13.

“At best, a month, maybe a month and a half. Even the most beautiful ones couldn’t last beyond that.”

Erable had seen many stunning people try, but no one could handle Dezeb for longer than two weeks. His temper was infamous, and none of the people who had been with him could avoid provoking it, no matter how hard they tried.

Even Birgo, who was notorious for his rough play, was better than Dezeb. Dezeb had a habit of leaving his partners in the infirmary.

“So, how many days has it been?” Dezeb asked suddenly.

“It’s the third day.”

“Third day, and she already has a stomach ulcer? Wow, I must really be slipping.”

He sighed again.

“What do I have to do to get our lieutenant to relax? Ol, find me some photon-based passive assist programs and send them over. Maybe something for auxiliary use.”

“Maybe just lighten her workload?” Ol suggested.

“She has that much work?”

“She’s getting the highest overtime pay in the unit.”

“Really?”

Dezeb, who had known she was diligent, was genuinely impressed by how much work she was handling.

While Dezeb was contemplating, their client approached. She was a woman with a soft demeanor, seeking to destroy a rival’s production line and acquire blueprints for a new spell disc.

This disc, a transform disc, was a step up from the ones used by Dezeb’s team. It offered a 2% increase in duration and a 1.5% improvement in dispel resistance and detection evasion.

“Nice to meet you.”

The woman said, extending her hand for a handshake.

“I didn’t expect to meet the leader of ‘the dogs’ in person, but you’re much more handsome than I imagined.”

Dezeb wondered if any manufacturer was working on an improved perception-distortion disc. If so, he might have fewer meetings like this.

“Any business regarding the mission, you’ll discuss with me,” Ol interjected, stepping between them.

The woman ignored Ol, her gaze lingering on Dezeb with a sultry smile.

“You look like you could use some female company.”

Her eyes trailed suggestively down his pants.

“Ah.”

That was harassment.

Without hesitation, Dezeb grabbed her outstretched hand and yanked her forward, pressing a gun to her temple.

The woman smiled, not taking the threat seriously.

“I have a healing license, you know. My ship’s nearby—”

At that, Dezeb slightly redirected the gun.

‘If she has auxiliary slots, she’s worth more alive.’

He thought. The butt of the rifle caught on her front teeth as he moved it, and her eyes bulged with surprise.

“Guh—”

Dezeb then swiftly removed her head and placed it into a preservation box, its frosty interior emitting a chilling vapor. He fired a few more shots into her twitching body for good measure.

“The overheating is still an issue,” Dezeb muttered.

“I’ll forward the feedback to the lab along with the transform disc blueprints.”

Ol said. With the client dead, they needed to finish the job cleanly to preserve their reputation.

“Why are auxiliary slots so rare? If they weren’t, I could have more space in the freezer.”

Dezeb lit another cigarette, deep in thought.

“Oh, on your way back from the lab, grab some beer. Our lieutenant has quite the low-class taste. And see if you can find something for ulcers. Oh, and that Six A injection?”

Ol reminded Dezeb that while the injection was effective, it had been discontinued due to liver damage.

Dezeb clicked his tongue in annoyance.

‘Guess I’ll have to wait a bit longer to get her fully adjusted.’

＊ ＊ ＊

“Wait, that better not be…”

At 7 p.m., Dezeb walked into Erable’s house again, carrying a box of beer and a large bag of groceries. Erable was sitting at the table, about to inject herself with something.

“Is that Six A?”

“Yes… it works well for gastritis.”

Dezeb took a look at the various other injections spread out on the table. None of them looked like standard medications. Meanwhile, Erable seemed more concerned about Dezeb showing up at her house again than the dangerous drugs she was about to inject.

“Uh, Commander, how did you get my door code?”

Dezeb raised an eyebrow at the question.

‘Why’s she asking that? Even if it’s biometric, it’s still just a mass-produced lock. She couldn’t have been relying on that, could she?’

Or was she questioning why he even bothered learning the code?

“It’s hard to match your schedule exactly every time you get off work.”

“…Right.”

Erable gave up trying to figure it out and stuck the needle into her arm. Her face looked resigned, as if she had decided to accept all the unfairness of the world. She injected herself with the expertise of someone who had done it many times before.

Dezeb leaned against the table, watching her.

“Doesn’t that have side effects?”

“It’s fine if I take Tentorium B with it.”

Erable immediately held up a vial of another medication, ready to counter the side effects.

‘Impressive,’ Dezeb thought.

Tentorium B was an injection used for liver patients. But of course, it had its own side effects, like most of these black-market drugs.

“And what about brain damage?”

“For brain damage, I take Gaba C.”

No sooner had Dezeb asked the question than Erable presented another drug.

‘She could open a pharmacy at this rate.’

Dezeb thought, crossing his arms and staring at her. Encouraged, she continued.

“Then I take a muscle relaxant, and finally a tranquilizer to finish it off. After that, I’m good to go.”

Finishing her explanation, she casually reached for a beer can.

Dezeb placed his finger against her forehead, gently pushing her back.

He looked down at her wide, pale brown eyes and smiled warmly.

“You’re not fine, Lieutenant. This is textbook drug abuse. You’ll kill yourself.”

“I’m careful and monitor my condition.”

Ignoring her nonsense, Dezeb pushed the beer can farther away. Erable’s eyes lingered on the beer, clearly disappointed.

“Gastritis, ulcers, terrible diet… and you say you’re careful?”

Watching her longingly stare at the beer, Dezeb, feeling playful, opened it with a loud crack and took a sip.

Erable’s lips drooped as Dezeb grinned, pleased with himself. ‘Didn’t she hate injections?’ he wondered.

“This is all banned stuff. Where did you get it?”

Dezeb had expected tighter controls, and he was curious now. He took another sip of beer as he waited for her answer.

“From the infirmary.”

Erable mumbled, sounding defeated.

It was an open secret in the division.

Just like how snacks were sold at the PX, the division’s infirmary sold black-market drugs. While the base pharmacy also stocked them, the infirmary offered better quality, along with free blood tests and other services. In its way, it was a form of “welfare.”

“Is that so? But these two… I don’t think you can get them here.”

Dezeb picked out two ampoules from the chaotic assortment of syringes on the table, standing them up side by side. These were drugs controlled by a specific faction.

“Yeah, I got those from the 59th.”

Dezeb was a bit perplexed.

“They don’t usually sell to individuals, do they?”

At that, Erable Vermilion smiled, a familiar work-related smile he’d seen many times before. Dezeb set his beer can down and sat directly across from her.

“Care to explain?”

“It’s… really nothing serious.”

Erable instinctively shifted her body to increase the distance between them. The action was almost reflexive, and Dezeb couldn’t help but feel a little annoyed. ‘Here I am, being nice, and she’s backing away.’

“It’s nothing serious, huh?” Dezeb tilted his head slightly.

The small woman visibly flinched. He had to admit, she had good instincts.

Erable had an uncanny ability to detect danger. She always managed to stop just short of stepping on a landmine, then quickly adjusted her course.

But just because you avoid one landmine doesn’t mean the direction you’re heading is safe. That was Erable’s dilemma.

Sometimes, to truly secure safety, you had to take a calculated risk and step on a few landmines. But this sharp woman didn’t seem to understand that. If she had, she would have found a way to avoid his ‘friendly’ talk last night instead of agreeing to ‘get closer.’

“I helped with some tax calculations.”

See? She answered right away. Dezeb leaned his head on his hand, a smirk forming on his lips.

“Taxes?”

“Yes, uh… someone lost their temper and hurt a tax accountant. In exchange for helping out with their taxes, I was given a few emergency supplies like these.”

“These?”

Dezeb twirled the two ampoules he’d picked out earlier with his fingers.

“Yes, it was just a small amount for personal emergency use, so they agreed to it without any issues.”

Erable spoke as if it were a good deal, but it didn’t sound good to him at all.

Most people in the division took on side jobs for extra cash—nothing unusual about that. But Dezeb had always pegged Erable as a cautious type, the kind who avoided unnecessary risks. He hadn’t expected her to get involved in something like this.

Her confession was a surprise, since this kind of minor activity didn’t usually make it into Dezeb’s reports.