Otaku Translation: I! Anomaly Cleansing Agent! C132

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Chapter 132: Bad Luck or Something Worse?

Leon wasn’t just cautious; he was also shamelessly persistent. The scar-faced chief, having been milked for five answers without so much as a thank-you, responded with an obscene gesture that left no room for ambiguity.

In the next instant, the man’s soul split into two identical dark flames. They collided and entangled in a violent dance before vanishing with a soft puff. His body slumped forward onto the desk at the same moment.

Though his breathing and heartbeat remained steady, Leon knew better. The man's soul was gone, leaving behind nothing but an empty shell.

"Suicide by soul annihilation? Guess there wasn't much I could do to stop him," Leon muttered to himself, shaking his head as he glanced at the collapsed figure. He activated the Sacred Spirit Pendant around his neck, its faint glow illuminating the room. Carefully, he prodded the lifeless body, ensuring it wouldn’t explode or trigger some hidden trap. Once satisfied, he began searching through the man's belongings—every pocket, every seam, every possible hiding spot.

He found pens, notebooks, handkerchiefs—all mundane items. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary.

"So... his ability must be tied directly to him, like Chief's [Love Without Memory], rather than housed in some external object?" Leon mused aloud, frowning. After a moment of deliberation, he placed his hands on the man's skin. As soon as contact was made, [Materialist Soul] flared to life.

[Encounter... Materialist...]

[Name: Counterfeit Workshop (Replication, Replacement, ?)]

[Appearance: ?]

[Ability: Designates a small area as a workshop where all non-anomalous objects within can be replicated and forcibly swapped with their originals. The replaced items are temporarily transported to another dimension. Due to the previous user's shattered soul, the third function remains undetectable until repaired or reforged.]

[Cost: ?]

[Record: One of many functional anomalies created by the Cleansing Bureau's Director Aquarius to fulfill a wish. Provisional designation: 0116. The last user harbored deep resentment from being betrayed before death, resulting in poor compatibility with dishonest individuals—or those named Leon Lion.]

[Evaluation: A fairly decent power. While not overwhelmingly strong, it is highly covert and effective under specific circumstances. If submitted to the Cleansing Bureau and processed, it could yield a valuable artifact. Though incompatible with you, others may find it useful.]

[Contamination Value: ?]

"...Huh." Leon sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Another damaged piece thanks to a shattered soul, huh? At least this one’s still readable."

After reviewing the information provided by [Materialist Soul], Leon reached into his shopping bag and gave Husky a gentle pat on the head. “Help me out here—get him into the mirror.”

“Woof~”

Husky climbed unsteadily onto the Black Goat’s head, peered over the edge of the shopping bag at the unconscious chief, then barked once toward the office window. In an instant, the real-world version of the scar-faced man disappeared, while his reflection grew darker and more pronounced in the glass.

Following Husky’s somewhat chaotic directions, Leon retrieved a small handheld mirror, waved it near the window, and transferred the man’s essence into the small mirror. With a tired expression, Husky flopped back down into the bag. Leon gave the dog a reassuring scratch behind the ears, then slipped out of the chief’s office unnoticed, heading back toward the stairwell.

---

By the time the scarred man’s anomaly faded, the isolated layer containing the Secret Investigation Bureau had returned to normal. However, the collapse of the dungeon had finally caught everyone’s attention.

“Quick! There are two injured people down below—we need to get them out!”

“Call for a car! Someone’s been crushed!”

“No time! Use the bureau’s official vehicle!”

As Leon descended to the first floor, he surveyed the scene. Six or seven dusty, disheveled agents hobbled about, clearly hurt. Instinctively, he pulled out the [Plague-Infested Bandage], ready to offer assistance—but the crowded chaos gave him pause. Using an anomalous item now would draw too much attention. Instead, he decided to wrap the bandage back around his own hand.

It wasn’t a lack of energy holding him back—it was the sheer number of witnesses. Better to file a report later, request medical reimbursement, and perhaps provide compensation. If the bureau refused, he’d deduct it from his salary. After all, the dungeon’s collapse was technically his fault.

Using Soul Vision, Leon scanned the injured agents discreetly. Confirming they only suffered minor wounds, he relaxed slightly and approached a limping female officer standing near the corner.

“How’s it going?” she asked, hobbling toward him with a mix of relief and suspicion.

“I brought them up after someone noticed the dungeon situation,” she explained. “The bureau seems to have returned to normal. What about… the chief? Did you deal with him?”

Leon nodded. “He took his own life to avoid answering further questions. I couldn’t stop him.”

Her lips tightened, sadness flickering across her face. “Too good for him,” she spat bitterly. “Martha was such a kind woman—she never raised her voice to anyone during her years here. How could he do this to her? And the others too…” She hesitated, her voice trembling with anger. “Where did that bastard die?”

“In the office upstairs. But I’ve already moved the body. There’s nothing left there now.” Leon paused, considering his next words carefully. “Listen, don’t call him a rebel. If anyone asks, say rebels attacked your bureau’s dungeon, rescued the prisoners, kidnapped the chief, and stole confidential intel.”

She blinked, startled. “Why should I say that? Even if he covered his tracks well, I’m sure I could dig up the truth if I tried. Then again…” She trailed off, thinking hard. Finally, she nodded slowly. “That scumbag’s dead, and we’ve avenged Martha and the others. Saying the chief was kidnapped sounds better than admitting he infiltrated the bureau as a spy. If the truth came out, the entire agency might face scrutiny—or even dissolution. During the ensuing chaos, the rebels would strike again, causing countless casualties…”

Leon didn’t respond immediately. Truthfully, that wasn’t his reasoning. He simply wanted to throw the rebels off balance. The key part of the story wasn’t the scarred man’s identity—it was the idea that the rebels had escaped with classified information. Preferably scandals involving nobles, officials, and wealthy merchants. Without the bureau’s upper management shielding them, these powerful figures would likely retreat for a while instead of coming after him immediately.

“Close enough,” Leon said vaguely, brushing past her concerns. Noticing her awkward stance, he added, “Your leg looks bad. Why don’t you go to the hospital? I see there’s still space in their car…”

“No, I’ll manage on my own. But what about your hand?” She grabbed his wrist, inspecting the freshly healed skin. “Wait, where’s your wound? It looked serious earlier, but now it’s completely gone!”

“Uh…” Leon stalled, unsure how to explain. Before he could come up with an excuse, she pressed on eagerly.

“What exactly happened back there? How could he die and come back to life multiple times? And how were you able to block all those nails? And why did the dungeon collapse the moment you pulled me into the corner? And—”

“Look, I’ve got work to finish,” Leon interrupted, wincing at the barrage of questions. “You’re busy too. Let’s focus on our tasks for now, and I’ll explain everything tomorrow when I’m done, okay?”

“Fine…” Unaware that by the end of the night, the Brain of the Evil God from the Cleansing Bureau would erase all memories related to anomalies, she only hesitated briefly after extracting a promise from Leon before releasing her grip on him. With an earnest expression, she leaned in and said: "Tomorrow, I’ll be waiting for you in my office. Once you’re done with your business, you’d better come see me. No backing out—promise me."

“Absolutely,” Leon assured her, though the sincerity of his promise was debatable. He quickly gathered his things and left the chaotic building, bypassing the usual post-mission debrief. Instead, he headed toward the municipal district’s main road, planning to catch a public carriage.

There was no rush to return to headquarters. The scarred man hadn’t posed much of a challenge. Less than an hour had passed since Leon left the bureau, and the mission was already complete. Returning so soon would make filing for expenses awkward. Besides, he had other priorities—like rescuing someone trapped at Rose Manor.

---

Unfortunately, luck wasn’t on his side. By the time he reached the station, the last carriage had vanished from sight.

“Great. Now I’ll have to wait half an hour,” Leon grumbled, massaging his temples. Lately, his streak of bad fortune felt relentless. Between his sister’s hospital stay, rogue Contaminated Individuals, hostile encounters, and unexpected anomalies, every step seemed fraught with trouble. It was as if misfortune followed him everywhere.

“What’s bothering you?” The Black Goat tilted its head curiously, sensing Leon’s frustration through Soul Vision. “Didn’t you just take care of that rebel? Why are you still brooding?”

“It’s not that,” Leon admitted reluctantly. “I’ve been wondering… Is it just me, or do I run into anomalies far too often? Everywhere I go, something goes wrong. It feels like I’ve got Detective Conan’s curse or something.”

“Who’s Conan?” the goat asked skeptically. “Some demon lord?”

“No, never mind. Forget I mentioned him.” Leon waved dismissively. “My point is, ever since joining the Cleansing Bureau, every time I try to do something proactive, weird stuff happens. Do you think I’m cursed by some kind of bad-luck anomaly?”

The goat snorted derisively. “Don’t be ridiculous. You’re just a Level Three agent. Plenty of agents like you exist in the bureau. No one’s wasting their time cursing you specifically. If someone wanted you dead, they’d kill you outright instead of messing with your luck.”

“But I really feel unlucky,” Leon insisted.

“It’s not bad luck—it’s your job,” the goat countered firmly. “As a member of the Cleansing Bureau, you actively seek out anomalies. That increases your exposure to danger. Take the old man with the shears, for instance. If you weren’t investigating, you wouldn’t have ended up in that mess.”

Leon frowned, considering the argument. “But why does it always seem like I stumble into these situations right as they’re about to blow up?”

The goat rolled its eyes. “Because your actions influence events. Take today’s scarred man, for example. He probably had his sights set on you long ago. If you hadn’t gone to the bureau, he might’ve stayed hidden. But once you walked in, presenting yourself as an easy target, he couldn’t resist making a move. Don’t confuse coincidence with fate.”

Leon thought about it. The goat had a point. Still, something gnawed at the edges of his mind, refusing to settle.

Seeing his hesitation, the goat sighed impatiently. “Here’s what we’ll do. You’re planning to rescue someone at Rose Manor, right? Let’s see if everything goes smoothly. If it does, then you’re overthinking things. If not…” It smirked. “We’ll figure out whether you’re truly cursed.”

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