Tusha-3

A little over a year after Jorgen resolved the Gurubashi Arena gambling incident, Tony Romano was assigned to visit Booty Bay. As he crossed the path adorned with shark bones, entering the goblin city bathed in brilliant sunlight and the scent of fish, he was immediately captivated. Broken sails, brazen vendors blocking the way, distant sounds of brawls, and cheers in various languages—all chaotic, real, full of vitality. He thought, this is where he would make a mark. Perhaps this mission would never be known or appreciated, but he believed true achievements didn't need loud applause, especially for MI7 agents.

Standing on the grandstand with a view of the coastline, he took a deep breath, relaxing his tense body. A beggar approached, asking for alms, and Tony handed him three copper coins.

Concealed on Tony's left chest was a silver badge—a proof of being a direct agent. Tony knew Jorgen also possessed one, and the only two people aware of Tony's title were himself and the elderly man who bestowed it. Perhaps, he speculated, the old man only temporarily granted the badge to motivate him for this covert mission.

Tony Romano seemed destined for MI7. His father, Lawrence, held a unique position allowing him to converse privately with the Panthonia, and he undertook crucial long-term work. Tony wasn't sure about the nature of this work, but he understood it was something only his father and the old man knew entirely. Even among those aware of Lawrence's connection to MI7, they were no more than five. Unluckily, Tony became one of them during his teenage years, facing only two paths: becoming his father's weakness, under constant surveillance and risking repercussions for any sign of leaking secrets, or joining MI7, even as a janitor. A third path, death, was not under consideration, but he believed, in dire circumstances, his father might contemplate it. Thus, he had only one viable choice.

He would rather die on the battlefield than relive the years at the MI7 Academy. Physically weak and lacking willpower, he was like a tired rabbit stumbling into a pack of hyenas. Though his peers didn't know about his father, they easily discerned his abysmal performance in physical exercises: this guy was here due to connections. They didn't dare openly bully Tony but distanced themselves, refusing to cooperate in training, citing it would limit their own abilities—an excuse the instructors had to accept due to Tony's incompetence. Hence, from adolescence to his twenties, Tony had no friends and no one to talk to.

Fortunately, Tony possessed a unique talent: disguise. He excelled in mimicking various clinical conditions and had exceptional control over his voice, combined with makeup, enabling him to become an entirely different person. During a field test, five trainees jointly failed to find Tony hiding in a tavern, where he simply acted as a regular patron. Afterward, he recounted all conversations those five had in front of the instructors. This ability further deepened his unpopularity but at least allowed him to graduate as a trainee agent at the age of twenty-seven, the oldest among the graduates.

After a year of challenging work, he met Jorgen during a royal hunting event. Expressing admiration for the renowned agent with special ties to the Shawls, he received a negative response regarding agent mortality rates that left him speechless. At that moment, he wondered how much longer it would take to adapt to this world. Perhaps the answer was never.

But that was all in the past. Now, Tony Romano, a direct agent, was about to handle a crucial matter based on intelligence leaked by Jorgen. The cause was straightforward: during Jorgen's time in Booty Bay, he frequently interacted with a troll skilled in treating "dinner" poisoning. Still, this individual's existence was omitted from the mission reports. Given Jorgen's meticulous approach, it didn't seem like an accidental oversight. After consulting with the old man, Lawrence believed this troll might be the original bearer of the spirit elixir that initiated the "dinner" concept in this world.

"I know that troll; his original name should be Vossuva," Lawrence told his son. "Even though another troll claiming to be Vossuva publicly appeared and died in the arena, it can't be him."

"Father, why are you so sure?"

Lawrence responded with some annoyance, unwilling to provide further explanation. "Because I know it's not. Listen carefully, find out who he is, what he's doing—all the things Jorgen refused to disclose. My current work desperately needs him, including what he knows. If you can manage to bring this suspicious troll to me, that would be best..."

"I'll make sure it happens," Tony hastily interrupted.

Staring at his son, Lawrence remained silent for a while before saying, "Yes, you can. Now, go figure it out. Head to Lord Shawll; he'll give you detailed instructions. And to better accomplish this task, he might provide you with something equally significant. Don't disappoint me, and more importantly, don't disappoint Lord Shawl—that's what you should avoid, Tony."

Afterward, Tony had his first solo conversation with the old man. He genuinely considered it the utmost honor, but the positive emotions quickly gave way to an indescribable tension that he couldn't shake off. Before the old man's gaze, he could barely move a finger, and sweat trickled into the corners of his mouth.

"Lawrence would be disappointed in you. And I would be even more disappointed in Lawrence for sending such a useless son here and expecting me to entrust him with an extremely important task."

These words immediately shattered Tony's fantasy about friendship between his father and the old man. However, this clear delineation of the subordinate relationship unexpectedly calmed him. Just superiors and subordinates. Just a mission. Just taking the mission, and then completing it.

The old man's requirements were much more specific than Lawrence's. He explicitly stated that the mission would be deemed successful only if Tony brought the troll to Stromgarde, where Lawrence was located. Of course, Tony couldn't achieve this through force alone, and using force wasn't the old man's plan anyway, because if the troll was truly Vossuva, open violence would only be counterproductive. The old man didn't specify whether the badge would be revoked in case of failure, but Tony guessed that was because, considering the potential punishments for mission failure, revoking the badge was inconsequential.

Finding the White House where Jorgen had stayed didn't take much time. The real first step of the mission was for Tony to deliberately infect himself with the prevalent Jungle Fever, spending several nights in the dirty corners of the streets. So when he dragged his heavy feet into the White House, he was just one of the numerous diseased souls no one cared to inquire about.

At the first sight of Tusha, Tony thought: this troll is hiding something. Without any reason, without any possibility of replicating his experience, Tony instinctively recognized a seasoned impostor. For example, when Tusha faced "dinner" poisoning victims, he wasn't just observing them for treatment but exploring something more important and mysterious. Tony could capture this enduring mystery in Tusha's gaze. In comparison, the woman nicknamed "Lady Death" posed no noticeable threat—she was just an ordinary person.

Tony's time for investigation in the White House was limited. After all, his reason for coming was to "cure," and he had to leave once that was done, a process much faster than he had anticipated. So, he quickly took action: one night, when Tusha was out, Tony pried open his door—a step with no turning back. If there were no critical findings, his mission would be a failure.

During the first twenty minutes in that small room, Tony was in extreme anxiety. He not only applied all his knowledge about concealing items but also stopped caring whether Tusha would notice afterward. He broke the iron lock on the cabinet, pried open the loose floorboards, and scattered useless things everywhere. Before that, he opened the window, ensuring he could escape when someone entered—though if it were Tusha, he didn't expect to get far.

Just when he was almost desperate, Tony found what he was looking for in a hollow totem pole. There were three scrolls, each filled with extremely tiny fonts, with each character no larger than a pinky nail. Some were Horde script, some parts Tony couldn't identify at all, and there were even sentence structures he couldn't comprehend. There was no need for meaningless detailed reading because from the fragments he read, this was what he wanted—Tusha's records of years of research on "dinner."

The evidence was in hand, but the mission was not complete. Wanting to bring Tusha to Stromgarde seemed easy enough, just using the scrolls to threaten him, but that wasn't sufficient. Tony understood he must provide Tusha with a more direct motivation—to end his state of concealment, an extreme state of not leaving this place.

Later, upon seeing the fire ignite, Tony felt a bit sorry for a woman named Glocara. She had a good heart, caring for all patients, but it seemed she couldn't escape the fire. Aside from her, there were over a dozen patients in the house. It wasn't something terrifying; it was just necessary evil—something Tony understood when he had to undergo agent training. The numerous bruises on his body, the mental torment, all led to the necessary evil he experienced today.

The final step of the mission was to leave a message for Tusha. To ensure success, Tony decided to hand it to him personally. He smeared dirt on his face, changed into beggar's attire, and hid among the crowd watching the fire. It wasn't foolproof, but it was a step he had to take, so he was mentally prepared for the worst.

When Tusha returned on the way back, Tony suddenly grabbed his elbow.

"Excuse me, sir, someone asked me to give this to you..."

He handed Tusha a small note with the words: "To reclaim your belongings, come to Arathi. Find a rider named Varokar and tell him 'I want to see Lawrence.'"

Tusha stared at Tony, saying nothing. Tony knew this was the moment of life and death. He had done his best to change his voice and body language, and in the dark against the firelight, Tusha couldn't possibly see his face. In fact, in the White House, he had tried to avoid leaving an impression on Tusha. Now his mental state was like sewage hanging by a thread, ready to fall into the mud at any moment.

"Who gave this?"

At the moment Tusha uttered these words, Tony tried to conceal the trembling of his fingers. Tusha might be suspicious of him, or perhaps not.

"A gentleman I didn't know. He's gone."

"Why did you do this for him?"

"He gave me a... a copper coin. Can I go now, sir?"

Tusha didn't answer. He took the note but continued to stare at Tony.

Tony's big hope was that Tusha wouldn't act in this noisy and crowded place, but he realized he overlooked something—Tusha could track him. The gaze persisted: countless times, Tony had glimpsed danger and mystery in it. He didn't know what else was in that gaze, but he was sure it was something he didn't want to see.

"No. You can't leave."

In that moment, like veins suddenly being severed by a blade, Tony realized he was exposed. That seemingly endless gaze revealed everything: Tusha was waiting. Observing. Predicting the fate of the impostor.

Now Tony had one last resort. He had a sentence he could say, but he didn't expect it to really save him. The success rate was almost nil because the other was a troll. This sentence wouldn't work on trolls. It wouldn't, wouldn't, wouldn't. And Tony, a direct agent, the mission would fail. And he might die immediately—or face something even more tragic than death. That sentence wouldn't work. Saying it might backfire. Don't say it. I will die. Don't say it. Don't say it.

"Sir, I saw the fire start from that White House. Heard that the lady of the house might still be inside. I really don't know if she can escape in time."

Even if the situation was unclear before, this sentence indicated that Tony had completely lost confidence. His tone was almost pleading, as if saying: This is my last resort. I'm done, and I can only let you deal with it.

The troll in front of him twisted his mouth in a disdainful manner, looked at the fire, then at Tony. The eyes, devoid of mystery, only revealed fierceness, indicating that Tusha knew everything. Just when Tony was about to collapse under the pressure he couldn't bear, Tusha turned around, pushed through the crowd, and ran towards the fire not far away.

The fire grew larger, more dazzling, as if peeling away the blackness of the night to expose its pale skin. At this moment, Tony realized he had survived— that sentence worked on a... troll. Unbelievable, unbelievable, unbelievable...

With trembling fingers, Tony took out the silver badge, not afraid if others saw it, and gazed at the smooth surface illuminated to a deep red by the fire with an extremely devout look. He held it up to his lips with both hands and kissed it.

He had won.