Chapter 80
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Translator: Ace
Chapter: 80
Chapter Title: Killing the Dove (2)
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1919.
The grueling war had finally ground to a halt, and as the world's top politicians converged on Paris to forge a new year, a new world, and a new order...
President Woodrow Wilson's proclamation of "national self-determination" emerged as a single ray of hope—like a lantern in the dead of night—for the countless weaker nations moaning under the yoke of colonial rule.
"The president of America promised it!"
"Every nation has the right to be free from interference by others!"
Of course, heavyweights like Lenin had discussed national self-determination long before.
But for the leader of the victorious powers to proclaim it so openly? It was only natural to harbor hopes that this time, things might actually change.
Even the Koreans languishing under the Japanese Empire's oppression thought the same.
No matter how intimately they knew the pitiless reality.
February 1919, Washington D.C.
Bang!!
"What do you mean? You can't issue the visa?"
"I'm sorry, but it's not possible."
"Do you even know who I am? I've known President Wilson since back when they called him 'Professor'!"
"I do. This comes straight from the White House."
Thud.
The moment "White House" left the man's mouth, he felt his last shred of hope snuff out.
Unam Syngman Rhee collapsed into his chair, as if every drop of blood had drained from his body.
"This can't be. It just can't. I'm Syngman Rhee—Syngman Rhee! Prince Rhee!"
"My apologies."
"You know how well I understand America's interests. I swear, no one will ever regret it. So please, just ask His Excellency the president one more time—"
"I'm afraid that's not possible."
"...I understand. I'll look into it personally."
"Safe travels."
Visa denied.
When he first heard An Chang-ho hadn't gotten his visa, he'd brushed it off.
But why him?
He knew the answer deep down, but faint hopes—that maybe, just maybe, Wilson wouldn't treat him this coldly—were now dashed into the mud.
"Heh, heh-heh. Heh-heh-heh. Damn it all. Yeah. Korea's just pocket change, huh? Oh yes, exactly. Heh-heh-heh!!"
He knew.
He'd always known Korea held no great weight in America's foreign policy.
But to deny even departure? He hadn't seen that coming.
'Give it up. I thought you were a realist, but apparently not.'
Suh Jae-pil—no, Philip Jason's so-called advice echoed in his ears, fueling his irritation. Had he, Syngman Rhee, sunk so low that he had to take lip from a man who'd abandoned his nationality?
"Just you wait. I'll make it happen somehow... Hey, cabby!"
Time for a new strategy.
With Paris looking dim, he had to try everything.
Like that... 'League of Nations,' for instance.
If full Korean independence was off the table, wasn't pulling Korea out of Japan's mad tyranny at least a solid Plan B?
Just as he was about to climb into the carriage...
"Are you Unam Syngman Rhee, by chance?"
"That's me. Who are you?"
"Then die!"
Bang!
"Argh, aaack!"
"Gun! He fired a gun!!"
The man who'd fired at the comically sprawled Rhee tried a few more shots, but when the bullets jammed, he bolted down the alley.
In that split-second escape.
He was scraped up all over, body screaming in pain—he could barely stand.
But Rhee felt something akin to divine revelation.
'The gun misfired. Truly, the Lord doesn't want me dead yet.'
His heart pounded like it might burst, his body still unresponsive.
But he'd cheated death. Wasn't that enough?
Lying disgracefully on the sidewalk, he turned his head slightly. A crumpled newspaper on the street caught his eye more sharply than usual today.
General Kim Instills the Dignity of the United States Among the Siamese!
"No helping it, then."
He had to give credit where it was due.
Who was it that said pinning on stars means you gotta play politics?
Once those stars go on, your days fill up shoving your face at every damn ceremony.
Ceremonial bullshit.
When I was a company commander, my "work" was cleaning, sewing, and tending flower beds with the guys.
But now that I've got stars and I'm poking around, I get it.
This shit is exhausting.
I know it spins the grunts below me like tops, but I still gotta show up. Now I see why deputy division commanders exist—they're the saints who cover this grueling public-facing crap.
I'd love to dump this on Omar and call it a day, but this case was different.
'General Kim, would you kindly spare some time to inspect our unit?'
'And what's this about?'
'You're the sole hero who's risen to fame amid the whites, aren't you? Even in our Siam, your renown shakes the heavens and earth.'
What the hell?
All I know about Siam—er, Thailand—is tom yum kung. This global circus is wild.
In the end, Expeditionary Force HQ tapped me specifically for the Thai army's request. So here I am, crossing mountains and rivers to their garrison in German-held territory for some pomp-and-circumstance review.
But hey, I could kinda follow it.
"Waaaaah!"
"Eugene Kim! Eugene Kim!!"
"See how thrilled the troops are? We're truly grateful you came."
Me, climbing to this male military president status I'd only heard about? Unreal.
Thailand scraped by preserving its monarchy, but that's it. Lucky Korea, basically.
It pitched itself as a buffer state amid the great powers and dodged colonization, but paid with huge swaths of land—and from what I hear, internal chaos too.
Then a meteoric Asian star bursts onto the international scene. No brainer—they'd milk it. If I were Abdullah or some Wang guy instead of Eugene Kim, they'd still use me 100%.
America's overseas mess was already exploding my brain with just the Far East, so I didn't pry. But if my visit benefits the U.S., them, and maybe scores me some gravy? No complaints.
Would've been fine if it ended there. But local rags reported my Germany visit, and suddenly crowds show up to gawk at the fame-hungry Yellow Monkey.
"You're Eugene Kim? Mighty young..."
"The United States recognized me, and I notched a few merits. That's all."
After more public service schmoozing, I finally dragged back to my beloved barracks.
Just as I entered the post, the gate sentry shuffled up hesitantly.
"Excuse me, sir."
"What? Speak freely."
"A civilian came to see you. We were gonna send him off since you were out, but you just pulled up..."
"Sigh. Here or there, everyone's dying to see my mug."
Exhausting!
I'm serious—try driving 1910s vehicles on 1910s roads from Germany here!
But griping aside, a Korean handles business. That's our virtue.
Koreans playing Sims still make their Sims commute daily for satisfaction. Can't just boot the guy.
"I'll explain personally and set a formal appointment for next time. Where's the visitor?"
"This way, sir."
Surprisingly, the guy waiting was Asian.
One in his mid-to-late thirties screamed Korean or Chinese. The other, my age-ish, Southeast Asian vibe.
"Pardon the intrusion. You came to see me?"
"You're General Kim Eugene...?"
Korean. After so damn long.
Before I could respond, the older guy grabbed my arm.
"What an honor to meet the hero of the Korean race like this. I've been dying for this moment!"
"A Korean, eh? Nice to meet you. May I have your name—"
"Ah, forgive me. I got ahead of myself in my excitement. I'm Kim Kyu-sik, known by my pen name U-sa."
No way. But I'd half-expected it.
With Thais calling me out, of course he'd show.
"And the gentleman with you—"
"This is a Vietnamese man named Nguyen Ai Quoc."
"Nguyen Ai Quoc. I came to meet the general who showed Asia's strength."
Don't know him, but anyone hanging with a guy like Kim Kyu-sik ain't ordinary.
Colonials trekking to France now? Obvious—Paris Peace Conference. And who'd go? Die-hard independence types. Lucky it wasn't Ho Chi Minh himself.
Normally, I'd politely show them out and suggest a later visit. But even as an American, the Confucian in me couldn't let me chase off Teacher Kim Kyu-sik.
Screw it. Rest be damned.
"Too noisy here—come inside. Hey! Take the guests to my quarters!"
"No room for two, sir."
"......"
"......I'll walk."
Sorry, buddy. Treat next time.
So get off quick.
The duty soldier brought light refreshments, then I shooed him out. Gave him green paper to goof off—my duty's done.
And so began another round of hero worship.
"Yes, I understand. I merely fulfilled my assigned duties—"
"Nonsense! Not at all. You just don't realize it, General Kim."
"Thank you, but it seems your visit isn't just to sing my praises."
That sobered their faces.
Kim Kyu-sik pondered a moment, then spoke.
"General Kim, do you consider yourself Korean... or American?"
"Teacher!"
Nguyen startled, but Kim's face was set—he wanted an answer.
"I'm naturally a citizen of the United States."
"!"
"But I don't deny my roots lie in Korea. Does that suffice?"
"American... but roots in Korea... That's your conclusion? Understood."
What more do you want? If they're disappointed, oh well. I've got lines I won't cross.
"We aim to expose the horrific colonial oppression in Korea and Vietnam at the Paris Peace Conference, appealing for independent states based on national self-determination."
"......"
"Hasn't General Kim Eugene proven that Koreans—no, Asians—are no inferior natives? Now's the perfect time to petition the world for independence."
Figured as much.
Sugarcoating would just inflate their expectations pointlessly.
"I see. Got it."
"...That's it?"
"You haven't said what you want. Advice? Money? My endorsement on the petition? Nothing."
"Ahem! Fair point. First, we'd like your esteemed opinion."
As he nodded, I eyed this great independence fighter.
A man who'd turned down a U.S. doctoral program to tread his homeland's thorny path to freedom. Respect.
But to protect my footing here, I couldn't tangle with them lightly.
Not the time.
"My words might grate, even offend. Still okay?"
"It's not an order—just advice."
If it's bullshit, they'll just chalk it up to dirty ears.
Fine. No clue if they'll buy it, but as a guy from future Korea, I'll give it straight.
"The Paris Peace Conference is a victors' banquet. You're guests who wandered to the wrong party."
"Ouch, right out the gate."
"That so? We're just starting. President Woodrow Wilson himself 'requested' that I praise the Japanese Empire and strengthen U.S.-Japan ties."
"What in the world does that mean!!"
"What else? The true face of the idealist Woodrow Wilson you pinned your hopes on."
Their faces flushed red.
Sorry, but it's gonna sting bad. Must be how dentists feel.