Otaku Translation: I! Anomaly Cleansing Agent! C152

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So… was I really deceived by him?

After listening to the seasoned investigator’s summary, the young female investigator froze in place. It took her a moment to snap out of it, and then—face flushed with frustration—she yanked out her report and tore it into shreds that fluttered through the air like confetti.

“Hold on.”

The old investigator gave a small wave with his wrinkled hand. Miraculously, the shredded pieces of paper reversed their flight mid-air, reassembling themselves back into a pristine document, smooth and intact as if nothing had happened.

He plucked the report from her hands, his crescent-shaped eyes crinkling with amusement as he chuckled softly.

", weren’t you just singing his praises earlier? What happened? Are you planning to rewrite your findings now?"

"I... thank you for your guidance."

Elsa exhaled deeply, her expression strained but respectful as she bowed deeply to the elder man.

"I was too shallow in my thinking this time. Without your reminder, I might have been completely duped. I still have so much to learn from you."

"Hmm, not everything can be taught, my dear."

The old investigator shook his head gently, his smile warm and kind.

"To be precise, every conclusion I drew just now lacked concrete evidence—it was all speculation. My judgment about him wasn't based on logic; it came from something deeper, more instinctual."

He paused, leaning forward slightly as though imparting wisdom passed down through generations.

"Our work in investigations is similar to how bank tellers handle money. If someone spends their entire life handling real bills, they don’t need to consciously detect counterfeits—they'll simply feel when something isn’t right. Our intuition works the same way. This subconscious sense of discord can’t be learned outright; it develops over time as we interact with enough people and accumulate experience."

"I understand, ."

"Good. Then let me hold onto this report for now. After I finish writing up my own findings, I’ll attach yours to mine and submit them together."

???

Hearing that he intended to include her flawed report, Elsa's eyes widened in alarm.

"But my investigation was wrong! How could I possibly allow that to go forward?"

"Precisely because it’s flawed," Camus replied calmly, raising a hand to hail a passing . "The fact that even an experienced investigator like yourself made errors serves as excellent supporting evidence."

As the steam carriage hissed to a halt beside them, he opened the door and continued his explanation.

"As you said earlier, not everything can be gleaned from documents alone. My assessment of this individual stemmed purely from an intuitive 'something feels off' reaction—no hard proof whatsoever. But your analysis was rooted entirely in logic, each point backed by solid evidence. In fact, your report carries far more credibility than mine."

He smiled faintly, his tone almost conspiratorial.

"Only by submitting both reports side by side will the reviewers take notice and begin to understand what exactly is amiss with this new recruit at the … Elsa, you won’t hold it against me for potentially embarrassing you, will you?"

"Not at all," she murmured. "I did make a mistake, after all. Submitting it is only fair."

"Good. Then that settles it." He patted the carriage door lightly. "Since our investigation has concluded and we’re largely in agreement, let’s part ways here. Your ride’s here anyway."

Elsa blinked, surprised. "You’re not coming back to headquarters with me?"

"Not today."

Once she was settled comfortably in her two-seater luxury steam carriage, Camus waved goodbye.

"I’ve got an old friend waiting nearby. We rarely see each other, so I arranged to meet him before wrapping up this assignment. Enjoy the rest of your evening!"

"Alright, stay safe."

"You too."

As the carriage carrying Elsa disappeared into the distance, Camus didn’t linger to wait for any supposed “old friend.” Instead, he signaled another empty steam carriage and stepped inside. The driver, noting the fine tailoring of Camus’ attire, perked up immediately, assuming he’d landed a wealthy fare.

"Where to, sir?"

"Not sure yet. Just drive around for now."

"Certainly… certainly…"

The icy timbre of Camus’ voice sent a shiver down the driver’s spine. He cast a furtive glance at the rearview mirror, studying the passenger: furrowed brows, piercing eyes, and lips turned downward, as if always on the verge of tears—even in silence.

This guy looks downright gloomy, the driver thought. Oh well, as long as he pays…

---

“Chief, that senior investigator seemed decent enough.”

recounted the recent questioning session and shared what he’d gleaned from reviewing the two reports via Husky’s assistance. His curiosity piqued, he asked:

“He didn’t press me with difficult questions, and there was no malice in his soul toward either of us. Why did you warn me to be cautious?”

“If I had to pinpoint a reason…” The red-haired chief rubbed her temples, her fox-like eyes narrowing pensively. “It’s probably just a gut feeling.”

She sighed, struggling to articulate the sensation.

“It’s like opening a case of twelve bottles of —you know, those exquisite Bordeaux wines—and finding one bottle slipped in from a lesser vintage. Even though the taste might seem identical, maybe even grown from grapes harvested just across the river, after years of drinking the good stuff, you instinctively notice something’s off. The acidity feels sharper, the alcohol burns a little stronger.”

She paused, frowning.

“That man gives me the same uneasy vibe. No matter how hard I try to rationalize it, something about him doesn’t sit right. Especially when he leaned in to wake me during your call for help—I felt an overwhelming urge to keep him at arm’s length.”

The chief leaned back, unsettled by the persistence of the feeling.

“Leon, are you absolutely certain you didn’t detect anything unusual in his soul?”

“Absolutely. His soul appears perfectly normal.”

“I see…”

The chief frowned, tapping her fingers against the desk.

“A person’s soul is their most fundamental essence—it shouldn’t be possible to fake or manipulate. Perhaps there’s something about him that poses a threat to me, triggering this instinctive aversion…”

She trailed off, then added firmly:

“Regardless, stay vigilant. There’s a subtle dissonance about him—a faint disharmony. Avoid contact if you can.”

“Understood. I’ll keep that in mind.”

Nodding solemnly, Leon processed the advice before speaking again.

“Chief, tomorrow’s the , but I still have some official duties to wrap up. If you don’t need me here, I’ll head back to the office.”

“Go ahead. And stop calling me so formally—it’s exhausting. Oh, wait.”

The chief suddenly remembered something, rifling through a drawer until she pulled out a photograph bound neatly with strands of hair.

“Here. This belongs to you.”

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