned under a secondary account but was ultimately reported to have quit.)

Anyway.

When chasing after pleasure, responsibility inevitably follows, and those who commit crimes must face just punishments.

Upon hearing news of the reverse coup, the Ministry of Defense of Abas quickly dismissed me from my military position.

“What happened?”

“I heard you were discharged.”

This was a decision laden with highly political, diplomatic, and military implications, as well as being a very sensible move.

Would it make sense to promote someone who had instigated a military coup and overthrown the local government? Especially as a diplomat.

As reckless as the Kien Empire might be, they had to face consequences when such an incident occurred.

Thus, the Ministry of Defense swiftly dismissed me and sent me back to my home country.

The problem is…

“But how can you eat with a coup going on?”

“No, sister. I told you multiple times that I didn’t instigate it.”

“…….”

“…Sorry. I’ll shut up.”

This is hell.

—

Episode 19 – HELLDIVERS

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The sky over the capital of Abas was gloomy once again today.

It was rather different from the refreshing sunshine and dryness of the northern Mauritania continent, known for its typical African climate in the Jamria Federation. This dreariness can be said to be the true charm of Abas.

It’s been a week since I returned home after escaping the hellishly hot town.

Living back in my homeland, which should have felt refreshing, was quite literally no different from a living hell.

“Hey, Rebels.”

As I lay on the sofa staring blankly at the ceiling, an official from the Abas Foreign Ministry came to pick a fight.

“…Why?”

“Oh, now you can understand my tone? You’ve really grown, huh?”

With his hands casually shoved into his pockets and a smirk on his face, he was quite the irritating combination.

The diplomat seemed to have a face begging for a punch. Adela, my older sister, approached like a child who had just discovered a new toy.

“Big news, big news! Our family finally has a rebel among us!”

“Adela, why are you causing such a ruckus again?”

“Then should I just stay quiet?”

I swallowed my pent-up tears. Even though it was the same words I had been hearing for a week, every single moment felt new for some reason.

“I’m not a rebel…”

“Yes, yes. Oh, really?”

Adela couldn’t contain her grin.

“We’re the ones who planted a bomb right in front of the Presidential Palace and captured the interim president, locking him in a pigsty. That’s what we call a coup, you little rascal.”

It was truly malicious slander. The fact that it was true made it even more cowardly.

“I’m not a rebel…”

Tortured by the diplomat’s malicious scheming (in short, slander), I could only cover my face.

The cost of bringing democracy to the Jamria Federation was harsh.

The Ministry of Defense, starting with my dismissal, formed a joint investigation team combining the Inspection Office, Military Police, and Military Intelligence Agency to persecute me, while investigators from the Ministry of Foreign Affairs and the Royal Intelligence Department held me all night without letting me go.

(??? : I’ve been a military policeman for 30 years, and I’ve never heard of a tank hijacking. Are you insane? / ??? : What kind of drug were you on to stage a rebellion with a metal pipe? Your urine tests came back normal…)

There were all kinds of unfair treatment, slander, oppression, and mocks to endure. I had to go through countless investigations and inspections.

And I had to do it all alone.

This was clearly targeted investigation.

(Royal Intelligence Department: What nonsense are you spouting? You did instigate a coup all by yourself. / Military Intelligence Agency: When did we ever tell you to stage a coup;;;)

Despite having done something good, this horrific outcome was beyond comprehension.

Is there any other such tragedy in this world?

(Ministry of Defense: Starting next month, we will conduct simulated training for responding to armored vehicle hijacking incidents. Each lesson coordinator should plan, disseminate, and proceed with the training without fail. / ????? : How do tanks get hijacked? Can we talk sense here??!)

“This is slander…”

If someone else had heard it, they would have been ready to make a fuss about it, but surprisingly, Frederick was genuinely in a position of grievance. He believed he was suffering from all kinds of slander.

The reason was simple.

“How can anyone be kicked out of their own home?”

“Does it matter that your mom kicked you out?”

Adela laughed out loud and dug up a memory from not long ago.

“I heard the investigation was over, so you were going to sneak in avoiding the cameras, but of all times, you got caught by mom and were kicked out.”

“She kicked me out really harshly.”

“The journalists who came to check out the commotion had to flee, startled by your mom’s voice.”

The mood back then was something else.

Broadcasting station officials, sniffing a scoop, barged into the residence, only to flee like they were hit with a lion’s roar from the royal court maid.

The problem was that all those moments went live on air.

[What has someone who claims to work at the embassy been doing all this time? Get out!]

[You shouldn’t infringe on others’ private lives!]

The scene of the royal court maid (senior official/mother) berating the military police captain (just a civil servant/rebel/my son) was vividly transmitted to living rooms across the country through the camera’s manual fade-out.

Military police handling transport, investigators organizing documents, even the head of the Military Intelligence Agency who was bedridden with an IV drip.

Foreign intelligence agents from embassies who didn’t even know me, as well as complete strangers.

They all watched as I was forcibly evicted from the residence by my mother, who had taken over the place.

“Isn’t this embarrassing?”

“Is it not embarrassing?”

“Well, since everyone in the country saw you get kicked out, it’s become quite the gossip. Even the royalty and the Prime Minister’s office has seen it.”

“…Damn.”

I cringed and winced at the thought. I was utterly humiliated.

“Foreigners will surely know…?”

“World star status for this level.”

The Abas Foreign Ministry official smirked, and I interpreted that as a sign that things had gone badly.

“I’m done for.”

Since foreign news coverage had come out, my associates likely heard the news too. My dark history would surely become the topic of conversation, like a dry snack at a drinking gathering for a long time to come.

Especially Veronica. She must have a grin from ear to ear already. No need to see it; I know it’s true.

Lying in a motel, hiding away, a particularly annoying housemate began poking me with their toes.

“Grow up; you should be thankful that it ended with just this. If your mom’s usual temper had come into play, you could’ve had your legs broken that day. Getting kicked out was actually lucky.”

“Shut up…”

That was not the kind of consolation I needed.

As I wriggled into the sofa trying to avoid the jinx, Adela slapped my back and bluntly said,

“Shut up and eat something.”

—

While I bounced from motel to motel, scraping by on borrowed time, the international community was immersed in a dangerously sweet game of political maneuvering.

A military rebellion stemming from ethnic-political strife. Then, a reverse coup by foreign forces. In just a week, two coups had taken place, and the fallout was no small matter.

Someone had to take responsibility.

Or pass the buck.

A 21st-century modern person who understands the meaning of “politics” (??? : The team gap is astonishing. / ??? : The political maneuvering is unbelievable!) could easily predict the outcome of this sweet yet perilous game.

“……”

“……”

“……”

For some reason, however, those raucous individuals were all like mutes.

“…So, everyone is quiet? You could freely share your thoughts here, you know, haha…”

“……”

“Haha…”

As if they had their tongues glued or their vocal cords crushed, those who usually acted like thugs were sitting silently like they had all swallowed honey.

The reason for this was obvious.

“Is the Duke safe?”

“Yes. There are no injuries whatsoever.”

The Kien Empire was in quite a difficult predicament.

Why? Because the Kien Empire was being courted by the new government of the Jamria Federation (Phase 2, military regime).

The military regime that had seized power through a coup wanted to entrust significant projects like natural resource development and infrastructure rebuilding to the Empire. It wasn’t because Kien’s companies were extraordinarily skilled or cost-effective; they were businesses known for their years of experience and clever maneuvering.

The problem was that Alexandra Petrovna had seized the hair of the military regime and wasn’t about to let go.

If it was the work of that Abas guy, the Kien Empire’s Ministry of Foreign Affairs would have been spouting a decades-old scathing statement, but since it involved the Duke, they could only shut their mouths like a mute who just ate honey and go, “…again?”

The Archmage of the Royal Family participated in a reverse coup—what could they even do about it?

This was a bad turn for Kien and obviously a great boon for Abas.

Alexandra Petrovna initiating a coup overseas is quite the juicy subject, don’t you think?

Well, actually, no. Not at all.

“I’ve heard there have been multiple skirmishes locally. Can we get an update on the condition of the Defense Attaché?”

“…Uh, well, it appears there are no injuries for now.”

Whether he’s gone insane or just on drugs, one Defense Attaché joined in on the reverse coup, and things escalated dramatically.

Not only did they steal tanks from the rebel armored units, but they also shot a tank cannon at the Presidential Palace and even went viral for beating local military police with a metal pipe!

It was practically a national embarrassment (though ironically it was a major self-sabotage).

“……”

Kien Empire, about to lose its mind due to a royal mishap, and Abas, on the verge of blowing a gasket from the drama caused by a recalled diplomat—there were plenty of reasons to throw insults, but one wrong word, and they could lose their necks.

Of course, neither side dared to play their cards in front of each other.

“What’s the High Priestess’s stance on this—”

“Let’s discuss that later.”

“…Ah, yes.”

The cult’s huge gamble, on which they pinned their hopes and dreams, flopped terribly, not even close to the severity of losing the family fortune in options trading.

The atmosphere in the Holy Land, Lateran, was utterly dismal. Gloomier than ever, the area was akin to a corpse hidden in the bushes that the search party failed to find.

The Pope, robbed of dreams and hopes, chain-smoked in silence, surrounded by Cardinals and Bishops.

His skill in transferring the ember from nearly burned-out cigarettes to newly pulled ones was impressive, but not to be outshone was the dark-haired (not a beast) High Priestess’s talent for making donuts beside him.

With the Pope, High Priestess, Cardinals, and Bishops all collectively chain-smoking, the stained glass images on the Cathedral’s ceiling were obscured, filling the air thick with smoke, making one wonder if this was an opium den or a place of worship.

*HACK HACK!* What’s that smell? Mediusa Cathedral maintained silence regarding all sorts of rumors concerning Saint Lucia, while an unidentifiable fog of gray smoke billowed daily.

“……”

“……”

“……”

Even as they exchanged glances, there were indeed men among them who felt the need to speak their minds.

The local governments claiming Mauritania Continent centralism went on about ‘foreign intervention in the Jamria Federation coup!’ While they didn’t get much response, they let the ‘unfortunate incidents’ arising from the new Jamria Federation government’s (3rd term) suppression of the coup (2nd term government) slide under the rug. Essentially, let’s pretend it never happened.

Moreover, Al-Yabd kept its stance of saying, ‘Brothers shouldn’t fight,’ and ‘Peace is important’ from start to finish.

Despite having plenty to say, the governments unwilling to be beaten up settled on this resolution after much deliberation.

“How about we call it a draw?”

*

After a week of eating the dust of others while getting interrogated, things had shifted a bit.

The investigators who used to lunge at me were now just loosely conducting their investigations, and the investigator who used to meticulously write case reports was slouched like dried fish in his chair, hardly tapping away at the keyboard.

*Sniff sniff.* A peculiar scent reminiscent of cheap incense wafted through the joint investigative unit. What on earth was happening?

As I rotated my radar to gather news from everywhere, my honed animal instincts whispered in my ear.

‘Aren’t you about to get a pension?’

What’s it matter if I get dismissed? As long as the paycheck keeps coming in and the pension accumulates, I’m golden.

Sure, I might miss a chance for a promotion, but I can still rack up years towards my pension, so no complaints!

“Yes, that’s sufficient. Please sign and you may leave.”

Well, the investigation’s over, though it’ll take some time for results to come in.

They say I could get disciplined or not, but to be honest, the discussion of any disciplinary action seemed very likely to fizzle out.

Stepping outside, I found Older Brother Jerry waiting for me. He waved and started chatting.

“Fred. Is the investigation done?”

“Yeah.”

“Great to hear. You’ve had it rough.”

Older Brother Jerry pointed to the car, urging me to hop in.

“What? Did you get a car?”

“Commute has been inconvenient. To use public transport, I’d have to leave the embassy area first, but it’s a pretty vast place. So, I got one.”

While our parents had their chauffeur service, Jerry and Adela didn’t. He initially tried to hold out, but given the inconveniences, he had no choice but to get a car.

For safety, the family had moved into the embassy, and they were still there. Meanwhile, I was still locked out since the lady of the house was pretty steamed.

I slumped into the back seat, grumbling.

“Seriously, how old am I and I’ve got no place to call home?”

“Should’ve bought one beforehand… Seems like Mother is slowly calming down. Why don’t you just go inside?”

“No thanks.”

As if it wasn’t even my house.

Rush hour, piercing in all directions. The throngs of people and moving cars in the city center felt like observing a massive ant colony.

As we tried to escape the city-bound mess, the car glided over the road. We chatted about this and that while looking out the window.

“So, I hear foreigners are commonly heading to Mauritania Continent?”

“Private enterprises? They’ve been expanding lately. Untouched land is like unclaimed lottery tickets.”

“Mining, oil extraction, gas drilling. You think they’re there to suck up magic stones too?”

“With no foundational industry around, resources are their only lifeline. But why the sudden interest in private enterprises?”

“Just curious if there are any notable businesses.”

“Um….”

While Jerry drummed on the steering wheel, he spoke after listening to the radio.

“Business varies by region, but the most active are mining enterprises. Though many countries have entered, the bulk comes from Kien firms. Like Rudakov and Garniak.”

“Aren’t both state-owned enterprises though?”

“Strictly speaking, they aren’t public corporations.”

“Come on, you know about half of the companies listed on the Petrogard Stock Exchange are practically state-owned.”

“Right, they’re supposedly private, but are actually half-owned by the royal family. Especially those involved with magic stones.”

It was some news to digest.

I flipped through a newspaper and stumbled upon a minor article about new resources discovered in the capital of the Jamria Federation, Umsalga.

“How does a capital suddenly have resources popping up?”

“Heard they hit oil wells.”

“…They found oil? For real?”

“Yup. They say it spouted up while they were reconstructing the capital.”

I tossed the newspaper in disbelief.

“Give me a break.”

We drove through the rush hour until stopping in front of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs. That’s where I met Adela.

She seemed like she just got off work, rushing down the stairs. Spotting the car, she sprinted over, flinging open the back door—

“What’s this?”

“…What do you mean, ‘what’s this’ to your little brother?”

Adela grimaced as she recognized me in the back seat. I returned the grimace, fully showing my displeasure.

“Get out now.”

“Fine. I’ll hop out since it’s filthy here…”

“Filthy? Who said it’s filthy! Hurry up and get out, you rebel!”

And here we go again.

Adela, throwing a tantrum while taking up all the space in the back seat, successfully hogged both spots.

“Ahh—so comfortable.”

Jerry smirked at his sprawled out sister, while I gathered my things and leaned slightly.

“Take her inside first, Older Brother.”

“Huh? Why are you getting off here? Aren’t you heading home? I thought Ayla was coming today.”

“I’ve got someone to meet.”

Peeking curiously between the driver and passenger seat, Jerry grinned and asked playfully.

“Whoa, are you going to meet a girl?”

Looking for some teasing material apparently, Jerry’s expression was mischievous, while Adela, as usual, scrunched her nose in annoyance and scratched her leg with her foot.

I kicked that filthy foot away and shut the door before replying.

“Yup.”

 

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