Mr. Magical Girl

Chapter: 165. Soren-style Humor.

“Did that just boom, or is everyone dead?”

“Of course, it was just a containment explosion. What do you think of me?”

Well, that works.

“Let’s grab everything we need and scram. We need to leave before those red bastards show up.”

For now, we’ve stopped these rotten bugs’ plan, so I can send the related documents to the Association later.

The Soviets will turn the country upside down trying to find the masterminds behind this terrorist incident, but that’s not our problem.

If they think I’m gonna waltz into the Soviet branch of the Association to hand over information, they’ll surely make me drink some rusty tea under KGB supervision.

Just as I’m letting my imagination fly…

“Unfortunately.”

I hear the librarian’s bitter chuckle.

“It’s already too late.”

At the same moment—click—the sound of a gun barrel is heard.

“Please raise your hands.”

A familiar female voice rings from behind.

…Crap.

Reluctantly, I raised my hands and opened my mouth.

“KGB is quick with their business, huh? Am I right?”

I thought it’d take at least another ten minutes.

“I think so too, but the idiots fainted at the feet of our captain, which makes them officially marked fools on our side.”

Captain, huh.

Why do both Henry and Ivan keep calling me captain?

Surely, they don’t have good memories associated with me, judging by the 0H’s I’ve met.

“Oh, right… So we kinda got robbed by them, you get me? I mean, can we discuss the details later and just let me go? I’m really in a hurry…”

I pleaded with surprising emotion.

I just really didn’t want to get involved with the Soviet government.

“No can do.”

And just like that, I received a response as cold as the Siberian winter from my old subordinate.

“The reason…”

As I turned my head, the unchanged figure of my old subordinate came into view.

Dressed in a crisp black suit, a tie casually dangling around their neck, and a revolver in their hand, haphazardly held and unkempt.

Even after all these years, they hadn’t changed at all.

“I’m hiding in the shadows, you see. Captain.”

…Yeah, that seemed likely.

I actually just tossed that remark out without thinking.

“Still a hero, I see?”

“No reason to quit. And if I may add, it’s pointless to knock me out. The KGB specialized unit has already surrounded this area.”

Damn it.

I was hoping to just faint and slip away unnoticed.

Must be because they were my former subordinates, but they seemed to read my thought process quickly.

“What she said is true. Let’s calmly drink some black tea. The KGB is here.”

Yes, yes. Thank you so much for the kind explanation, you cold-blooded librarian.

“Can you wrap it up quickly?”

“That’s not within my jurisdiction.”

With a sigh, suddenly—screech—

A completely black car that looked straight out of a spy movie parked in the alley.

…At least it’s not an armored van.

In the worst-case scenario, that was a silver lining I was grasping for.

“Get in.”

My old subordinate doesn’t seem to have any plans to let me find simple happiness, as they poke my forehead with the gun.

“Isn’t it usually better to hit someone in the back of the head?”

We were staring at each other clearly, and this felt a bit much, don’t you think?

“I can’t go behind you.”

Oh, I see.

Alright then, I’ll do as you say.

“Librarian! Get in… huh?”

Trying to sound composed, I began, but reality hit me like a hammer, crashing down into a pit of despair.

The librarian was nowhere to be found where she should have been.

Where’d she go?

Did she run off?

For a moment, I thought about the chance that my friend would betray me, but…

“Why not get in quickly? It’s cozy and nice in here.”

Fortunately, my friend didn’t betray me.

She just became a lackey under the power.

Sitting comfortably in the car, holding a can of soda she pulled from somewhere.

“Get in.”

For the first time today, I felt the Soviet air was cold.

The room wasn’t even finished being set up, and the concrete walls were bumpy all around.

In the middle of it all was a metal table.

There was a cozy chair on one side and a cheap frame chair on the other.

That was where I currently sat.

The chair was hard.

In the corner, there was a spider spinning its web; looks like they don’t clean around here.

“I ask for the fifth time. Please tell the truth. What was your relationship with them?”

Huh? Oh, my apologies. I was lost in thought.

Hold on, is this the fifth time? I thought it was more like the fiftieth.

“So, how many times must I say this? I don’t know them at all.”

Bam! I slammed my fist onto the metal table, the loud noise reverberating through the room, but I felt no excitement.

It was such a textbook interrogation.

It’s amazing that the overly bright bulbs haven’t burned out yet.

Torture? They said they wouldn’t do it again after the agreement with the Association.

But I kind of wish they would torture me.

It was so tedious.

Ah, in a way, this was torture.

A mental one, burning time out of sheer meaninglessness.

“Don’t lie. You were wandering around our capital doing nothing, and the first ones you ran into were them, weren’t they?”

Right, I also find that odd.

“I even ate. Terrible food.”

“That was a meeting spot for the connection, right?”

Wow. Fresh logic.

How far gone is your reasoning if you think that way?

“If I were really connecting with those guys, I would’ve dumped all the costs on them and gone to a fancy restaurant.”

“Stop the wordplay. There’s no way you’d meet in a conspicuous place.”

That’s a side note. The food was terrible there.

Plus, I’ve gotten accustomed to your ugly blockhead; can’t you bring someone else?

I’d prefer a scholar-type who’ll babble quietly so I can catch some Zs.

“Could it be that you truly met them for the first time here?”

“Of course, it’s my first time seeing them. But if we had contact, there are so many ways to reach out. What sort of deal did you negotiate? What was your purpose in contacting them?”

Ah, here we go. Meaningless questions.

You guys already got the scoop from my ex-subordinate; why ask again?

The Association needs a quick fix for their listening conditions; they just want to extract information.

These idiots just keep repeating themselves until they get the answers they want.

Then, more evidence comes up, and they’ll make sure I’m cleared before letting me go.

Or they might just scream for a day or two to break my spirit before releasing me.

I know it from experience.

Thanks to that, the immigration procedures always took about five hours or so.

“I passed out before I could even talk.”

“They probably made you pass out to distract from our agents’ presence. Regarding you, we already had all the information we needed.”

As the nonsensical argument continued, I started to clear my mind.

Anyway, I could just reflexively spit out whatever answer.

But more importantly, I wondered what food they’d serve this time.

I hope it’s better than that awful cabbage pickled bread last time.

If they’re using cabbage again, can’t they at least serve it grilled?

Maybe thinking about food has helped.

“When’s the food coming?”

I reflexively returned that response to a question from a man whose name I didn’t even know.

“If you continue to be uncooperative, you won’t get a meal.”

The man sitting across from me rejected outright, decidedly.

Ah, great.

Then I guess it’s just silence for now.

I wonder what the librarian is saying about this.

With her personality, she’s probably getting the other side all riled up with logic.

If we weren’t interrogated separately, that’s a scene I’d want to watch at least once.

It’d probably be funnier than a typical comedy show.

“Won’t you give me some vodka?”

“Do you think this is a joke—”

At that moment, the infuriating voice of the man rose as if he finally exploded.

clang clang clang

But that outburst was cut off as the metal door behind me suddenly opened.

“Still! You’re in the middle of—”

The interrogator stood up suddenly, shot out with frustration, but sadly couldn’t finish that second word before closing his mouth.

What on earth is happening?

Is someone important coming in or something?

I wondered while still seated, tilting my head back to look at the door.

Through a world flipped upside-down, I saw two figures.

A familiar ex-subordinate dressed in relaxed clothing.

An old man in a perfect suit with neat ties, pants, everything nailed to perfection.

“Over here! Sir.”

Who is that?

I’d never seen that face before.

After confirming the visitor, I turned away.

I had no more interest in this.

Seeing as they called him “Sir,” he was obviously someone significant, but I have no real interest in people in temporary positions.

However, my interrogator looked to consider this to be a crucial matter.

Even after some time passed since the aforementioned “Sir” came in, he couldn’t close his mouth.

But that awkward frozen moment ended when—

thudthud

We heard the sound of someone’s shoes approaching.

“Presenting… the Secretary-General!”

Seems like he’s a bit late.

His salute was perfect.

It was like a robot greeting; the formality of it was impeccable.

One thing that seemed off was the look of disbelief on his face, like he couldn’t believe the situation he found himself in.

“Don’t say that. I am not your superior.”

Was he feeling burdened by his own stature?

From behind, a deep, controlled voice echoed.

“No, no! It’s the Secretary-General who is our eternal…”

I wondered if he thought it was a typical loyalty test between the Reds.

The interrogator started sweating bullets and tried to butter up, but—

“I am just a party head. The KGB is just one department of our great socialist republic. Isn’t that so?”

Yeah, yeah. And that one party is the only party in this damned country.

“U-uh, of course.”

As that man’s response came, at last, the party head walked toward our table, pulling the rigid interrogator’s arm down, making him stop the salute and opened his mouth.

“To whom do you pledge your loyalty? The party or the nation?”

His words flowed like a snake’s whisper.

The earlier deep voice was still there, but there was a strange allure in the spaces between his words.

Wow. Look at that questioning style.

That’s how you do an interrogation.

Screaming like that won’t work.

Anyway, it’s clear that was a tough question to answer.

I don’t know what sort of training the KGB undergoes, but it’s clear enough that making a choice here would be challenging.

…The nation.”

And finally, he delivered his answer.

Perhaps it might be the last one he gives.

“Good. That’s a sound spirit. Act just like that.”

The party head praised his answer and patted his shoulder.

As a superior would to a subordinate.

“And now, you should step out. I need to speak with this gentleman.”

Though surprisingly authoritative, there was strength in the words.

He just said he wasn’t a superior, but here he is, giving direct orders.

I guess I understand this man’s nature.

He pushes others to uncomfortable extremes to secure advantageous outcomes for himself.

Seems he comes from the intelligence division; he’s quite skilled.

“Understood!”

With that short response, the man dashed out of the interrogation room like the wind.

The old man left in the room effectively nodded in satisfaction.

“Now, let me chat with you.”

He took the seat that another just occupied.

What kind of situation is this? I glanced over at my ex-subordinate, but they were just yawning, guarding the door.

After finishing their actions, they made eye contact with me, but all I got back was a questioning look saying, “Why are you looking at me?”

Sigh. I didn’t want to get entangled with someone significant.

But I guess I have no choice.

“Why does the mighty Emperor of the Soviet Union have business with me?”

I asked with a strong hint of sarcasm.

Maybe he found that amusing.

“Hahaha. Emperor? I’m merely a being dedicated to the nation.”

The man let out his first laugh, showing some emotion.

And yet that answer meant nothing to me.

Dedication, my foot.

“Hm. I see what you’re thinking. That’s fine. I had learned quite a bit about you too, so let’s keep this brief.”

Yes, do that.

I’m not interested.

I gave a smile with a hint of sarcasm as I propped my chin, but the man’s face remained unchanged, pulling out a small box from his pocket and placing it on the table.

“Open it.”

“Sure, why not.”

It’s not like it’s a proposal or something.

With little interest, I pulled it closer and opened it.

Inside the very gently opened purple box was something I hadn’t expected at all.

“I hereby recognize you as a hero of our republic. From now on, you shall be known as Soviet Hero, Haram Lee.”

It was a small medal—reds and golds intertwined.

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