Chapter 3
Chapter 3
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Translator: uly
Chapter: 3
Chapter Title: The Incompetent Minister Wants to Retire
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Among the myriad inconveniences that have plagued my life since ascending to this unwanted throne, the most grating is the absolute death of privacy. No matter how much I loathe my own inadequacy, I am the Intelligence Minister of the Empire. In the eyes of the world, I am a titan of the state—a man far too valuable to ever be left unescorted.
Usually, I can endure it. Most agents are professional enough to maintain a respectful distance, lingering in the shadows like well-behaved ghosts. The true nightmare begins when the duty falls to someone who possesses no concept of personal boundaries.
"Minister! I want that one! Buy it for me, right now!"
"……"
The girl currently tugging on my sleeve and demanding treats like a spoiled child is named Christina. It is difficult to reconcile her current behavior with her true nature: she is an elite agent of 'Owl,' the department’s most lethal assassination unit—a killing machine scouted by the government for her terrifying efficiency.
Despite her infantile speech patterns, Christina is a woman of twenty. But her maturity is a phantom; her behavior is that of a whirlwind in a sun dress.
"Minister! Are you even listening to me?"
"I am."
Swallowing a sigh of pure exhaustion, I navigated the crowd toward the street vendor she’d pointed at and purchased the cotton candy she craved. I had known this would be my fate the moment she insisted on being my escort. Knowing a storm is coming doesn't make the rain any less cold.
People might ask: If it's such a hassle, why not simply refuse her? A logical question. If I had the choice, I would. But I don't.
Because I am absolutely, unequivocally terrified of Christina.
"Mmm! This is so sweet! It’s delicious! Do you want a bite, Minister?"
This woman, offering me a fluffy pink cloud with a radiant smile, is a predator. Not just a killer, but a natural-born slaughterer who had been taking lives long before Owl ever found her. I have seen her in action once. Christina doesn't rely on the cold precision of a blade or the distance of a bow. She kills with her bare hands.
I have watched her dismantle armed, grown men as if they were made of wet parchment. She didn't just kill them; she ripped them to shreds. She isn't a human being; she is a wild beast in a human skin.
"Minister?"
Christina’s gaze suddenly sharpened, her eyes becoming cold daggers that pierced my soul. The cotton candy remained extended toward me, a silent command. I leaned in and took a hurried bite, my heart hammering against my ribs.
"Ahaha! See? Sweet and tasty, right?"
"Mm."
That was too close. I had let my guard slip, lost in my own thoughts. If I had ignored her for a second longer, I might have been the next thing she decided to tear apart. One must never relax in the presence of a predator. For today, I would accept my role as Christina’s walking, breathing coin purse.
"By the way, where did you intend to go today? You're actually out and about!"
Nowhere. I wanted to go nowhere. She had invaded my home this morning under the guise of 'duty,' stared me down with that predatory intensity, and essentially dragged me into the street because I was too cowardly to say no. But to admit that would be suicide. Her question wasn't a inquiry into my plans; it was a demand for entertainment.
She wasn't asking "Where do you want to go?" but "Where are you taking me?" To fail this test was to invite a gruesome end. But Christina had underestimated my instinct for self-preservation. I had anticipated this exact trap.
"To a café."
"A café? Oh! You mean that massive new place everyone in the capital is talking about?!"
I cast the bait, and she devoured it instantly. She began to beam, practically vibrating with excitement. I had guessed correctly: Christina had been maneuvering for this specific destination from the start.
"Let’s go, Minister! Hurry! Faster!"
Urged on by the lethal girl, we approached the trendy establishment. Even with only a vague idea of its location, the swarming crowd made it impossible to miss.
"This must be the place."
"Minister?"
The tantalizing aroma of fresh bread from the bakery side of the café tickled my nose. I had come here to save my life, but the scent was surprisingly pleasant. No wonder the masses were flocking to it. Christina was sniffing the air as well, her eyes bright.
But as she surveyed the insurmountable queue, her expression began to cloud. Disappointment was written across her face. My blood ran cold—would she take her frustration out on me? Would I be shredded right here among the bread rolls?
"……I see. Yeah. I get it. That's enough."
To my immense relief, she gave up without a tantrum. Shaking with gratitude for my continued survival, I led her to my quiet, regular café instead and treated her to a parfait the size of her head. She was satisfied. I had survived the day.
Yet, as I tried to sleep that night, a wave of existential dread washed over me. Why was a 'day off' more draining than a week of state secrets? I had to warm up some milk just to stop my hands from shaking.
"Th-this should be acceptable, right?"
After an eternity of agonizing in front of the mirror, Christina took one final, shaky breath and stepped out into the morning air. Today was the day: she was escorting the Minister on his day off.
She knew he was a relentless demon on the clock, but on his personal time, he was relaxed—almost human. Guarding him during these rare moments was the most coveted prize among the agents. And the competition is a bloodbath.
The female agents would go as far as attempting to bribe Celine for a single shift, but that iron-willed witch guarded the Minister's schedule like a dragon guarding gold. No woman but Celine was ever permitted near him. Complaints were silenced by the simple fact that the Minister never objected, and the male agents were, on paper, more powerful. The women had no choice but to weep in silence.
So, when news broke that Christina had secured the assignment, the department was a powder keg of envy. Hehe, I'm special! The Minister chose me himself! In reality, he had merely failed to say no, but in Christina's heart, it was a divine selection.
She strutted to his estate, dismissed the groggy night-duty guard with a smug grin, and let herself in.
"Minister! I'm here!"
"Yeah."
Even in his leisure, he was impeccable. Christina felt a pang of disappointment at missing his 'just-woken' look, but the sight of him languidly sipping tea while reading the paper was a different kind of perfection. So cool! She sat beside him, her eyes wide, recording every blink, every sip. Her sense of privacy had completely evaporated; when it came to him, she had no brakes.
She would have been content just staring at him all day, but then he spoke the magic words: "Shall we head out?"
"For real?!"
This was it. A date. It had to be a date. Overjoyed, she spent the morning begging for snacks—not because she was hungry, but because she wanted to see if he would indulge her. He did. He met every whim without a single complaint. When he actually took a bite of the cotton candy she offered, she felt her soul ready to ascend to the heavens. Aah, I'm so happy!
Back when they first met, she was nothing but a hollow tool for her clan—a weapon without a will. She killed because she was told to, a machine of meat and bone. But the Minister had given her a name, a place, and a meaning. He had forged her sense of self, so of course she wanted to be the spoiled child in his presence.
"By the way, where did you intend to go today?"
"A café."
"A café? Oh! You mean that massive new place?!"
Her heart leapt. Had he planned this? A trendy spot just for the two of them? But the moment they arrived, her smile faltered.
"This must be the place."
"Minister?"
The Minister wasn't looking at the bakery with hunger. His eyes had turned into shards of ice—keen, sharp, and dangerously focused. It wasn't the gaze of a man on a date. Christina followed his line of sight, and suddenly, the sweet aroma of the bakery was eclipsed by something else. A scent only a habitual killer could recognize. ...Blood?
Her eyes tracked his to the upper floors of the building. She saw it then—the subtle signs of a struggle. A crime scene. She realized then why he had brought her here. He hadn't been looking for a café; he had been investigating a lead.
"……I see. Yeah. I get it. That's enough."
She swallowed her disappointment, her professional instincts taking over. She moved to signal the backup escort—the Minister couldn't be left alone. But he surprised her again.
"Then let's go to my regular spot."
"M-me too...?"
"Hm? You don't want to?"
"I-I do, but... is it okay to leave this place like this?"
To her silent question about the suspicious building, the Minister offered a small, knowing chuckle. "Of course. It's my day off, after all."
Christina understood. He wasn't ignoring it; he was telling her that no lives were in immediate danger. The threat was contained. Handle it after midnight. When the day off is over. It was a classic, ruthless Minister-style joke. She grinned broadly, her heart light again. They shared a massive parfait, and she cherished every second.
When night fell and her escort duty ended, she returned to that building with the rest of Owl. There would be no survivors.
The next morning, a single, blood-stained report landed on the Minister’s desk.