"Let me reiterate once again. It was the Irish Republican Army that first sabotaged the peace process, and even attempted to destroy Whitehall through inhumane methods such as human bombs."
"We will take legitimate and effective retaliatory measures to defend the image of the British government!"
Standing on the platform at the Whitehall press conference, the Prime Minister solemnly dumped all the blame onto the Irish Republican Army.
The indignation and confidence on his face were perfectly measured. Enough to show his anger toward the enemy, but not so much that he looked like he was raging helplessly out of incompetence.
That alone was enough to make Tver, standing slightly behind him, click his tongue in admiration.
"But the problem is, Prime Minister, the Irish Republican Army has not claimed responsibility for this terrorist action the way they usually do. Don't you think-"
"They don't dare admit it!" the Prime Minister interrupted the reporter righteously.
"This was a premeditated operation. They attempted to cripple the center of the British government in order to provide cover for subsequent large-scale military action!"
He stepped slightly aside, revealing Tver and Evans behind him to the reporters, who immediately grew much more animated.
"However, my brave adviser, Mr. Tver Fawley, and Major Camby Evans of the Special Air Service, successfully thwarted the enemy's plot, protected nearly every building in Whitehall, and, miraculously, there were no casualties."
In reality, since the giants had been targeting buildings, most people had indeed not been hurt in the initial chaos, so there truly had been no immediate fatalities.
But with the damage to the buildings and a few small stampedes, there had been so many injured people that the safe open spaces in Whitehall were nearly packed solid.
Fortunately, through Tver's connections, Crystal had secured help from St. Mungo's. With magic and potions, those mainly superficial injuries had been no real problem.
And so, after one night had passed, those people, together with the restored buildings, appeared before the probing eyes of the media in perfect condition.
"Prime Minister, if I remember correctly, the public records from the Prime Minister's Office don't seem to mention this handsome young Mr. Fawley?" a female reporter asked, seizing the opportunity while the cameraman beside her frantically adjusted focus.
Even if the studio had not sent word back yet, she was certain the public would be far more interested in a handsome man than in a wrinkled old Prime Minister.
Seeing that the crowd had stopped dwelling on the Irish Republican Army, the Prime Minister lifted the corner of his mouth in satisfaction.
He knew all too well how to redirect people's attention.
"Mr. Fawley is the Director of the Joint Operations Office and is primarily responsible for handling emergencies that occur in Britain. He is the greatest contributor to our success in thwarting this enemy attack!"
"His outstanding ability over the years earned him an exceptional promotion to Prime Ministerial Adviser, but to facilitate his future work, we did not make that information public."
The reporters immediately grew even more excited.
Young people were not unheard of in government departments, but someone so young holding a leadership post in an office that sounded this important was something they had never seen before.
Whether Tver had truly earned the position through ability or had obtained it through some unknown connection behind the scenes, it was enough to dominate the British headlines for a full month.
"What kind of operations has Mr. Fawley been involved in? We haven't even heard of this office before, and we haven't seen any particularly serious incidents."
"The fact that you haven't seen any incidents is precisely the greatest function of this office," the Prime Minister explained steadily.
"As for the missions Tver has carried out..." He revealed an appropriately resolute look, like a soldier fighting bravely on the front lines.
"I'm sorry, but until the enemy yields, I need to protect these fighters who labor for national security as much as possible."
As long as he avoided mentioning the giants and magic, which could not be explained, his staff had already prepared answers for every other question.
As for whether the government files might contain discrepancies in dates and background records...
Please. What government did not have little issues like that?
Seeing that the direction of the press conference was completely under his control, the Prime Minister could not help showing a smug smile.
And it was at that exact moment that he noticed a reporter stand up with a grave expression that clashed completely with the lively atmosphere of the room.
"But, Prime Minister..."
The opening words alone made the Prime Minister's smile freeze.
"As far as I know, quite a few people explicitly stated that they saw numerous white giants over twenty feet tall last night, and that the attack was caused by them."
"After those giants appeared, they swung heavy clubs and smashed many buildings in Whitehall. The thudding noise echoed through half of London."
"Could you explain where those giants went?"
That reporter suddenly raised a dark, blurry photograph, but even so, everyone could still make out the shape of a giant under the cover of night, swinging a massive club.
The Prime Minister clenched his fists in alarm.
Damn it. How could some tabloid reporter possibly have a photo like that?
The commotion the previous night had indeed been enormous, but after command of the police force had been handed to Evans, the officers maintaining order had long since sealed Whitehall off.
Almost every media crew that arrived had taken plenty of photographs, but in the pitch-black night, with the streetlights dead, all they could capture were eerie shadows and occasional fireworks bursting in the sky.
That was exactly why, after reviewing all the newspapers and television reports that morning and finding no photographs of giants, the Prime Minister had been so confident about holding the press conference.
And yet a reporter had not only found evidence of the giants, but had even taken such a clear photograph.
"Er... I'm not quite sure..."
"What the Prime Minister means is..." Tver stepped forward, and his clear voice carried through the entire venue without even needing the microphone on the podium.
"He doesn't understand why you've brought out such a shoddy photograph."
"What?"
The reporter stared at the picture in his hand in disbelief. He had paid a huge amount of money to buy it from a government employee who loved photography.
Wait. Why was his memory of last night suddenly surfacing so clearly?
He shook his head in confusion and said firmly to Tver, "Mr. Adviser, I must remind you that this photograph, and I myself, are both-"
"Did you personally take this photograph and have it developed?" Tver withdrew his gaze with bored indifference, no longer even considering using a Confundus Charm.
"Er, no..."
"Then did you personally see those giants with your own eyes, Mr. Reporter?"
"Er, no. At the time I was on the other side of London..."
"One last question." Tver smiled slightly, so relaxed that even people watching the press conference on television could see it.
"A group of giants more than twenty feet tall suddenly appeared, smashed things up for a while, and then vanished without leaving behind anything except a few holes here and one damaged building there."
"Do you think..." He looked deeply at the reporter, then swept his eyes across everyone present.
"...that something like that could actually happen in this world?"
Tver was not lying. He was not deceiving anyone.
But almost unconsciously, all the reporters began trying to explain everything within the framework of the scientific worldview they already knew.
People were just like that. Unless something utterly unreasonable was placed right in front of them, they might suspect it for a moment, but deep down, they would still use common sense to reassure themselves.
"Thank you very much for the explanation. I was being presumptuous." The reporter helplessly crumpled the photograph into a ball, annoyed that he had spent such a large sum on such a "fake" picture.
"Could you give me that photograph?" Tver suddenly asked.
The reporter froze, then quickly smoothed open the crumpled paper in his hand.
"I'm sorry..."
"It's alright." Tver took it with a smile. "I think it's pretty interesting."
"Maybe next time I can use giants as an excuse to brush you all off..."
The entire press conference burst into laughter. Even the reporter himself grinned awkwardly, shook his head, and laughed helplessly.
"Mr. Adviser really is funny."