"What's up?"
Noticing Beatrix's complicated expression, Aurelia asked.
"Nothing. Just thinking… can a giant base in the sky really be safe?" Beatrix replied honestly.
Hearing that, Aurelia burst into laughter.
"You don't have to worry about that," she said cheerfully. "This airbase is extremely secure—possibly the safest place in the world. No outsiders can break in."
Beatrix's expression turned more conflicted.
He vaguely recalled that everyone over at Marvel Studios who reviewed the S.H.I.E.L.D. Helicarrier said the exact same thing.
But everyone also knew S.H.I.E.L.D.'s security system was like a sponge—easy to squeeze through. Its security philosophy boiled down to "The more the merrier!" Randoms could wander in and out like it was a public restroom.
Of course, that was just a rumor… and being in the sky didn't necessarily mean it was unsafe.
Beatrix sincerely hoped this flying base could break free of the infamous "carrier curse."
Following Aurelia down a twisting corridor, Beatrix soon arrived at a bright office.
The room sat at a "window" position along the aircraft's side. Inside, it was clean and organized: a tidy desk, metal file cabinets neatly lined against the wall, and a water purifier nearby.
Behind the desk sat a man in a white coat. Beatrix's first impression of him was: refined.
He was immaculately groomed, clean-cut beard, sparkling eyes behind thick round glasses.
As Beatrix entered, the man looked up and greeted him with enthusiasm.
"Ah, you must be our newly discovered 'special.'"
"This is Professor Miyazaki, an expert in infection studies," Aurelia explained. "He'll be running a physical evaluation."
"A physical exam? Like a checkup?" Beatrix asked.
"Think of it more as a fitness assessment," Professor Miyazaki chuckled, offering a handshake. "No need to worry—it's just to confirm that your body's functioning properly."
Beatrix shook his hand and immediately noticed that the professor had strong, solid palms—not what he'd expected.
As he got closer, he caught a faint whiff of perfume.
The delicate grooming, the refined scent, and the professor's intense expression—practically screaming "let me test you"—made Beatrix instinctively keep a bit of distance.
Miyazaki soon looked away, back at his clipboard.
"As mentioned, this is a basic fitness evaluation: running, jumping, punch strength, and pistol marksmanship."
100-meter sprint.
Beatrix took a deep breath and ran like his life depended on it. Time: 13.38 seconds.
Miyazaki glanced at the stopwatch, his face saying, "...That's it?"
3,000-meter run.
Beatrix pushed himself to the limit.
Thanks to the physical improvements from the game, he managed to finish.
Without that, he might've collapsed halfway.
Jump height and punching force were above average for a student—good enough to impress a PE teacher, maybe, but still just a student-level result.
Finally came the firearms test.
A researcher handed Beatrix a pistol. It felt heavy in his unfamiliar grip.
"I've never used a gun before," Beatrix admitted.
"That's fine," Professor Miyazaki said. "Interestingly, some infected individuals naturally awaken a talent for shooting after infection. Give it a try."
Beatrix squinted at a target 10 meters away, aimed uncertainly, and squeezed the trigger multiple times.
Gunshots echoed in the training room.
When the magazine was empty and the results lit up on-screen, Professor Miyazaki fell silent.
Polite interpretation: "No fly could escape this storm of bullets."
Blunt truth: "Even a monkey with a banana could shoot better."
Beatrix felt embarrassed—but also unsurprised.
He told himself it wasn't his fault. It was his first time shooting, and he wasn't used to it. Missing was perfectly normal.
Miyazaki was clearly disappointed and summed it up quickly:
"Subject shows no signs of physical or cognitive enhancement. Complete immunity to infection—no signs of influence at all."
Aurelia offered further explanation.
"This kind of situation is rare, but not unheard of. A few staff in our organization are the same."
Most "specials" were only immune to the mental effects of infection.
Their bodies still underwent transformations—regeneration, physical enhancement, or awakened powers.
But some were different—like Beatrix.
Their minds and bodies were completely immune. No changes.
They were classified as 'Absolutely Exceptional.'
After the evaluation, Bernica helped Beatrix complete his onboarding.
The process moved quickly—forms zipped through departments, signatures obtained, files stamped.
Soon, Bernica handed Beatrix a stack of documents.
"Here's your ID."
Beatrix was surprised. "Three IDs?"
"One's your true ID with the Ninth Division," Bernica said. "The other two are from the Security Bureau and the Intelligence Investigation Bureau."
Seeing his confusion, she patiently explained:
"The Ninth Division is a non-public organization. Our credentials may not be recognized in all circumstances. That's why we issue alternative IDs—for easier field operations."
Basically, the extra paperwork gave them flexibility.
In case of emergencies or investigations, they could use whatever identity was most useful at the time.
Even if some agencies didn't know where the paperwork originated, no one questioned it.
Because they were from "the top."
"All done," Bernica smiled. "Welcome aboard. Since you're still a student, you won't be assigned daily shifts. Just stay in touch."
"So what's my actual job?" Beatrix asked.
He was now officially employed—with a monthly salary in the thousands—but no required duties?
"You'll probably be listed as a civilian asset," she said. "For now, just read some classified files or assist with research. When the time comes, you'll be deployed for special cases."
"In fact, Agent Cid came to your school just yesterday. He's handling a new case soon—you should tag along and learn from him."
Beatrix made his way to Agent Cid's office.
But the man wasn't there—he'd stepped out.
Following Bernica's suggestion, Beatrix waited inside.
Left alone, he curiously examined the office.
Compared to Professor Miyazaki's lab, this room was smaller. The desk dominated the space, cluttered with papers labeled "Confidential" and an open bag of chips.
Beatrix noticed a photo frame. Inside was a faded photograph—two people in police uniforms, standing side by side, backs to the camera, beaming.
"Back then, I was quite the looker, wasn't I?"
A voice spoke behind him. Beatrix jumped.
He hadn't noticed Cid walk in.
"Sorry! I didn't mean to pry."
"It's fine," Cid said casually, glancing at the photo. "That was back when I was a young cop in the Security Bureau."
"Look at me then—strong, handsome… Look at that body, those muscles…"
Beatrix nodded sincerely. "You even had hair."
"Yeah. Hair…"
Cid's voice trailed off.
For a moment, he stood there in silence—lost in old memories… or perhaps mourning his scalp.