Chapter 164: Red Army
Chapter 164: Red Army
“I’m telling you, if it’s that far, let’s just take a car.”
My irritated voice echoed through the quiet, wide streets of Moscow.
“We cannot.”
“Why not? Are you afraid the car will explode again if I get in?”
“Even if it is you, Lee Ha-ram, I do not believe a car would explode simply because two people entered it. Besides, why do we need a car? Running is faster.”
He had a point. It was a given that our running speed was faster than any automobile. There was just one problem.
“This isn't the Siberian wilderness. It’s a pain in the ass.”
We were in the middle of Moscow.
There weren't many buildings to leap across, and we couldn't exactly weave through pedestrians at high speeds without causing an incident.
And so, the two of us were making our way toward our destination on foot, at a leisurely pace.
“Well, isn't this a good opportunity? It’s not so bad to leave everything behind and walk slowly once in a while.”
“At this rate, it’ll take us a week of walking to get there.”
Since we took a plane, I thought the place was near Moscow. But what? It’s near the Arctic Ocean?
If that was the case, he should have let me off the plane halfway through.
I don't know why I have to go through all this trouble in Moscow.
“We just need to get out of the city. Let’s take it slow. Slow.”
Slow, my foot.
“If you hate cars, there’s always the subway…”
Finally, exploding at his laid-back attitude, I opened my mouth to pour out my fury, but—
“This might be the last time. So, please, listen to me this once.”
My friend played his trump card, the one that shut down all arguments.
“Ah. Right. Sorry. I forgot for a second.”
I forgot why I came here, and I forgot the weight on my friend's heart as he headed toward that place.
I had vented my annoyance with the Soviet Union and my lingering emotions onto a friend who might be facing his end.
Sigh. You stupid single-celled organism.
What’s the point of constantly telling myself to control my emotions if I let them get the better of me and ruin things at a crucial moment like this?
Whew.
After letting out a long sigh, I bit down on a cold metal rod to suppress my rising irritation.
The Siberian chill traveled through my teeth and across my tongue.
I felt much better.
“Then instead of just walking, since we’re in Moscow anyway, why don't we stop by a restaurant or something?”
“What’s with the sudden change? It’s unsettling. In the East, they say when someone starts acting out of character, it means they’re about to die. Are you planning on dying soon?”
…Look at the way this guy talks.
“Hey. You seemed depressed, so I suggested some sightseeing. Is that how you’re going to be?”
“Ah, was that your intention?”
Only then did the Librarian realize my consideration, offering a reply devoid of any emotion.
He then began to mutter to himself.
“Hmm. Personally, I am not fond of Soviet cuisine. And as for entertainment… I wonder how much is left in Moscow, which has already become half a military city…”
His commentary was truly something else.
Ha. A friend shows him some kindness, and he complains about his food preferences.
You damn STEM-major Yankee. This is why you don't have any friends besides me.
Thud. Thud.
One idiot muttering his thoughts out loud.
And one perfectly sane Magical Girl looking at him with pity because he’s her friend.
How long had their footsteps continued like that?
“…I see a general restaurant over there. Shall we go in?”
The Librarian suddenly lowered his voice and pointed to a restaurant by the road.
At a glance, it seemed natural, but to anyone who knew him, the way he turned his head toward me and blinked his red eyes was incredibly unnatural.
“Sure, why not? The good Moscow place I know is in the exact opposite direction anyway.”
Understanding his intent, I played along and turned toward the restaurant.
Toward a restaurant that looked perfectly ordinary in every way.
* * *
Aside from us, there were only two other customers in the restaurant. I sat there eating, submerged in a sea of immense dissatisfaction.
“The food is terrible.”
I spat out the words, washing away the bizarre taste in my mouth with vodka.
“Is it? I do not think it is that bad.”
The emotionless machine sitting across from me replied while chewing on the same food.
Since my five senses had gone haywire long ago, I usually deferred to others' opinions on food, but I couldn't hold back this time.
“Is this Kasha? You’re calling this Kasha?”
A pale, grayish porridge.
I stirred the hopeless excuse for Kasha with a spoon and poured out my complaints.
“Was the name of this dish Kasha? I thought it was oatmeal.”
That’s exactly the problem with this dish.
They sold it as Kasha, but what came out was oatmeal.
And a damn poor excuse for oatmeal at that.
“See, even you think it’s oatmeal. Where did the spices go? Where’s the milk?”
I knew that Kasha was originally made by mixing oats with water, so they were similar. It was natural to eat it that way when you were starving.
But this was a restaurant. Those damn Soviets.
“Our oatmeal is made like this even when the quality is high.”
“Does this look high-quality to you? It looks like they just mixed water and oats in a 1:1 ratio and boiled it.”
“It was my staple food during my graduate student days.”
Oh, is that so?
Damn elite. Damn STEM major.
Perhaps he didn't like the way I was stirring the Kasha-like substance with my spoon in dissatisfaction.
“Then why not eat something else? There is Borscht, and there is mutton.”
The problem was that they were just as bad.
“Borscht? You mean this sour, tangy imitation vinegar?”
“Inferring from the direction of your spoon, I suppose so.”
“And by mutton, you mean this gamy, gristly pile of food waste?”
“If you are referring to what you are currently chewing with a face full of discontent, then yes.”
Yeah, because out of this festival of trash, this was the only thing I could actually put in my mouth.
Meat is truly amazing; even when ruined like this, it’s still edible.
Even so, it didn't change the fact that my mouth felt filthy, so I grabbed the most sacred object on the table.
I gripped the neck of the holy bottle and flicked my thumb.
Pop.
With a divine sound, the cap flew off.
A sacred, transparent liquid contained in a transparent bottle.
I brought the bottle to my lips and downed it in one go.
Gulp. Gulp.
The beautiful sound traveled from my mouth to my ears.
A brilliant warmth swirled in my mouth before vanishing down my throat.
A moment of bliss.
However, the holy water in the bottle was limited.
I pulled the bottle away from my mouth with a lingering sense of regret.
Pop.
“…I have never seen anyone drink vodka like that.”
“What choice do I have if I want to rinse my mouth out in this pile of garbage? Ah, bring me another bottle of vodka, please!”
The Soviets really know how to make their booze.
Compared to the food waste in front of me, this alcohol was nothing short of a heavenly flavor.
I usually enjoy vodka, but it never tasted as sweet as it did now.
“For someone who called the food garbage, you seem to be enjoying yourself quite a bit.”
I guess I got caught. I must have looked too happy drinking that vodka.
“Well, as food, it’s waste, but as a snack to go with drinks, it barely passes.”
This Kasha still had some grains to chew on, so while the taste was poor, it served to wake up my dull tongue as a snack.
The Borscht’s quality was lacking for a main dish, but its strong saltiness and sourness made it not bad as a side.
The mutton… it’s an acquired taste, but the gamy smell actually pairs quite well with alcohol.
I could agree with that much.
“That is a relief. I have tried many times to learn about alcohol, but I still do not understand it, so it is hard for me to relate.”
Really? Then that’s perfect.
“Now you have one more reason to live. When we go back, I’ll teach you a thing or two about drinking.”
Not that I know much myself.
But at least I can show him how to tilt a glass.
“I will look forward to it.”
With those words, the Librarian put down his spoon and stood up.
“Well then. Shall we?”
Hmm. Leaving already?
It was a shame about the vodka, but it couldn't be helped.
The other customers seemed uncomfortable as well.
“Ah. Sorry, never mind the vodka. Check, please.”
I raised my hand to the waiter who was bringing a cold bottle as if it had just been taken out of the fridge, signaling my refusal, and then held out my card.
The payment went through without any issues.
The two of us walked out of the restaurant as if nothing had happened.
Perhaps because we had been inside for a while.
The cold Siberian wind swept over us more mercilessly than when we had entered.
“Where would be good?”
“Based on my analysis, that alleyway over there seems suitable.”
“Got it.”
After that brief exchange, we stepped into the alley, showing no reaction to the biting wind.
* * *
“Is this the right alley?”
“Yes.”
“…Stupid Yankees. Don't they know it’s a dead end?”
The voices of our enemies drifted into my ears.
They were talking normally, as if they had no idea who we were or what we were preparing.
“…Who are these guys?”
Unlike the enemies, I asked the Librarian in an extremely low whisper.
“My guess is they are Heroes belonging to the KGB.”
KGB? I don't think so.
There’s no way those guys would handle things this stupidly.
Tailing foreign Heroes, eating at the same restaurant, and then following them right in?
Kindergarteners could tail someone better than that.
Furthermore—
“Why would the KGB do this? They could just use their specialty—throwing a bunch of nonsense paperwork at us—to detain us.”
“I wouldn't know. However, the code names they used during their communication were KGB-type.”
Really? Then maybe they’re just idiots who admire the KGB.
“Well… we’ll find out once we catch them.”
“Shall I assist you?”
“Just block the way.”
The brief exchange of tactics ended.
Thump.
I immediately released my power and lunged forward.
“What?!”
Thud.
The sound of a bulky man’s head being slammed into The Wall.
That’s one.
Crash.
The sound of someone trying to take a combat stance, only to be punched and collide with a trash can.
“Head… Headquarters! They’re much stronger than expec—”
Slam.
The sound of a man trying to flee the alley, only to run headfirst into a wall.
“Ah…?”
Perhaps because he had used his own power when he collided, the man, bleeding from his nose but still conscious, stared at The Wall that had suddenly appeared before him with a look of incomprehension.
“This isn't what we were told! They said they were Heroes with no records…”
Perhaps it was his final lifeline.
The man was screaming frantically into his communicator.
But that transmission would never reach its destination.
Static— Zzzzzzt.
As if proving my thought, only static flowed from the communicator in the man’s hand.
Now then, shall we begin the interrogation?
“Who are you?”
“I have nothing to say to you Yankees…”
Crack. Crunch.
The sound of plastic breaking.
The sound of a living being’s extremity shattering.
“Aaaaaaaagh!”
The man, his communicator and hand crushed, let out a scream.
“I’ll ask again. Who are you?”
“…Haa. Ugh…”
The man didn't answer my question, instead gasping for breath.
I stared at him intently.
How much time had passed?
“…Hah… It’s no use, no matter how long you wait.”
Finally, as if the pain had subsided, the man spoke in a solemn voice.
“Do you think our Red Army will fall to the likes of you? Comrade Mikhailovich Morozov will surely…”
I don't really care what you have to say.
“Librarian. I don't want to hear any more from this guy. Did you find it?”
“Yes. I found it. I have secured all the data as well.”
“So. What was their plan?”
“They planned to stage a coup and then use the two of us as hostages to negotiate with the Management Bureau. It seems they weren't targeting us specifically; any Hero would have sufficed.”
They’re not just unlucky; they’re insane.
Pointing a blade at the Management Bureau? It hasn't been that long since the Soviet high command was purged for doing exactly that.
“…H-How did you…”
Ah, so that’s why these kinds of guys stepped up.
Young ones who didn't experience that purge and knew nothing were the ones participating in this plan.
And that plan—
“Librarian. Can you secure it?”
“As for that.”
Boom.
An explosion sounded from somewhere in Moscow, likely not far from where we were.
When I looked up toward the source of the sound, I saw plumes of white smoke rising.
“I have already taken care of it.”
It had come to an end, thwarted by a single Librarian.