The Shadow Empire's Scent in the Sunlight

As the Cheonma Group continued its meteoric rise, a portion of the documents leaking into North Korea through Ryu Geum-cheol—who had been monitoring Ham Cheon-ho from close range—would inevitably include materials under the label “consulting for the organization.”

For instance, portfolios boasting investment returns that far outstripped the averages of South Korean enterprises, or the records of the organization’s finance department exchanging messages with a corporation disguised as a British trust company.

The profitability figures listed in those portfolios were numbers only someone who literally “read” the future economy could conjure. Anyone with even a rudimentary grasp of economics would immediately suspect something was amiss.

Naturally, whether the human who viewed the documents suspected anything or not, the documents themselves posed no threat of exposing the organization.

I was the sort of person who issued the same directive to my subordinates several times a day: when communicating with anyone outside the organization, ensure its presence remained invisible.

Yet the fact that the organization’s actions—both overt and covert—had slipped so easily past outsiders was undeniably unsettling.

Of course, the North Korean communists might gain nothing decisive from acquiring that information. But the mere fact that it had gone missing at all was far more disturbing.

Admittedly, as the Northern Covenant Syndicate grew stronger, the organization’s influence beneath the surface would gradually creep further into the daylight.

Still, the decisive question remained whether I could actively control it.

My natural wish was that the organization’s shadow presence would never be broadcast beyond my cognizance.

Perhaps this was more than a purely psychological concern; it could, at minimum, pose a genuine threat.

What if these ledgers fell into the hands of the National Intelligence Service or the CIA?

In that case, the risk to the organization would be existential. The NIS could be bypassed, sure.

But Americans were a particularly hard breed to ignore.

In the worst-case scenario, the organization’s true nature might be partially exposed, and the sequence of events surrounding Britain that the U.S. Magic Defense Agency had witnessed could be dragged into the open.

If that happened, the trouble would be immense. We might even have to rewrite the organization’s entire anti-American strategy.

We barely had the strength to face Soviet communists; the luxury of opposing the entire Western world was unthinkable.

Our members’ all-night shifts would become the norm. The increased risk was obvious.

So I decided to let Ryu Geum-cheol rearrange the board exactly as he wished. Ideally, I would engineer a board that even the leader of the Western world would be compelled to react to with fury.

The warm call with Matthew W. Lewis had simply concluded by setting a time and place. I suspected he thought the arrangement was my doing.

The location was far across the Atlantic, right where Americans lived.

As Delis had warned through the internal intranet, when stirring trouble, it was best to remain as far from Hong Kong as possible.

When I informed him I was heading that way, he sounded faintly puzzled.

- Hmm…? Barez, you’re coming this way?

“I already informed you that I am not in Ireland, Dublin. I do not know the precise location across the ocean in the New World, but—”

Half-truths carry the greatest power when mixed with just a touch of truth.

The organization’s intelligence department had already narrowed W.’s location down to Miami, Florida long ago, but there was no need to reveal that explicitly.

- Hmm… I’m not sure what exactly I should say.

“There’s nothing much to say. The United States has to orchestrate schemes across the entire world anyway. We could also reduce the subcontracts we give to the UK and Western Europe.”

Hearing that, W. sounded as if he had recalled something.

- Ah, speaking of which. Has any progress been made on the suspended investigation of the *Paramita* relic?

That would be reason enough for us to meet.

The Americans had indeed subcontracted the search for the missing artifact, the *Baramil*—a cursed dagger of Himalayan meteoric iron whose whereabouts were unknown in Northern Ireland.

Originally, we had planned to deliver results by the end of February.

But the U.S. mainland had been thrown into chaos by the president’s unprecedented sex scandal, and in Britain terror had raged against the Ministry of Magic, so the timeline had been postponed.

Since the Americans had not imposed a deadline, the organization had steadily increased the “authenticity” of the story tied to the *Baramil* relic.

If one did not know the full historical context of the artifact, anyone would naturally conclude it must be true.

The inclusion of a small amount of truth only heightened the story’s credibility. As I had said, a lie laced with truth is the most powerful.

“Then, shall we meet after a long time? What about the location and time? I would be happy to accommodate you as much as possible.”

- We’ll arrange it the same way as before, through Marseille. It may be somewhat oppressive, but please ensure our schedule takes absolute priority.

I shrugged, answering. Of course, the gesture I made was not visible to the person on the other end of the line.

“Very well. What could American imperialists possibly care about foreigners’ schedules?”

- ….

The call ended that way. The date and location arrived the day after from a casino under the Marseille organization.

The method was identical to the previous one: a finely engraved cipher message written in Morse code on the side of a casino chip.

The ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠location was a five-star hotel in Miami, Florida. The nightly rate exceeded several thousand dollars.

The timing was early April. It coincided, by chance, with the period Ryu Geum-cheol had warned me about.

Even if the timing had not matched, it would not have mattered much.

Since both the Hong Kong Governor and Ham Cheon-ho were among my subordinates, any clash in their schedules could be easily adjusted.

There was no need for artificial coordination.

After receiving the date and place from me, Delis muttered quietly.

“Early April in Florida… I see.”

“Hm? Is there something that concerns you?”

“No, I was simply thinking that there would be quite a few people there.”

“That’s to be expected.”

The address Matthew W. Lewis had given was a typical resort hotel, with a private beach set against Florida’s wide-open coastline.

In April the water would still be somewhat cold, but Florida’s warmth made beachgoing no great hardship.

Of course, there would be people around. People who, avoiding the July peak season, would come early.

It was none of my business whether I was there for work or not.

Yet it clearly was not Delis’s concern.

“Miss Yerina, I have been thinking. Choosing a public place like a hotel as a meeting point instead of another secret safe house means we are trying to hide our encounter among people, does it not?”

“That is likely. In other words, as you say, we have created a forest to hide the trees.”

“Then we will need to prepare ourselves as well. The trees that must hide among the forest. Our organization members cannot simply walk around in suits and dresses there.”

“Is that… really going to happen?”

It was not entirely wrong. If I continued to wear the suits I had always favored whenever I met W., I would stand out.

Since the meeting would take place indoors, it would not matter greatly, but I would need something to wear when I stepped outside.

Delis continued in his usual calm voice, though there was a hint of expectation in it.

“It seems we will need to prepare clothing that complies with the dress code. I will handle it myself, so I hope you can entrust it to me.”

“Hmm… Since there are so many small things I would otherwise worry ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠about, I’ll leave it to you. Very well.”

Without further thought, I agreed to Delis’s request. I was not high enough in rank to personally attend to such trivial matters.

In general, higher-ranking individuals delegated such minor issues to their subordinates.

Delis was, of course, one rank below me, so the concept of “underground or above-ground” did not quite apply.

Looking back now, I wonder if I should have exercised some restraint.

Leaving everything to Delis meant that Delis had been granted full authority to decide what our highest-ranking members would ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠wear in Florida.

In other words… what I would wear on the beach.

Early April. Having arrived in Miami, Florida via Hawaii from Hong Kong, I looked at the clothes Delis had chosen and could not help but wear a somewhat dazed expression.

“Delis…?”

“Yes, Miss Yerina.”

“I did entrust you with everything, but at the very least, could you have shown me one confirmation?”

When I tore open the package, what lay before my eyes was a set of black bikinis.

The design was extremely simple, and the sizing fit me perfectly, so I could not criticize it on those grounds alone. The deepest humiliation I felt came entirely from the fact that they were bikinis.

Delis, however, sounded as if he ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠were genuinely surprised.

“Hmm… I chose them because I thought they would suit you best, Miss Yerina…”

“I am not denying your taste…”

It was not that I particularly disliked wearing women’s clothing. After all, I had long since adapted to my new life as Yerina Bronska.

If I had not, I would never have chosen to dress myself in the suits, skirts, and shoes I usually favored.

Compared to the dresses and maid uniforms I had worn before, the feeling was stronger than mere embarrassment; it was necessity.

Yet… even so, bikinis were a bit off-putting. There was no substitute, after all. Why them?

Delis answered as if completely bewildered.

“Ah…! Because you always showed such an adult appearance, I may have misunderstood. Considering Miss Yerina’s age, perhaps a frilled bikini—”

“Enough. Stop there.”

“—Understood.”

It was like fanning the flames. Still, I could not say anything more to Delis because this reaction was only natural for anyone who did not know the impurities mixed into my soul.

There was no choice. The one who had directly presented this gift to one of my most beloved subordinates could not simply refuse to wear it.

So instead of wearing it as it was, I asked my subordinates to buy a cardigan and a skirt cover from a nearby shopping mall that could conceal my body. The fabric had a slight transparency, so it was definitely better than wearing nothing, as I reflected in the mirror.

‘Indeed… there will be no man who can keep his eyes off this.’

I looked at the large breast suspended at the center of my body.

Thanks to the bikini top properly supporting them, the shape was well maintained, and the small ribbon tied at the center added a touch of cuteness that the frills could not match.

Perhaps this too was inherited. In London, the 170-year-old witch was even larger than me.