Kidnapped and Confined
Whether it was fortunate or not, I couldn't quite decide… or maybe these people had simply skimmed the contents and moved on.
The investigators and everyone else stuck to the same stock answers, insisting they regarded the Earth-crisis scenario with high credibility.
It felt exactly like those "we'll review it positively" replies from the higher-ups. Hearing it brought not anticipation, but a hollow letdown first.
"So instead of locking me up like this, maybe we should start with some actual countermeasures…"
The interviews held every morning and evening were as unproductive as ever today.
Questions spun off from the life history I'd written down, cross-examinations for verification, and then whatever I wanted to ask in return.
"We're currently discussing it with experts from various academic fields. We plan to arrange a meeting soon."
"Aigoo, this is so frustrating I could die."
"We'd like to issue new manuals or action guidelines ourselves, but…"
"…"
That pattern dragged on for a full week.
Was there progress, though?
The old excuses about struggling to dig up necessary information had at least been swapped out for "discussions with experts."
How much longer did they plan to waste my time here before letting me go?
"How long do people who come here usually stay before they're released?"
I phrased the question a little indirectly.
A straight "When can I get out?" would get a "We don't know" nearly ninety-nine percent of the time.
Of course a professional interviewer wouldn't miss my shallow little trick. He smiled awkwardly and dodged the answer.
"It varies greatly depending on each person's situation."
I could take that as a roundabout way of saying, "Your case is special, so we don't know either."
So cheap tricks like this were useless, huh…
After saying I had nothing more to ask, I figured I could just rest in the lounge or my private room.
But as I started to rise, the interviewer stopped me.
"Just a moment."
"Yes?"
"This afternoon some professors from the science and engineering fields are coming. They want to run a few investigations regarding magic."
"Ah."
Right. I'd been wondering why no one had brought that up until now.
Magic was the concept that flipped a double bird at the sacred laws of thermodynamics. Researchers of modern science would definitely come charging in with eyes ablaze.
Newton, are you watching? Now we can mock you for failing at both stocks and thermodynamics…
"What should I show them? Most magic isn't something I can casually demonstrate in a room like this…"
In the other world, lecture halls and training grounds for magic demonstrations were built from special materials or magically treated stone.
No matter how sturdy Earth's reinforced concrete was, it wouldn't escape the effects of explosions and vibrations.
"We don't have facility plans yet, so showing just a few of the most limited ones should be fine."
Hearing the interviewer add, "Even the superpowers you've shown us so far are still hard to get used to," I found myself nodding.
Sparking flames from my fingertips, stirring up a small breeze, or forming a water orb and tossing it—those were everyday actions that one out of every two serfs or commoners in the other world could manage.
After three thousand years of refining that, seeing it with my own eyes, and using it myself, Earth's civilization suddenly felt brand-new.
I gave a small bow and headed for the lounge.
It was a living-room-like space in the facility where the detainees watched TV or read books.
In the corner a vending machine hummed with a low whir, operating not on real currency but on bland coins called "tokens" collected inside the facility.
Surprisingly, those tokens were simply pulled from the pocket of a staff member standing next to the machine. There seemed to be no limit on drinks, though they did say not to overdo it.
Maybe this was a leftover system meant to teach the people brought here about market capitalism?
Curious, I asked, "Why do something so inefficient?" but he just heaved a deep sigh and said he didn't know either, so I left it alone.
"Young lady, you're here?"
A scrawny man with a clean-shaven head waved from the sofa.
Most detainees could only use the lounge after dinner, but I, that man, and a few others with Western looks could come and go anytime.
"Hello."
"I got one ready for you."
He held out a cola can and grinned, flashing yellowed teeth.
From the introduction I'd first heard, he was a political prisoner. A double agent, was it? An informant sent from the North to China who had boldly contacted South Korean intelligence.
This place is paradise and a sanctuary for me. If I step outside I'll be dead within a month. Those Kim pigs will order my head brought to them no matter what.
I never got the deeper stories—the token manager by the vending machine had cut him off—but it had been a fascinating experience all the same.
"Uncle, watching the news again today?"
The man whose name I still didn't know, so I just called him uncle, nodded.
"You have to cultivate an eye for the world if you want to read the flow of things."
As if on cue, the news was talking about me.
More precisely, not about "me," but about the humanoid flying object that had been zipping around the skies of Seoul.
The announcer was chatting with a white-haired professor sitting opposite.
"…and so the unidentified flying object now popularly called the Seoul Magician was intercepted by a KF-21 squadron scrambled from Suwon. Camp Humphreys in Seosan has U.S. forces stationed there, so the destination was a bit farther, but Chungju…"
Seoul Magician? What a childish nickname.
Anyway, so the place I'd first been taken to was Chungju. Somewhere near Jecheon?
Outside of Seoul, everything looked the same from the sky, so I was only learning it now.
And in nearly a week of news coverage, I hadn't seen a single report about where I'd been detained.
"Since this operation was the KF-21's first real combat deployment, it can certainly be seen as a positive. And with a person flying around, you can even tie it into the superconductor theme…"
Whoops. Checking the channel name again, it was some stock-market broadcast I'd never even heard of.
"These days it's nothing but stories about you, young lady, so the news has lost its flavor," the uncle said, flipping channels without asking my opinion. I shot him a silent thumbs-up.
Beep.
The new channel was a cable station replaying variety shows.
"We've gone to great lengths to bring this guest on today!"
An MC who looked like an insect—nose and glasses fused into one piece—was hosting a talk show with a celebrity.
I'd actually enjoyed this one before. A Korean-American Fields Medalist had appeared, and so had ordinary people with surprisingly sharp entertainment instincts.
That host's face hadn't changed a bit, I thought, then realized the only one time had left behind was me, and refocused on the screen.
But that oddly familiar-looking middle-aged man in a flight suit…
Wait.
It was the double-thumbs-up pilot uncle.
Follow-up graphics and estimates that the speed had exceeded Mach 1 flashed across the screen.
I'd already gotten the sense he was a cheerful guy, and the pilot uncle was spinning the tale with real wit.
A 3D graphic of the fighter and me flying toward each other filled the screen while the story hit its peak, complete with tension-building music.
Of course I already knew how it went.
The pilot made a "huh?" gesture with a ridiculous face, and the production crew's laughter rolled in.
Oh for heaven's sake. That uncle was going to become meme material all over the internet.
I had never made a face that weird.
…Probably.
My own mouth corners twitched upward, and the spy uncle beside me was outright wheezing with laughter.
What a terrible person.