OT. Teamwork. Still, it would’ve been strange if such a special unit didn’t have its own trials.
“Looks like using me as bait wasn’t enough for them.”
They probably wanted to test my skills one more time before a full-scale mission. Gunther walked behind the two men leading the way, tuning himself mentally. Since he’d become stronger than a few days ago, he’d be able to show a better side of himself. ...However, the place they arrived at was wholly unexpected.
“A bar?..”
And a pretty luxurious one. The facade was clad in expensive stone, and the statues at the entrance gleamed with gold. The design was among the most extravagant in the Middle City. This place looked more like a lounge for holding balls than an ordinary bar. Gunther tilted his head in confusion and called out to the two companions:
“Is the elimination target here?”
Parco and Levain exchanged a look at the same time and chuckled quietly.
“There’s something better here.”
Inside, the bar was even more magnificent. To the sound of soft string music, well-dressed people gathered in small groups, sipping alcohol at the counter and tables. Since bringing in weapons was forbidden, they had to hand theirs over. While a waiter led them to their seats, Parco smiled and slung an arm around Gunther’s shoulder.
“Hey, are you not gonna take that off?”
“The mask? Do I need to?”
“Isn’t it stuffy in there? And it really stands out.”
Gunther hesitated for a moment, then answered,
“If I take it off, I’ll stand out even more.”
“...Huh?”
As Parco tilted his head in bewilderment, Levain sighed and pulled Parco’s hand away.
“Drop it. In this city, half the people walk around in masks and robes, so who cares.”
“Levain, have a conscience. I just wanted an excuse to see our rookie’s face at least once.”
“You’re the one who should have a conscience. If he doesn’t want to take off his mask, there’s a reason.”
“Oh... Don’t tell me he’s a rare ugly bastard?”
“Yeah, something like that.”
“......”
Gunther simply stayed silent. Parco gave him a sympathetic look and ordered two bottles of expensive alcohol whose names Gunther had never even heard.
“Alright, let’s drink. Levain’s paying anyway, so order whatever you want, don’t worry! So what if you’re not handsome, that’s not a problem!”
...Two hours passed at the bar counter like that. Exactly enough time for Gunther’s patience to evaporate without a trace.
“...What the hell are we doing?”
“Huh? OT, OT. A welcome party.”
Pretty drunk, Parco smiled and was about to pour wine around, but when he noticed Gunther’s glass wasn’t even half empty, he frowned.
“Hm-m, you don’t like the drink? Should we switch the type of alcohol?”
“...No.”
“Need more snacks, then?”
Gunther let out a heavy sigh.
“Are you seriously... here just to drink? Right on the eve of the operation?”
For the past two hours, Gunther had tried to focus on this drinking session. He kept thinking maybe they’d mention the operation. Maybe this place was for discussing something important. But his expectations were wasted.
“Does our rookie have a girlfriend? What about hobbies?”
“So how old are you? I’m twenty-five, Levain’s twenty-four!”
“What type of girls do you like? In the Organization, a lot of people date. If anything, relationships are even stronger in there.”
Only empty questions about his personal life continued. Even usually taciturn Levain had gotten completely drunk and was muttering something incoherently under his breath.
“Hm-m, it’d be nice if the other five came too.”
He was so drunk he’d been mixing up the number of fighters in the unit from the start. It was outrageous. To think the Organization had members this undisciplined.
“Alright, Gunther, tell us something. How’d you get in with us, huh? People with ordinary stories try not to come in here.”
“......”
His patience was at the limit. Gunther gave up on answering and lowered his gaze. Parco awkwardly scratched the back of his head and pulled the bottle he’d been pushing at Gunther back to his own glass.
“Hm-m, do we look pathetic in your eyes?”
“Let’s just say... I’m confused.”
This atmosphere, this drinking, their relaxed behavior. Gunther had thought he knew very well what the group called “Night Raven” was... and especially their “Executive Squad.” A place where avengers gathered, with a single goal—destroying Luthien. So who were these guys in front of him?
“Tomorrow’s operation... is everything really going to be okay?”
First of all, a fundamental question rose up: was it even worth advancing the scenario with people who had this kind of mentality? Maybe it wasn’t too late to link up not with the 4th Platoon, but with other proven comrades. The 1st or 2nd Platoons—supporting characters who appeared often in the original story. If he joined them...
“Gunther.”
But before he could finish the thought, Parco spoke in a teasing tone.
“Don’t judge us too harshly. This is our own method—call it a tradition.”
“A tradition? Taking off masks, calling each other by name, switching to informal speech, and getting smashed the day before an operation—that’s your tradition?”
“Haha, when you list it all like that at once, it sounds terrible. But try to understand us.”
His tone was light, as always.
“We’re a unit where death is just... something that happens.”
“What?”
“Complete the mission, die, and be forgotten.”
Parco chuckled briefly and raised his glass.
“Everyone in the Organization lives side by side with death, but the Executive Squad—and especially our 4th Platoon—more than anyone.”
“......”
“It’s been, what, two years or so since Levain and I joined the Organization.”
“...That’s a long time.”
“We lasted. Watched comrades die in agony, went insane from it, came back to normal—and repeated that cycle a few times.”
Parco took a slow sip of his drink. He fell silent for a moment, then added in a more upbeat voice:
“...Over time, you start forgetting. There comes a point when the memories of who you used to be, and what you fought for, begin to blur.”
His dark eyes paused on the glass for a moment, then he looked back at Gunther.
“Gunther. Everyone who could’ve remembered us is already dead. Family, friends, old comrades—doesn’t matter.”
Levain cut in with a cynical smirk.
“People don’t usually come to our unit unless they’ve already hit rock bottom.”
“Yeah. So we have to remember each other, at least among ourselves. We have to remember who we brought in, and who we lost.”
As Gunther turned their words over, hands settled on his shoulders. Caught between the two of them, he heard this:
“That’s a good thing.”
“...What is.”
“We’re people who took on the duty of remembering each other. That’s why we keep faith with our comrades more tightly than any other team.”
Whether you like it or not. From the moment he entered the 4th Platoon, that was what “comrade” meant to them.
“Even if curses from evil gods rain down over our heads, we’ll go save each other. You’ve ended up in that kind of team.”
With a face full of pride, Levain looked three or four years younger than before. Twenty-five and twenty-four, they’d said? Add up twenty-seven years of life on Earth as Lee Jonghyeon and three years as Gunther—thirty. They were younger brothers to him.
“So drink.”
“Drink, listen to our stories, and tell yours. That’s how it «N.o.v.e.l.i.g.h.t» starts.”
Gunther silently stared at the glass in front of him. ...The pathetic feeling he’d had a moment ago vanished suddenly. In its place, their words settled with weight. The oath spoken in the Sanctuary came back to him.
“We are your comrades. We are a single blade, a single breath, a single darkness. We will rise on the same wings and dissolve into the same shadow. Betrayal is death, silence is a covenant, death is honor.” Yes. We are “Night Raven.”
Gunther realized again that he was an outsider here. He wasn’t someone Luthien had taken everything from, and he didn’t have memories of losing loved ones. To fully understand the depth of fury and hatred in this world, he was still only a “transmigrator.”
“Sorry for thinking you were pathetic.”
...For these people, this world was reality. Not everyone could be an iron man obsessed with revenge. Someone survived by clinging to each other. Gunther silently raised his glass.
“To your health.”
Parco and Levain brightened instantly.
“Haha, good! Cheers!”
“...I knew right away you could be reasoned with.”
And then, the first toast of the 4th Platoon for Gunther rang out through the bar:
“To tomorrow!”
Short, but making it perfectly clear what they wanted more than anything.
.
.
.
Ding!
[The first objective of the scenario has been partially achieved]
[You have successfully won the favor of some of the platoon’s fighters]
[They feel a certain level of trust in your inclinations and your humanity]
The drinking continued in a pleasant, warm atmosphere.
[...Luck is being distorted]
But at that moment. The friendly air changed sharply.
Step... step...
“Fucking trash.”
The instant someone entered the bar, the joyful faces of Parco and Levain froze.
***
She came in through the open door. White hair, neatly slicked back. Several sword scars stood out clearly on her expressionless face. Her presence was so imposing that the luxurious uniform didn’t even catch the eye at first.
“...That’s the Public Security Bureau.”
Someone whispered it. And it wasn’t just any Bureau uniform. A dark blue coat only high-ranking officers could wear. Silver insignia on the shoulders and dense rows of medal bars on the chest shone brightly, reflecting the bar’s lamps.
“Fucking trash.”
As silence fell around them, only her gaze was sharp as a blade.
“Making me deal with them all the way till dawn.”
At that hoarse remark, the people in the bar held their breath for a moment. But soon, realizing those words weren’t directed at anyone here but at the criminals giving the Bureau a headache, they exhaled in relief.
“As usual. And snacks.”
Sitting at the counter with an utterly exhausted look, she flung open the hem of her long coat. The bartender, without asking unnecessary questions, quickly set out a bottle. On the other side of the counter, Gunther, silently watching the scene, shifted his gaze to Parco and Levain.
“......?”
Both of them. Their eyes were shining like fishermen who’d just seen their float jerk wildly. Then, almost in unison, they whispered:
“Gunther, look carefully at that woman. That’s Seraz Bolton. An officer of the Public Security Bureau.”
“To be precise, she’s the chief of the operational command staff. You could say she’s the head of all the Bureau’s armed forces. Commander of special units, rapid response teams, all those types.”
Gunther swallowed the words that almost slipped off his tongue.
“I already know.”
Seraz Bolton. He’d recognized her by sight even before he heard the name. In the Public Security Bureau of this city rotted through with corruption, she was one of the few “real cops.” A rare case: a high-ranking officer who came from the Middle City. Because of that, people often tried to squeeze her, but she was an unbelievable elite—no one dared dispute her results or her speed.
“Wait a second.”
That was when Gunther noticed something.
“...You knew she’d come?”
“You’re quick,” Levain shrugged. “Actually, that’s why we picked Seraz’s favorite bar for OT. Didn’t think we’d really run into her... up until now it’s always been for nothing.”
“...And why did you want to meet her?”
Levain lowered his voice even more.
“Because of Seraz’s habit.”
“Habit?”
“Every time Seraz’s head starts spinning, she comes here to drink and wrap things up.”
“Wrap things up...”
Soon, Gunther understood what Levain and Parco wanted.
“...You want to get information about Luthien from Seraz?”
At his quick guess, Levain nodded with a deeply satisfied face.
“Right on target again. The operational command staff is busy right now because Luthien lackeys are running wild in the Labyrinth. All the Bureau’s forces are being thrown into containing them. And all the information they gather funnels to Seraz in real time.”
“...But I doubt Seraz will just hand that information to a suspicious trio.”
Seraz was an extremely incorruptible character. She had no ties to either Luthien or “Night Raven.” But Levain didn’t answer—he only meaningfully shifted his gaze back to Seraz.
“......?”
More precisely, to the tablet-shaped magical device Seraz had just pulled out and placed on the bar counter. In that moment, Gunther felt a strange anxiety.
“...So we have to steal it.”
“......”
Chief of the operational command staff. In terms of hierarchy, roughly the level of a major general or lieutenant general of police. ...An OT involving stealing the work tablet of someone that high up.
“Fuck.”
Gunther let out a quiet sigh.
