مذكرات بطل (رجل المستحيل)

First Encounter

My chest tightened with anger the moment the director informed me there would be a girl accompanying me on this mission.

A girl.

The first female agent to join the ranks of intelligence — as if that alone made the situation any less absurd.

Damn it…

A girl in our world? In a world built on ruthlessness, cold calculation, and danger lurking behind every breath?

Had they all gone mad?

What was I supposed to do — hold her hand through it? Wipe her tears when things got rough?

All I could see was a fragile, emotional woman thrown into a merciless battlefield — like a glass ornament tossed into a war zone.

Babysitting. That’s what this was going to be.

I exhaled sharply, rage simmering beneath the surface.

How on earth was I supposed to maintain focus — or even keep my nerves steady — with some pampered girl trailing behind me, clinging to my presence like a child lost in a crowd?

No. This couldn’t work. I couldn’t work like this.

I drew in a long breath, trying to force calm, to organize the storm in my head.

There had to be a way to get her out. Some method to push her to back off voluntarily.

Ignore her. Isolate her. Apply pressure until she cracked. Make her ask for a transfer. A clean exit. No drama.

Easy enough. All I had to do was treat her like one of the men — no, rougher. Harsher. Strip away any illusions of welcome. Let her know, from day one, that this job wasn’t made for soft hearts or gentle souls.

It wasn’t about bias — or belittling women. It was reality. Brutal, unbending reality.

No amount of training could prepare a woman for the chaos of fieldwork — not the kind of operations I’ve seen. Not the violent, blood-soaked kind.

Unless…

Unless she was ugly. Masculine. Stripped of anything resembling femininity. Maybe that’s how she got through.

I almost snorted at the thought.

I scanned the airport lounge, hunting for that scrawny, man-faced recruit — the one who’d soon be my burden.

Nothing.

I boarded the plane. Took my seat.

Still nothing.

Maybe… just maybe… someone came to their senses and cancelled the whole farce at the last moment.

I was just beginning to relax, sinking into the seat with a sigh of relief — when a soft voice whispered at my ear:

“So you're N-1… aren't you?”

I turned fast — too fast — to the girl seated beside me.

And I froze.

No.

No, this wasn’t what I expected.

Not even close.

She wasn’t rough-looking. Not the least bit masculine. No sharp angles. No militant posture.

She was… stunning.

Long black hair flowed like liquid midnight over her shoulders. Dark eyes, wide and deep, shimmered with confidence and focus — a kind of quiet fire.

There was strength in that face. Something steely, despite the softness. Grace wrapped in unspoken will.