Episode 4 - Why Are You Doing This Only to Me
"Alright, it's late, so let's catch up later. Let's wrap up the meeting first."
Still dazed under the gaze of my old superior, whom I'd thought had retired long ago, the Royal Intelligence Bureau chief seized the floor to liven up the atmosphere.
"Agreed."
"Thank you, Director."
With the heads of the two intelligence agencies reaching a consensus, the meeting resumed. The Royal Intelligence Bureau grabbed the mic first.
"The reason we've gathered you foreign guests and the major here is none other than..."
The Royal Intelligence Bureau chief cleared his throat and flashed a smooth smile. Then he swung the bat straight at Military Intelligence.
"...to request that you hand over the overseas operation Military Intelligence is running with the Magic Tower to the Royal Intelligence Bureau."
The relationship between the Royal Intelligence Bureau and Military Intelligence was more intricate than one might think. In some ways, it was even more tangled than the dynamics between Earth's NIS and Defense Security Command, or NIS and Intelligence Command.
On the surface, both agencies maintained the stance of "safeguarding national security through mutual cooperation." But in reality, each harbored the ulterior motive of "crushing the other to climb over them."
Why did these two intelligence agencies sustain a relationship of competition and rivalry rather than cooperation? The answer was simple: one thing only. The "attention of the head of government."
In dictatorships, intelligence agencies compete and clash to win the dictator's favor. In democracies, they vie for the president's attention. That favor and attention manifest in various forms. And the most direct indicator of a leader's interest? Budget.
Intelligence agencies are state organs, and all funds they use come from officially allocated budgets. Naturally, securing those budgets requires passing parliamentary standing committee audits and budget reviews. Like any government department or agency, without "results," it's hard to get generous funding for the next year.
That's why intelligence agencies worldwide twist themselves into knots to squeeze out even a pittance more in funding. And needless to say, this held true here as well.
"Overseas operation? You're saying hand over the mission tracking the spy infiltration's mastermind to the Royal Intelligence Bureau?"
"Yes."
"What the hell does that mean?"
It was a question that wasn't really a question. How the Royal Intelligence Bureau had learned of Military Intelligence's operation didn't matter. They were an intelligence agency, after all.
In response to the Military Intelligence director's question, a key decision-maker from the Royal side adjusted his glasses and took the mic.
"Royal Intelligence Bureau Policy Director speaking."
Policy Director—the number two in the agency, overseeing administration, personnel, and audits. He answered in the chief's stead.
"Director, what kind of organization is Military Intelligence? Military intelligence. An agency that collects info on foreign militaries. So, wouldn't it be proper for spy-related matters to fall under the Royal Intelligence Bureau rather than Military Intelligence?"
In other words: You're soldiers, so stick to foreign armies.
Military Intelligence's number two, the Chief of Staff, revealed his displeasure.
"The Higher Military Magic Research Institute leak is under military investigation. Military Intelligence detected it, launched the internal probe, and their investigators made the arrest. What authority does the Royal Intelligence Bureau have to demand a handoff of a case Military Intelligence is handling?"
We already sank our teeth in, so quit yapping and back off. The chief of staff wrapped it politely.
The mic swung back to the Royal side. A plump man introducing himself as the Secretariat Chief waved a paper with thick fingers.
"Information on Geoda Bianchi. Where'd that come from? Us, the Royal Intelligence Bureau, right? This wasn't a solo success by Military Intelligence."
So... to sum up the situation:
Military Intelligence detected unauthorized comms from the Higher Military Magic Research Institute. Recognizing it as encrypted (using random number ciphers), they immediately requested cooperation from relevant agencies. The Royal Intelligence Bureau accepted the request (sharing Geoda Bianchi intel) and passed it along. Military Intelligence used that to gather evidence and successfully arrested Geoda Bianchi (alias for an unknown shaman).
Thus, the Royal claim: "We contributed to the spy arrest op, so the follow-up (tracking the backers) should be ours."
Military Intelligence's response was straightforward.
"Don't make me laugh. No handoff."
Fuck off.
*
The meeting room's atmosphere turned to shit in an instant. "To shit" was the only way to describe the cutthroat vibe—enough to make onlookers shiver.
"Don't make me laugh? You think this is a joke? Is intel ops a game to you soldiers?"
"Trying to steal a smoothly running op makes me laugh. Why can't you get it through your thick skull..."
"Those 'smoothly running' overseas ops—how'd they all turn out?"
"Hey."
Some latched onto words and hounded relentlessly.
"Setting aside suitability, we can't help but doubt Military Intelligence's capabilities. Over the last three years, your ops against the Empire and Magic Tower have failed more often than before..."
"Why's that our fault? Internal audits and debriefs already cleared the handlers of any wrongdoing."
"But the failures happened."
"Hold on. Let's get this straight. Were our ops dismantled by enemy counterintel due to handler negligence? Or because a double agent in the Cabinet Security Office leaked info, dragging everything down?"
"That fallout hurt Royal Intelligence staff too. Lost networks go without saying."
"Sorry to interrupt, but the ones rotting in prison? Our people. The ones who died on the spot? Our people. Compared to Military Intelligence's damage..."
Some shoved stats and results in faces.
"The Royal Bureau, with less than half our size—think you can pull it off even if we hand it over?"
"How about joint then?"
"Forcing incompatible teams together just gives headaches. We're prepped and setting conditions—adding outsiders now? We'd sink before launch. Who takes the blame?"
Some invoked accountability.
"If you're talking available manpower, we have more. Military Intelligence is a massive org combining domestic and overseas, right? And you know better than anyone that headcount doesn't equal competence."
"Doubting Royal command ability, eh? This is quasi-military with potential armed clashes. Even the army wouldn't hand that to greenhorns..."
"...What?"
"Did I say something wrong?"
Some undercut based on org size and nature.
Reason and emotion, logic and contradiction tangled into discord. Fact-bombs and personal attacks flew; shouts and finger-pointing crossed the table.
The mediators—Policy Director and Chief of Staff—glared at each other. The top dogs, who should command their seconds, didn't budge: Royal chief and Military director.
As all the operatives raised voices like they might flip tables, two remained unfazed in the chaos.
One sighed, rubbing his neck: Military Intelligence Counterintel Chief Clevins. The other propped his chin, scanning docs: my ex-boss, Royal Intelligence Bureau's Leoni.
"......"
I closed my eyes quietly, lost in thought.
Royal trying to snatch Military's op. Military scrambling for results. Unknown shaman breaching surveillance. Backers behind the spy. Unknown intel tied to the spy case. Royal-Military rivalry. Real Geoda Bianchi's whereabouts. Magic Tower independence. Empire fracture. Two saintesses. International scene. Tangled interests. Everything felt faintly connected.
Something. Something's brewing.
Suddenly, Clevins's words resurfaced: Earn trust. No people, so you do it. Become irreplaceable. Absolutely.
"......"
Chewing it over, it wasn't just for Military Intelligence.
As I mulled Clevins's words, our eyes met.
"......"
"......"
A fleeting moment passed; he quietly turned forward. I dropped my gaze to the floor.
No words needed. That sufficed.
*
The meeting ended without meaningful results. Consensus: cool overheated heads, need time for practical talk.
Over two hours of nerve war between orgs—astonishing. No fistfights, so silver lining.
Royal chief pulled me aside post-meeting for tea time. Official reason: shock from reunion, calm down. Real aim: sound me out. Clevins waited till I left, drove me out. Mood sour, no chat till capital arrival. Before exit: reminder not to forget his words.
Midnight nearing, finally off duty.
"...Major? No, Frederic?"
"Yeah, nice to see you. Camilla."
"Why're you here?"
Camilla Lowell—Camilla—tilted her head in the hotel hall.
"Just got off. Wanted to see your face before heading home."
"Off now? It's dawn!"
"Overtime."
No energy to explain. Too much crammed into short time. Past two months buried in docs seemed leisurely now. I was dead on feet.
Craved bed, but old safehouse burned—Inquisition sniffed it. Barracks or dorms felt too work-like.
"Can I crash?"
"Sure. But... you okay? You look rough."
"......"
No answer. Too much, too fast—even I couldn't process. Tangled interests, intel turf wars, spy case, Tower treaty breach and independence bid... Explain to her? Doubtful she'd grasp. Plus, all classified.
So, awkward smile, brush off like always.
Blessedly, Camilla didn't pry, led me in.
Wondered why up at dawn; chatting with Lucia, she said.
Greeted Lucia with Camilla, crashed empty room.
"......"
01:07, green clock glow. Desperate thought: Hate going in tomorrow.
*
Something shaking. Red light seeps through dark lids. Humanoid shape swims red sea toward me.
Familiar yet never comfy headache; slowly opened eyes. World blurry.
"...What."
Squinted; hazy cleared. Black hair ahead...
Wait. Black hair?
"......!"
Snapped alert. Checked person: her, alright.
"V-Veronica?"
"Snap out! Hurry...!"
"Wh-what're you doing here? You can't be...!"
"Screwed, totally screwed...!"
Veronica muttered disjointedly, dragged me from bed to living room. Urgency in every move—bad sign. She'd stayed cool with Imperial Guard tailing; panic meant mega-mess.
Living room: Camilla, Lucia glued to TV news.