Episode 1 - The Gray Man
Rain poured from the ashen sky. Summer's monsoon had arrived, chasing away spring. I'd been cooped up in my lodging for the past week. I shoved aside the damp blanket and shook the thoughts from my head. Sleep deprivation left my mind foggy. As I changed into my work clothes, I neatly stacked the papers scattered on the floor and filed them away in the cabinet. Twenty-eight years of planning, scrapped and rebuilt in a clean sweep. It felt like those twenty-eight years had been invalidated in just seven days. But an N-year veteran of the Intelligence Agency was used to this sort of thing.
The gray-tinted world was thick with humidity. Sticky air clung to my skin, and the smell of wet earth filled my nostrils. Even a city protected by ancient magic couldn't keep out the rain, it seemed. The cool breeze cleared my head, and my thoughts began to sharpen. As always, they raced swiftly, but my judgments remained cautious. I pieced together information, predicting what would happen next. Then I calculated my personal costs and benefits, formulating a new plan. Thrown into an unwanted gamble, I'd have to fight like hell if I wanted to walk away alive.
Just then, through the hazy mist, the gray city came into view.
"Haa... I really don't want to go to work."
As always, my lament changed nothing. A man with an umbrella pushed through the cold downpour, and one gray human melted into the ash-gray city.
Episode 1 - The Gray Man
"Hm, feeling better now?"
"Thanks to your concern, Colonel. I'm fine now. Thank you."
"Good, good. Health is important. From the looks of your face, you've been through quite the ordeal this past week."
"Not at all."
Colonel Clevins smiled and handed me a paper cup. The fragrant aroma of instant coffee—courtesy of the alchemists—wafted up gently. He took a sip, his face relaxing completely, then got to the point.
"We've put out the immediate fires over the past week. They won't make an issue of your military status."
"Thank you, Colonel."
"Save the thanks. What's so special about looking after my subordinates? Forget everything else and just focus on doing your job well."
The colonel spoke in his usual matter-of-fact tone. Right now, he was the only one with the authority to give me orders. Officially, I'd become a companion to the Hero—the nominal savior of the world—which had left my status in limbo. But on paper, he was still my superior. Though even that might change soon. Politics worked that way.
There were far too many politicians in this world who couldn't stand seeing others thrive. Why? Because if I, as a Kingdom Army officer, built fame alongside the Hero, it would stabilize the Kingdom politically. Not because I was doing anything that impressive. The colonel would make it so, using his network of informants. In any case, with the entire continent in chaos, no politician wanted any one nation dominating.
"I'll keep that in mind."
"Don't be so stiff. Put some color in your cheeks. You'll be dealing with people more now, and frowning all the time won't do."
A companion to the Hero by sheer luck. Lacking presence compared to the other companions. I wasn't sure I'd be dealing with many people, but if the colonel said it, he had something in mind.
"That was a long preamble. You must have plenty to catch up on with your contacts after being away so long, so I won't keep you."
The colonel crossed his legs.
"First off, you've been promoted to major. Congratulations, Frederic. If it'd come a few years sooner, it would've been a record. Shame."
"Thank you."
"No need to thank me. Anyway, you'll be announced as a Hero companion alongside the promotion."
The Hero must have completed her quest. Announcing the first companion with a promotion to major suggested she'd performed well. For major main quests from the palace, success mattered, but completion quality was key. Clear it within the time limit, kill X monsters—failing those bonus objectives dropped affinity even if you succeeded. If she'd botched this one? The Hero would be screwed, and so would I.
The thought sent a chill down my spine.
"...Are you alright? Your face just went pale."
"Ah, no, Colonel. I'm fine."
"Well, alright. Just remember the promotion and the announcement for now. Details later."
The colonel tilted his paper cup calmly and slid a document toward me.
"Your affiliation is an issue, though... Officially, you're no longer with the Intelligence Agency."
"I see..."
I feigned a glum expression. The reason I put on a fake sad face? I'd been officially cut from the Agency. True to his old-school intel ways, the colonel always spoke in circles, and I wasn't one to take words at face value. Hiding one soldier's status required countless backroom maneuvers. But that wasn't my concern. He had the authority and skill to handle it effortlessly.
Military Intelligence Agency's next director, Colonel Clevins Hendrick. From a prestigious military family. Connected to politicians. Expert heretic hunter and acknowledged elite of the intelligence world. Rough-looking, but surprisingly warm-hearted with a good personality. At a glance, just a successful, nice guy soldier. But crucially, he was intel. And intel agencies practiced a unique brand of "patriotism."
Anyway, unpacking what he said led to overly complex, profound nonsense. I lacked the talent to summarize arguments and string fancy words into plausible sentences. So, in my own words, his order boiled down to: "Don't take it too hard, Major. Patriotism isn't just working at the Agency, is it?"
Go be patriotic out there.
* Intelligence agencies don't deal in high drama every day. Mass media and culture paint them as shadowy, sinister outfits, but contrary to the thrilling fantasies, real intel work is bone-dry. Like anyone else: write reports, get approvals, attend meetings, eat lunch, slack in the break room, dodge the boss's dinner invites with excuses. The only difference? Everything's classified.
Agents are just regular civil servants getting paid by the state.
"Payroll hit this month?"
"Overtime must've padded it—looks fat. Check the bank tomorrow."
Restaurant near the Agency. The office ghosts huddled around the table. Lunch hour packed the place with office workers in clusters. Today's topic: this month's allowances. Worldwide civil servant rule—base pay was peanuts without bonuses and performance perks to cover living costs.
"Why talk money over food, you guys?"
"C'mon, Captain, you know lieutenant pay sucks."
The blond, tanned thug-looking guy launched into his woes. Jake, mixed-race foreigner—exotic charm if you were kind, straight-up delinquent if not. Next to him, the short bob-cut dwarf munched on a paper cup.
"Pippin, you're no herbivore—why eat paper?"
"Habit."
"Bullshit."
Pippin and Jake, the two intel newbies, started bickering. Both lieutenants, recent hires drowning in grunt work, waiting eternally for juniors. Smart and quick on the uptake, like all intel types.
"Shut it, lunch is on me today."
"Captain, sir! Yes sir!"
"Jake, quit bullshitting and grab some water."
The blond thug dashed off and returned with three cups. Would've called him Hot San if his hair were black. Lost in silly thoughts, I sipped the water as Pippin, who'd been nursing hers, spoke up.
"Captain, you took a week off without showing—sick?"
"Not sick, just needed time to think."
"Something bad happen?"
Oh, yeah—pretty damn bad. Picked as Hero companion meant heading to warzones. No way that was good. Fine for undertakers collecting corpse fees, maybe. And Hero matters weren't public yet, so I couldn't spill to these two.
Thinking it over, becoming a Hero companion brought headaches galore. First: food, clothing, shelter. "Leave home, suffer like a dog" rang true across eras and cultures. As a companion, no fixed base—housing instability inevitable. Meals would be hit-or-miss too. Felt like yesterday I was roughing it in Africa, bitten by mosquitoes all night. Now repeating that.
And I wasn't just adventuring. Joining a grand world-saving journey. I'd need hundreds of lives—I'd never even beaten the game. Proper "patriotism" in that mess? My body wouldn't hold up, mentally or physically.
Adventure risks life. Intel ops? Hyperbole aside, they risked the nation's fate. Could drag on for years. Success? Discharge and write a memoir—live off spy novel royalties forever. Colonel knew. Pitch the plan right, he'd assign manpower. Let Hero and crew handle fights; I needed backup aides...
"Captain?"
"Huh? Oh, why'd you call?"
"Been calling forever—no answer. Still not feeling well?"
"Captain, anything you need? I'll grab meds."
"...Nah, no meds."
Perfect—my Hot Sans were right here.
"You two ever wanna go overseas?"