Chapter 103
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Translator: Ace
Chapter: 103
Chapter Title: The Magician of Leavenworth (7)
-----------------------------------------------------------------
“How’d it go?”
As soon as I got home, Yushin—who’d been waiting up without a wink of sleep—sprang to his feet.
Just like any groom-to-be on the cusp of marriage, the guy was positively itching with anticipation.
“Who do you think I am? Of course I handled it perfectly.”
“They had nothing to say about you marrying a Ryukyuan?”
“Little brother, little brother. My poor, pitiful little brother. Why on earth are you trying to solve the problem?”
A sigh slipped out of me on its own.
Why doesn’t this kid’s brain ever turn? Looks like I’ll have to keep him close and drill it into him the hard way.
“You think the Japs are gonna go, ‘Oh, sure. You two have a beautiful romance from here on out,’ and give us the green light?”
“So you really... did exactly what you said at first?”
“Obviously. The classic formula is to bury one problem under a bigger one.”
“What kind of formula is that? You’re just some lunatic trying to scam a whole country—what the hell kind of formula is that? Stop expecting normal people to buy into your crazy ideas.”
Sheesh. If you get hung up on common sense like that, you’ll never accomplish anything big.
“Glad you made it back safe. We were worried those devious Japs might pull something nasty.”
“No matter how unhinged the Japs get, they can’t lay a finger on me as long as I’m a U.S. Army officer. What’s there to worry about? Haha.”
“You think too complacently sometimes. The Japs even tried to assassinate the Russian crown prince. What’s to say some maniac like that won’t just pop up out of nowhere?”
“Teacher, please give our wild-colt eldest son here a good scolding. The kid’s an absolute loose cannon.”
Hm. When you put it like that, I’ve got nothing to say...
Dosan chewed me out royally for treating a leader’s life so lightly. Never mind that the man himself was dying to get back to Korea!
I summarized my chat with Consul General Ota, and all three of them stared at me slack-jawed, like they’d just witnessed the world’s funniest cosmic joke.
“Winning over the consul general... The fact that it actually worked is the real shocker.”
“Put it nicely, and it’s ‘cooperation.’ Between us, let’s call it what it is: we’re gonna eat ’em alive.”
“You think they’ll just roll over for that?”
“It’s not about them rolling over. The very fact that they’re trying to control things is what’s messed up. Why should immigrants be under the thumb of their old homeland? If it pisses them off that much, we’ll just light a fire under their asses with this issue.”
In the end, the persistent push for immigration laws stemmed from America’s mainstream fears—the Yellow Peril, the dread that Asians, who looked different and had alien cultures, would devour the country.
But surprise! Turns out the Japs across the sea were acting on orders from the Japanese embassy? Oh, shotgun wedding it is.
So Japan had no choice but to tread carefully. If I reached out to the Japanese community with open arms, they had zero way to counter it.
The problem was, doing it openly would crank their paranoia and hostility to eleven. That’s why I had to do it on the down-low and politely secure Japan’s “blessing” first.
Now that I had the go-ahead, it was full steam ahead on the plan.
“So we just hire Japanese people outright? No distinction from Koreans?”
“No! That’s not it! Don’t look at ethnicity! Rip out every box for race or nationality from those damn resumes! We have to provide milk and honey to everyone in our fold. As long as they’re U.S. citizens and with us, no discrimination whatsoever!”
They reacted like I’d just invoked a ghost.
But that ethnic clinging is exactly what fuels those hook-noses’ fears.
Multiculturalism and cultural relativism were decades away from sprouting. No joke—if we didn’t blend into mainstream society voluntarily, race riots could erupt anytime.
Pacific immigrants from China, Korea, and Japan fell into two big buckets.
Farmers from crushing poverty who’d bet everything on a new life in this promised land.
Or scholars burning with passion and dreams of glory.
The scholars weren’t mine to control. Most would head home, and half of those might fall for the red pill anyway.
Communism was just hitting its stride. To 2020’s Kim Eugene, Confucianism and communism were both relics, but to 1920 folks? Straight gospel. I wasn’t confident riding that storm and cleaning up after.
So we target the first group.
Those chasing the American Dream, only to end up second-class citizens, squeezed out by pale-skinned hook-noses whose language they couldn’t even speak.
Back in traditional village life, there was neighborly warmth. But in this cutting-edge capitalist USA, “neighborly” just meant the wounded licking each other’s sores.
We fill that void.
The Kim family never abandons those in the shadows.
We’ve even got the killer catchphrase from original history: from cradle to grave, total care.
Singles go into factory dorms with three squares a day. Marry within the factory, kids schooled at Kim family academies, hard-earned savings in company vaults.
Church? One of ours, where the family holds a pew.
Smart kid? Eugene Kim scholarship to college.
White, Hispanic, Black—don’t care.
We’re the social safety net and melting pot extraordinaire. Here, only U.S. citizen matters—no other labels needed.
Work for us, and we’re family. You won’t slip from my grasp even in death. I’ll wring you to the bone, keh heh heh.
Unfamiliar to this era’s capitalists, but the closest example was our own Mr. Ford.
He loved tying employees to the company by making their lives as comfy as possible. So if his sidekick pupil ups the ante, that’s just respect for the master, right?
“Once we open doors to Japanese, they’ll come crawling to be our friends.”
They can think whatever at hiring. Leaving? Not so much.
If even a sliver of goodwill comes from cashing Kim family paychecks, that’s enough.
That’s the lifeline for us Koreans—under 100,000 strong—in this new Eden.
“Isn’t that risky?”
“Teacher, if the Japs are the type to do anything when crossed, like you say, then the higher I climb, the more desperate they’ll get to take me out.”
Japan wasn’t dumb yet.
Meiji Restoration grit had dragged that eastern island into great power colonial ranks, and it wasn’t going anywhere.
No matter how many pipes I laid or buddies I made, national interests outweighed little old me.
With Korea under Japanese boot and me holding Korean identity, collision was inevitable. Crashing at an impasse meant my ruin, so better to open channels now while talk worked.
That’s why this immigration flap was perfect.
Fail to block it? “See? Your trolling kept us from stopping it! Shoulda backed me sooner!” Success? All glory to Eugene Kim.
While Japan thinks I’m reasonable, no reason to block my path. They’ll grin, expecting a pro-Japan guy to cozy up U.S.-Japan ties.
A thousand-mile journey starts with one step.
While the little bros load up on book-smarts and level up to high-end labor, I consolidate scattered businesses, hand off to pro managers where needed, and spawn new ventures.
Because the real core of all this? Building a fortress that won’t crumble in the coming Great Depression.
No time to wait on Consul General Ota’s reply.
He wasn’t the type to decide solo anyway. Needed to check with his bosses or Tokyo.
I rushed back to Leavenworth after tying up loose ends, only to face a mountain of paperwork.
“Why? Why??”
“They say in the Orient there’s this karma thing—repaying past-life sins in this one. Guess you’ve got a backlog from yours?”
I wanted to wring MacNair’s neck as he grinned and handed me coffee.
Karma’s Indian, not mine! Even if I’m a nylon Christian, I hit church every Sunday, okay?
With practiced ease, MacNair plucked a thick stack from midway up the pile, clipped to an admin memo.
“You need to check this one separately.”
“What is it? Please, have mercy.”
“Pssh, you’re alive and kicking. The commandant said you’d know—it’s from the Navy.”
Right. Gotta handle this too.
This one was important.
Alone after MacNair left, I tore open the sealed envelope and scanned the first page.
Finally here.
War Plan Orange.
This Navy war plan covered U.S. defense and counterattack if hypothetical enemy “Orange” invaded.
Who Orange was went without saying.
The nation we’d brushed war with multiple times, the sole threat to our Asia-Pacific turf.
The Japanese Empire.
Funny thing, though—even seals had to make a plan when ordered, but couldn’t cook up a solid “Why would Japan attack us?”
War motives matter a ton.
They let you infer enemy goals, desired turf, follow-on moves...
Even the Navy’s top brains couldn’t crack it.
Result?
- “Orange” is inherently greedy, aggressive, superiority-obsessed adventurers who despise America and the West.
Thus, Orange will launch war to seize U.S. interests in the western Pacific/Asia and claim Asian hegemony. Main target: Philippines.
Like catching a rat mid-cow backpedal.
Spot-on. Impressive seals. Future traveler among ’em?
I pored over our seal buddies’ massive war plan—and the Army’s separate ones—sorting my thoughts.
Clang!
“Kim! If you’re back, say so!”
“We’ve been waiting on pins and needles. Come on, spill the Amiens tale!”
Gyaaaah!! Bandits! U.S. Army bandits kidnapping me again!
Where’d my precious thinking time go?