Entering the Academy
I had given it a lot of thought, and the military was truly a rational choice. I was practically proud of myself for choosing this path.
Even within the military, I decided to enlist as a non-commissioned officer rather than a regular conscript. And not just any NCO, but a Special Warfare NCO. The elite force commonly known as the special forces.
There were several reasons why I chose this path out of all the options available to me.
First, they took care of food, clothing, and shelter. How great was that? That alone was reason enough to enlist. It was such a massive benefit that I felt I could happily spend the rest of my life in the barracks.
In the outside world, just breathing costs money. Electricity, water, gas... Of course, I didn't actually pay those bills myself, but that was how it worked for normal people. You had to eat, you had to buy clothes. Literally everything cost money. But the military solved all of that. They fed you and clothed you. They even gave you a uniform, so you never had to stress over what to wear. It was incredibly considerate of them.
Second, you got a job. Meaning, you got a monthly salary. They took care of your basic needs and paid you on top of that? Plus, you built a career. Why wouldn't anyone go? Regular conscripts got paid too, but the scale was entirely different from NCOs. I heard NCOs received various allowances on top of their base pay. That was one of the main reasons I applied as an NCO instead of a regular soldier.
Third, you could learn new things. I heard that enlisting as an NCO occasionally offered opportunities to learn new skills, or you could acquire technical expertise depending on your specialty. If you followed older guys around on construction sites, they just cursed at you and refused to teach you their trade. The military, however, was run by the state. It was free, and the benefits were endless.
Fourth—and this was probably the most important part—I could fulfill my mandatory military service. For the record, I wasn't legally classified as an orphan. I still had a duty to serve, and since I had to go anyway, I figured I might as well go as an NCO. If I had to serve regardless, wasn't it better to make money and learn a trade while doing it? The military was truly the best.
...
Fuck. You had to take an exam to get in? That was ridiculous. I hadn't factored this in at all. I thought as long as you had all your limbs and could speak, they'd take you, but there was a written test. My grand plan of enlisting hit a massive wall.
Was the Special Warfare Command really such an elite, exclusive place that only a select few could enter? I suddenly realized the sheer gravity of what I was trying to do. Right. They offer such incredible benefits, but the reason people don't enlist is because it's just that brutal.
But I was going to scale that wall. I was going to become a Special Warfare NCO.
I paid for an online prep course. For the first time in my life, after twelve years of public education, I resorted to private tutoring. I wanted to compete fairly on raw talent, but I simply didn't have the confidence. I felt a slight twinge of guilt, as if I were cheating, but I quickly rationalized that it was a necessary evil.
I submitted my application and underwent the physical examination. At 187 centimeters and 80 kilograms, my body—including my eyesight—was in perfect condition. Then came the dreaded written exam. I had been incredibly anxious, but thanks to the power of private education, I breezed right through it. So this is why everyone is obsessed with private tutoring. I finally understood the mindset of those wealthy Gangnam mothers.
The internet had claimed the written exam wasn't that hard, saying it focused on cognitive aptitude and situational judgment rather than raw knowledge. That was a blatant lie. It was incredibly difficult. If I hadn't prepared beforehand and had tried to wing it, I would have failed on the spot. There were too many questions and not nearly enough time. Some questions even directly contradicted my common sense. For instance, one question asked to identify the incorrect response to a disaster crisis. A disaster crisis? You run the hell away. What was there to "respond" to? If I hadn't practically memorized the past exam questions, I would have picked the wrong answer. Fortunately, a few familiar questions popped up, allowing me to scrape by.
Next was the background check. Pass. I guess there were no high-treason criminals in my lineage. Then again, I barely had a family to speak of in the first place.
After that came the physical fitness test. It consisted of running, sit-ups, push-ups, and pull-ups, all of which I cleared with ease. I scored a Grade 1. I was almost at the finish line. Only one final hurdle remained: the interview.
I had realized something during the written exam: my natural instincts were almost always wrong. This was especially true for the value-judgment questions. My honesty was the incorrect answer. I engraved this lesson deep into my brain.
I will gladly sacrifice my life for the nation. My dream since childhood has always been to join the Special Forces. It was the sole hope that sustained me through a difficult life. I will never give up until the mission is complete.
I memorized these lines until they were second nature. I memorized my self-introduction letter, which was basically a work of fiction, and embellished it further. I crammed in every buzzword about patriotism and national security I could find. Perhaps because of that, I finally secured my ticket to enlistment.
I had submitted my application in the dead of winter, right after graduation, but the acceptance letter didn't arrive until the heat of summer, when the cicadas were shrieking. I was now officially a Special Warfare candidate.
...
Ten days remained until I had to report to the academy.
Normally, people would meet up with friends and hold farewell parties during this time. Since I didn't have any friends, I had no such obligations. I didn't know anyone, and there was no one to gift me a cheap Dolphin watch for my enlistment. Even so, I still needed to put my affairs in order.
It wasn't anything grand. It just meant preparing for the fact that I would be leaving my house empty for a very long time.
I had no idea when I would return to this place. I wasn't enlisting as a regular conscript; I was a Special Warfare NCO. My service wouldn't be a mere eighteen months—it could easily turn into eighteen years. This might very well be the last time I ever saw this house.
After all, I could die in the line of duty. Dying in service didn't sound so bad. It was a decent way to go. But the thought of my death benefits going to that man I called my father made my stomach turn. He would just blow it all on gambling and booze. There was no reason to accelerate his demise with my own death. Can I donate the money instead? I resolved to ask about it later.
So, I gave the house a thorough cleaning. I didn't know if some delinquent teenagers would squat here while I was gone, but a clean house was better than a filthy one. Fortunately, I had almost no belongings, so the chore was finished in no time.
Next was my Inventory. I put the tent and camping gear—which had served as my home for so long but were now useless—up for sale on Danggeun Market. I even tried giving away some items for free for the first time. My Inventory was cluttered with miscellaneous junk: things I had hastily shoved inside during emergencies, travel gear, trash bags from my ice cream-selling days, and the helmet I had worn during deliveries. I pulled out everything useless and either threw it away or sold it.
And then... there was that bag. The object of my love and hate, which I had stolen during my kidnapping. I had been utterly shocked when I first opened it. It was stuffed to the brim with cash. When I counted it, it came out to exactly 100 million won, all in crisp 50,000-won bills. My initial thought had been to deposit it into a bank, but apparently, banks flag large cash deposits and investigate their source. If you couldn't prove where the money came from, you'd get slapped with a massive tax penalty. So, I had kept it in cash.
I tossed Yang Jeong-won's gold necklace into the bag, along with the insurance payout from my scrapped motorcycle, my part-time job earnings, and the profits from my ice cream business. There was no way to tell which bill came from where anymore, but I gathered every single cent I owned and stuffed it inside. It was the bag containing my entire life savings: 118.2 million won.
I stored the bag safely inside my Inventory. You never knew when you might need cash. With that, my simple preparations were complete.
...
The day of enlistment finally arrived.
I had to report to the Special Warfare School in Gwangju, Gyeonggi Province. After transferring subways three times, I finally stepped out of the station and hailed a taxi to the school.
"Heading to the academy?" asked the driver, an elderly man with a full head of white hair.
"Yes, sir. I'm reporting today."
"Ah, is that so? I'm an alumnus of that unit myself."
"Ah..."
"I'm saying I'm your senior from the same unit."
"I see."
What was with that look? What did he want from me? Was he seriously expecting a salute? No way. We literally just met. I haven't even stepped foot in the academy yet. And what the hell would he even do with a salute? Why would anyone want something so utterly useless?
"The training intensity has gone way down lately," the driver continued. "Too many recruits were getting injured. Now, safety is their top priority."
"Oh, is that so?"
"Still, training needs to be brutal for you to actually feel like a soldier. Today's training is far too soft."
"Oh, have you undergone training recently, sir?" I asked out of genuine curiosity.
The driver suddenly looked incredibly flustered. What was his problem?
"Huh? Oh, no... That's not what I meant. It's just, you see it all on YouTube these days. Experts like us can tell just by watching."
For an expert, his belly is awfully round. His forearms look like dough, and his legs are thin as twigs.
"Anyway, did you pack all the gear you'll need for the academy?"
"Pardon? Gear?"
"Don't tell me you showed up empty-handed?"
"They told me everything would be provided."
"Well, officially they say they provide everything, but once you get inside, you'll realize you need a ton of stuff. Like a watch, for instance."
"You mean this?" I raised my left wrist.
"Or lotion, shampoo, a razor..."
"This? Or this? Or maybe this?"
Just in case, I pulled out the items I had stored in my Inventory and showed them to the driver.
"What about underwear, or sneakers..."
"This? And this?"
"A phone charger, gloves, a tumbler, a notebook, shoe insoles, joint guards..."
"Got them right here."
The driver stared at me in utter bewilderment as I produced every single item the moment it left his mouth.
"Well... you certainly prepared thoroughly. You won't be lacking anything, that's for sure."
"Thank you, sir."
This was a first. Someone actually caring about my enlistment. He had kindly gone down a checklist of items just in case I had forgotten something, and even praised my thoroughness.
Mister... no, Senior. I will train hard and become a proud, reliable Special Warfare soldier of this nation. In return, please keep the change. Thank you.
Min Yeong-bae was a taxi driver operating near Gwangju. He had actually been exempted from military service, but whenever he drove near the academy, he lied about being a Special Warfare veteran.
Usually, when he claimed to be a senior, the naive recruits would immediately snap a salute. Then, he would play the benevolent veteran, saying, "At ease, at ease. I'm just an old man now," before casually asking if they had prepared this or that.
Most recruits didn't prepare everything because the military explicitly told them not to bring extra gear. But when a "senior" insisted it was necessary and would be incredibly useful once they got inside, most of them fell for it. This was especially true for recruits accompanied by their parents; the mothers would buy whatever he suggested.
That was where the real money was. He would sell cheap, useless junk at exorbitant prices. To facilitate this scam, his wife ran a general store nearby. Their store didn't have price tags. The price changed depending on the customer—a truly customized service. "Custom marketing," if you will.
The quality of the goods didn't matter. The recruits would never actually use them anyway. In fact, they wouldn't even get the chance, as those items were strictly banned and would be confiscated the moment they entered the gates.
The naive-looking kid who had boarded his taxi today seemed like the perfect mark. Yeong-bae had expected to make a tidy profit. Yet, even after Yeong-bae claimed to be a veteran of the unit, the kid hadn't even saluted. Kids these days have absolutely no manners.
To make matters worse, every time Yeong-bae suggested a "necessary" item, the kid already had it. He didn't even seem to be carrying a bag, yet he kept pulling things out of thin air.
Frustrated that his scam had failed, Yeong-bae felt a petty surge of spite. When the kid handed him cash, he decided to pocket the change. The fare was 9,700 won, and the kid had handed him a 10,000-won bill. Yeong-bae just took it and drove off.
I guess we're even now.
After walking a short distance from where the taxi dropped me off, a massive gate came into view. Standing before it like a statue was a soldier in full uniform, guarding the entrance. He looked incredibly imposing.
Shrinking back slightly, I timidly asked if this was the right place and if I was allowed to enter. Contrasting his intimidating appearance, the guard gave me directions in a surprisingly kind and gentle voice.
"You've come to the right place. If you follow this road straight up, the assistant instructors will be waiting to help you check in. Unity!"
"Yes, sir. Thank you."
Passing through the guardhouse, I walked up the path into the base. Low, two-to-three-story buildings stood in neat rows like schoolhouses, facing a vast dirt field. I supposed they called it a parade ground here, not a playground. On one side stood a towering structure with a sculpted eagle perched at the peak.
Below the eagle, a massive sign was engraved.
IF IT DOESN'T WORK, MAKE IT WORK
Rather than inspiring, the motto felt somewhat chilling. Taking in the sights of the base, I soon arrived at my destination.
"Are you reporting for matriculation today?"
"Yes."
"Please head inside through this door."
"Thank you."
Who on earth said Special Forces discipline was brutal? They're incredibly polite.
With a light heart, I pushed open the heavy doors of the main auditorium. The moment I stepped inside, the doors slammed shut behind me.
"What the fuck are you staring at, you piece of shit?! Keep your eyes on the ground! Head down! Head down! I'll give you three seconds to find an empty spot and squat! One! Two! Look at this fucking sluggard! Are you crawling?! Are you fucking crawling?!"
The instant the doors clicked shut, a barrage of deafening roars and profanity assaulted my ears. I quickly scanned the room.
Dozens of recruits in the exact same boat as me were already squatting on the floor, hands clasped tightly behind their heads, staring straight down at the linoleum. To an outsider, it looked like a hostage crisis orchestrated by terrorists.
Screams and curses echoed from every corner of the hall. Without missing a beat, I slipped into the crowd. I dropped into a perfect squat, laced my fingers behind my head, and tucked my chin to my chest.
As the insults and roars washed over me, a sudden wave of nostalgia hit me. It felt exactly like my high school days when I was a bread shuttle.
A profound sense of peace washed over me. Everything felt so warm, so familiar.
This feels like home. This is exactly where I belong.