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I’ve had military service twice, but I hardly had any experience eating field rations.

Mostly, I made do with plastic rice or combat rations; my only memory of having a proper field meal was just a few days during KCTC.

Even then, due to enemy troops’ flanking maneuver, the food truck got raided, so I couldn’t eat properly. If my memory serves me right, one of my colleagues called the enemy “red bastards” right in front of them, which escalated into a fight, and they got reamed by the controller.

Looking back, it’s funny, but at that time, everyone must have been so heated that those words just slipped out. We hadn’t eaten or washed, so everyone was on edge.

Anyway, I hadn’t had field rations again since then, neither on Earth nor here. Honestly, I’ve probably eaten more retro food from the Korean mart than military rations.

“What’s on the menu today?”

“Let’s see… spaghetti, boiled potatoes, salad, mushroom soup… Yes, that’s about it.”

Camila and I grabbed our trays and received our servings from the food truck. Today’s lunch menu was just so-so.

When cooking outside, especially if it’s military food, you shouldn’t expect much in terms of taste. With a ridiculously large number of diners and a ridiculously small number of cooks, the lowest-bid ingredients, and insufficient equipment, expecting a high-level meal is unrealistic.

*Thud.*

Still, looking at the blobs of ketchup and clumped noodles sliding down my tray completely ruined my appetite.

“…Is this even a meal?”

“What’s wrong?”

“Can you really call this food…?”

“It tastes good to me.”

Camila, with her picky taste, devoured the sticky noodles with a flair.

You could tell she wasn’t from a country that sticks herring into pies; her palate was surprisingly resilient. Or maybe she’d just lost her taste buds.

I set my tray beside Camila and stood up. At that moment, she looked up at me while furiously stabbing her noodles with a fork.

“Where are you going?”

I silently held up my communication device.

“I’ll make a quick call. You enjoy your meal first.”

It’s work time.

—

The process of preparing operations is quite complex.

First off, planning is no easy task. Setting a final goal is simple, but estimating the time needed to reach that goal requires drafting detailed plans for short-, medium-, and long-term actions, and determining the methods of disguising identities and infiltrating.

Then, you need to calculate the number of participants and their costs. This includes food and wages for employees, bribery for the immigration officer and customs officer when infiltrating, the rental cost for the office to use as a base, and vehicle rental fees.

In addition, you must establish a communications network connecting the field and headquarters, routes for supplying materials and funds, identify threats including counterintelligence agencies, assess the expected operational area, gather preliminary information needed for the operation, and set evacuation routes and emergency contact lists should anything go awry.

All of this had to be managed by the operative before the operation even began. I want to emphasize: before it ‘starts’, not after it ‘has started.’

That’s why everyone seems to distrust me.

Even those new operatives, who’ve been flying high in the field as information agents for years, bumble when handed real missions, so why would they trust me, who hasn’t even received proper training?

Of course, it had nothing to do with me, but anyway.

I’d been cutting down on sleep for several days preparing for the operation.

I tracked the target using the information networks of official identities disguised as diplomatic personnel and set up the identities and infiltration routes for staff with assistance from state-owned enterprises. I also discreetly hid initial funds and equipment through a fixed spy in Krovok.

“…I received the contact from the exchange, Officer. They said you received the package?”

“Yes, the weather condition at the port isn’t great, but it seems the staff from the consulate helped things go smoothly. Haha.”

It was said that the customs officer from the Kien Empire, who was supposed to inspect the ship carrying the equipment, was bribed by the military intelligence staff from the local consulate.

At first glance, it sounded like a mundane conversation, yet the person I was speaking with was an information officer and operative from the military intelligence agency, so it was definitely not an ordinary conversation.

“Anyway, I’m glad it’s resolved. I’ll visit soon to express my gratitude.”

“Oh, by the way, how did that work out? I heard there was some disruption.”

They were asking about the agremment status.

“Since it’s under the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, I’m not sure… well, I’ve heard from above that it will be resolved soon.”

“They said that the economic department of the representative office is holding negotiations today about the reciprocal dispatch of employees from private companies to promote economic cooperation. The situation is somewhat delicate, but there’s no need to muddy the waters, so it seems likely it will be resolved favorably…”

It seems there’s no problem with the infiltration of staff disguised as personnel from foreign subsidiaries.

The current climate involves a complicated situation intertwined with politics and diplomacy, but since the Magic Tower hasn’t restricted private investment, it was possible. Had we frozen the assets of the Magic Tower or declared a default on the national bonds owned by the Magic Tower, the economic cooperation and anything else would have been off the table. I’m somewhat relieved about that.

After wrapping up my call with the officer, I reached out to another person.

“…Officer. It’s me.”

“Oh, Manager. What’s the reason for your call?”

“The identity disguising is complete. I just checked, and there are no issues.”

“That’s good to hear. Right after, we just finished taking photos to send out to the press, and it would’ve been a disaster if our faces got revealed.”

The military intelligence staff who participated in the operation disguised themselves as personnel from a private company, but that wasn’t enough.

We had received cooperation from the Trade Promotion Agency and released news about an overseas investment from a seemingly legitimate private enterprise. To put it more precisely, we created an article stating, “A certain conglomerate is reviewing market research for entering the Magic Tower.”

“By the way, will cars really sell in the Magic Tower? I hear everyone rides broomsticks.”

“Come on, not everyone in the Magic Tower is a wizard, right? There are ordinary people, students, expats, and businessmen living there too. And I bet some wizards need cars as well.”

Of course, that’s all fake.

But to avoid making it obvious, we even invited a real journalist (who receives pocket money from the military intelligence domestic information officer) to take the photos. We even distributed some stock market rumors before publishing the article.

Moreover, all those rumors were taken by agencies, foreigners, and regular investors, making it a perfectly executed disguise.

Stock manipulation? I wouldn’t know a thing about it. If they hate it, they should’ve avoided buying stocks.

Anyway, the identity disguise was perfectly completed. Now, the staff just needs to infiltrate, scout the office, establish communication networks, and receive equipment and funds. By then, I should also be in the Magic Tower.

“I will keep checking the information coming from headquarters.”

“It seems the preliminary work will take about two weeks. Where will you monitor the target’s movements?”

“The local staff will handle it. I’ll upload the data to the database every dawn for the officials to verify.”

“Thank you. So, what about the briefing…?”

“I’ll formally do it once I arrive locally. Not everyone is gathered yet anyway.”

“Okay, understood. See you at the operation site.”

“Take care.”

—

After wrapping up the work agreement and returning to my seat, the meal atmosphere had already begun to settle in.

Irregular patterns of living and eating are the source of illnesses, but life has been so hectic that I often skip meals, so I didn’t think much of it.

I quietly sat down and asked Camila, who was resting her chin on her hand.

“Did you finish your meal?”

“Hmm? Where did you go?”

“I just went to make a call.”

It seems she was startled by my sudden appearance and, after a moment, tilted her head in confusion.

“Why are you on the phone for so long…?”

“Well, there are just so many people making calls today…”

Though I made the call, that wasn’t really important.

Looking at my tray, I found the spaghetti had completely swollen and turned mushy. It was already clumped together, and now it had gone cold and could hardly be eaten even if pressed with a fork. Just as I was thinking about getting another serving,

“Would you like me to warm it up?”

Camila said while igniting a small flame at her fingertip.

“Won’t that burn it? If the fire touches it directly.”

“A bit of heat will probably melt it.”

“This isn’t ice or something…”

If I really heated the spaghetti, I would likely end up burning it all.

But I couldn’t exactly go out and find a portable stove, nor would it be proper to whine about wanting more food just because we cooked for more people than necessary.

“…Hmm.”

But no matter how much I thought about it, a good idea wouldn’t come up. The only option left was to ask Camila to warm the spaghetti for me.

With the flame minimized, Camila concentrated hard to warm up the spaghetti noodles. Bubbling appeared along the edge of the sauce, making it seem like it was actually warming up.

“Oh, that’s amazing. Have you done this before?”

“No? It’s my first time.”

Her fingers, familiar with roasting marshmallows and melting chocolate, seemed to work their magic, turning the once soggy spaghetti into something edible. Though the sauce wasn’t bubbling away, I thought I’d possibly be able to twist it up with my fork.

After focusing for a long while, Camila extinguished the flame and wiped the sweat from her forehead.

“It’s done!”

“Can I eat it now?”

“Yes!”

I absolutely trusted her word and flipped the spaghetti with my fork.

*Squish!*

“……”

“……”

“…Camila, is your major in the humanities or sciences?”

“…Uh, it’s in conflict studies…”

“…That sounds like a humanities major.”

The spaghetti was indeed well-heated.

On top.

—

Getting two humanities students to warm up spaghetti was a failure. They had only applied heat to the top and hadn’t distributed it evenly, which was the expected result.

This is why my mother always insisted I go into the sciences instead of the humanities. It made sense why she would say not to even consider those humanities majors during the college entrance exam.

At least, no one got hurt, and no one was watching this mess, so I counted my blessings. I was almost embarrassed enough to want to die. Not from the fire, though.

“I’m sorry…”

“As long as you didn’t get hurt, that’s what matters.”

Holding a new tray of food, I sat next to Camila. Luckily, the mess hall prepared more food than necessary and managed to keep it warm, so we could enjoy a nice hot meal. It turned out the cooking equipment was ordered from the Magic Tower.

Eating with equipment sent from a group that dispatched spies felt oddly ironic, but that’s just how the world works.

I twisted the spaghetti noodles in the sauce and started the conversation.

“Camila, are you planning to continue participating in the barren land operation for a while?”

“…That’s right. It’s a good chance for magic practice.”

“Then let’s sign a contract.”

I pulled a contract out from my pocket and handed it to her. Camila’s eyes widened, and she asked what on earth this was.

“It’s a contract made by the Ministry of Defense. It’s payment for your participation in the barren land operation.”

“Who’s it for?”

“For you, Camila.”

“For me? Why?”

“You’re not a soldier. Even if it’s the Ministry of Defense, it would be major trouble to exploit you without compensation.”

To be precise, I didn’t want to get caught up in political controversy over effectively forcing a civilian and a hero to work like a slave. But that didn’t concern Camila.

What really matters is this.

“Well, you know, the Ministry of Defense contracts construction businesses every year for construction management services and whatnot.”

Facility management is outsourced both here and back on Earth. The Ministry of Defense in South Korea isn’t any different; it would be the same here. Right now, even the buildings for the Royal Intelligence Department and Military Intelligence Agency were constructed by domestic large corporations. The same applies for overseas diplomatic missions.

While it’s okay for diplomatic missions to contract local companies, given security concerns, it’s preferable to use domestic materials and labor whenever possible.

Thus, the Ministry of Defense wanted to contract with Camila who’d participate in the barren land operation, reducing political responsibility and maybe putting a spin on their image through the public relations department.

“I believe there are no clauses that would damage your interests. Still, just in case, hire a lawyer to review the contract.”

“I can’t afford that.”

“Then take it to the hotel and review it. There’s a lawyer among the guests from the cult.”

If the contract leaked, it’d be catastrophic, but thanks to the years spent coexisting with the Inquisition, I could charm Director Bernard into helping out. Otherwise, I could contact Director Petrus as well.

Camila scrutinized the contract carefully and then said,

“…Hmm, I understand!”

I asked her as she gathered the contract excitedly.

“How do you feel about signing a contract with the country? I’m curious.”

“…I don’t particularly feel anything.”

Whether she was trying to act cool or truly felt nothing, I couldn’t tell. It wasn’t overly important, so I twisted my spaghetti. I was hungry.

Just as I was about to dig into my late lunch.

*BANG!*

“*Cough-!*”

“Hmm? Are you okay?”

“Choking… excuse me, please…!”

Caught off guard by the sound of a distant horn, I started coughing as the sauce splattered around my mouth. Camila patted my back while I continued in my fit of coughing. After a while, I, like everyone else, stood up from my seat.

Who on earth would honk their horn during a meal? I felt like I needed to see the face of the culprit.

And soon after, I found that person.

“It’s nice to see you again.”

“……”

“Could you come over here for a moment to talk?”

It was the Royal Intelligence Department.

 

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