Chapter 143
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Translator: Ace
Chapter: 143
Chapter Title: The Darkest Hour (3)
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I was racing toward San Francisco. Fresh recruits had arrived from across the sea, funded by the Oriental Education Development Fund.
The fund had grown much larger than I'd anticipated.
At the start, I'd boldly declared that I'd cover all their education costs myself! Mwahahaha! But damn, it cost a fortune. No wonder Eugene had been nagging me endlessly about it.
But my worries about funding had turned out to be utterly pointless.
"General Keane, if you could just help my son a little—"
"I'm sorry, but I've long since stepped away from the selection process."
"No, no! How could I possibly shove my boy into a spot meant for poor kids with burning passion for learning? I studied under a kerosene lamp myself and trailed after those blue-eyed foreigners like a beggar to learn their writing. I'd never do such a thing."
"Then what kind of help are you asking for?"
"If you'd lend a hand with my son's studies in America, I'd cover the tuition for all the other kids. The ones you select are bound to be the cornerstones of Asia's future, so my humble son could at least make some good friends—that's my hope."
This... so it's a donation for admission, huh?
Among the sharp-eyed elders living high on the hog in Japan and China, there was a strong belief that this fund would bear great fruit down the line.
'The Middle Kingdom right now is chaos that makes the Five Barbarians and Sixteen Kingdoms look tame. Better our kid soaks up knowledge in America than get killed on the roadside.'
'Soldiers dancing with swords, prime ministers assassinated in broad daylight—this era's uncertain for the Empire. Send the eldest to Tokyo Imperial University, the second to General Keane, and the family roots won't be uprooted.'
'That kid's chasing skirts—who's he take after? If he hangs with those rags-to-riches types, at least he won't crash and burn completely.'
And just like that, Eugene's modest little education fund account ballooned like a pufferfish in no time. Man, I'm stuffed!
If they want to shell out cash for the "Made by Eugene Kim" brand, why not take the money and outsource some OEM work? Good for sister, good for brother-in-law, right?
While I was thinking that, the welcoming ceremony for the new talents was proceeding smoothly at the docks.
Cheers echoing everywhere, crowds of Asians clapping and cheering them on for their futures.
An overwhelming high that transcended nationalities.
Most were soft-headed teens, but many would never forget this experience for the rest of their lives. I hoped they'd cherish that memory and study hard.
The road ahead for Asia is brutal. No matter their nationality, I just wanted them all to live well.
Once the program wrapped up, I had to go around shaking hands and offering brief words of encouragement.
I'd asked a few times if this was really necessary, but everyone insisted, so I grudgingly went along. Afterward, my hands swell up like Doraemon's—am I some idol holding a fan meet?
Once again, my trash brain spits out a brilliant idea. Yeah, when cash is overflowing, sell Eugene Kim handshake tickets. Do autographs, VIP gets hugs. Dinner for two at a thousand bucks a pop. That might make them back off.
I was dishing out blessings in Korean, Chinese, and Japanese for a good while.
Then someone who clearly wasn't a boy—clearly middle-aged—stood before me.
"Well now, looks like we've got a late bloomer here. Welcome to America."
"I've always admired you. I'm Park Sang-hee from Sunsan, Gyeongsangbuk-do."
"I see. What brings you here?"
"I was doing independence work with the Sin-gan Society when the Japs shipped me off."
Damn, no brakes on this guy. What am I supposed to do when you slam it like that?
"Hello! General, General, I came to America because I really wanted to see you."
"Hey, a kid's here too. Did you come with your big brother?"
"I went to Gumi Public Normal School. Here—"
The kid stuck to Park Sang-hee's side rummaged through his bundle and pulled out a worn, tattered book.
What the hell is this? Kim Eugene Biography? Why does something this horrific exist? Is it a demonic art manual?
I instinctively took the book and flipped through it.
—And so General Kim Eugene turned sand grains into bullets and distributed them to the 30,000 Black Banner Army, moving them all to tears; they didn't retreat a single step under the hail of German gunfire...
My eyes! My eyes!! This isn't Kim Eugene; it's goddamn Hercules! Who wrote this abomination?!
I desperately controlled my expression and pulled out a pen for the trembling kid.
"You've read it a lot, huh? Alright, I'll sign it. What's your name?"
"Jeong-hee. Park Jeong-hee."
Who? Park Jeong-hee?
Nah, no way. That guy?
But not Busan or Pyongyang—Gumi school... Shit.
I stopped thinking and quickly spoke up.
"Little Jeong-hee, what do you want to be when you grow up?"
"I want to rise super high and become great like General Kim or Napoleon."
"Jeong-hee!"
His brother freaked out beside him, but I ignored it.
Rise high. Nice ambition. The more I look, the more it fits that guy I know.
"Rise high, huh? You've learned a big word. Why do you want that?"
"Dad just plays around at home. Mom says it hurts her heart because Dad couldn't rise up due to the Japs' bullying. So I want to rise high, live large in Keijo, and make Mom and Dad live well."
"I'm sorry, so sorry! The kid's still too young—"
"No, no, it's fine."
Whether this kid is that person or not, I'm the older one here right now.
So a word or two of old-fart advice should be okay.
"I see. Such a filial and fine child."
"Hehe. Thank you."
"But being a soldier isn't a job for climbing the ladder."
The smile vanished from the kid's face, replaced by a big question mark.
The soldiers he'd seen were probably just military police beating Koreans. If that's his inspiration, I need to talk him out of it.
I knelt to meet his eyes and spoke slowly.
"Soldiers in this United States fight so others can sleep soundly at night. It's tough, full of hardship. People treat soldiers well because they're grateful for taking on the hard stuff in their place—not because they're strong."
"Then Napoleon—"
"Think about Napoleon. When he fought for the French people, everyone thanked him. But when greed kicked in and he fought for his own gain, he got chased out.
Soldiers who put themselves first, who bully others with their power—people end up hating them."
Speaking at a kid's level is hard. Bang Jeong-hwan really was a cheat code just by existing. Next event, drag him out of that corner and glue him to my side.
"Then what do I do if I want to rise high?"
"Figure that out as you live here in America. Doing what you love is best."
Suddenly, applause clapped from the side.
"General Keane, I overheard, but those were truly words of blood and flesh!"
"You look Japanese, but you speak Korean?"
"Yes, my father said before coming to America, you must learn Korean to fully appreciate General Keane's words."
His eyes—he looked like a high schooler—shone with near-worship.
"What's your name, student?"
"I'm Tojo Hidataka! Born in Meiji 44 (1911)!"
Tojo, Tojo, Tojo. Freaking Tojo.
Tojo—only one comes to mind.
"May I ask your father's name—"
"Tojo Hideki! Stepping on American soil and hearing such wisdom—I'm deeply moved!"
No wonder the random letter. Asking me to look after his son, huh.
Why me? Why do I get all these trials?
Shouldn't meeting independence fighters or great men make me think, Wow, glad I started this? Why does it feel like assembling the Suicide Squad instead of Avengers? Next up, Hercules Kim Il-sung or Yi Wan-yong's kid studying abroad. Yeah?
I wanna quit. If I get a Hitler fan letter, I'll bite my tongue and check out that day. That psycho yelling German supremacy probably won't, though.
Glancing at the remaining handshake victims, I forced a smile.
"What do you mean by that?"
"Exactly as I said. You're fired."
"Th-this can't be! I'm not just a US MILK employee—I'm dispatched from the Veterans' Association!"
John Miller's protests fell on deaf ears.
"I know. Hasn't the Veterans' Association contacted you? Despite their audit role, they failed to stop former president Doherty's corruption. Whether they didn't know or went along with it—"
"Absolutely not."
"Fine, let's say so. The higher-ups are reluctant to touch the Veterans' Association directly. So they're taking 'voluntary' responsibility by pulling out of US MILK."
The man from D.C. ripped the nameplate off Miller's desk.
"Time to go home. Hard work protecting nigger rights."
"Very well. If that's the Association's stance, I'll step down. But let me say one thing: our comrades here are just earning a living. So—"
"Do we have to accommodate every individual's circumstances?"
That curt attitude.
Seeing the purge coming, Miller dropped to his knees.
"Please. Black or white, doesn't matter. They're all breadwinners supporting families. I beg you—"
"Hey, buddy. What am I supposed to do about it?"
He smirked and shoved Miller, whose suit pants were now dirtied.
"Pray to the invisible hand. Oh, and sorry, we'll pack your things."
"What?"
Instead of answering, he gestured lightly, and a few burly thugs from across the door approached Miller.
"Excuse us. We need your cooperation on the US MILK scandal."
"I didn't know anything!"
"We'll find out after investigation, nigger. Shut up and come along."
Like they'd been waiting, they yanked his arms behind his back and cuffed him.
'Making an example of me by throwing me in jail? The Association... abandoned me?'
The sky outside somehow looked gray.