Memoirs of the Returnee-Chapter 303: New Year (1)

Lately, the atmosphere at the Intelligence Agency is eerily calm. To be precise, it's like the eye of a storm. There’s a rather suspicious current flowing between Director Gedley and several team leaders.

Because of that, I’m keeping an eye on Bell Moore’s office, just in case…

—Ah, fuck. Where did those three pieces go?

Unaware of anything, Bell Moore is busy assembling a puzzle. It’s a 1,000-piece jigsaw puzzle.

—Did I drop them on the way here? This is driving me crazy.

He Looks quite relaxed as he bends down to rummage under the desk and the sofa.

That’s Bell Moore for you.

For some reason or another, including work reports, employees of the Intelligence Agency do not come to him. He is thoroughly isolated from both internal and external contacts.

On the other hand, almost all information is relayed to me. Through team members, the hotline, or even the cameras I've installed inside the Intelligence Agency.

Externally, I am Bell Moore’s right-hand man.

However, I am not a person of my own volition.

What I mean is, I am nothing more than an 'executive carrying out Bell Moore’s orders.’

All the plans that I execute, all the thoughts in my head, are Bell Moore’s ideas.

Shion Ascal is a minion following the mastermind, Bell Moore.

Thanks to this, I can relieve all responsibilities with a simple phrase, ‘It’s Team Leader Bell’s will.’

It’s authority without true responsibility.

—Ah, fuck, I really must have dropped them. Shitty, so shitty.

Having given up on finding the puzzle pieces, Bell Moore lies down on the sofa.

—Ah, fuck, were these pieces missing when I bought it? Feels like they were fucking out and cut corners. Fucking annoying.

He mutters irritably and then suddenly yawns loudly.

…Haaaah.

He blinks sleepily for a moment, then curls up like a shrimp and falls asleep.

He really is a man true to his instincts.

‘Master! I found it!’

Just then, I received a message from Grawl.

‘Good. Send it over by email.'

‘Yes!’

The email arrived in my dark web account. It was related to Theia EsiT.

I quietly looked at it.

‘Shall we get started right away?

‘No. Slowly. We need time.’

We must gather evidence slowly but surely.

Theia is a meticulous person.

No matter how much it’s to help her, acting too hastily could lead to a counterattack.

‘Keep watching. Someday, she will probably go to meet the child of her old mentor.’

Theia’s old mentor has a son.

He is a monster.

All the false accusations and disgrace that lead to her downfall originate from him.

…Glofeld’s Beckron underwent a health examination, moved up several months ahead of schedule.

Of course, he had dismissed the fortune teller as a madman that day, but it was because he was bothered by the curse-like words spoken.

The results—

“What’s going on?”

Beckron was startled by his wife’s words.

Right now, he’s lying in a VIP hospital room, dressed in stark white clothes.

“…At least it's a relief. It was discovered early.”

His wife babbled on, but Beckron was dazed. Her voice didn’t properly reach his ears.

“Honey, don’t worry too much.”

She said not to worry, but he couldn’t help it.

“lt’s still early.”

Pancreatic cancer is one of the worst prognosis for an average person. However, for Beckron, who has been magically and physically trained, and who would receive toptier mana treatment, the likelihood of dying from this cancer alone is close to 0%.

The cancer cells hadn’t even caused a magical mutation yet.

“No…”

But Beckron was in despair. He tugged at his mustache and lowered his head.

“lt’s not true. It’ll be okay.”

His wife patted his back, but it was of no comfort.

Beckron responded in a defeated tone.

“This isn’t the end…”

“…What?”

—Countless grudges are weighing you down.

That fortune teller… no, the astrological mage had said this wasn’t the end.

—The vengeful spirits are trying to kill you.

The cause is the grudges of spirits.

But Beckron doesn’t know exactly what ‘spirits’ means. Could it be referring to a few workers who died in industrial accidents?

Just then, the doctor entered.

“Mr. Glofeld. As you've heard…”

He began explaining the treatment options for pancreatic cancer, boasting confidently about how he had saved dozens of patients.

Beckron found his face displeasing.

This man in a white coat, oblivious to what’s truly important.

“Still, you’re very lucky. It’s way before any magical mutation, even a normal person could return to daily life without much trouble at this stage.”

“…Thanks to the astrological mage.”

“Excuse me?”

Astrological mage. The doctor looked puzzled, but Beckron bowed his head again.

“Beckron. Lift your face.”

Suddenly, a deep voice raised his face.

“…my lord.”

Beckron’s father and the current head of the Glofeld family, Derian. An elderly man whose head was completely bald, and his body was still robust and unbent by the passage of time.

He spoke as if commanding.

“What sort of state is this?”

The doctors and nurses glanced around and left the room.

Derian scowled discontentedly.

“Disease is merely a disease, yet it seems you fear something other than the illness itself.”

“…”

“Are you going to keep your mouth shut? Explain yourself.”

His father urged him. Beckron pursed his lips.

Does one always remain a child before their father, no matter the age?

Beckron rubbed his face dry with his hands, his voice trembling with the urge to cry.

“There was an incident at Castology.”

“Castology?”

“Yes. It’s where the card astrological mage is…”

“You foolish boy. Are you distressed over such superstitious nonsense?”

“Please listen. If it weren’t for him, I might have died. He’s the one who informed me about this pancreatic cancer.”

“What?”

“Father. What happened there was…”

Beckron explained to his father what had occurred at Castology.

The astrological mage had pointed out the disease growing in his body, and thanks to him, Beckron had moved up his health examination.

“lt’s just a coincidence. You've become weak, Beckron.”

Derian dismissed it, but Beckron was still in a panic.

It wasn’t just because of the fortune-telling.

—Has this fortune teller lost his mind—You should be thankful I don’t send someone to destroy this place.

Beckron had even slandered the astrological mage as a mere fortune teller, threatened him, and had taken back all the fees paid.

It was madness.

Thwack!

Derian smacked Beckron on the head.

“Beckron. Get a hold of yourself. I told you, it’s a coincidence.”

“…But, father. He said this isn’t the end.”

“Not the end?”

“Yes.”

—You're a man who doesn’t know what’s important. Don’t think that one disease is the end.

Beckron was afraid.

No matter how much of a billionaire he was, the heir to a prestigious family seated at the round table, or rather because of it, he had lived a life full of splendor and had many regrets. He didn’t want to let go of all his wealth and glory, and his fear of death was great.

“He said this is just the begin ning.”

“Beckron. Do you believe that? You’ve been obsessed with superstitions since you were a child”

“He said that spirits are clinging to my shoulders. Spirits.”

Suddenly, Derian stiffened. His deep wrinkles trembled slightly.

“What are you talking about? Speak clearly. Spirits?”

Beckron looked up at Derian.

“…The astrological mage said, numerous spirits are trying to kill me.”

Derian suddenly fell silent. Beckron sensed something in his father’s face.

His father knew something.

“Father. You know something.”

Derian’s gaunt cheeks twitched. He quickly shook his head.

“Know what? Don’t believe such nonsense from a fortune teller.”

“He’s not a fortune teller. Father, you know something. You just remembered something, didn’t you?”

The son knew his father well.

Always strong and sharp, his father had definitely just recalled something.

“Father. Please tell me. I need to seek forgiveness from the spirits.”

“You’ve lost your mind. I told you not to believe in those fortune tellers!”

“He’s not a fortune teller!”

Beckron tore at his own hair, his teeth clattering as he muttered.

“I need to meet the astrological mage again. I was too rude to him. I shouldn't have acted that way…”

“This crazy bastard…”

Derian looked at his son with exasperated eyes before leaving the hospital room.

However, he returned shortly after.

“Drink some water.”

He handed Beckron a glass of water. Beckron stared blankly up at his father.

“Go on. Drink and calm down.”

“Yes.”

He drank the water, though his demeanor was off.

“Rest.”

Derian waited until he had finished the cup before stepping out again.

“Father. Please talk to me. Father”

Beckron tried to hold him back, but his father’s departing figure was cold.

…

I deactivated Infimian in the hospital bathroom. The face that was Derian reverted back to a completely different man.

“Phew.”

Seems like I timed that just right.

By the way, I’m the one who just gave Beckron the water as Derian.

The water contained a poison, used in a spell called [Weakening] , a modified version of Weaken that Grawl had altered in the lab.

I plan to continue giving him this poisoned tea once a week.

Even during his chemotherapy, and after it ends, Beckron will continue to weaken.

Moreover, because this poison is magical, it’s undetectable by modern medicine.

Beckron will come to believe that he is truly dying because of the spirits, and the more he believes, the more he will cling to me, and eventually, Derian will have to reveal the truth related to the eternal life experiments.

Once I receive that information, I plan to release him.

I just need to brew an antidote.

“Ahem.”

I walked down the hospital corridor. I saw the head of the Glofeld family—Derian— getting into a limousine with a troubled expression.

He’s a robust figure. Unlike Beckron, he’s not swayed in the slightest by superstitions.

A small smile appeared on my lips.

“My predictions are never wrong.”

Even if they are, I just make them right.

A stark white winter.

The year had changed, and the continent had aged another year.

During this time, I had mostly been active as an Intelligence Agency Chaser. The end and beginning of the year were incredibly busy. I assassinated several agents, gathered intelligence, fed Beckron poisoned tea, and followed Theia very cautiously.

—Jade is really pissed off right now.

Grawl chattered while lounging on the sofa.

He seems to really like my new house and often comes to visit.

“That makes sense. I’d be pissed too.”

Jade has been suffering for the past three months. Blocker has been tormenting him with all sorts of methods like coffee bean raids, material looting, and bomb attacks.

I instigated it, but even I’m surprised by how recklessly they’re acting.

—I think they mistook Lithium for Jade’s business.

“Yeah. I think so too.”

Zia received weapon materials through the coffee distribution network.

Therefore, Blocker mistook Zia’s Lithium for Jade’s business and saw him as a direct competitor.

Blocker must think he can handle Jade, the second son.

Given the current succession dynamics, neither the eldest daughter nor the eldest son would help Jade even if he were to die tomorrow.

Maybe in the past, they would have actually supported Blocker?

“Has Jade made any moves yet?”

—No.

Although it’s a bit more severe than a mosquito bite, Jade is enduring it with superhuman patience.

That must mean he loves the persona he presents as a businessman.

But what can you do when your opponent isn’t a businessman?

Violence that doesn’t communicate must be met with violence.

“He’U move within one or two months.”

Jade will move just once, and that one move will be the end. The organization known as Blocker will disappear into the annals of history without knowing who struck them.

—That sounds interesting- I want to watch.

Grawl chuckled.

I silently watched the TV.

[Libra’s Derek, artificial intelligence sales at an all-time high……]

The news was about Derek’s Al selling like hotcakes. Despite the hefty membership and subscription fees, there are already over 100,000 pre-orders.

Thanks to this, Killian’s identity earned nearly 50 million Ren in bonuses, but I planned to bring them down when they reached their peak.

Ding—

“……Hmm?”

Suddenly, a message arrived on my Libra phone.

A message tinged blue.

It was a direct, personal request from someone related to Libra.

In other words, a targeted mission.

[Find out the hideout of an organization called ‘Blocker,’ and the whereabouts and personal details of its leader, Blocker, and report back.]

As soon as I saw the mission details, I knew who had asked for it.

I thought it would take another month, but it seems even Jade has grown too impatient.

“Grawl. I’m off to work.”

—Okay. Keep in touch-

I got dressed, and Grawl tapped on his smartphone, managing his social media.

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