Chapter 100
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Translator: Ace
Chapter: 100
Chapter Title: The Magician of Leavenworth (4)
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"As expected. As expected! Haha!! Kuhahaha!! I was right! Indeed!! Damn it, it was you all along! All of it!"
It was a bluff, after all.
He'd hit me right in the vitals so many times that I was left dazed.
Yeah. Logically speaking, there was no way he could've figured out it was me.
The only external link connecting Syngman Rhee, The Sun, and the Republican Party was me.
I need to practice controlling my expressions more. Maybe play some intense poker with Harding.
"I was just stunned because assassinating the president sounded so outlandish."
"Don't lie to me. I'm a detective, after all. I could tell at a glance. It was you. You, not even thirty yet!"
Unable to hold back, he shot to his feet.
"I haven't told anyone, and I don't plan to. There's no way to prove it, so I'd just get labeled a lunatic and pushed out. Even I, who pieced together part of that astonishingly grand and intricate plan, questioned myself multiple times if I was delusional!"
"......"
"Captain Kim. Let's join hands. We hot-blooded young men can protect this country together. Yeah?"
This bastard drops the formal speech right away.
Daring to pluck the nose hairs off Eugene Kim, a citizen of these United States of Ebebeop, and act all high and mighty? Time for a lesson.
But the opponent was Hoover.
Clashing head-on with a guy like this meant losing too much. Forming bad blood with the future FBI director for life? I wouldn't sleep at night.
"What would I gain by taking your hand?"
"Anything! You're not the type to rot in the military begging Congress for funds because you're broke. Think bigger. Bigger. Seize the military, climb to the top, and take those shining results to D.C. With me!"
"That might work for me, but Mr. Hoover, you don't seem to have that kind of position yet."
"Even after seeing the skills that got me this far, you're doubting me? Fine. You'll catch up soon. Palmer's Red hunt failed, but once I take down a few Reds, the tide will turn again. So sit back, admire my abilities, and decide then. Of course, by that time, the scales might tip a bit more. Heh heh heh."
I slowly approached Hoover and extended my hand.
That smug smile on Hoover's face.
That certainty that he'd grabbed me by the scruff.
In the original history, he feasted for years digging up dirt on people. The guy's got a bright future ahead.
"You're quick on the uptake, Captain. I have no intention of harming you over this."
Ah, I can't take this anymore.
Screw grudges and all that. I'll take the L. Don't cry foul since I struck first.
Just before our hands met, I seized his wrist with all my strength.
"What the hell-"
"Listen up. I don't care if it's a Dixiecrat Democrat bastard, a nigger, a Yellow Monkey, or some homo who likes dressing in women's clothes."
"K-Kim, Captain! Wait!"
An unexpected blow from a direction he never saw coming.
Felt good hitting me earlier, huh? My turn to feel good. You think I can't bluff?
He recoiled in shock, trying to pull away, but couldn't shake off my iron grip. I'm a soldier, after all.
"Wait, there's some misunderstanding-"
"But anyone who pulls a knife on me for some bullshit reason, whether it's the president or whoever, I never let live. You fucking piece of shit."
I shoved his arm away, and he flopped back into his chair like a floundering stingray.
"This, this is..."
"Seems like mutual trust is still lacking, Mr. Hoover. I value communication and... open-mindedness more than anyone."
Come back next time with a more open heart.
I left the study, ignoring him as he stared vacantly into space, clearly rattled.
This insolent prick thought he could grab Eugene Kim by the topknot just because I'd been playing nice.
He's begging for death.
Lately, too many people have been leaving this study with their souls checked out.
At this rate, Eugene Kim's study—supposed to be full of dignity and warmth—will turn into some soul-sucking occult hotspot. Decades from now, Satan worshippers or occult nuts might flock here like ghost hunters, chanting "Oh, ill-fated black mage" and holding rituals.
Maybe I should call a shaman from Joseon to perform an exorcism.
Hoover left, glancing at me like he'd seen a ghost. Let him rack that clever brain of his figuring out how I knew.
Of course, he'll puzzle over it his whole life and get nowhere. How could you know I'm a future soul?
He seemed to realize belatedly that my outburst might've been an unprovable bluff, but the bus had already left.
We each landed a blow on the vitals, so call it a draw.
I went to the kitchen, sprinkled some salt at the front door, then slowly reviewed the documents Hoover left behind.
A few days later, I cleared out the absolutely unavoidable work and delegated the rest as best I could.
"You sure about this? He'll make you pay dearly for this debt. Don't regret it later."
MacNair's words sent chills down my spine more than anything.
Scary. I can practically see him calculating how to suck me dry!
MacNair is tough in a different way from MacArthur or Marshall. That faint smile—barely there—hides who knows what club.
He's not drum-thumpingly greedy, and he doesn't want anything specific from me, which drives me insane.
With everything wrapped up, I boarded the train to San Francisco right away.
"Bro? What brings you here?"
"What else? If you're not busy, let's go right now."
"...Got it."
He instantly understood my subjectless sentence the moment I entered the office. Convenient and nice.
On the way, I reread the file Hoover had given me.
Nishime Fumiko.
Thankfully, not a natural-born Jap, but a Japanese-American.
Parents immigrated together and settled in San Francisco, where she was born.
She had an older brother who died in the San Francisco earthquake.
In this spicy era of discrimination, she made it to the University of Michigan but dropped out after her father passed, returning to San Francisco.
Then she got a job at a Chinese-run factory handling clerical work, and the report noted ties to our family.
As expected from Hoover's handiwork—paranoid investigations into whether she's a spy or Red.
Connections to Japan proper, pro-Japan groups in the US, Japanese-American community activities—not just hers, but her family's entire history scraped clean. University clubs reeking of Red? Was dropping out for spreading communism? They dug to the bone...
And I tangled with this psycho?
- No major public enemy suspicions to date.
- No spy activity suspicions to date.
- For deeper investigation, need to infiltrate Japanese-American groups with agents...
Somehow, the woman doesn't seem like the problem—Hoover does. Just a feeling?
No suspicions, yet it ends with "So we must plant moles in Jap groups for certainty." What is this? FBI or KGB, you psycho?
My brother drove for a while and parked in front of a rundown house on the outskirts, away from the main Japanese areas.
"Wait here a sec. I'll talk first."
"Sure."
A few minutes later, Yushin signaled from inside, and I entered the house.
"Pardon the intrusion."
"Welcome. It's an honor to have the famous General Kim in my home."
Well.
I was momentarily speechless at her fluent Korean.
"Yushin. Is this her?"
"Yeah."
Okay. Now I get why you ran off in the night.
Still, shouldn't you have prepared me mentally?
You should've said she's insanely pretty first. Then I wouldn't have beaten you so hard and might've listened...
If it weren't 1920, this woman belongs in Hollywood, not here.
Estimate's in. Mats are ready.
No wonder our Yushin—who's probably only held his mom's hand—ditched business for her. Pathetic fool...
"I'm Eugene Kim. Your Korean is so fluent I thought you were Joseon-born."
"Nishime Fumiko. I've been studying hard. Please take care of me."
"Bro. Don't be too harsh-"
"Shut up and wait in the car."
I shoved my trembling brother aside, sat down, and she poured me tea.
"Here you go."
"Thank you."
Time to work.
Did I come all the way from Leavenworth for nothing? Gotta tie this up neatly before heading back.
I'd mentally rehearsed on the train, recalling past memories. Dousing with cold water, shoving cash to leave, spilling OJ—Korean media tropes for mental prep.
Now I can handle any scenario perfectly. Call me the god of operations.
"Korean must still be uncomfortable. Japanese or English—which is easier?"
"English is my native tongue. Let's speak English."
"Understood. I'm here today because... my foolish brother wants to build a constructive future with you, Ms. Nishime."
"Yes..."
"Of course, I know you're not Japanese, but Japanese-American. Still, feelings between Joseon and Japanese aren't simple, so-"
"I'm not Japanese."
A bit unexpected.
I figured she'd emphasize her American identity.
Nisei issues and Japanese-American problems had to come up anyway, so I'd prepped a lot. Didn't expect evasion.
Denying it won't help. Almighty Hoover dug it up—can't be wrong.
After dealing with monsters, this commoner reaction feels fresh. Yeah, my level's too high for chit-chat like this.
"Is that so? Sorry, but for my brother's sake, I did some background checking. It said your parents are Japanese."
"The Americans General Kim met must care about Asians' nationalities. We didn't get that."
She set her teacup down slowly and spoke.
"My father was Ryukyuan."
My head spun.
Kim Yushin, you idiot—where are you? Why skip the most important part!
Hoover's a total lightweight too.
Grinding teeth over spies and Reds, family to the eighth degree, but wrong nationality? You kidding?
"Ah, Ryukyu might be unfamiliar. Ryukyu is-"
"I know Okinawa well. Similar to Joseon."
I can see it clear as day.
Okinawa was swallowed by Japan even before Joseon, and by immigration, Ryukyu was already gone. I get it... but couldn't spare 1% of that Red-hunt zeal here? Then I'd have known. Blame Americans' zero cultural awareness? My fault for buying it.
I scrapped my 31 colorful scenarios and pondered how to handle this woman thrilled I know Ryukyu.
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(Reference)
The Ryukyu Kingdom had long been under Satsuma clan's influence and was annexed in 1879 as Japan's first expansionist move.
Later, teacher Toyama Kyuzo, while studying in Tokyo, learned of the Japan-Hawaii immigration program and promoted Hawaii and continental US migration. On January 8, 1900, he and the first group of Okinawans set foot in Honolulu.
However, Okinawan immigrant society in the Americas suffered endless turmoil: differences by origin (Shuri-Naha), generational conflicts (1st vs. 2nd), San Francisco vs. Los Angeles rivalries, Ryukyuan language vs. Japanese speakers, relations with Japanese/Japanese immigrants, and communist infiltration.
When Executive Order 9066 interned Japanese, Okinawans were swept up too, destroying their unique communities. Recovery took generations.