A Different Kind of Request
The morning after turning in the illegal drug dealer.
Muzark set out on his commute to report the incident. His destination was not the Bureau, but a commercial building in the bustling district—Aiden's private office.
'It still feels a bit awkward.'
To Baek Si-woo, whose common sense was rooted in his past life, this was hard to comprehend. It was as if a police officer had set up their own private agency. However, investigators here were far more independent than ordinary police officers.
Under the umbrella of the Bureau, teams led by individual investigators operated autonomously. Investigators of the Second-class or higher were granted the right to establish their own private offices.
Of course, their affiliation remained unchanged.
As public servants, they couldn't refuse direct orders from the Bureau, and even accepting a minor request required passing a strict screening process—which meant a mountain of paperwork.
Essentially, it was a system designed to allow citizens to "nominate" a specific investigator. Clients desperate enough to pay would entrust their cases to skilled investigators, and the Bureau would take a cut of the profits.
From the investigator's perspective, they traded a lot of hassle for a half-baked freedom. But for Aiden, who built his team entirely of outsiders, even that compromised freedom seemed highly appealing.
"Ah, Oppa. You're here?"
"Oh, morning."
The moment Muzark opened the office door, Luca's face was the first thing he saw. Though they had known each other for a while now, her bright, easy smile in his presence remained unchanged.
But today, there was something uniquely different about her.
"Why the school uniform?"
"Because I stopped by here before heading to school?"
"You actually go to school?"
"Of course I do?"
Eastorange possessed most of the essential infrastructure of a modern city, and schools were no exception. In fact, she had just arrived after squeezing onto a bus packed with students.
The twins were eighteen. Naturally, they were of school age.
"You never mentioned it, so I assumed you didn't go."
"We were on break until recently."
"For that long?"
"Well, when we were in Redline, it was technically during the semester..."
So they had skipped school using work as an excuse. Muzark understood perfectly.
"It wasn't an excuse, it was real work! The teachers actually love it. Having an active mage among their students? Everyone's jealous."
"Did I say otherwise?"
"Your face did."
Muzark decided not to question the accuracy of Luca's mind-reading skills.
"If it's that uniform, it must be *that* school, right? The one where all the mages' kids go."
"Yes. Wickline School."
"So you do learn magic there?"
"We learn it, sure. Not that it's of any use." Luca wrinkled her nose.
"They don't let us use proper magic because of 'underage magic regulations' and all that. Rio and I are fine since the old man is our sponsor, but what they teach is still the same."
"There are regulations?"
"The old man told me. A lot of people want to put a leash on mages. And reckless magic use by minors really is dangerous."
Muzark could understand the logic, but Luca clearly detested it. Then again, how many active students were actually satisfied with school?
"Ugh. Don't they realize kids at magic schools are going to blast magic left and right at home anyway?"
"So you feel like it's a waste of time?"
"Exactly. That's why I ditch... I mean, ahem!"
It was a complaint Muzark had heard many times before in his past life.
Specifically, from friends who specialized in the arts or sports.
'It's a more complicated issue, though.'
Depending on how one looked at it, it could be seen as either discrimination or reverse discrimination. One could argue young mages were isolated so they wouldn't mix with ordinary people. Conversely, ordinary students likely viewed magic schools as playgrounds for the privileged.
In that sense, this city was quite peculiar. To exaggerate slightly, it was a city where mages—the undisputed privileged class of the Empire—felt like anomalies.
"Anyway, I should get going."
"Not going with Rio?"
"Why would I go with him? Ruin my morning?"
"...Right. Have a good day."
"Yep! See you later, Oppa!"
Watching the sight of her plaid skirt fluttering as she walked away, Muzark felt the weight of passing time. Hearing her call him "Oppa" while dressed in a school uniform made him feel strangely awkward.
"I'm not quite an old man yet. Am I more of an uncle?"
— The fact that you're even debating that makes you sound like an old man.
"Let's see, you said you were thirteen fifteen years ago? That makes you older than—"
— Whatever, whatever. I'm eternally twenty-eight, okay?
Unbelievable.
While he stood there speechless, the elevator chimed. Aiden stepped out, seemingly swapping places with Luca, but his appearance today was equally unusual.
He was pushing a stroller.
"Muzark. What are you standing there for?"
"I was just about to head in. But, uh..."
"Ah. This must be your first time seeing him."
Aiden stepped closer and pulled back the canopy. A two-year-old boy, Glen, was sleeping soundly inside. He had an angelic face, clearly inheriting his mother's looks.
"My wife is busy today."
"I see."
"A private office is very convenient for things like this. I'm not one to care about what others think, but even I'd feel some resistance bringing a child to the Bureau."
He lowered the canopy and naturally pushed the stroller inside.
"Come in. Let's hear the report."
To put it simply, it wasn't a major case.
A drug deal sounded serious, but the danger level was low. It was just a transaction between individuals, something Muzark could easily handle alone without any burden.
"Good work. Another chore, I see."
"It was a chore."
"Bureau work is mostly like that."
This was the downside of a private office. Serious crimes didn't happen every day, so the Bureau often dumped cases unfitting for a Second-class Investigator onto them. And they couldn't easily pass the grunt work to other investigators.
Aiden didn't complain about this.
He wasn't obsessed with achievements, and the private office was his choice. Besides, it was perfect for giving his assistants experience.
"Though it feels like these have been happening more frequently lately..."
"Was it not like this before?"
"No. Junkies have always existed. When the Bureau sprays pesticide on a large scale, they quiet down for a bit, and when things loosen up, they crawl out one by one. It's practically a tradition."
Aiden looked at the photos of the drugs Muzark had taken. The actual evidence had been handed over to the Bureau as per regulations, so looking deeper would require submitting a separate request.
'Not that I know if it'll even be approved.'
The murder case suspected to be Yeonwol's doing was eventually swept under the rug. The official reason was a lack of witnesses and no traces of magic found.
It was absolute nonsense that would make the survivors of Healthy Cash foam at the mouth.
However, their voices would never reach the world. They were currently locked up for their own illegal activities and the attack on Yirang.
Aiden had completely washed his hands of that case. No matter his personality, there were times when one had to read the room. Especially when one had clear weaknesses, like a family.
"Just in case, pocket a sample next time."
"I'd ask if that's allowed, but I won't."
"I'd answer that it's fine as long as you don't get caught, but I won't."
Aiden chuckled and leaned back on the sofa.
"So, have you improved your skills?"
"Somewhat."
"If you fought Yirang right now, could you win?"
"Why Yirang?"
"Because both you and I know his skill level. He's the most suitable benchmark."
Muzark nodded in agreement before giving his answer.
"Well... I'm not sure yet."
A month ago, Muzark would have been utterly defeated by Yirang. Now, he felt there was at least a chance.
Aiden was highly satisfied with the response.
"Sounds like you're doing well."
His growth was miraculous yet expected. He already possessed the weapons; he just needed to build his physical frame. Simply increasing his mana pool would make him several levels stronger.
"Then I'll give you a different job this time."
"How is it different?"
"It's a request that came directly to the office, not through the Bureau."
Aiden handed over a document containing the client's profile.
"Silveira Carvalho, thirty-five. The young president of a mid-sized food company. He's been receiving death threats for the past ten days. He's avoided going out as much as possible, but he's reaching his limit."
"Why didn't he go to the Bureau?"
"The upper class generally loathes the Bureau. To them, investigators are just tax thieves, and getting involved with us is like catching a plague that brings unnecessary gossip."
Muzark didn't point out the prejudice in Aiden's tone. He seemed to have a lot of built-up resentment.
"Of course, they can't treat us poorly. Before we are public servants, we are mages. Mages who can use magic most legally. At the very least, we are in a position to be respected to our faces."
"Anyway," Aiden said, "will you take the bodyguard duty?"
"I'll do it if you order me to. But it sounds like it'll drag on."
"It might not, surprisingly."
Aiden tapped his device to show the screen. A photo of a high-rise hotel illuminated at night was displayed.
"He says he's attending a charity party in four days."
"Huh. I can understand if it's a business meeting, but for someone who's been terrified for ten days, that's a bold move. Is it that important of an event?"
"It's probably a realm hard for us to empathize with."
"What kind of party is it?"
Aiden shrugged at Muzark's question.
"A gathering for the protection of non-mage rights."
The 13th floor of the Celerati Hotel in Eastorange.
"...The theory that becoming a mage causes personality defects is absurd. Who would take that seriously? Of course there are wonderful people among mages, and in the end, it varies from person to person..."
"Of course, of course. The bad ones are really just a handful. But when you think about how much damage that handful can cause..."
"And we can't ignore accidental mishaps, can we? Honestly..."
In the bustling hall, men and women in suits and elegant dresses chatted amiably. Topics that would normally cause fierce controversy outside were discussed smoothly without any argument.
"Ha, haha. You are absolutely right."
However, Silveira Carvalho's smile was awkward throughout. As he stood there, clearly dampening the atmosphere of the gathering, a waiter approached him and whispered a few words.
"...I know. But anyone in my position would feel the same."
Silveira muttered to himself, his hands and eyes darting nervously. The waiter swallowed a sigh.
As the party progressed toward its peak.
"Ah! What do you think you're doing!"
A sharp slap echoed through the room alongside a raised voice.
Instantly, everyone's attention shifted to a corner of the hall. Silveira looked over and saw a boy, likely a guest's child, cowering on the floor in front of a middle-aged woman.
"Who do you think you are? How dare an uneducated brat crawl in here...!"
"Y-you bumped into me first, ma'am!"
"What?! Do you know who I am to talk to me like that?!"
Her stained dress explained the situation. However, her reaction was excessive. She was slapping him repeatedly, her anger clearly reaching its boiling point.
Instead of stepping forward, Silveira looked around. He brightened up when he noticed the waiter had slipped right next to him.
"Look, look at that. Shouldn't we help?"
"Do you know who that woman is?"
"Yes? I mean, I know of her."
"Is she always like this?"
"I heard she's hysterical. But I didn't expect her to strike a child... No, this is no time to be talking about this!"
While Silveira was indignant, the waiter scanned the surroundings with sharp eyes. He then grabbed Silveira's arm and led him toward the exit.
"Let's go. I'll escort you."
"What are you..."
"No matter how hysterical someone is, would they beat a child in front of everyone just because they're angry?" the waiter said quickly.
"There could be many reasons. The kid's clothes don't look expensive, there's alcohol involved, and this party didn't properly check IDs, allowing even someone like me to slip in easily. Who knows what kind of trap has been set."
"A-a trap? You mean like poison?"
"Who knows. I didn't do it."
Upon hearing the explanation, Silveira's face turned pale. He clung to the waiter's back and left the venue without looking back.
There was no attack even as they descended to the parking lot. Only after confirming the area was empty did Silveira finally sigh in relief. But just as they approached his parked car...
Squelch!
"Ugh!"
His foot sank into the ground as the concrete suddenly turned soft.
Just as he realized the floor had turned to mud, the car window rolled down on its own. A gloved hand reached out from the empty vehicle.
Silveira gasped.
Crunch!
The waiter's fist smashed through the half-open window. His hand, now clad in a gauntlet, grabbed the assailant's wrist, snapped it, and dragged him out of the car.
"Aaaaargh! W-wait...!"
"Wait for what? No professionalism at all."
The waiter slapped the assailant's face with an open palm. The screaming stopped instantly. As Silveira stared blankly, the waiter spoke calmly.
"It's a stun spell."
"......A spell."
"Is there a problem?"
Silveira looked at the waiter's hand and shook his head vigorously.