The Illusion of Winning

"Hehehehe."

Everything was going exactly as planned.

From all across the South, an endless flood of requests was pouring in, all begging me to educate their slaves as well. Previously, there had been quite a few people coming to meet me, and politicians had expressed their expectations by urging me to work hard, but that was merely a wish for me to help resolve the issue. Now, people were lining up to beg me to just make a spot for them.

"Sett, listen to me. My family's slave is..."

"Is there any way you could do something for my nephew, too? He just received a slave back who had run away to the North..."

"Could you allocate a few more spots for additional personnel? I'm not asking for a separate quota, mind you... ho ho ho."

The esteemed Leader Breckinridge was, at this very moment, catching runaway slaves in the North and sending them down to the South. The planters who were receiving these slaves were getting increasingly fed up with the anxiety that John Brown might raid them at any moment, and the rebellious attitudes displayed by the slaves who had tasted the "Northern water."

But since I could resolve all of this so cleanly, how could they not be tempted? It wasn't as if I were going to swallow their slaves whole; I was promising to educate them well and return them within two years, so they would naturally want to entrust them to me without a second thought.

In particular, the planters who had attended the last demonstration were spreading the word far and wide, and the rehabilitation center was being regarded as a heaven for planters.

"James Sett is truly an amazing man. You all should have seen it. That wench who used to show her reluctance every time I gave an order tried to lick my feet!"

"...Haa, really?"

"As a fellow planter, I even felt a sense of respect. If a man is that good at handling black people, he deserves to be in that position. Indeed, indeed."

"Can you only send runaway slaves to the rehabilitation center? If we sent a few slaves with bad mental states there to get educated, the atmosphere would be much better."

Some planters even wanted to send slaves who weren't captured in the North but were born rebellious, but I couldn't accept those requests.

"Regrettably, we are currently stretched thin just accommodating the captured runaway slaves. As you know, President Breckinridge has increased the number of enforcement officers fivefold..."

"Haa... that is true."

"That man is certainly proactive, perhaps a bit too proactive."

Although the Fugitive Slave Act was being enforced, the reality was that the number of slaves captured in the North and brought to the South was only about 200 per year. However, as Breckinridge increased the number of enforcement officers fivefold and strictly punished sheriffs, the number of repatriated slaves increased not fivefold, but nearly tenfold.

Nearly 2,000 slaves would be pouring in every year, and even if only half of them were sent to the rehabilitation center, that number would reach a thousand. Even after the demonstration, it wasn't half, but nearly 100%—everyone wanted to send their runaway slaves to the rehabilitation center, so I couldn't accept regular slaves even if I wanted to.

Actually, I'm disappointed too. I'd love to raise thousands and tens of thousands of reserve employees if I could, but what can I do about the limitations of space and budget?

It's a shame, a real shame. I'm truly, deeply disappointed.

The planters who heard my reaction nodded, saying they understood, and encouraged me.

"Well, in truth, you must be the most disappointed of all."

"You're taking on such arduous work out of patriotism for our South, so naturally, you'd want to take in even one more nigger."

"How could that be only for the South? If this society runs correctly, it will be to my benefit as well. I am doing this for the South, for myself, and furthermore, for the entire Union."

"Kuh...! To think a young man has such a broad perspective. If my son were like you, I would have no other wishes. Every planter in the South is rooting for you, so keep up the good work."

‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠

Of course, of course. Tempered in the corporate culture of 21st-century South Korea, I rarely lie. I've lived a life where I never knew when or where someone might be recording my words to use against me. Even now, I haven't told a single lie.

The idea that society must move in the right direction for me to benefit was my 100% pure, unadulterated inner truth. Yet, because everyone was rooting for me with one heart, I felt strength surging through me no matter how tired I was. It was truly moving.

Anyway, thanks to everyone sending such fervent support, I was able to begin the work of gathering all the slaves "tossed" from the North into the rehabilitation center. Give me more budget, give me more land. This wasn't what I wanted, but what every planter and politician in the South desired, and I was merely the vessel containing their wishes.

Thus, the Sett Rehabilitation Center, which had been in open beta testing, finally completed all its facilities and entered formal service.

Even if we take a conservative estimate, over 2,000 a year, and a total of 5,000 before the war breaks out. Above all, the fact that the entire cost of raising them all came from the pockets of our South made me feel more pleased than anything else.

February 13, 1860, Washington D.C.

"You've really worked hard."

"Worked hard? How could this be my achievement alone? Rather, the President, who conceived this plan, is the one who deserves the top merit, and I merely assisted."

"Haa... I'm grateful you say that, but I feel sorry as if I'm taking someone else's credit."

"Not at all. Rather, I am the one who is sorry, as you have granted everything I wished for."

Finally, the long confrontation had ended, and everything had entered a normal orbit. The Republican Party had opposed it fiercely at first, but they seemed to realize the reality that they couldn't stop the flow—the House would shoot down budget cuts, but the Senate would block them, and the President wouldn't budge. Perhaps they made a pragmatic judgment to save their strength for the next presidential election, as they fell silent at some point.

"It was annoying how the Republican bastards would chatter loudly whenever they did anything, but it feels like I can finally breathe now."

Breckinridge mocked Seward and Lincoln, saying he didn't understand why they had been spouting nonsense so incessantly when they couldn't do anything anyway. Of course, the real reason they fell silent was because they already knew of my plan, but since our dear President was so happy, wouldn't it be the way to serve him to just stay still? I decided not to say anything.

Anyway, as Breckinridge said, several months had passed since the rehabilitation center began full-scale operation. The slaves repatriated from the North were now sent without exception to the massive facility on the banks of the Mississippi River to receive "re-education." And as I had publicly announced beforehand, a dramatic change occurred.

At this point, with students from the 2nd and 3rd batches having passed and the 4th batch having entered, the organized slave escape incidents caused by John Brown and the "Arrow of Freedom" finally recorded zero cases. President Breckinridge could not hide his satisfaction upon receiving this report.

"Did you see! This is the perfect victory for the White House and the South!"

"Congratulations, Excellency! Thanks to your decision, the South has regained peace!"

"Sett, it was exactly as you predicted. No matter how much John Brown tries to pull slaves out, if there's no one inside to respond, he obviously can't even attempt it."

He called not only me but also his close aides to the White House to commemorate this "great victory." It was truly a "festival of their own," where not only the bigwigs of Mississippi but also key figures of the Democratic Party from other Southern states were invited. One notable point was that not a single Northern Democratic figure was to ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠be seen.

Joyful music overflowed, and top-shelf whiskey was in abundance. Some men were laughing and frolicking with women dressed in flashy attire, as if to show off. In the fireplace, a scarecrow labeled "John Brown" was hanging and burning. Mr. Brown, you've been upgraded to a special threat that even the White House is wary of. I'll have to tell you everything I saw and heard today when we meet later. Given his personality, wouldn't he perhaps be happy, regarding it as a medal?

"John Brown! Arrow of Freedom! Die if you dare!"

"For the victory of the South!"

"Long live President Breckinridge!"

As time passed, the White House night turned into a banquet bordering on frenzy. I desperately had to manage my expression while clinking glasses appropriately. It was because I felt like laughing at the sight of them believing they had won, intoxicated by their minor achievements. Still, it was a lively party, so I was relieved that no one would pick a fight just because I was smiling.

Just as the atmosphere was at its peak, Breckinridge approached me. Perhaps because of the medal of having properly screwed over the Republican Party, his face was glistening with satisfaction and confidence.

"Sett. As you know, the party primary to select the next presidential candidate will begin soon."

"Yes, Excellency. Everyone is looking forward to your reelection."

"Ho ho, thank you. But I cannot be complacent. The Republican bastards will field a candidate too... who do you think is the most likely?"

I furrowed my brows, pretending to think seriously.

"Well... wouldn't Seward of New York or Chase of Ohio be the most likely? In terms of name recognition and base, that is."

I deliberately excluded any talk of Lincoln. Mentioning his name right now would just make me look like someone who didn't even know the election. As expected, Breckinridge nodded immediately, as if he agreed.

"I think so too. Especially Seward, that cunning old fox, I must be careful."

"But ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Excellency, isn't our Democratic candidate already decided? In front of this great achievement you have accomplished, who would dare challenge you?"

As I let my tongue run a bit loose, feeling like I was at a company dinner after a long time, Breckinridge laughed heartily. However, the light of caution had not completely disappeared from a corner of his eyes.

"Most would say so. But that friend in the Northern Democratic Party is the problem. Stephen Douglas."

Stephen Douglas. The current top bigwig of the Northern Democratic Party, the very man who had engaged in intense debates with Lincoln during the Will repatriation trial. And if my prediction was correct, this Douglas would be the one selected as the next Democratic presidential candidate in original history.

"Of course, Senator Douglas is also an excellent person... but no matter how much the Northern Democratic Party pushes him, can he beat someone who has built such a certain achievement as you in the party primary? The support of the South must be overwhelming."

Of course, apart from such future knowledge, I poured out words that Breckinridge desperately wanted to hear. However, if one analyzes the party primary rules well, one can see that the Northern Democratic Party is overwhelmingly more advantageous than the Southern Democratic Party from the start. This is because, under the regulation of allocating delegates in proportion to the total population, the Northern Democratic Party is bound to take far more delegates than the Southern Democratic Party. This regulation is also the reason why Buchanan could easily become a candidate.

But apart from such regulations, the support of the South, where the number of extreme supporters is high and the majority of them are economically wealthy planters, is prone to confirmation bias. Breckinridge was also trapped in the illusion that every planter in the South supported him, believing he would naturally be selected as the Democratic candidate.

The reality would be different when the lid was opened, but it was still too early for Breckinridge and the South to take the "red pill." Wouldn't the shock be much greater later if they were left to struggle in a pleasant dream a little longer?

I said in an even more confident voice.

"The Democratic candidate is only you, Excellency. If... even so, if it's a hypothetical, a truly hypothetical situation, if an absurd thing happens where Stephen Douglas is selected as the candidate..."

Then, just like in original history, the Southern Democratic Party will have to break away and set up a new household. What can I do...

"You mean it would be a fraudulent election."

".........??"

No, no, when did I say that? To think he'd already pull out the final secret weapon of election denial. His overreaction was too severe.