Miss Assassin is heavily addicted

Chapter 87. Going Home
The bright afternoon sun.

"Hello, miss, we've arrived at Northern Street. The total is 70 crowns—they no longer accept crown notes, as you know, they've collapsed."

The driver got out of the taxi and said politely. He went to the back seat and opened the door, both humble and excited, because the black-haired lady in the back seat didn't seem to know how to bargain, and he could make a hefty profit.

Speaking of the Krubur currency, nearly nine months ago, the government of Country A, in order to promote an ambitious "national welfare plan" that included universal healthcare, lifelong pensions, and large-scale infrastructure projects, decided to start from scratch and issue a new currency called the Krubur to pay for these welfare expenditures and project funds in order to avoid dissatisfaction caused by direct tax increases.

The final result speaks for itself.

"Ah."

The girl's soft reply was tinged with drowsiness.

She stepped off the car carrying her suitcase and stood on the street, her skirt swaying gently, and even the strands of hair under her beret were swaying. The afternoon sun fell on her black dress, giving it a rare orange hue, while her eyes held a dark red like the afterglow of the setting sun.

“Thank you for your patronage!”

After taking the money, the driver hummed a tune and drove off, showing absolutely no professional ethics.

The girl slowly looked around as if to make sure she hadn't gone the wrong way, then carried her suitcase and walked slowly down the street, her steps slow, because she was extremely tired.

Since the escort mission ended, I've only had six hours of rest on the train home, a truly humiliating and torturous experience. Ultimately, it wasn't that I didn't have enough time to rest; it was just that I couldn't fall asleep no matter what.

Insomnia enveloped her like a tide, like being able to feel something even with her eyes closed in the dark, a chilling sensation.

Finally, without realizing it.

I returned to the entrance of the mental health clinic.

Gently put down the suitcase; push open the door with your fingers.

The next moment, a silver bell rang softly.

Along with the familiar voices coming from inside.

"Oh, Sofia? You're back?"

The stubble-faced middle-aged man looked up and saw him standing in front of the bookshelf taking out a map, holding a white dove in his arms. The clinic's decor was exactly as it had been when he left, with nothing missing: two rows of bookshelves, a coffee table and a sofa for guests, a rectangular cedar table, a staircase leading to the second floor, and sunlight streaming in through the windows.

When Yugiri met his gaze, the image of "Mark, the captain of the spy squad," flashed through his mind, and he mostly followed his orders.

“Yes, I’m back,” she said.

There were other people in the psychological clinic, and it seemed more lively than ever before. Yugiri's soft announcement was met with a series of responses.

Lawrence was sitting on the sofa when he saw Yugiri return and nodded to indicate that it was just in time.
Monica came to her side, picked up the suitcase at her feet, and took off her summer coat, which seemed a bit cumbersome.
Even Duncan and William, members of another team, greeted him, but Yugiri could barely hear them and didn't want to deal with anything more.

You look very tired.

Monica noticed the problem with Yugiri. She sighed softly, placed her suitcase in the second-floor corridor, and went downstairs to prepare a special blend of aftertaste. She was a doctor.

Yugiri sat in the center of the sofa, waiting silently.

During the brief wait, everyone in the psychological clinic gathered around her and talked. However, she didn't mind even if no one talked to her, because she was just trying to rest.

The world was gradually turning white as she sat on the sofa, rubbing her fingers and looking down.

Captain Duncan leaned over the table, swinging his pen and sighing deeply. It turned out that the pen was filled with the latest invisible ink sent from headquarters, which was said to only become visible when heated. It was great, but even he often couldn't see what he had written—so he had to breathe on the white paper while writing, which was a joke.

"Sigh, this is even harder than the love letters I used to write to Julie!"

Lawrence sat next to Duncan, providing commentary as he wrote, like a cold, uninteresting mechanical teleprompter.

"You just wrote the rendezvous time as 9 p.m., so there's no need to repeat it."

William, an idle B-class assassin, was observing the silent Yugiri, the battle that had taken place on Highway 7 two or three weeks prior still fresh in his mind—

The wind that swept in under the cover of night carried the stench of blood, and she stood there without restraint or emotion, her tactical dagger still dripping blood.

"Um, thank you...you saved my life before." William's subconscious scratching of his head was like a way of thanking the police officer.

The fingers rubbed together, indicating that everyone is preoccupied with their own things and will not reply.

until--

Until the white dove Mark was holding suddenly flapped its wings, it made a ruckus in the psychiatric clinic, causing a commotion and eliciting gasps, with several feathers falling to the ground.

"Quack quack!"

Mark panicked and shouted "No!"
"NO! My intelligence pigeon! Catch it!" A miniature camera was strapped to the white pigeon's chest. It fluttered around the psychological clinic, and the camera shutter immediately flashed, capturing several chaotic yet joyful scenes—a frantic capture by several people and a black-haired girl sitting unsuspectingly on the sofa.

It turns out that two days ago, when discussing how to obtain intelligence about the military base, Mark suggested using a white dove with a camera attached, letting it fly over the military base and take pictures automatically.

Theoretically it's perfect, but in reality the pigeons don't obey commands.

Of the ten white doves Mark had released earlier, nine ended up on the docks and the church, while the intelligence dove that flew back took two hundred photos, half of which were of the azure sky and the other half of which were of the city streets, including one of a perfectly focused photo of a treetop.

Now it's the second generation of the intelligence pigeon.

"Phew! Thank goodness, I still need to train some more."

A moment later, the noisy psychological clinic returned to silence. Mark hugged the white dove in his arms, Lawrence brushed the feathers off his hair expressionlessly, and William picked up the broken ink bottle and chuckled twice.

"Huh...huh?" William tried to laugh to make himself seem less embarrassed.

Seeing this, Captain Duncan crossed his arms and sighed deeply:
"Mark, your intelligence pigeon is fine, but my cloaking ink has been spilled. What about the liaison letter I'm writing to the C country organization?"

Seeing this, Mark hesitated for a long time before releasing the intelligence pigeon:
"Let it deliver the message using its claws?"

“Oh God, you’re joking… What if the owl eats it? Then we’ll have to blame the owl for the theft of our first intelligence exchange with Country C.”

"It's not that it's impossible..."

Mark deftly switched the pigeon back to his hand; at this moment, with his lips pursed, he looked more like an animal tamer than a spy.

The noise seemed to wake the white Garfield cat, who was sleeping on the bookshelf. It lazily stretched and looked around at the people present. When it finally saw the black-haired girl, it jumped down happily, its light paws landing on the ground.

The white Garfield cat walked to Yugiri's legs and rubbed its head against her thigh.

"Meow~"

Yugiri, who had been lost in thought, felt a furry touch. In her otherwise white world, something seemed to have been added—it was Garfield, a cat that had been with her for a long time in her memories, with a nostalgic aura.

"Meow~"

A moment later, slender, fair fingers slowly brushed across its fur.

Yugiri lowered her eyes to look at the white cat, and at this moment it seemed that more and more voices were being heard.

That was the sound of Mark and Duncan arguing. They were discussing what to do next after spilling ink, and their wildly imaginative answers were hilarious.
William picked up the hidden camera to examine it and couldn't help but laugh when he saw the photos inside. Lawrence, who was next to him, twitched at the corner of his mouth when he saw the embarrassing picture of himself.

The mental health clinic still looked familiar, except that no one was sitting there anymore.

Yugiri rarely felt a little sleepy, and she thought she should rest for a while. Just then, someone handed her a cup of hot water.

"If you have insomnia, just drink this and it will help."

The man's voice seemed to be ringing in my ears, a familiar and comforting voice I had heard many times before, as if I had returned to a certain morning or evening when he was by my side.

Yugiri subconsciously looked up, but all she saw was Monica's figure. She was wearing a white coat and holding a mug, looking at her with concern. The mug contained sleeping pills, and the man's voice was just a hallucination caused by her brain not getting enough rest.

"Thank you."

Yugiri took it softly, holding it in one hand and supporting the mug with the other, her lips slightly pursed.

After a while.

The noise in the psychological clinic gradually subsided, and it became so quiet that some people even held their breath.

"Is she asleep?"

"it seems that."

"Shh~"

Whispers broke the silence. Mark raised his finger to quiet the others. He looked at his team's ace—the girl known as the National Assassin—who was sleeping soundly on the sofa, Garfield sitting cross-legged on her lap. She slept like a child in the living room, a fine black hair between her teeth.

"What should we do now?"

"What else can we do? Let's find another place to continue the discussion, but let's not wake her up."

Several people picked up their belongings, and the white dove quietly perched on their shoulders. Monica also left, leaving behind a light blanket for her to rest in the living room.

The afternoon sun shone through the windowpane; it was the brightest part of summer in May.

(End of this chapter)