Episode 5: Journalists, Diplomats, Soldiers, and Spies Averted
The prevention of journalists, diplomats, soldiers, and spies wrapped up successfully. The meeting ended on a warm note, and the press spun the event into a heartwarming story. Sure, there were some minor protests from folks who couldn't stomach it, but none of that made the news.
Thanks to the Magic Tower's consideration, I returned to the hotel without crossing paths with the reporters. Camilla Lowell and Lucia came along. Back at the hotel, while they headed off to rest, I grabbed the items I'd prepped in advance and changed into a neatly pressed suit. My stint as military attaché was over.
"Sir, everything's ready. And Room 51 has arrived."
"Tell them I'm on my way."
Time to head back to the operations office.
Former: Patalia National Security Agency, Overseas Counterintelligence Division Officer
Current: Magic Tower Representative Office, Talent Development Institute Section Chief
50s male. Both parents alive. Family man with wife and four children. No alcohol or smoking habits. Clean criminal record.
Moritani expert with 20 years in the region. Rose quickly through the ranks to section chief in his early 40s—an elite officer. Future promotions seemed assured, yet he resigned after just two years. Reason for resignation: unknown. Not even his operational or staff colleagues in the National Security Agency know.
Appearance: Utterly ordinary, the kind you pass on any street. If anything, kindly-looking.
Personality: According to National Security Agency colleague evaluations, affable and without rough edges—a likeable everyman.
That was my rough assessment of Fabio Verati. The most common of common men, anywhere. A man who'd strived endlessly to appear that way, eventually molding himself into it.
Considering he'd served in Moritani—the danger zone second only to the Empire—and hit section chief in his early 40s, I could easily guess just how tough the guy really was. My overall evaluation: not an easy opponent.
I hadn't noticed from the analysis team's scraped photos, but...
"......"
He looked gaunt as hell when we met at the bustling café.
"...Pleased to meet you. I'm Fabio Verati, from the Representative Office."
Fabio Verati extended a business card with his haggard face. Intel folks rarely carry them, but he had one printed with his affiliation and name.
I examined the card he'd handed over, paused for a beat, then replied.
"Frederic Nostrim, Abbas Representative Office, serving as military attaché. I haven't received my cards yet, so I don't have one to give."
"No problem."
Fabio Verati and I exchanged the usual pleasantries. The situation wasn't right for heartfelt chit-chat anyway, especially with all the eyes on us. Suited guys guarded the café door outside, and at the next table, another pretended to sip coffee while side-eyeing me.
Probably not counterintel agents. As I stared them down blankly, the gaunt-faced Fabio Verati spoke up.
"...They're my colleagues. Don't misunderstand. They just came along out of worry."
"I see."
Whether it was genuine concern or surveillance, I couldn't tell. But surveillance it was, for sure. I'd half-expected it, so I brushed it off and cut to the chase.
"I heard from the police about your daughter. She's involved in the incident I witnessed, right?"
"...Yes. If it's not too much trouble..."
"Of course I'll help."
I affirmed it calmly, and Fabio Verati dipped his head slightly in thanks.
"I'm sorry. I should've found her sooner, but my schedule got delayed."
"...No, sir. You have nothing to apologize for. I'm just grateful for your help."
I gave a faint smile and nodded.
"Before I explain the situation, mind if we move somewhere else? This is heavy stuff, and the venue doesn't feel right."
"...Ah, I'm fine. Whatever suits you."
"Then, excuse me for a moment."
I got permission from Fabio Verati and his colleagues, then shifted to the hotel. The excuse was that the spot wasn't suitable for such a grave discussion—but given that I was the one who'd kidnapped his daughter, the whole thing was pure comedy.
*
The most uncomfortable thing since dropping into this other world? Conversation.
Not a language barrier. Magic or some miracle—whatever it was—made talking to people effortless.
But the frustration Camilla Lowell felt wasn't about words; it was communication. Take this example:
"This is totally like magic."
"It is magic, though...?"
Folks here couldn't grasp "like magic" as an idiom. Magic was just a law of nature to them. Like objects falling to the ground or the moon rising at sunset—magic was merely a phenomenon, a rule. So people for whom magic was everyday life didn't get the expression.
Thus, Camilla Lowell—unfamiliar with magic—was adapting to the world with a bit of a language disability.
"...Hmm, we use it for stuff that normally wouldn't make sense."
"Really? That's a fun way to put it."
Lucia sat on the sofa, smiling softly. Add a fireplace, and she'd fit right in a movie scene.
"Mm. You said you lived in a world without magic, right?"
"Yeah. Movies and novels have it, but no real magic."
"Hard to imagine. A world without magic."
Lucia, raised in a world where magic was given, struggled to picture one without. Camilla's tales amazed her, but so much was beyond imagination. Imagination builds on knowledge from senses, and without experiencing it, conjuring the unknown was tough for Lucia.
"Sounds hard to picture. Unless the Church archives or the Magic Tower's Great Library had records."
"Great Library? Oh... That Trinity place, right?"
Camilla rubbed her chin, and Lucia, tapping an imagined auto-shelving bookcase, continued.
"Famous spot. You'd love it if you went."
"Have you?"
"Never been myself, but I've heard stories from those who have."
Lucia recounted the Great Library tales from countless priests, her voice steady. Shelves crammed with tomes from myth and legend through the Dark Ages to now. Mages' preserved knowledge slumbering in endless stacks. A place where sky met earth, time dissolved, past and present crossed, and seers glimpsed the future. Fairies flitting to sort books, tools copying pages on their own. Pure fantasy, straight out of film or novel.
"Incredible. Makes me wanna go."
"No reason not to. Biggest magic book collection on the continent—they'd let you in anytime if you ask."
Camilla thought she'd head there tomorrow.
"Who do I ask? Government folks?"
"That works, but Frederic could handle it. As a diplomat, he'd nail the formalities."
"Mm..."
Camilla hummed, then looked up at Lucia.
"Know where he is now?"
"Probably his room... Oh, wait—he mentioned stepping out to meet someone earlier."
Lucia added she'd heard from a passing inquisitor but didn't know who or where. Naturally, she was clueless that the inquisitor was Inquisition, or the military attaché was Military Intelligence ops.
But it didn't matter to Camilla. Neither knew.
"Hmm..."
Camilla gazed at the sinking sun outside. The sun, dyeing the sky hazy, gazed back. Lucia watched her profile and quietly closed the book on her lap.
"What're you thinking?"
No answer. Deep in thought. Not wanting to disturb, Lucia stopped questioning, stroked the closed book, and reopened her page. We'll chat as a trio when he gets back, she thought.
*
"...Hah."
I slumped on the bathroom floor, pressing a towel to my shoulder. Burning pain spread from my collarbone to my chest. Coming to, my hand was soaked in dripping blood. Unknown blood stained my hand red; my own soaked the towel crimson; droplets beaded scarlet on the pistol in my grip.
Slumped on the bathroom floor, stemming the shoulder bleed with the towel, I finally let out an admiring sigh.
"Fuck..."
Shot.