I had already felt it bitterly several times before, but most of the Ghost Stories handled by the Agency involved deaths.
Because there had to be human casualties for them to be registered as supernatural disasters.
In that sense, even while working as an Agency agent, duties that kept you one step removed from human casualties could seem fairly… appealing.
No, I understand that, but.
“At dawn, um… driving with a ghost in the passenger seat?”
“Yes.”
“……”
Are you serious?
“Don’t worry. There has never been a case in which the driver died.”
“……”
“At most, it’s been light cardiac arrest or fainting. There will be no need for significant mental preparation.”
There absolutely will.
I nearly turned to stare at Bronze Agent with my sense of betrayal and shock written all over my face, but barely held it in.
‘Wait a second.’
…If I openly say I’m scared here, won’t he tell me to quit?
I’d already whined my way out of the Dispatch Rescue Unit once, so if I started again back-to-back, Bronze Agent—whose relationship with me had already gotten awkward—might frankly tell me to go look for a different line of work.
‘No!’
That was the worst possible spy route.
So I changed strategies.
“Um, but I’m… not in a state where I can drive.”
“……”
I lowered my head deeply and, pretending to look a little pitiful, glanced at the empty place where my right arm should have been.
Yes.
‘He’s not going to make me do something insane like drive one-handed…!’
Maybe if someone had trained that way from the beginning. But how was a person who had suddenly lost an arm supposed to go on a drive with a ghost? At two in the morning, no less!
This would naturally move me onto another duty….
“You don’t…