The Director's Most Prized Possession

The thing the Director cherishes most.

Temporary garrison of the 1st Armored Battalion.

The atmosphere was murder. The mechanics were running around pale as ghosts, and standing right in the middle of it all was Major Frederica von Kessel.

"Who the hell did this."

A monkey wrench was clutched in her hand. Her usual cool-headed elite officer persona was nowhere to be found—what remained was the aura of a woman ready to bash in somebody's skull on the spot.

Before her, three civilian truck drivers knelt, bound with rope.

"Who put you up to it? Where did you load this sugar water? Answer me!"

"W-we don't know anything! We just loaded it because the post office logistics warehouse told us to haul it, that's all!"

"Don't lie to me! You think this is a toy?!"

The moment Frederica raised the wrench, I snatched her wrist.

"Calm down, Major."

"But Lieutenant Colonel! Those men, they dared... your command vehicle, of all things...!"

"I know. So put the wrench down. We don't interrogate with fists."

I pulled her back and looked down at the trembling drivers.

Status Analysis.

So they hadn't lied. These men really had only made the delivery.

In that case.

"You said it was the post office logistics warehouse?"

"Y-yes, sir! Director Jang personally ordered the... the loading, sir!"

Jean Bernard. The doting father behind all this? Not a chance. This was the man who'd clutched my trouser leg and wept just days ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠ago.

Which left only one answer.

"Let's go, Major. Your wrench is about to get some use after all."

Soissons Central Post Office.

This was the heart of the city's logistics network—and the very place where, days ago, I had played the hero and resolved a hostage crisis.

But the mood in the post office now was strangely subdued. The moment the staff laid eyes on us, they hastily bowed their heads and averted their eyes.

Status Analysis.

Something stank.

I headed straight for the Director's office. Frederica and an armed escort fell in behind me.

Bang.

I threw the door open to find Director Jean Bernard seated, his face drained white. But he wasn't alone.

Behind him stood a man in work clothes, pretending to sort through documents.

"W-welcome, Commander... sir."

The Director's voice was shaking like a leaf.

"Impurities found their way into our tank fuel. I'm told that's your jurisdiction, Director."

As I approached, Jang's mouth flapped open and shut, his eyes darting again and again toward the man in the back.

Status Analysis.

Bingo.

Resistance scum. Their hostage play had failed, so it seemed they'd switched tactics to intimidation. They were probably holding Marie Bernard as their new leverage.

"You're looking pale, Director. Coming down with something?"

I feigned ignorance and walked toward the desk.

"W-well, you see..."

"Ah, forgive me—I haven't introduced you. This is Major Frederica, commander of the 1st Armored Battalion. She has quite the temper, so if she catches the culprit, she may very well tear him apart on the spot."

At my words, Antoine's eyebrows twitched ever so slightly.

I hoisted myself onto the desk and mouthed a whisper, angled so that only the Director could read my lips.

Is Marie safe?

The Director's eyes went round as saucers. He gave the faintest shake of his head. Not safe, then.

I shifted my gaze elsewhere—toward the Minimap in the corner of my vision.

A cutaway view of ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the building spread out before me. Among the many rooms, one stood out: the underground sorting hall. There I saw four red dots gathered around a single green one. Marie Bernard, no doubt about it.

Situation understood.

I rose from the desk with an easy smile.

"Well, if the Director knows nothing about it, there's nothing to be done. I'll just have a look around the warehouse, then."

I turned toward the door, but stopped with my hand on the frame. Then, glancing back at Frederica beside me, I spoke.

"Oh, Major. Almost forgot."

"Sir?"

"One of the ventilation ducts on the way down to the underground warehouse seems clogged. I'll go clear it myself, so you stay here and..."

I flicked my eyes toward Antoine, standing behind the Director.

"...take care of that man."

Frederica's gaze turned razor sharp. She gave a curt nod.

Good.

I gave Antoine a light little wave, opened the Director's office door, and stepped out.

"Keep up the good work, everyone."

SLAM.

The instant the door closed—

CRASH-! THWACK!

"GWAAAGH!"

A dull, heavy impact and a short scream filtered through the door. As expected, an enraged mechanic's wrench swing is a beautiful thing.

My turn now.

Staring at the Minimap, I descended the stairs.

Basement level, sorting hall. Beyond the iron door, four red dots. They were still clustered around the green dot in the center.

I stopped before the iron door and ran Status Analysis through it.

They'd let their guard down. It had probably never even crossed their minds that the Imperial Army could come knocking down here.

Which meant now was the moment. I gripped the door handle and drew a deep breath.

Think it through.

From the instant the door opened to their reaction: roughly half a second. To swing their guns onto the hostage: another second and a half.

My window had to be shorter than that.

Now.

The world slowed down. The noise around me went muffled and thick, as if I were underwater.

Creeeeak—.

I pushed the door open, slowly.

The underground sorting hall spread out before me in slow motion.

Marie Bernard, tied to a chair, gagged, her face streaked with tears of terror.

Beside her: one man about to light a cigarette, one fiddling with a deck of cards, one yawning with a rifle slung over his shoulder.

As the door swung open, their eyes turned toward me—agonizingly slowly. I could see every minute twitch of muscle: pupils dilating, mouths falling open, hands drifting toward weapons.

I reached for the pistol at my hip, then—catching sight of Marie's terrified face—slid it back into its holster. To hell with it. I didn't need it.

I walked forward, unhurried.

First, the man with the cigarette between his lips.

I took the cigarette he was smoking and shoved it straight up his nostril. The hot ember seared the tender membrane inside.

Second, the man fiddling with the cards.

I plucked the Ace of Spades from his hand and politely tucked it into his shirt pocket. Then I drove my boot into his solar plexus with everything I had. I felt the crunch of cracking ribs travel slowly up through my sole.

Third, the yawning man.

This one was the most dangerous—the rifle on his shoulder. I grabbed the leather sling, whipped it around his throat, twisted it tight once more, and hung him neatly on the coat rack against the wall.

Fourth, the man behind Marie's chair.

I seized the back of his skull and slammed it into the corner of the steel table in front of him.

Ten seconds remaining.

I sauntered over to Marie. Her eyes were still frozen in terror, locked on the lingering image from the moment the door had opened.

I drew a knife from my pocket and cut her bonds, then covered her ears for her.

Three... two... one...

The skill Bullet Time is deactivated.

"MMMPHH—!"

Time came rushing back like a burst dam.

"GWAAAAGH! MY NOSE! MY NOSE!"

"KHHK—! KHAK—!"

"UUURGH...!"

CRASH! Four men screamed and collapsed all at once. The one with the cigarette in his nose thrashed against the burn; the one kicked in the gut foamed at the mouth; the strangled one flailed helplessly from the coat rack.

"KYAAAAH!"

Marie screamed. I wrapped her shoulders gently and whispered into her ear.

"Open your eyes, miss. It's over."

"Wh...? How... how did you...?"

Marie blinked at me in disbelief.

"Looks like the bad men tripped over each other and took themselves down. Lucky break."

I answered shamelessly, stepping over the bodies sprawled across the floor.

"Let's go up. Your father is waiting."

By the time we returned to the Director's office on the ground floor, everything was already wrapped up.

"..."

Major Frederica was wiping blood off her monkey wrench with a handkerchief. At her feet, Antoine lay moaning, beaten into paste, while Imperial soldiers closed a ring around him.

"Major, isn't that a bit excessive?"

"That was the price for putting sugar in an ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠engine. I was going to break his wrists, but I restrained myself."

She replied absently and tucked the wrench into her belt. Between the grease-stained work clothes and the fresh blood spattered over them, she looked every inch a slaughterhouse mechanic.

"Marie!"

"Papa!"

The Director and his daughter fell into each other's arms, weeping.

I savored the touching scene for a moment—then cut in with cold pragmatism.

"Save the tears for home. Now then, Director—we need to settle the bill."

"Th-the... the bill?"

The Director wiped his eyes and stiffened.

"Two armored vehicles are out of commission. What's more, the theater commander himself and the armored battalion commander here had to come running in person. How, exactly, do you intend to cover an invoice like that?"

"I... I have no face to show you...! But I only did as I was told..."

"I know. Which is why, instead of money, I'll be taking something else."

I dropped heavily ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠into the Director's chair and spoke.

"The thing you cherish most in this world, Director."

"...!"

Marie's shoulders flinched.