Chapter 101
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Translator: Ace
Chapter: 101
Chapter Title: Leavenworth's Magician (5)
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"If your father happened to be Ryukyuan, then your mother—"
Please don't say she's mixed-race.
If she suddenly said her mother was Japanese, I'd be in a real bind.
"Ah, my mother is from Amami."
Uh, sorry, I still don't really know...
"My apologies. I must be getting too excited. Amami refers to another island chain near Ryukyu."
"I've heard the name before, but I didn't realize there was such a clear distinction between them... in terms of perception. Thank you for letting me know."
To be honest, Ryukyu was right on the shaky edge of my general knowledge cutoff. That's why I knew it. How the hell would I know where Amami is attached? I haven't even done a two-day, one-night hot spring trip to Fukuoka.
But seeing her draw that distinction, I could infer there was some kind of regional rivalry over there. Islanders especially tend to have strong senses of separation, right?
I've already scored points by knowing about Ryukyu, so no need to risk losing them.
After that, the atmosphere softened considerably, and I mostly just listened to her story.
Good thing I didn't bring kimchi just to slap her with it.
We wrapped up the warm, congenial conversation and stepped outside, where my pathetic little brother was waiting, chain-smoking and jittering his leg nonstop.
"Bro, how'd it go—"
"You little shit, stand still! I'm gonna grind your teeth!"
Yushin tried to brace like Pavlov's dog before my incoming punch, but no dice.
Taste the fury of my headlock, you punk!
"Gah, hack hack. What the hell, again?!"
"You could've just said she's from Okinawa, you idiot! Why'd you make this mess?!"
"What bullshit is this?! I tried telling you a bunch of times, but you flipped out and wouldn't listen!"
Did I?
Maybe, maybe not.
What does some trivial past detail matter anyway? The point is, I didn't hear it.
"Look, straight up. My girlfriend explained it to me over and over before I got it—oh, Okinawa wasn't originally Japanese territory. At first glance, with the name and face, I just assumed Japanese girl."
"How do you not know Ryukyu? Never heard of the Ryukyu Kingdom?"
"What's the Ryukyu Kingdom?"
After a few heated brotherly exchanges of fists, communication finally started flowing properly.
The root cause, as always, was America's stellar education system.
Come to think of it, Yushin and Yuin had been thoroughly schooled in early 1900s America.
Regular curricula barely touched Asia anyway, so whatever they picked up at the dinner table or from folks like Teacher Dosan was pretty much their entire knowledge base. It's almost surprising they have such strong national consciousness.
"I casually brought it up with a few people, but they all had no clue. Honestly, just hearing 'Ryukyu' makes you think it's next to Tokyo, right?"
"Well... yeah?"
"Exactly! So I figured you'd be clueless too and was gonna explain calmly! But no, you went full dog-beating mode right away!"
"Hey. Your bro here graduated from West Point, elite class. How could I not know Ryukyu?"
Sorry, little bro.
Truth is, I don't remember West Point teaching about Ryukyu either. Hardly any instructors there knew Eastern history better than me.
So, not knowing is normal, and me knowing is the anomaly. Without past-life memories, if I'd just absorbed what they taught here, I wouldn't have known...
"Anyway, misunderstanding cleared up now?"
"Ahem. Misunderstanding? I knew from the start—"
"Cut the crap. Just thinking about that beatdown still makes my whole body ache."
"Fine, fine. Sorry, bro. Should've listened to my little brother's story more closely. Sorry I'm such a lousy brother! Forgive me!"
We climbed back into the car and headed home.
"So, how was she?"
"Be honest. You fell for her face the moment you saw it, right?"
"Nah, it's not like that."
His face flushed red as he blabbered on about being inseparable from her now—hook, line, and sinker, obvious as day.
It was a straightforward story, really.
A family that hadn't fully integrated into either the Japanese or Okinawan communities, scraping by somehow.
When they were building a modest but happy home, a massive earthquake struck, followed by tragedy.
She earned a shot at university thanks to her talents, but after her father passed, she gave up her studies to care for her widowed mother and worked diligently—
And then this young, handsome guy who doesn't discriminate based on race shows up.
"Stop. Right there."
"Why?!"
"Young, handsome, rich, hardworking, and kind? Where'd your shame go? Did you leave it at home and take it back to San Francisco? Did Dorothy dump it?"
"I am handsome! I'm tall! Why? 'Cause I didn't go to college?!"
"Yeah, I should've introduced you to some girls. Didn't realize slaving away turned my good little bro into a twisted solo monster..."
"What's a solo?!"
"Mom's-basement solo."
"You're a pro at coining mood-ruining terms, pro."
Yushin's driving got more aggressive. Old saying: don't mess with the driver. It's even in Goguryeo watermelon lore, so gotta follow through.
"Hey."
"Yeah? What now? How're you gonna pick on me this time?"
"You wanna go to college?"
He flinched.
Looks like he's got some academic inferiority complex.
"Joking? Company can't run without me right now."
"Hire a pro manager. That's for me and Dad to discuss."
"How's a pro manager gonna handle funeral bribes, back-alley gangsters, politicians' pocket money, Provisional Government support? You messing with me?"
"So, no desire to go?"
No matter how twisted a solo he is, he wouldn't cling to someone just for looks thinking she's Japanese. Yushin's the closest to Teacher An Chang-ho in our family.
Listening to their saccharine story, it felt like her university background got more focus than her looks.
"College. College. Pfft, what would I even do there? We've got a West Pointer at home, and Yuin went."
"You really okay being the only one of us three without college?"
"Fuck, of course I'd go if I could! I was top of my class. Quarterback! Got it? But life's not about doing whatever you want just 'cause you want it."
"Got it. I'll handle the prep."
To squeeze more out of him, better get some education in him too.
And anyway, we need to boost the Korean inkling rate among fun-loving Koreans.
"I wanna punch a hole through to a university."
"You're nuts, bro? The money you've blown saying 'buy this, buy that'—"
"Listen, punk. What's the biggest shortage in Joseon right now?"
"...What?"
"People. Highly educated people. To get that, they go study in Tokyo, inevitably tying them to Japan. And even that education is mostly disconnected from actual governance or business."
Advanced technicians.
Core administrative talent.
In original history, newborn Korea could never secure enough of either, even in death.
Syngman Rhee talked about sending more Koreans to America, and immigrant numbers are slowly rising.
Education is a century-long plan, so sow seeds now.
No need to force patriotism. Just educate them hard, and when mushroom clouds rise over the home islands and Joseon liberates, plenty will burn with zeal to cross the Pacific for newborn Korea's rebuild.
"No need to force-build one. Some universities friendly to Asians—just offer scholarships, financial aid, help smart kids enroll."
"Hmm... yeah, no matter how hard we try, most high-end talent's still white."
"Exactly. So even if not now, secure the pipeline for high-end human resources."
Of course, those who take our scholarships, land jobs linked to us, deposit sweat-earned cash in our vaults—whether in America or Korea, they can't escape our influence.
I don't expect to control the Provisional Government directly.
If all key operators are under our thumb, that's it.
Even from future Korea's view, better fresh American talent in upper society than guys reeking of Japan, right? True win-win.
"Oh, and the Korean National Association's vault is at our business site, right?"
"Safer than their office with ex-vet uncles guarding with guns."
"Instead of mocking, how about making a bank?"
"You're sending me to college! Why more work?! Why!!"
"Wheel! Grab the wheel, you punk! Not my collar!"
What a shitshow.
The rest of the process flew by like lightning frying beans.
"I'm Nishime Fumiko."
"Ah, yes. Thank you for getting along with our foolish son."
Parents were shocked at the sudden second daughter-in-law candidate's name appearing out of nowhere, but I explained furiously as the go-between.
"Not Japanese?"
"From the Ryukyu Kingdom. Even Teacher Dosan hasn't heard of Ryukyu?"
"No, I know. Poor nation trampled by vile Imperial Japan. I share their pain of shared suffering, so I can't object—"
"Korean society can't stand tall alone, by size or strength. We need mutual aid with more peoples to make our voice heard in Washington D.C."
"I understand. But how our transoceanic kin will see it worries me more."
"Don't worry about that."
Earn your keep, Doctor.
Or I'll reassess your value.
And this move of mine soon drew a response from an unexpected quarter.
"Pleased to meet you, Captain Kim. Thank you immensely for accepting my invitation."
"The honor's mine, calling a lowly consular official like me. I hope our meeting... aids U.S.-Japan friendship."
"Haha. No need for me to intrude on your talk. Urgent business calls—excuse me."
With the San Francisco mayor as matchmaker, dodging was impossible.
I didn't expect inaction on a Joseon-Ryukyu union, but this swift reaction? Impressive.
Even rotten herring is still a great power.
As I prepared to return to Leavenworth, an irresistible invitation arrived from Oota Tamekichi, Japanese Consul General in San Francisco.