Chapter 2: Dawn of the 20th Century
During night duty shifts, there really wasn't much to do.
And when it came to killing time, nothing beat a good novel.
Among the books I devoured, there were more than a few tales of getting hit by a truck and flung into another world, or possessing someone, or regressing to the past.
But I never dreamed that one would become my story.
It was bewildering, to say the least. I'd died, but when I opened my eyes, I was in the past over a century ago—in someone else's body entirely.
Eugene Kim. Born in 1893.
That was the starting point of my second life.
My parents were students who'd crossed the Pacific, leaving the three thousand li of Korean homeland behind like a candle in the wind, determined to do something for their country.
My father had sold every inch of family land to learn modern knowledge for Korea's enlightenment, boarding a third-class steamer to San Francisco.
My mother, enduring countless hardships as a woman, had caught the eye of missionaries and ended up in this strange land called America.
Both had planned to learn everything they could and return to the homeland. Instead, on America's cold soil—where yellow monkeys like them were treated with endless disdain—they became husband and wife. And I was born.
I became aware of my past life around age five or six. From then on, I worked my ass off, relentlessly.
America, land of the free.
But in truth, it was a white man's country.
Born from a tiny Eastern backwater nation that barely registered on the map—less visible than even Black people—my future looked pitch black at first.
And the era? Forget about it.
Knowing the future as I did, what was a person of color supposed to do to survive in a place where we weren't even treated as human?
At first, I figured I'd leverage future knowledge to make a killing—become a Carnegie or Rockefeller.
But the 20th century was far crueler than I'd imagined.
"Hey! Chosunjing!"
"Whoa, easy there. We're all yellow monkeys together."
"You're the monkey, you Chosunjing fuck!"
San Francisco was no "melting pot of races" like Americans claimed.
Whites despised everyone whose skin wasn't lily-white, equally.
Blacks stuck together in their own groups, suffering just to breathe.
Hispanics flooding in from Mexico weren't slaves, but their shitty lot was no different.
And us yellows.
Poor Asians were split into Chinese, Japanese, and a tiny handful of Koreans, too busy fighting among ourselves.
But what pissed me off most were those Japs—fellow "equals" in the eyes of whites, yet strutting around with noses in the air.
The more Japan won prestige after beating Russia, the more my Jap neighbors lost their fear of me—until they started deluding themselves as "honorary whites."
"Hey, Jap."
"What, Chosunjing?"
"Bite down hard, you fucker."
"Thinks he's hot shit 'cause he aced a test? Step on that bastard!"
The older I got, the more my grand dream of becoming Asia's 20th-century tycoon faded away.
No matter how I crunched it, the moment I built a real business, the KKK in white hoods or some gang would show up and turn my family and me into Swiss cheese. Just look at Rockefeller—threats, arsons, and sabotage were daily bread while building his oil empire.
Instead, a new ambition filled my chest.
"Kill Japs, kill Japs. Kill more Japs."
Admiral Halsey's words stuck like glue.
Why were those bastards going so apeshit?
Because Korea—the Korean Empire—had vanished from the map.
News from the homeland that Koreans had finally become their slave race had even them jumping for joy.
Now I was doomed to be called a "Japanese-American."
Fine. I admit it.
Just wait thirty years.
Pearl Harbor and the Pacific War were coming.
So I changed my goal.
Join the U.S. Army.
Sacrifice those Japs on the Pacific altar and rise through the ranks.
Asians can't succeed in American society?
Bullshit.
With future knowledge, I'd make it no matter what.
This was the best choice for me—and my wretched homeland.
And hell, I was an officer in my past life.
A century later, I was ready to don that ragged uniform again.
"So, you wanna be a soldier, huh?"
"Yes."
"Comes home in rags and the first thing out of your mouth is you wanna be a grunt. Real smart, kid."
My father clicked his tongue, and I was at a loss for words.
Sure, those Jap bastards without a shred of bushido had jumped me three-on-one, but I'd straightened every one of their teeth in return. Wasn't that dentist-level work? My defense fell on deaf ears.
"You've got dreams, I get it. But the military ain't an easy path."
"I know."
Too damn well.
"Just your skin color alone could block your future. You know that too, right?"
"Yes. I'm prepared."
"If you were just enlisting as a private, I wouldn't say a word. But an officer? That's facing this white man's world head-on."
Poor Dad.
One of the first twenty Koreans to settle in San Francisco, he'd given up his dreams across the sea to bear the burden of family.
This wasn't just empty discouragement.
Only someone who'd fought tooth and nail for a foothold could say it.
"It's fine. Whose son am I?"
That's why I could say it too.
It'd been over ten years since I'd dropped into this world from books and movies.
And I'd watched my "father" fight like hell up close.
Growing up again beside a man who'd started with bare fists? With my bullshit future-knowledge advantage? No way I could back down.
"That's my boy. Figured you'd aim for officer, so I was already prepping."
"Prepping...?"
"To be an officer, you need a service academy, right? Can't just waltz in. Change clothes first. We've got a stop to make."
Clueless, I changed and followed Dad out.
Dad and I headed to a shabby office on the city outskirts.
Korean National Association
As we approached the door, the sign hit me—I froze for a second.
"Your admission's gonna stir up politics and society anyway. Might as well pull out all the stops and fight. Right?"
Dad said it like he read my mind.
"Hello, elders!"
"Long time no see."
Everyone inside greeted Dad warmly; he shook hands, chatting about the world's woes.
After a good while...
"Eugene. Introduce yourself."
"Hello. I'm Eugene Kim."
"Tall, handsome—here's Korea's pillar right here. You're blessed, sir."
"Think that'll get me to cough up more dues? Tch..."
But the smile never left his face.
"This here's Wooseong Park Yong-man. Thinks like you—always yapping about military schools and boy soldier academies."
"Haha! With the country's fallen, we gotta build strength, right?"
Then he introduced someone oddly familiar.
"That's U-nam Syngman Rhee. Our Princeton PhD."
Syngman Rhee!
Park Yong-man was a notable independence activist, but Rhee's name loomed larger in Korea's modern history—for better or worse.
"Eugene Kim. Pleased to meet you."
"Heard you want West Point. Admirable dream... Mind sharing why?"
Rhee cut straight to it; all eyes turned to me.
"Son, no need to hem and haw. Just spill your honest thoughts."
Dad patted my shoulder as I hesitated.
But I couldn't.
Syngman Rhee.
Park aside, Rhee was the calculating type—weighing pros and cons coldly.
He'd even refused to defend Jang In-hwan and Lee Jong-man after they assassinated pro-Japanese traitor Stevens, citing Christian principles or some shit.
But for Korean community backing to get into West Point? Rhee could help most right now.
So, I had to pitch what he'd bite on.
"The Korean Empire has fallen."
"...!"
My opener hit hard; the room grew heavier.
"Korean blood flows in my veins, but U.S. law made me a citizen. It's a weapon none of you elders have—mine alone."
"So, you'll bleed to prove loyalty as an American?"
Park sniped skeptically.
"The point is, as a citizen, I have a right to say how this democracy should move."
"Go on."
"A yellow monkey like me won't be heard in Washington, D.C. To reach them... I'd need to be a Manhattan millionaire, at least."
"Ha! So a broke kid picks the army as the easy climb? Bold... deep thinking."
Park finally nodded.
Time to hook him more.
"Heard you're training militia in Nebraska, Mr. Wooseong."
"Yeah. Was gonna invite you along before your story."
Oof, that's...
"Then where do you plan to find officers to lead them?"
"Well..."
"If I train in the U.S. Army, wouldn't that open doors to their help too?"
"Look here, young man."
Before Park could reply, Rhee cut in.
"So you're like Wooseong—gonna sweet-talk the U.S. Army into marching on Tokyo? Ridiculous."
"No. Impossible."
"What?"
"Japan's Britain's ally, sharing profits with America. You know that better than anyone, Mr. U-nam."
I dropped the harsh truth casually; his face lit up.
"Student, eh? You've got a wide view of world affairs. That's why we need diplomacy. Gaining great powers' support is the fastest, surest path to free Korea."
"Ha! That nonsense again—"
Park growled, but Rhee ignored him like a barking dog, eyeing me.
"So, what's your view?"