Lee Yeeun (1)
In the end, Park Seonghun refused to listen to a word I said. He climbed onto the bus that had been prepared for the parade, the rest of the guys filing on with him.
The itinerary my subordinates had given me was simple enough. We would start from the memorial park built on the outskirts of Tokyo, head back into the city, pass through Ginza, and return to the hotel.
Whether it was because Tokyo, unlike Seoul, had no great public squares to speak of — making it hard to actually see the buses as they passed — or whether there was some other reason entirely, the parade hadn't even started yet, and still the crowds hadn't thinned. It was as if not a single person who'd come for the memorial service had gone home. They stood packed along both sides of the route the buses would take, white flags in their hands.
Hah...
Every last one of those Japanese bastards was out here too, and there was no telling what might happen. What the hell were these guys thinking, pulling a stunt like this?
"Comrade Lee Yeeun, don't the Japanese women have work to do? Why are there so many of them out on the streets?"
"You. I told you to speak South Korean. Does my word mean nothing to you?"
"I'll correct it, ma'am!"
Tsk. And they thought I'd have an answer if they asked me that? Fuck, how would I know.
"Hey. Ryeo Myeongsuk."
"Second Lieutenant, Ryeo! Myeong! Suk!"
"You're in command of the site."
"Ma'am? I didn't catch that."
"I said you're in command of the site. I'm getting on that bus with those bastards and providing close protection."
They'd said they could handle their own security, but I didn't buy it. No matter how I looked at it, at least one of us needed to stick with them.
"Yes, ma'am! Understood!"
"I'm counting on you. Do it right."
"Yes, ma'am!"
With her in charge, it should be fine even without me.
To make the approaching departure, I walked up to the double-decker bus that already had its engine running and climbed aboard.
"The hell are you?"
The rude little shit snapped at me the moment I set foot on the bus. What was his name again. I'd flagged him as a person of interest... right. Choi Jiwon.
"I'm here to maintain contact with our people in case something happens and we need to protect you. Tell Park Seonghun that."
"...Don't be a pain in the ass."
"Just tell Park Seonghun already."
So he clicked his tongue, pulled out the radio he'd been carrying, and made a call. What? This isn't the right bus? Why's he radioing?
"He says come to the front bus."
Shit...
"Which one?"
"The very front."
I jumped off the bus that was about to start moving and ran for the one at the head of the line. The people standing along the sides as I passed were every age you could name — children waving flags with innocent eyes, grandmothers well along in years. For some reason, I started feeling strange. Was it the bouncing of my vision as I ran? I didn't know.
I ran until I was out of breath and caught the lead bus, which was still rolling slowly. I swallowed the air clawing up my chest, put on a show of composure, and followed the guy waving me aboard.
And there he was — not the slightly disheveled look I'd seen earlier, but Park Seonghun, perfectly dressed in a black suit, a white dress shirt, and a black tie.
"Don't get in the way. Stay quiet."
That one line, and the bastard went right back up to the second deck. He was a real piece of work — the kind of arrogant prick you'd see in those South Korean dramas the kids used to pass around in secret. No, wait. His face looked nothing like those guys, so that comparison didn't hold. He was just a massive asshole, period.
Grumbling to myself, I followed him up and kept quiet like I'd been told, watching.
The men stood on the slowly moving bus. Below them, the people packed the route so densely the road itself looked white. From up here, I couldn't see where the crowd ended. The men waved without rest, greeting the crowd, offering their thanks.
What is this? Why is my chest tingling like this.
Focus on the job. If even one of those people tried something suspicious, I had to throw myself at them if that's what it took. I ignored the strange feeling and the itch in my chest, pulled out my sunglasses, and hid my eyes behind them. Then I put force into my gaze and scanned the crowd.
Fortunately, the stretch from Tokyo's outskirts to the city limits passed without incident. Next was the course into Tokyo proper, through Ginza, and back to the hotel. From here on, I needed to concentrate even harder. The downtown, where someone could snipe from a rooftop, was far more dangerous than anything we'd covered so far.
Maybe that was why they were taking a thirty-minute break before heading in, contrary to the original schedule. It would've been nice if they'd at least gone downstairs to rest for that time, but these bastards showed no sign of wanting to go inside. Park Seonghun especially. He'd been staring straight ahead with a blank expression the whole way here, and even during the break he didn't go down — just stood there.
Then, all of a sudden, he pulled a cigarette from inside his jacket, lit it, didn't take a drag, and set it in the ashtray someone handed him. What the hell was he doing? Not smoking it, not not smoking it.
In the meantime, even the guys who'd gone downstairs for a bit all came back up and started handing out radios. He said something into the one he'd been given, then started talking.
"You remember? How I said we all had to participate in this event, no exceptions. You know why?"
He lifted his head and looked over the men's faces.
"Looks like there are some faces I know, but looking around, there are quite a few I don't. Then I ought to explain it nicely."
"I wanted you to understand that receiving this kind of social compensation for the sacrifices we've made is only natural. And I wanted to show — not just the people back in our already-missed homeland, but the entire world — just how important this kind of social compensation is."
"Sure... not everyone standing out there came to bless us for sacrificing ourselves for society in the World War. There's bound to be some Japanese government scheme mixed in, trying to curry our favor. But more important than that... we are people who deserve this kind of cheering."
"Every one of us, as a citizen, as a soldier, and as a man, faithfully carried out the duties given to us and did the exemplary work of defending other people's rights and freedoms."
"Hah... Hearing me say all this, a lot of things are probably coming to mind. Like, did we ever get anything like this back in Korea? We didn't."
"This is a bit of a tangent, but did soldiers — which used to be our profession — ever get this kind of cheering in the past?"
Then he suddenly glanced at me once before looking away again.
"Ah, right. For practical reasons, we can get paid less than minimum wage. I think that too, you know? What's a country supposed to do if it doesn't have the money. But have we ever received the non-material things — respect, consideration, cheering like this? I haven't. Even after coming back from a battlefield where bullets flew over our heads... I never received any of it. And even after we took on a new duty and worked our asses off, still nothing."
"What I got for doing this shit was being called a misogynist and a few terrorist attacks? Isn't that hilarious? They call me a misogynist? When I can barely take care of myself, I still wanted them by my side so badly I brought them from Korea — and every last one of them is a woman. Fuck, that's so goddamn funny."
"...Anyway. When I was a kid, they taught me in school that love, respect, and consideration were the most important things that make a society function. But the Republic of Korea I experienced — those things were disappearing. Should I say society itself was coming apart?"
"And so! The people who should be giving ask why they have to give, talking complete bullshit! And the people who should be receiving don't even know why they deserve it! It's a completely insane world and an insane country."
"That's why we came here to learn. The fact that people like us, who sacrificed for society, for the collective, deserve respect and just compensation. And we came here to teach. The fact that without this kind of just compensation, no one will sacrifice for society."
"Like I said, for practical reasons, they might not be able to give us enough material compensation. But a society that uses that as an excuse not to even give the just compensation it owes... I'll say this without hesitation: that society isn't worth sacrificing for. It isn't worth sacrificing for."
"But we'd been socialized so thoroughly we forgot that and just lived with it. Because of that socialization, we thought things like this way too easily. Can't be helped. Guess he's just a bit young. I can sacrifice a little. I can put up with a little inconvenience."
"Fuuuck, honestly, you've all thought this at least once. Haven't you? Was it just me?"
"But... because of that complacent thinking, somewhere along the way, the sacrifices we made became something that was just expected. So the noble sacrifices we made became feed for the wild boars infesting the Republic of Korea, and that's how they multiplied like that."
"So from now on, we don't give them that kind of feed. We don't! We stop giving them that feed, and we make every last person in the Republic of Korea understand that people who sacrifice for society deserve this kind of compensation and treatment. Got it?"
"So for the rest of this itinerary, don't bow your heads. Smile. Smile like you're genuinely happy to be receiving this just compensation and reward. Don't be ashamed, either. Just burn it into your eyes. Carve it into your chests. The fact that we've sacrificed for society all this time, that we're still doing it, and that this is the just compensation we deserve."
"And be an example — so that the generations yet to be born will look at us receiving this social compensation, feel envy, and naturally think they want it too. Got it?"
"As we're experiencing right now, the values of respect, consideration, and freedom are never just handed to you. So this struggle we're fighting right now will become the pillar that purifies our homeland and rebuilds this twisted world."
While Park Seonghun was talking, the break had already ended, and the cigarette that had been quietly burning down had burned itself out completely. All that remained in its place was a faint smell of tobacco.
Acrid as hell.