Chapter 22. Lightning Strikes Twice
Detroit.
The city of steel.
The man who had just finished speaking with Eugene Kim returned to the company to make his report.
"He turned us down flat. He listened carefully to the conditions we offered, but the moment we were done, he said he planned to stay in the military and shot it down without a second thought."
"Hmm..."
"But I still don't get it. Was it really worth investing that much in some mere Asian cadet? It's not even clear if there'll be a need for that kind of equipment, and if there is, we could just develop it accordingly then."
The middle-aged man who had been listening quietly to the report slowly rose from his seat.
"Think big, think big."
"...Pardon?"
"In this land of freedom and capitalism, human labor can be bought with goods."
The man gazed out the window.
At the fortress of steel and brick he had built.
At the magical crucible that, even at this very moment, endlessly spat out new products.
"That's right. That's why I had to meet the kid myself. If there's labor I can buy, I need to snap it up before someone else slobbers over it."
"Now that we know we can't buy him, problem solved."
At the man's idiotic remark, his eyes flashed.
"What the hell are you talking about?"
"Pardon...? But you just said we can't buy him, sir."
"You idiot. Sure, sometimes there are things in this world money can't buy. But that's completely different from something off-limits versus something you can buy by offering something other than cash."
"So in this kid's case, it's the latter."
"Obviously. If he wasn't thinking, he wouldn't have even listened to the offer. When a guy who craves something more precious than money gets handed a scrap of paper, of course he's gonna kick you to the curb. Remember that. Things money can't buy are usually the valuable ones."
He turned to his secretary, who had been standing quietly by his side.
"Clear my schedule for June 12th. Time to move."
"Where to, sir?"
"New York. West Point."
He didn't consider diligence a mere virtue—he lived it. He wasn't some European aristocrat putting on airs despite his greed, nor a bloated pig slowed by an empire too vast.
Henry Ford was a tireless worker.
June 12, 1915.
Thank the stars, I got infantry.
Right up to the end, the engineers were beckoning me over, and artillery kept calling like, "Why not just fire some shells?"
But infantry or bust, even if it killed me.
The U.S. Army was gonna expand endlessly from here on out, and when it came to elbowing for position, nothing beat infantry. Cavalry? How many years would it take for those guys to morph into tankers?
Sure, you'd be risking your neck in the trenches either way, but I couldn't shake the image of a cavalry charge getting mulched into pretty little stars by machine guns.
Besides, deep in my bones from my days in the ROK Army's infantry, to me, the true blue blood was infantry. Yeah, yeah. Dog of the earth or nothing.
The commencement went off without a hitch.
I could spin a 5,700-word epic about the scene—the grand spectacle, the swelling pride in my chest—but I'll skip the details.
The problem was the surprisingly large crowd that showed up to see my graduation.
"Eugene, come on! Gotta get a photo!"
"Yeah, yeah."
We wrapped up the classic post-grad pics with the guys.
Even if I ended up as a corpse rolling in no-man's-land, as long as this photo made it home safe, my family wouldn't starve. Just count the stars on these uniforms—whew.
As I was about to bring my friends over to greet my parents, that's when the trouble started brewing.
"Congrats on graduating, honey."
"Uh, th-thanks..."
"......"
"......"
"Son. Cat got your tongue?"
"Uh, well, I mean—y'know—"
Of course my parents came.
Their son was graduating, and not just any graduation—this was the historic first for a Korean.
Missing a day like this? Unthinkable for them.
And of course, Dorothy showed up too.
I'd mentioned her in letters, sure.
Told 'em straight up, I've found someone I want to marry. Dad first went, "Shouldn't it be a Korean girl?" but once I pointed out there weren't any Korean girls my age, he came around to my conclusion: "Well... better than a Chinese or Japanese daughter-in-law."
The issue? I described her as just a "nice girl."
Never dreamed she'd actually show, turning the whole ceremony into an impromptu meeting of the families.
"Hello. I've been in your son's debt quite a bit."
"Oh, yes. Thank you so much for thinking well of my boy."
Dad's frantic bobbing was screaming Who the hell is this?
Then Charles Curtis appeared, and the festive vibe vanished into the ether. Even the damn enemies slinked away, sensing the shift. I'd snap their necks later.
Dad's hand shook as he took the senator's card. Looked like he'd finally clocked the in-law pedigree and panicked.
While Mom and Dad whisper-freaked in Korean about how our family might not measure up, the senator sidled over to me.
"Did you... not mention this to your father?"
"There's a fly buzzing around Dad. Didn't wanna bother everyone with it... but the fly followed us anyway."
What a pain in the ass.
Yeah. The fly had buzzed in.
"Eugene. Heartfelt congrats on your graduation."
"You've grown into a fine man. Keep giving your all for the country and people."
"Thank you, Dosan Teacher. Wooseong Teacher. Coming all this way."
"Had to!"
An Chang-ho and Park Yong-man showing up was a real blessing. They seemed genuinely here to celebrate me, making the long trip. Especially Wooseong flying in from Hawaii to New York just for little old me—never saw that coming.
Same reason I never expected that fly from Hawaii either.
"Hrm. Hard to believe the scrawny Eugene has grown into a man ready for engagement. Amazing."
Syngman Rhee.
Did you have to crash today?
Nah, that's exactly why he came.
Rarely did I see it, but Rhee's face was cracking today—emotions leaking everywhere.
"Charles Curtis."
"Syngman Rhee. I've long admired your reputation, Senator. I've been rallying Koreans in Hawaii and San Francisco—"
One whisper and glance from me, and Curtis clocked the fly. Why were his tendons bulging during the handshake, Senator?
Amid the chaos, Dorothy stayed rock-solid. After greeting my parents, she glued herself to my side.
And I knew exactly what she wanted.
"Now?"
"If not now, when?"
"No, I mean—we gotta greet your mom properly, take your folks to Kansas sometime—"
"That can wait till after you give it to me. I've been waiting for today."
Anyone'd think I was returning a deposit.
But technically, it wasn't mine anymore. Owner was set; just a matter of when.
I steadied the mood and slowly dropped to one knee.
"Dorothy."
"Quit posing and hand it over. I'm in a rush."
Wait, wasn't this what you wanted? Just give it and done?
"Making me wait years, now tell me to hold off more? Come on."
Yeah, guilty as charged. Cadets can't marry, after all.
I whipped out the commissioning ring from its case and slipped it on her finger.
Dorothy's face lit up brighter than anything I'd seen. Hell, she looked like Thanos with an Infinity Stone. Tone it down—no snapping fingers, please! I like dust-free living!
Thankfully, no dusting. The onlookers, who'd watched eagerly, burst into applause. Heart pounding, I stood.
And Syngman Rhee's face twitched nonstop.
He got the picture now.
No more puppeteering me. That power-sniffing nose of his had caught the live scent of real authority—no more easy wins; he'd have to ante up big for a fight.
Of course, he had no clue about the "Armageddon Report" or my other prep, but this power junkie? Just seeing his assumed ace slip away was enough to twist his guts. Tough customer.
"Now, shall we move somewhere else? I've booked a fine spot to celebrate our new son-in-law, who'll serve the nation from here on. Ha ha!"
"No, son-in-law...? My unworthy boy taking your precious daughter—ow!"
"What kinda humility is this on your son's wedding path?!"
Seeing future-me in Dad? Must be an illusion.
I wouldn't end up like that. No way the fame-bound me freezes in front of his wife.
Probably.
"Excuse me."
Then an instructor strode up briskly.
"A guest wants a private word with you."
"Uh... can't they come here?"
"Well, it's awkward for me to say, but... he's kind of a big shot."
Big shot? What now?
Only VIP I could think of was Curtis, and he was right here.
This looked bad.
Me scampering off to some mystery VIP? Might piss off my father-in-law—whether from poor treatment or ditching his precious girl. Who knew which stung more.
"Instructor."
"Hurry up—he's waiting—"
"That guy's a senator. What happens if I ditch him for some other bigwig?"
The instructor's mouth snapped shut like a nutcracker doll.
"I'll... go talk to him."
Yeah. Do your messenger job right.
We left the hall the senator had booked and gathered in a small room.
Me.
Charles Curtis.
And... Henry Ford.
I'd miscalculated.
Yeah, Curtis would've waved me off too. "Henry Ford came to West Point to see you?" I'd have bolted out of curiosity.
"Never dreamed I'd meet you here like this, Senator."
"Ha ha. Same here. Coming all this way for my son-in-law. Should've given notice—I'd have prepared better. This is too modest."
The vibe was intense.
Without missing a beat, both lit cigars, filling the room with smoke.
"I came to invest in that young man's future. Didn't expect a prior claim."
"Ha. Prior claim? Misunderstanding."
Curtis stayed cool as ever.
"These days, young folks date on their own—unlike our time. My daughter had a crush, so I just said okay."
"Lucky you. So no issue if I buy the kid out?"
"Oh, buy him? No problem there. Just an elder offering a word or two of advice to a fresh grad on what's good or bad—no harm in that."
"An elder's advice... Kids these days call that boomer meddling."
I'm dying here. Why not draw pistols and duel clean?
"Kim."
"Yes, sir."
"Not even my employee, and you're calling me 'chairman'? Too stiff. 'Mr. Ford' is fine."
No no no. Do that, and I'd turn up a corpse behind a Detroit factory tomorrow.
"You've probably heard, but of the weapons you've sketched, I'm interested in that 'rough-terrain maneuver combat tractor'."
"Tank?"
"Tank? Your name for it? Fine, tank it is. Anyway, I want to develop it."
"Can't you just have your brilliant Ford engineers whip it up?"
Nice assist, Senator.
The sudden deep jab soured Ford; he exhaled a massive plume.
"True enough. My people are the best. But a smart manager always gathers diverse views. Unlike politicians who ignore anyone not voting for them."
"Ha ha ha ha!"
"Ha ha ha ha!!"
Heading for a Solomon split next: "Half each."
Curtis was steering to favor me, sure, but I wanted to plant a good image with this great American too.
"As you know, I just jotted down personal fancies. No clue if they'll help."
"Nonsense. If it wasn't useful, this expensive gent wouldn't trek here."
"Hm... Senator's right. I see great value in your thoughts."
Moment of thought.
Pros and cons of helping Henry Ford build a more practical tank faster.
History rewrite? Who knows. If I could predict butterflies, I'd be a new-world god already. Wouldn't have flung future intel so freely if scared of that.
So, conclusion: Negotiate for max gain.
What to squeeze out of this?
And right then, a ridiculous idea flashed in my head.