14 Chapter 14 (Polished Version)

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“YN, what do you usually enjoy doing?”

Ever since Graves had met YN, he had never stopped observing her.

Oz was baffled. He could understand Graves constantly carrying a pair of binoculars around for no apparent reason, but Shadow Company was huge, and there was quite a distance between the armories. Whenever Shadow-A drove a jeep past, Graves would even have him take a detour—just so he could greet YN while she was cleaning.

With a genial smile that made him look every inch the ideal leader, Graves addressed YN, who was bent over her work.

“YN, how has your day been?”

The first time Oz heard Graves ask YN that, his eyes flew wide with astonishment, following the question that had sprung into his mind.

Philip Graves—when had he started talking like such a… poser?

Oz had to be forgiven for not knowing how else to describe it. Graves’ voice and tone when speaking to YN were so gentle, it was as though he had never uttered a swear word in his life.

And that caring little “How has your day been?” had clearly taken an absurd amount of effort. The Shadow-A had nearly driven the jeep dry of fuel getting there.

YN was sweeping up fallen leaves. She looked much the same as before: somewhat delicate, with a fair, makeup-free face. Her clear eyes remained as bright as ever, though the dark circles beneath them seemed to have grown heavier.

“Boss, I’m doing quite well. Thank you for asking.”

Oz noticed something else, too. After hearing Graves use that… affected tone, YN’s voice had changed as well.

Both Oz and Graves were sitting in the vehicle. Oz could not see Graves’ expression, but he did see YN give Graves a sweet smile. Even though it was not directed at him, Oz felt as if someone had fed his heart a spoonful of honey. It was wonderfully sweet.

No wonder Graves had ordered Shadow-A to make such a long detour. How could a novice farmer, fresh into the tutorial village, possibly resist such sugary honey?

·

“Boss, I don’t have any particular hobbies.”

At present, I suppose my hobby is you. As your assistant, I circle around you.

Whenever Graves reviewed documents, YN would stand motionless at his side like a guard awaiting orders.

YN was an information broker. Before her eyes stood the leader of a mercenary organization, along with mountains of intelligence. How could she remain completely unmoved?

Where had her professional integrity as an information broker gone? She was practically devoted to every line of work she entered.

Graves could not help being suspicious. He had noticed that the design in the milk foam atop the coffee YN made for him had changed again. The heart was whiter than ever.

Before Shadow-O had been exiled to the frontier to become a gorilla picking bananas, the daily designs YN made in his coffee had been either grenades or pistols. Airplanes, tanks, and AK-47s appeared at her whim.

“When I’m working, you can stay in my office and do anything you like—whatever you feel like doing.”

YN did not need to remain on standby like this. He was not a difficult superior, and more importantly, his original intention in making her his assistant had never really been for her to perform the duties of an assistant.

“But, Boss, your office doesn’t let me drive my street sweeper.”

Under Graves’ repeated employee-friendly inquiries—“YN, how has your day been?”—and his frequent offerings of either Coca-Cola or orange soda, not to mention fruit platters, snacks, and ice cream scoops in every flavor, YN had long since lowered her guard around him.

What company boss showed this much concern for the cleaner every single day?

So, in YN’s heart, Graves was the very best boss in the world.

“I like driving my street sweeper around the base. When I’m working, it feels like going for a drive.”

She really did enjoy cruising around his Shadow base in her street sweeper?

Consider it arranged. Immediately.

·

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YN had undergone rigorous military training, so it was hardly surprising that she knew how to drive a tank.

What Graves could not secretly enjoy was the thought of having YN say admiringly, “Boss, you’re amazing! You drive a tank so well!”

Given the military talent YN had displayed so far, Graves had to restrain the urge to recruit her into his ranks.

No. She absolutely could not become his shadow.

Couldn’t she be both?

The thought arrived at precisely the right moment. But Graves quickly rejected it himself.

No. She could not be both.

YN did not like being a mercenary, and he would never bring the subject up with her. Still, the mercenary spirit within her would rise again when the time was right.

Graves really wanted to know what it would be like if he and YN belonged to opposing factions and met in battle—what kind of fight to the death it would become.

When YN thought of Graves’ AC-130 gunship, worth 190 million dollars, she felt that owning it would be enough to keep her comfortable for the rest of her life. The thought left her rather troubled.

When would she ever achieve her own wish?

Good heavens. Her life had already been hard enough, full of hardship and wandering. Could she not simply have her lifelong wish granted for no reason at all?

YN grew anxious, and the tank ended up sinking into the mud.

She tried driving it back and forth for quite some time, but could not get it out of the pit.

“Boss…”

No wonder she had gotten stuck. She had been driving far too impatiently.

Watching the intense concentration on YN’s face, Graves had assumed she had forgotten all about him.

Fortunately, whenever she needed help, she still asked him to come to her rescue.

What did that mean? It meant he held a certain amount of weight in her heart!

“Let’s switch places. I’ll drive. You go get some fresh air.”

Graves was, after all, a veteran. There were certain things he knew better than YN. Under his practiced handling, the tank YN had driven into the mud soon escaped its predicament and resumed normal operation.

YN opened the turret hatch and poked her head out.

The horizon was endless—not only the gravel desert, but also the cloudless blue sky stretching for miles. Under the sun’s glare, the temperature across the entire wasteland began to rise. Clusters of cacti, desert poplars, and many plants whose names YN did not know lined the roadside.

“Boss, stop for a moment.”

She suddenly wanted to get out and take a look. She had spotted something new and fascinating.

Graves had brought YN out for a drive in the first place. She must have seen something interesting and wanted to get out for a closer look. At her instruction, Graves answered readily.

“Copy that.”

YN had already risen and reached the edge of the tank when his response made her stop.

Why did it sound as if she had just given her boss an order? More importantly, why did her boss seem so happy to accept it?

Just as the Nutcracker soldiers were preparing for another grand and heavily costumed entrance, YN promptly ordered them back. How many times were they going to appear today? Once was enough. Too many appearances would overwhelm her heart.

This uninhabited region lay where the gravel desert met the broader desert. Such terrain was highly suitable for military companies and arms dealers to test and operate all kinds of weapons.

Graves had also climbed out of the turret and was about to ask YN what was wrong and why she was sitting motionless on the deck when a speeding desert off-road vehicle approached from the distance.

Two men sat inside. Both wore tactical vests, and each vest displayed a conspicuous, powerful Desert Eagle.

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After passing within only a few yards of YN and Graves, the vehicle turned around and came back. One of the men, the one driving, called out,

“Graves!”

Clearly, he was another person who knew Shadow-1—Philip Graves.

Graves had already climbed down from the tank. He went forward and began chatting enthusiastically with the man. YN, meanwhile, sat on the tank’s deck, gazing somewhat dejectedly in the direction she had wanted to explore.

The reason she had asked Graves to stop just now was that she had spotted a chameleon.

She had caught the miraculous moment with her own eyes as its body underwent an incredibly rapid transformation.

She had wanted to investigate, but instead she had run into another acquaintance of her boss.

“Hey!”

At some point, the other man from the desert vehicle had gotten out. Without making a sound, he walked up in front of YN.

After drawing her gaze with that “Hey,” he smiled and continued, “It really is you! I thought I was mistaken!”

At his words, YN immediately sat up straight.

He… knew her?

She studied the blond, blue-eyed man before her for a long while, but still could not remember who he was. In the end, she could only offer him an awkward smile.

She was, in fact, somewhat face-blind. Because of the difference in their ethnic features, just as they tended to see Asians as having yellowish skin and black hair, YN tended to see all of them as blond and blue-eyed.

“Hi.”

Since he was someone her boss knew, YN could only wave and greet him with a polite smile.

The blond, blue-eyed man seemed very familiar with YN. Bracing himself with both hands, he vaulted onto the tank’s deck in one smooth motion and sat down beside her.

“What a shame. You really don’t remember me?”

His smile somehow reminded YN of the sun beating down on the wasteland. Before she knew it, its warmth had melted her defenses.

YN thought and thought, but still could not remember who he was. Judging by his clothes and demeanor, he could not possibly be some vagrant she had beaten up in the past.

Graves had already noticed the commotion around YN. Deliberately draping an arm around the shoulders of the arms dealer with whom he had been chatting, he guided the man a little closer to where YN was sitting.

He did not directly ask whether YN knew the two arms dealers. Instead, he pressed his lips into a smile and looked toward the partner sitting beside her.

“YN and I were classmates in high school. We never saw each other again after graduation. I never expected to run into you here!” He continued, “I’m George. I used to play on the football team. Do you remember now?”

George’s reminder brought a vague impression back to YN.

In American high schools, football was an extracurricular activity offered by virtually every school. But YN had been entirely absorbed in her books at the time, and she truly had no impression of this George whatsoever.

“You were just too beautiful! My teammates even wrote you love letters!” George blurted out the events of their high-school days without the slightest hesitation.

Graves’ expression remained unchanged. He pretended to echo the remark casually.

“Love letters?”

“Young people are always so romantic,” the other arms dealer—George’s older brother, Jack—teased.

“Exactly! YN was incredibly popular back then. It wasn’t only the football players—even the boys from volleyball, basketball, and taekwondo wrote her love letters.” George showed no awareness that anything was amiss. He continued, “YN, do you have a boyfriend now?”

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