Mr. Magical Girl

Chapter: 164. The Red Army

“So, if it’s that far away, let’s just take a ride.”

My angry voice echoed through the quiet, wide streets of Moscow.

“Nope.”

“So, why not? Is it going to blow up if I ride?”

Even if it’s Haram Lee, I don’t think the car will blow up just because two of us get in it. Plus, why do we even need a vehicle? Running is much faster.

That’s true. It’s obvious that our running speed is faster than any car. One problem, though.

“This isn’t the Siberian plains. It’s annoying as hell.”

The fact that we are in the middle of Moscow.

We couldn’t even find any buildings to step on, let alone dodge pedestrians. What would happen if we picked up speed?

So, the two of us are slowly making our way to our destination.

“Well, isn’t this a good opportunity? It’s not bad to just leave everything behind and walk slowly sometimes.”

“If we keep going at this speed, we’ll take a week to arrive.”

I thought we were near Moscow because we took a plane. What? They said it’s by the Arctic Sea?

If that’s the case, I should have asked to get off the plane on the way here.

Why am I bothering to go all the way to Moscow only to dig a hole?

“We just need to get out of the city. Let’s take it slow.”

Taking it slow? Yeah, right.

“If you don’t want to walk, there’s always the subway…”

Eventually, I was about to unleash my fury at that relaxed posture of my friend, but…

“It might be the last time. So, please listen to me this time.”

My dear friend played the trump card that silenced all my protests.

“Oh. Right. Sorry. I forgot for a moment.”

I also remembered why I was there, and the feelings my friend has while heading there.

I expressed my annoyance about the Soviet Union and the lingering emotions to the friend who might be leaving for the last time.

Ugh, stupid single-celled organism.

What’s the use of asking myself how important it is to control my emotions when I keep losing important things at crucial moments due to them?

Phew.

After letting out a sigh to calm the rising irritation, I bit down on the cold metal bar.

The chilling Siberian air flowed over my teeth and tongue.

Feeling a bit better now.

“Then how about we don’t just walk, and since we’re in Moscow, we should visit a restaurant or something?”

“Why all of a sudden? That’s rude. They say if you do something you don’t usually do in Eastern cultures, it means you’re about to die. Do you plan on dying soon?”

…Look at this guy’s attitude.

“Hey, I’m suggesting we do some sightseeing since you’re feeling down, and this is how you respond?”

“Ah, so that was your intention?”

The Librarian finally realized my consideration and spat out a response devoid of any emotion.

Then, he started talking to himself.

“Hmmm. Personally, I don’t like Soviet food. But then again, I wonder how much entertainment there is in a Moscow that’s already half a military city…”

This is quite a sight to behold.

Ha. My friend is being considerate but doesn’t like the food.

Damn nerd. This is why you have no friends besides me.

Thump. Thump.

One fool babbling his thoughts out loud, and a magical girl, stable in mind, looking at him pitifully as a friend.

How long has it been since the two of them continued walking?

…There’s an ordinary restaurant in sight. Where, shall we give it a try?

The Librarian abruptly spoke, lowering his voice, and pointed to a food place on the roadside.

At a glance, it looked natural, but if you knew him, it would feel forced as he turned his head towards me, blinking his crimson gaze.

“Ah, why not. Besides, the good restaurants in Moscow I know are on the exact opposite side.”

Understanding his intention, I nodded in agreement and headed towards the restaurant.

No matter where you looked, heading towards the restaurant.

There we were, utterly plain, except for us, and just two customers in the restaurant, drowning in tremendous dissatisfaction.

“The food is terrible.”

I muttered as I downed the bizarre taste with vodka.

“Really? I think it’s not that bad.”

Sitting across from me, the emotionless machine spat out a response while chewing the same food.

If it were my five senses, the taste had long gone, and I usually wouldn’t have a problem hearing other people’s opinions about food, but just this once, I could not hold it in.

“Is this kasha? This looks like a shitty oatmeal.”

A grayish, sickly porridge.

I stirred the so-called kasha with my spoon, venting my complaints.

“Was this dish called kasha? I thought it was oatmeal.”

That’s the problem with this dish.

Who sells this as kasha when oatmeal is the better option?

That too, a disgusting version of oatmeal.

“Right, you see it as oatmeal too, right? Where did the spices go? Where did the milk go?”

I know that traditionally, kasha is a water-mixed grain dish, and it’s natural to eat it when hungry.

But this is a restaurant, damn Vietnamese folks.

“If our oatmeal is made with quality, that’s how we make it.”

“Does this even look like quality? It looks like they just mixed water and oats 1:1 and boiled it.”

“It was my staple during my grad school.”

Oh, really?

Damn elite. Damn nerd.

Maybe I was dissatisfied seeing him stirring something resembling kasha with his spoon.

“Then why don’t you eat something else? We have borscht, and lamb too.”

That’s the same issue.

“Borscht? This sourish imitation vinegar you’re talking about?”

“Given the direction the spoon is pointing, that would be accurate.”

“And the lamb refers to that sinewy, stinky food waste, right?”

“If you’re referring to what you’re gnawing with a face filled with dissatisfaction, then yes.”

That’s right, it’s the one item in this pile of trash that I can still put in my mouth.

Meat is something great; it still goes down despite being ruined.

That said, the fact that my mouth gets dirty doesn’t change, so I grabbed the most sacred item on this table.

I held the neck of the sacred bottle in my grip and flicked my thumb.

Ping.

With a divine sound, the cap popped off.

Inside the transparent bottle was a holy and clear liquid.

Aligning the bottle neck with my tongue, I downed it in one gulp.

Gulps. Gulps.

Beautiful sounds traveled from my mouth to my ears.

An exquisite warmth lingered in my mouth before disappearing down my throat.

A moment of happiness.

However, the holy liquid contained very little.

With a disappointed heart, I pulled the bottle from my mouth.

Pop.

“…I’ve never seen anyone drink vodka like that before.”

“How else am I supposed to rinse out my mouth in this pile of trash? Oh, please bring another bottle of vodka.”

Soviet folks sure make good booze.

Compared to the food waste in front of me, the drink is nothing less than divine.

I usually enjoy vodka, but I doubt I’ll find anything sweeter than what I’m drinking now.

“Considering you said the food was trash, you seem to be enjoying yourself.”

Caught, huh? I must look a bit too pleased with the vodka.

“Well, as food, it’s garbage, but as an accompaniment, it at least passes the minimum threshold. This kasha has bits left to chew, so while the taste is horrible, it wakes up a dull tongue for snacks.

As for borscht, although it isn’t perfect, the strong salty and sour flavors are not bad for a side dish.

Lamb… well, it’s divisive, but its stench pairs quite well with alcohol.

I tend to agree with that.”

“That’s a relief. No matter how hard I tried, I could never understand alcohol.”

Really? Well, that’s perfect then.

“Now, there’s one more reason to live. When we get back, I’ll teach you how to drink.”

I’m not really good at it either.

But at least I can show you how to pour a drink.

The method is…

“I’ll be looking forward to it.”

The Librarian, having said that, set down the spoon and rose from his seat.

“Well then, let’s go.”

Hmm, so soon?

I wish I could enjoy the vodka more, but it can’t be helped.

The other customers seem uncomfortable too.

“Oh. I’m sorry, but I’m good on vodka. Can I get the check, please?”

After signaling to the waiter who brought over the ice-cold drink as if it had just come out of the refrigerator to indicate my refusal, I handed over the card.

Without any issues, the payment was completed.

The two of us casually left the restaurant.

Maybe it was because we had been indoors for a while.

The Siberian cold wind ruthlessly swept over us as we stepped outside, far harsher than when we entered the restaurant.

“Where do you think is good?”

“Based on my analysis, that alley looks nice.”

“Alright.”

After that brief exchange, we stepped into the alley, showing no reaction to the cold wind.

“Is this the right alley?”

…Stupid folks. Can’t they tell it’s a dead end?

Enemies’ voices trickled into my ears.

They were conversing casually, seemingly unaware of who we are or what we are preparing for.

“…What are they up to?”

Unlike the enemies, I lowered my voice significantly as I asked the Librarian.

“I suspect they might be heroes from the KGB.”

KGB? I don’t think so.

There’s no way those guys would work this carelessly.

Following foreign heroes and having lunch at the same restaurant, then chasing them like this?

Even kindergarten kids would do a better job at stalking.

Moreover,

“What could the KGB be doing like this? They could have just thrown documents around with no exposure—”

“I don’t know about that, but the code names they were using in their communication were KGB-type.”

Oh? So, they might just be fools idolizing the KGB.

“Well… I guess we’ll know once we catch them.”

“Can I help?”

“Just block the road.”

After a brief exchange of plans.

Thud.

I immediately unleashed my power and dashed forward.

“What the—”

Thud.

The sound of a big guy’s head hitting the wall.

One down.

Thud.

As I prepared for battle, I got hit in the fist and heard the noise of hitting the trash can.

“B-Bureau! Much stronger than expected—”

As the man attempting to escape from the alley bumped into the wall.

Was it because he used his own strength to collide?

Bleeding from his nose, yet not fainting, the man looked at the sudden wall in front of him in confusion.

“This wasn’t the plan! There were supposed to be heroes with no records…”

Could he be some last resort?

The man was mumbling angrily into the communicator in his hand, but that communication would never reach anyone.

Zzzzzt.

Zzzzt.

Proving my thoughts, only noise flowed from the communicator in the man’s hand.

Now, shall we begin the interrogation?

“What’re you up to?”

“I have nothing to say to you Yankee bastards…”

Crack.

The sound of plastic breaking.

The sound of a creature’s demise.

“AAAHHHHH!”

The man whose hand and communicator broke let out a scream.

“I’ll ask again. What are you up to?”

The man held his breath, not answering my question.

I stared intently at him.

How long has it been?

…It’s no use waiting any longer.”

Finally, the man seemed to calm his pain and spoke with a determined voice.

“Do you think our Red Army will fall to scum like you? Comrade Mikhail Morozov will definitely…”

Whatever he says doesn’t interest me.

“Librarian, I’m tired of hearing this scum’s nonsense. Did you find anything?”

“Yes, I found it. I’ve confirmed all the data.”

“Then what are their plans?”

“They intended to incite a coup and hold us as hostages to negotiate with the Association. It seems they didn’t care about us specifically; it was any hero that would do.”

What a unlucky bunch of guys, and they’re completely clueless.

Are they holding a knife to the Association’s throat? Didn’t it just happen that the upper echelons of the Soviets got wiped out because of their antics?

…W-What—the hell are they doing…

Ah, so that’s why these idiots are stepping in.

As they haven’t experienced the purges, it’s a project for young folks with no clue whatsoever.

And this plan is…

“Librarian, is it feasible to secure them?”

“If it’s that, then…”

From somewhere in the Soviet city, a sound of an explosion could be heard—it seems it wasn’t too far from us.

As I raised my head to spot the source of the sound, I saw white smoke billowing into the air.

“I’ve already dealt with it.”

Just like that, things came to an abrupt end, being held back by a single Librarian.

---