Chapter 12
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Translator: Ace
Chapter: 012
Chapter Title: The Surviving Child
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The basics of economics are supply and demand.
And in most cases, the world revolves around demand. Well, that's how it looks to me, anyway.
Even North Korea, once the most closed-off nation on earth, stubbornly smuggles in Mercedes and luxury watches. And if a Chikorita popped up in the starter town grass instead of Pidgey or Rattata, no one would bother catching it. Those facts alone prove demand matters way more than supply.
- What kinda analogies are those? Explain it so even Grandpa could get it!
They're perfect. Why complain?
If you don't like 'em, try this: Even if you crank up the military rations' seafood bibim sauce and off-brand beer by ten times, the soldiers ain't gonna scarf down ten times more.
- Still totally lost...
Simple reason for kicking things off with this wannabe econ lecture.
A brand-new demand for coffee and chocolate has cropped up in Joseon—the most isolated country in the world.
"That coffee tonic sure packs a punch."
"Gave some to my boy, and now he won't sleep a wink—just buries his nose in books non-stop!"
Where there's demand, hustlers line up to hawk their wares and rake in cash, come hell or high water.
Even if the king himself is one of those buyers, the law might as well be toilet paper.
Plus, coffee and chocolate are food at heart.
Freshness is everything.
"Halt! Your boat looks fishy—we're inspecting it!"
"Hehe. Here's a little somethin' for ya."
"Hmph. No funny business!!"
Back in the day, Hwanghae Province was Joseon's undisputed smuggling capital. Ginseng and red ginseng were the country's only real exports, so Hwanghae—home to the Kaesong merchants who had that trade locked down—became the hub.
But things had changed.
To keep their customers happy, these coffee and chocolate smugglers rowed right up the Han River to trade practically under Hanyang's nose.
Which is why.
"Huh?"
"Eek."
"Y-You, son of the Dragon King! Impossible! You died!! Begone, ghost!!!"
"No storm's fierce enough to kill me, blessed by the sea itself."
Arthur running into the Canton merchant (a.k.a. pirate) Wang Pal along the Han River at Adume? Not chance. Destiny.
Those were hellish days, no doubt.
Confucius claimed learning and practice bring joy? Guy had to be a masochist. Sure, it's fun once or twice, but this merciless cram-school hell naturally warps kids into messed-up adults.
The Joseon court officially went with "Huh? Who's that? Was there even a kid like him? Nothing happened!" and plunged into total denial mode.
But the yangban lording over society? They quietly dumped all their scholarly dreams onto this prodigy Western boy.
"A true scholar must master poetry, calligraphy, and painting. Clear your mind and—"
"M-My arm hurts."
When Yi Hang-ro and Gi Jeong-jin were drilling me on Confucian classics, I just gritted my teeth and bore it.
Flip the logic: Unless someone figured their own smarts measured up to those two, they wouldn't dare step up.
"I'll fetch my teacher."
"Who's the lordship's teacher?"
"A fine gentleman."
Yi Ha-eung strutted in like he'd teach me painting, got shut down cold, and stormed off to grab his master—ego clearly bruised.
"Mastered the Analects at seven?"
"N-No, just can read it roughly."
"No worries. Just here to show you some calligraphy in my downtime."
This lunatic dragged in Chusa Kim Jeong-hui. Phrenology's legit science. How else do you explain that level of crazy?
I figured King Heonjong and the Andong Kim Clan would stash me away in some rural hole forever. Lucky break—they didn't. Spent the next few years bouncing between Hanyang and Gyeonggi villages.
Then word hit my ears: Opium War's over.
"Time to head home for real."
"Er. Stick around a bit—you're on the cusp of a scholarly breakthrough."
"But to fulfill my filial duty, don't I need to let 'em know I'm alive ASAP? Learning's worthless without practice, right?"
That's when I got serious about scouting a smuggling ship for the trip back.
Need I repeat? The court was contorting itself to dodge any Qing whispers of cozying up to England. Normal return channels? Off the table.
Luck struck: Found a mark with dirt on him. Plans sailed smooth as silk from there.
Finally.
The day to leave Joseon dawned.
"Hmph. Scram."
"You'd think I was your kid."
Minus a couple burly manservants, only Yi Ha-eung and Kim Byeong-gi showed to see me off. For a stealth embarkation, even two was a miracle.
"We leaned on that Chinaman good. He knows bucking the Kim Clan spells trouble—no funny business from him."
"My thanks, my lord."
"Knew you'd get it."
They hooked me up proper.
Bundles with spare clothes, my go-to meds, a fat slab of rice cakes. Chinese silver taels. Even red ginseng for bartering. Guess I got that charm.
Yi Ha-eung stayed extra sour-faced today, barking at a servant to fetch something before shoving it my way.
"Take it."
"What's this?"
"A scholar dresses the part."
- A gat?
It was a gat.
"Customs differ overseas—no call for a gat there. But didn't you swear you'd come back someday?"
"Naturally."
"Then when you face your kin, you gonna wash up all ragged like last time? Dress sharp. Wear it then."
"Such a stickler..."
"You cheeky punk—mocking your elders?!"
"Next time, I'll return in the full regalia you gave me."
That instant.
I caught Yi Ha-eung pretending to scan distant peaks, and out popped a thought I'd never entertained.
"How about coming with me?"
"Say what?"
"Not curious about England? You were the most eager, weren't you?"
"His Highness fixated on Western gadgets, so as royal kin, I humored him. Curious? Ridiculous!"
Best play? Solo trip. Hog all the spotlight.
But gazing at the man who'd ignite Joseon's final blaze—Heungseon Daewongun—I tossed out the wild card.
"Better with a full-grown adult than little ol' me tagging solo. Come save my bacon."
"......Pass."
He mulled it, then spat a grudging no.
"You'll land on your feet anywhere, escort or not. Quit frettin' and shove off."
"Then... thanks to you all, I made it through safe. Stay well till we meet again."
Finally.
I bowed deep once.
Turned.
Boarded the smuggling ship.
Now.
Europe's ripe for the taking.
Some legendary British fantasy novel claims a hidden magic school trains wizards right here in England.
Still side-eyeing if this is truly "past Earth" or some monster-esper fever dream. But after touring China and Joseon? No sword auras, no killer yokai. Fantasy? Wuxia? Nah.
So even if magic school's real, it won't tangle with me. Dumbledore's fifty, sixty years my junior. Noseless dark wizard? Forget it. No midnight polymorph into a powder keg.
The magic I'll unleash won't pick locks or summon gear.
But it'll flip Europe—hell, the whole world—upside down. Guaranteed.
1842.
Rode Canton smugglers' ship to Hong Kong, linked up with locals. They dispatched a clipper to London: "Sole survivor" newsflash.
I hit London soil as 1843 dawned.
Finally.
Finally home.
Shipwrecked and adrift since '37, back in London five years on.
Hong Kong?
India?
Riots of excitement everywhere I set foot.
- How the hell's this even possible? You're alive—miracle—but... just one kid?
Tough for a jar ghost to grok, huh.
Ah, the power of the press.
Think I dawdled in Hong Kong for kicks?
'Sob sob. I'm so scared.'
'Hey, kid. Quit crying, calm down. What happened?'
'Not that—even home, parents, everyone's... gone...'
"Don't fret! We'll make damn sure your kin finds you!!"
Hong Kong crowd was a mixed bag.
Traders who remembered Dad, or felt that shipwreck too close for comfort.
East India Company ties from his work days.
Missionaries perking antennae at Joseon Christian hunts—and conversion shots.
And journos sniffing scoop-gold in my tale.
Worked 'em all, greased every track ahead.
Result?
Whoa.
Feast your eyes.
Articles chaining tail-to-tail, endless flood.
"Careful stepping down! No slips!"
"Thanks. Got it."
Fresh European threads tailored in Hong Kong, suited to a T.
I gingerly touched London turf.
Thousands, maybe tens of thousands, swarming to gawk.
Spotted those two up front—arms flung wide.
"Arthur!"
"Arthur? Real Arthur? My God!"
"Whoa, bro and sis shot up. Missed me?"
"Lord. Oh Lord."
"You punk... Unrecognizable. How many years, man."
We three siblings clung fierce, inseparable for ages.
Finally home.
To family arms.
The last haven left.