Lovers

21

The Ultimate Concept Man

The next day, sleet was falling from the sky.

I pondered how to get to Riegel’s house. Taking a taxi would be the simplest option, but it didn’t seem fitting for “Armin Schnieke, the aspiring barista with no money.” On the other hand, I didn’t want to ride a bicycle on the icy roads that had been freezing and thawing for days. After some deliberation, I decided to borrow Baral’s car.

Baral’s car was a very common compact car from J country. It really didn’t suit his large frame.

“I’m surprised someone from the Security Bureau drives a car like this,” I said instead of a greeting. The Security Bureau is known for its high salary levels, and their parking lot looks no different from a luxury car showroom. You can easily spot supercars there, so it was quite refreshing to see Baral driving such a compact car.

“Cars are depreciating assets. Expensive cars are meaningless,” Baral said coldly. It was clearly his own car. I thought as much. There were too many personal items visible inside the car.

“You’re right,” I agreed, fidgeting in the passenger seat. Baral handed me a thermos. He had not only washed the thermos but also filled it with coffee he had brewed himself.

“Show that bastard Riegel the essence of coffee,” he said.

“Of course, I’ll say I brewed this myself,” I replied.

“Naturally,” Baral nodded.

It seemed Baral was annoyed by how Riegel reluctantly ordered drinks whenever he came to the cafe. Come to think of it, Baral was strangely serious about this cafe. For all I know, he might be the real “aspiring barista” here. Is he planning to become a cafe owner if he quits the Security Bureau?

“What kind of car does Schnieke drive?” Baral asked. It wasn’t confrontational, just an attempt to keep the conversation going. He seemed to be unexpectedly sociable.

“Ah, I don’t have a car,” I answered.

“Even if you’re staying in Lumaier, isn’t it inconvenient without a car?”

“It is inconvenient, but these days taxi apps work well, so it’s manageable. Above all, I don’t have the confidence to maintain a car.”

“Maintain?”

“I’m mostly on business trips.”

“Ah,” Baral nodded in understanding.

Our team is officially called the anti-terrorism team, but that’s just the official name. With only a few team members, how could we respond to terrorism? A small team like ours can’t handle anti-terrorism. That requires a much larger force.

What we do are tasks for a small group. I heard other teams call us “hunting dogs,” which doesn’t sound nice, but I understand why. While others strive for justice in the light, we sneak through the darkness doing things that righteous people can’t do. Our team’s purpose is to produce results desired by the director, department chief, or other powerful figures, setting aside values like justice and injustice.

We’re a blade that doesn’t discriminate in its methods, a dog that bites anything for the sake of the goal. That’s our team. Naturally, our team has been used for the convenience of many people.

There wasn’t much for us to do in Lumaier. We traveled around the world, killing and tracking people. The times we did something beautiful could be counted on one hand. There were almost none.

Still, we believed we were doing necessary work that someone had to do, getting our own hands dirty. But we didn’t realize then that doing only dirty work makes it easy for everyone to discard us when we need to be disposed of.

“Is it Department 2 following us?” I asked.

Baral shook his head. “Probably Department 1.”

This car had been tailed the entire time I was riding in it.

“Did you hear anything specific-“

“No. It doesn’t seem to be following me.”

“Our department chief is putting in effort,” I commented.

The kind-looking face of Otto Layer flashed through my mind. He really looks benevolent. But he can be more vicious than anyone. He probably doesn’t even realize how vile he can be. To him, it’s either natural or just bothersome.

Baral snorted at my words.

“It’s our department chief who’s putting in effort. I heard he went up to the director. Asking for assurance, apparently.”

“Well, it would be better if it was guaranteed in writing.”

“That’s asking for too much.”

“True.”

Even the director couldn’t write a letter of amnesty guaranteeing my status. To get such a letter, I’d need to bring something extraordinary to the director, but I just said I’d participate in the operation. And in principle, if the director orders, I should participate in the operation.

Of course, if I start insisting on my team members’ situations, this operation is likely to be canceled, which would be troublesome for the director too, so he might give assurance. But even if he does, he won’t do it with a good feeling. It’s no different from me backstabbing the director to secure my safety once.

If the director decides to get rid of me after this incident, it will be really difficult to defend against.

I wonder if Volkari could get the director’s assurance. Somehow, I feel like she could. She had that look in her eyes, willing to jump into a burning fire to save her subordinate who uses a white bird as a codename.

I’m envious.

Having a good superior is also a blessing.

On the way to Riegel’s house with a tail, my heart felt heavy.

The heavy feeling changed into a bizarre one as soon as we entered Riegel’s mansion. Baral dropped me off, and I switched to a limousine that came to greet me at the huge door of the mansion. This is where I started thinking, “Something’s off here.” But compared to what followed, switching to a limousine was nothing strange at all.

As I looked at the garden while riding in the limousine, I suddenly became confused.

Am I really in Rotman right now? Not in Asia?

The garden was so strange that it instantly swept away all the pain, despair, and complexity occupying my mind. This wasn’t a garden that should exist in Rotman. Anyone could see this belonged in Asia. There wasn’t a single thing Rotman-like about it!

When I reached the main building of the mansion, it was even more ridiculous. Wait, this… I’ve only seen this on streaming services… It was an enormous, Oriental-style mansion.

The floor was higher than where I was standing, and there was a long stone between the floor and me. Did they put stone instead of stairs? It does have a quaint, nice feeling though.

The door opened, and David Nakaban, who appeared to be Riegel’s secretary, came out to greet me with a broad smile.

“Welcome.”

…Why aren’t you wearing shoes?

As I blinked, staring at Nakaban’s feet, he casually said, “Ah, you can take off your shoes and come up.”

What did you say?

These people are crazy. I barely suppressed the urge to turn around and leave immediately. Inwardly thinking how fortunate it was that I wasn’t wearing socks with holes today, I took off my shoes and stepped onto the floor that was sure to be cold. And I was surprised.

The floor was warm.

It was a wooden floor, but it was warm.

The wood was polished and shiny. As I entered, the door closed behind me with a soft sound. I thought it was an automatic door, but when I looked to the side, I saw two male staff members kneeling on either side, closing the door. Did they deliberately open the door for me like this?

My mind went blank. What was that drama? The one where the protagonist opens their eyes and finds they’ve time-slipped to an ancient world. I felt like I had stepped into such a drama. But even in that drama, they didn’t go to such a different culture, did they?

The attire of the staff working in this house… Ah, I get that it’s a uniform, but why does it look like ancient clothing from another country?

‘Sebastian Riegel. 31 years old, the eldest of Michael Riegel’s two sons and one daughter. He’s a fa-mous Oriental enthusiast.’

You should have emphasized it more!

This isn’t just enthusiast level, he’s just completely insane!

At that time, I cynically thought, ‘Is he saying this because I’m Asian and he’s trying to appeal to an Oriental enthusiast?’ But that wasn’t it. Not at all. This is beyond what can be described with words like “enthusiast.”

Why are there so many jars inside the house… White jars, white and blue jars, yellow jars… What is all this?

And why are there so many doors? All of those doors are sliding doors. What were they called again? Ah, right, ‘jangji-mun’. Those damn sliding doors were endless.

When I looked up at the ceiling, I could see wood lying horizontally, probably there to support something. The house had a faint smell of wood. As if I had entered a forest.

Once, a team member sprayed me with a scent like this. Cypress, was it? And he told me. This tree is a conifer but doesn’t grow well in Rotman because it’s sensitive to cold. In other words, all the wood used to build this enormous mansion must have been imported from overseas.

Expensive-looking hanging scrolls. The scent of burning incense tickling my nose. The warm wooden floor. The rustle of silk as the staff moved around. Just as I was lost in amazement at how far human obsession could go, we arrived at a room. That room was also extraordinary.

The most extraordinary thing was that you had to sit on the floor. A floor seating arrangement? Moreover, Riegel was half-lying on a very large cushion, wearing what looked like a silk robe with subtle embroidery. When he saw me arrive, he raised his body, but only his upper body barely rose; he didn’t stand up. And in front of him, a low table and a cushion were prepared.

I guess he wants me to sit there.

I was so dumbfounded that I blurted out, “Don’t you have any chairs?”

“Ah, can’t you sit on the floor?”

Apparently, there’s a separate place for those who can’t sit on the floor. But I had a mission to make a good impression on Riegel, so I said, “No, that’s not it,” and awkwardly sat down on the cushion in front of him. It felt strange to sit on the floor when meeting someone.

Ah, of course, during missions, we’ve sat on the floor to eat and such, but this isn’t a battlefield with bullets flying around. I’m not sure if this is barbaric or if there’s some spiritual aesthetics to it.

“First of all, thank you for the soup,” I said, handing over the thermos in my dazed state. Riegel took it and shook it with a puzzled look.

“There’s something in here?”

“I brewed some coffee…”

When Baral gave it to me, I thought it was considerate, but now I realized it probably wouldn’t fit the place. Right, here it should be green tea. Some kind of Oriental tea. Even the cups on the table were tiny, like something you’d use for a doll’s tea party. They must be for the tea ceremony.

“You brewed it yourself?” 

However, Riegel seemed more interested in the fact that I had brought coffee than in how it didn’t match the place.

“Ah, well…”

Riegel switched our conversation to informal speech. It felt less uncomfortable than at first. When I nodded, Riegel shrugged.

“Then we should drink it.”

He poured coffee into two beautifully painted cups, handed one to me, and slowly sipped his own.

Hmm. While he closed his eyes and savored it, light poured in from the window beside him. And what looked like blinds above that window were…

Bamboo shades. He really was a man with a thorough concept.