The Inauguration... and These Bastards Are for Real?! (4)

I had fired the Mana Cannon only a few times and said only a few words, and after that I stayed still. In a bare twenty-four hours, the situation hadn't merely changed. It had turned inside out.

But this much still wasn't enough. Rage was boiling across every corner of Japan, yet the country next door has what people call a saucepan temperament—it flares white-hot for a moment, then goes cold just as fast. If I wanted this mood to hold, I needed to drive it into their bones that I had not been joking.

Exactly thirty hours after my declaration, Franc and I stood 150 kilometers above Dokdo.

They call it the sky. Every direction was pitch-dark, and beneath our feet the blue Earth hung in view. At this height, it was no different from space.

Anyway, the grandeur of 150 kilometers up was no small thing. The sea before Tokyo lay perfectly clear. I had climbed a little higher on the thought that even if I were flung clean out of the atmosphere, I could plant a foot on a Wall of Space and come back. I should have done it this way from the start.

Franc held a broadcast camera small enough to fit in one hand, filming me. It was linked to Yeongeun's personal channel, and the footage was streaming to her computer in real time.

A little earlier, she had texted me.

Twenty million. A third of our entire population... Anyway, I aimed at the sea two hundred kilometers southeast of the Tokyo spread out below my feet, and loosed a single shot.

I wasn't bursting it underwater. I took care so the blast would only just kiss the water. I watched the Mana Cannon's trace vanish from sight in an instant, then turned my eyes to the land of Japan.

From up here, that green country looked peaceful beyond words. Down on the ground, it had to be sick with riots.

A moment later, a fireball the size of a fist formed over the sea off Tokyo, burst with a deep boom, and a tremendous column of steam surged upward—plain even from here, 980 kilometers away.

I could see a modest wave driving in toward Chiba, the land that wraps around Tokyo Bay and Tokyo itself as if to hold them.

That much would only knock a little harder on the breakwater.

I had been worried it might raise a tsunami tens of meters high. Fortunately, it didn't.

My sister had spent an hour on the calculations and told me there would be no tsunami. Even so, a person's heart doesn't close its books that neatly.

I watched a while longer, then dropped fast toward the ground. With the steam explosion's mushroom cloud at my back, I turned a cold gaze on the camera and opened my mouth.

In the wake of that second warning, and the declaration bound up with it, even the ability users of Japan's raid teams stepped forward and joined the hunt for the Association's politicians.

The breakwaters must have been well built. Only the harbors took catastrophic damage. The city centers were untouched.

But people had seen a small sun several kilometers across burst in the sky, and a surge several meters high. Between those witnesses and the ones who filmed the wave and threw it onto the internet, terror of me and a violent fury at their own incompetent government broke out together. That was the result.

Honestly, I had been strung tight, afraid Japan's ability users might lash out and commit terrorism against the Grand Blue Building, or against my family. Their anger turned on their own politicians so completely that the tension felt ridiculous.

Around two hours after my warning, the Japanese government convened an emergency session of the Diet. In place of the dead Prime Minister Miyabi, a former prime minister was hauled out and named to the role of acting prime minister.

The young and promising lawmakers seemed intent on using the old former prime minister as a sacrifice.

At the six-hour mark, the government announced over Japan's national broadcast that Prime Minister Miyabi's assassination had been the work of the Patriotic Subjects Association clique, and began fast-tracking the exile of the masterminds behind the attack on the Grand Blue Master, pinning treason against the state on them.

Yeongeun tipped me off, quietly, that it was the result of lawmakers from both inside the cabinet and outside it joining forces with figures from Japan's business world and the country's famous raid teams.

At ten hours, politicians seized across Japan—Association members or not—were being bound one after another like candies on a string and extradited to Korea.

At fourteen hours, they started stripping the private assets of everyone connected to the attack, to scrape together reparations.

At sixteen hours, the broadcasts began to show lawmakers of the provisional government prostrating themselves—dogeza—before the Imperial Palace, insisting they needed the Ame-no-Murakumo in the Emperor's possession.

At eighteen hours, more than three hundred people connected to the attack began to be extradited to our country, split across six transfers.

"This sword will never be given up!"

He had been holding that line. Then, at the twenty-second hour, satellite footage of me leaping into the sky, concentrating Mana Sieve 150 kilometers above Seoul, and preparing to fire a Mana Cannon toward Japan began to broadcast live across the world. The Emperor, tears brimming, finally flung his beloved sword, the Ame-no-Murakumo, onto the floor.

Beloved sword? He isn't even an ability user. What beloved sword...

Anyway, I can say for certain that the enormous cubic Wall of Space formed beneath my feet had a great deal to do with it. They said the Wall was faintly visible even from Japan. They had surrendered to a threat they could see.

Of course, the inside was completely hollow. Packing solid a Wall of Space all of thirty square kilometers across was more than my Phase Power could manage.

And then, with thirty minutes left before the promised twenty-four hours.

Three hundred and twenty-three members of the Patriotic Subjects Association—beaten to a pulp, bruised from head to toe, dressed in everything from suits to pajamas to ordinary clothes—were bound and forced to their knees in a long line before the National Assembly building in Yeouido.

Some had broken limbs, split skulls, torn-open bellies. They were on the verge of death. When the broadcast showed Yeongeun calling in government recovery-type ability users to heal them only just enough to keep them alive, social media praising her kindness multiplied at a ridiculous rate.

Just as Franc said, before those 323 creatures I didn't even want to call human, Yoshiya Nakada knelt in the capacity of acting prime minister, standing in for Prime Minister Miyabi, who had been poisoned to death.

The acting prime minister appeared, stepped out in front of the criminals, and set his knees on the asphalt. Foreign ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠correspondents from all over the world, who had been waiting, burst their flashes and captured it on camera.

With that done, I shut down my Certifier, dismissed the Wall of Space, and dropped toward the ground. Atmospheric friction, maybe—my body flushed hot. But Mana Sieve was protecting both flesh and clothes, so I was spared the misfortune of my outfit burning clean off.

I fell until two kilometers remained, then formed a Wall of Space and kicked off it the way you kick into a running start, flying in toward the National Assembly in ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Yeouido. I drove Physical Reinforcement to its peak and landed on the open ground before the Assembly with a thunderous boom.

Former Prime Minister Yoshiya Nakada of Japan was a man in his seventies, his hair gone completely white. I looked at him and walked forward, slowly, and the open ground where thousands had gathered went so still you could have heard a pin drop.

When I stopped before him, he looked up at me, then bowed his head where he was and spoke. The words came in Japanese.

"For the crimes committed by the cabinet of our present government, and for threatening the person of the Grand Blue Master, we formally apologize."

I looked down at the old man with a blank face. Yeongeun, who had come up beside me, translated in a whisper at my ear.

"They're formally apologizing for the crimes their current cabinet committed, and for threatening you."

Former Prime Minister Yoshiya held out a single silver aluminum briefcase, and a sword shedding blue light.

"And this is reparation to be delivered to those who were harmed, and reparation presented to the Grand Blue Master."

"This is compensation for the people who got hurt, and for our Seoha."

What Spatial Perception showed me inside the briefcase was this.

I took the case and the sword, passed them to Aunt Hyeryeong, who had already taken her place behind me, and turned to Yeongeun to confirm.

"Are all the victims here?"

"Yeah. They're waiting in the vehicles next to us."

"Then please bring them over, too."

Those people—the victims—were the ones whose minds had been worn to ruin at the museum, under the Soul Reaper's mental domination. I wasn't the only one owed an apology. They were, too.

And there I saw some of them clinging to life like people in a vegetative state, ventilators strapped to their faces.

Fifteen of the twenty-seven. The other twelve were conscious, but their conditions were all over the map—from people who could go about their business no differently from anyone else, aside from a slight headache, to people who had awareness and nothing more, unable to move, like patients in total paralysis.

The moment I saw them, guilt came flooding in. I hadn't even been that busy, and not once had I come to see them. If I had only made a little time, I could have come long ago and tried treating them with a Level 5 Healing Wave.

I gathered the victims with that guilt held in my chest, and then I unfolded the highest level I could use—a Level 8 Healing Wave, burning eighty percent of my total Phase Power.

The Healing Wave I scattered sparkled like the Milky Way in a night sky, swept through the hospital room, and clung to the bodies of all twenty-seven patients.

In that instant, not only the ones who had been barely holding on to consciousness, but even the ones who had shown no reaction at all to any outside stimulus, like people in a vegetative state, came to their senses and looked around with bewildered faces.

"Th-this can't be... To restore even the damage done to the mind!"

The doctors in charge, who had been watching with uncertain faces, were aghast to see the patients come around, and began examining their conditions.

Relieved that the Healing Wave had taken, I left behind the people weeping in their families' arms, and the doctors still examining the patients, and slipped out of the ward in secret.

And now, arrived on the open ground before the National Assembly, they were not in perfect condition—but they had recovered enough that daily life and conversation gave them no trouble.

Twenty-seven people stepped off a large bus one by one, found me, and came over with bright faces. Those who could walk, walked. Those in wheelchairs were pushed.

"Thank you. Truly, thank you, Grand Blue Master."

"If it weren't for Mr. Jung Seoha, our son would never have woken again. Thank you, truly..."

"Th-thank you for h-healing me. O...ppa."

When their eyes fell on the criminals of the Patriotic Subjects Association, they burned with fury. When they fell on me, they shone with gratitude and deep feeling. Receiving those looks, guilt jabbed at my conscience all over again.

Kang Ju-chan's younger sister was among them, and behind her Kang Ju-chan himself was looking at me with grateful eyes, which only made my conscience sting worse.

Anyway, once I confirmed that the victims themselves, their families, and the families of the brothers and sisters among my guards who had died protecting me were all gathered, I poured Mana Sieve into my throat and shouted at those hardheaded criminals.

"We are truly, deeply sorry!!"

"We're so sorry!"

"Forgive us!"

The moment my words ended and Yeongeun's interpretation went out, the criminals bent at the waist all at once and bowed. At that sight, the victims of the museum incident and their families brimmed with tears and let out a long, deep breath.

It was the look of a resentment, piled in the chest for months, washing away.

I watched them a moment, then shouted at the hardheaded criminals again, this time with killing intent loaded into my voice.

I was watching the criminals—who had been sneaking glances at me—duck their heads in a hurry at the humming sound, when beside me Yeongeun began to interpret into Japanese, careful even with the intonation.

Domestic and foreign reporters by the hundred burst their flashes, taking in the criminals, the victims weeping before them, and me—standing straight, Mana Sieve streaming from both eyes. Cameras from the broadcasters of every country filmed the 323 kneeling and bowing in rows and columns before the National Assembly as the sun went down, and the reporters stood at their lenses and started in with a provocative word for it.

A nation that surrendered to a single man. Japan.

Leaving the weeping victims behind, I loaded the criminals onto a large bus and headed for the last destination. The National Cemetery.

At the time I was attacked, I was a person of utmost importance under state designation, and thanks to that, the brothers and sisters who had been guarding me died with the status of special principal-protection officers. That was why they could be laid to rest in the National Cemetery.

Whether some arm-twisting had gone into it, I couldn't say... Yeongeun told me they had the qualifications to be interred here, and I had nodded.

Looking at the graves of those brothers and sisters—plain mounds, stone monuments—I let out a small sigh. Nearly three months, just to offer a single flower.

I set down five chrysanthemums in full bloom, one by one.

They were the names of the brothers and sisters among my guards who had lost their lives because of me, when Japanese ability users attacked the training ground in Shinchon-dong.

I couldn't bring a number over three hundred into the Seoul National Cemetery, so I brought only the five who amounted to ringleaders. The rest I left kneeling on the gravel of the parking lot.

I bowed my head for a moment of silence before the five monuments, then stepped aside. The five ringleaders who had been standing behind me, and former Prime Minister Yoshiya of Japan, knelt where they were and made a show of apology.

I approached the families of those brothers and sisters, who had been standing off to one side, watching. They too wiped their tears with handkerchiefs, came up to me, and bowed.

"Th... thank you, truly. Master, Yunchang will be glad to see this from heaven, too."

"Thank you, Grand Blue Master."

"Our Jin-han will have let go of his resentment, too."

Looking at the wives who couldn't hide their tears, and at the fathers and families forcing the tears back behind reddened eyes, I hesitated, then opened my mouth.

"...I'm sorry. I should have come sooner. I didn't have the face to come alone, so I was getting things ready. That's why I'm this late."

When I took the hands the uncles and aunts held out to me and spoke, they didn't know what to do with themselves.

"This can't begin to repay you for a child so precious. But please—use it somewhere the brothers and sisters who died trying to protect me would be glad of."

I handed the adults credit cards loaded with seventy-five million dollars each. At the end, a girl who looked no older than a middle schooler—kind-faced, pretty—took my hand instead of a card, her eyes full of tears.

There wasn't a single adult around her.

Don't tell me...

"My older sister's name is Kwon Hee-ra. I didn't know the person my sister died protecting was someone this incredible. When I saw on the broadcast that you hadn't forgotten her, oppa—when I realized you'd been working for today—I couldn't hold the tears back... Thank you for proving my sister didn't die a dog's death. Oppa."

She must have called up the sister she would never see again. In the end the tears spilled from both eyes, and she couldn't hold the sobs back.

She trembled like a small bird. My chest closed up. When I pulled her in and held her tight, she buried her face against me and wept without restraint.

Only then did it come to me. The sister who had collapsed and died in my arms, her head gone—her name was Kwon Hee-ra. The girl in front of me was Kwon Hee-ji.

Their parents had died in an accident when the girls were small, and with no help from any relatives, the sisters had been each other's ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠pillar, living a hard life that still held a small, ordinary happiness. That was what I'd been told.

That that little happiness had shattered because of me ached in my chest. If only I had used my power then, and killed every last one of the attackers...

Stroking the sobbing girl's shoulder, I let a groan leak out inside me, and then my old sickness flared up again—the one where I suspect the world.

Could I be Kwon Hee-ji's patron? A girl barely in middle school. A child with no guardian. Put seventy-five million dollars in her hands, and bastards with iron bolted over their faces would come to strip her of every last cent.

Like Yeongeun, I ought to found a foundation of my own, and find a way to guard and protect children like Hee-ji.

The 323 Japanese criminals were stood before the courts of our country and sentenced across the board, without even the defense of a public attorney.

In light of the special nature of the circumstances, the trial was held in full public view at the Supreme Court, under the eyes of the whole world. It took place with every one of the fourteen justices in attendance, the Chief Justice among them.

One person would come forward. The prosecutor beside them would explain the nature of that person's crimes in somewhere between two and five minutes, and the verdict came down at once. Of the 323, 265 were minor offenders. For comparatively light crimes, the written judgment ordered them to cough up an enormous sum in reparations, and after that to be deported from the country.

When an observer asked why they were being deported instead of locked in prison, the answer came back.

A clear answer, and one that left the chest cool and clean.

The Chief Justice's answer was a judgment that satisfied everyone there. Everyone in the courthouse rose in a standing ovation, marking how deeply they agreed.

No question about it. Someone exiled from both countries would have serious trouble even with immigration or asylum. They would never set a foot in a developed nation. The third world, at best.

Of the remaining fifty-eight—those who had directly taken part in the act of terrorism—fifty-three, excluding the five ringleaders, were slammed with life imprisonment. Instigation of murder, murder itself, complicity in illegal entry: every charge that could be applied, even slightly, was stuck to them.

For the rest of their lives, those bastards would take one meal a day in a cell of less than forty square feet, and they would not walk out of that prison until they died.

Except for one forced hour of exercise a month, they would live until death in a place where they couldn't even lie down properly.

For the five ringleaders, a request for confinement in Alcatraz was sent to the headquarters of the Ability User Alliance, on the charge of ordinary people conspiring to murder ability users. The very next day the letter of approval came whipping back. Expedited processing, on display.

With no further trial, the trip to Alcatraz was decided, and the five lost control of their piss and their shit. Terrified, they tried to cling on, begging to be sentenced to life imprisonment as well, but the Supreme Court guards blocked them, and all they managed was an ugly spectacle.

The sight of those bastards soiling themselves took the front page of the next morning's papers. The Supreme Court had piled up one suffocating precedent after another until now, but this time every paper carried the same line: a clean, righteous judgment, and a satisfying one. With that, the assault came to an end.

And so I could finally erase one line from the Death Note I had carried in my heart for nearly three months.

If it were up to my heart, I would have liked to put one big shot into the Japanese mainland... Well. I took comfort in ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠this much. Without spending a cent, I had let the whole world know that if you lay a hand on the Master of the Grand Blue raid team in the Republic of Korea, you're fucked.

What remained was the Rogue Imugi. Ha Cheolsu, who had bolted into the Phase World. And Sophia, who had cracked Hwayeon and me across the back of the head and run.

Sophia. If I catch you, you're dead...