The Rehabilitation Graduates
Breckinridge was not in the least bit nervous about the fact that the primary elections to decide the presidential candidate were about to begin.
It was rare for an incumbent president to be pushed out in a primary, after all.
Besides, hadn’t his string of policy successes earned him overwhelming support from the South? As it stood, Breckinridge was the very embodiment of the South—its symbol, its hope, its hero.
Whenever he attended public events, supporters would flock to him like clouds, chanting his name in a spectacle that was truly a sight to behold.
“Woooooooah!”
“Long live Breckinridge!”
“Mr. President! Please, save our South!”
Kuh. This is it. This is the stuff.
The thrill was on a completely different level from when he was Vice President. They said that once you experienced the roar of a campaign crowd, a shiver would run from your head down to your spine, and lately, Breckinridge felt as though his brain were pickled in dopamine every single day.
“Breckinridge! Breckinridge! Breckinridge!”
An incumbent president. Overwhelming support from the South.
Who would dare challenge him?
The upcoming Democratic primary was merely a formal procedure, nothing more than a stage set for his coronation.
Hadn’t James Sett, that brilliant young man, said as much? That he was the only candidate for the Democratic Party.
However... there was one thing that weighed on his mind.
That remark Sett had added at the very end.
He had brushed it off at the time, but amidst the thunderous cheers of his supporters, those words suddenly resurfaced.
Something absurd. Yes, under normal circumstances, it would be absurd.
But what if it were those Northerners? What if it were that man, Douglas? What if they didn't use normal methods but instead resorted to despicable schemes?
‘...It means a rigged election.’
There was no doubt that Sett had been warning him indirectly. Perhaps he had expressed, in that roundabout way, a warning that those bastards might not concede cleanly and could be plotting something behind the scenes.
Of course, the word "rigged election" had never once passed James Sett’s lips, but Breckinridge was already interpreting it that way.
The next morning, Breckinridge summoned his key aides to the Oval Office.
“You’ve all heard it, I’m sure. The Northerners’ desperate flailing is becoming increasingly severe.”
“Your Excellency, do not worry. No matter how hard those Northern Democrats push Douglas, they stand no chance against the united power of the South.”
“Of course. But we must keep in mind that they might not come at us through normal channels. Douglas’s side might resort to despicable schemes, attempting to bribe delegates or manipulate the voting process.”
Tension hung in the air among his aides. They hadn't imagined such things would happen within the same Democratic Party, but since the President himself had issued a warning, they could not take it lightly.
“As you say, Your Excellency... we must prepare. We should warn the chairmen of each state in advance and strengthen surveillance at the national convention site...”
“Yes. Prepare thoroughly. And we must also keep a close eye on the Republican camp’s movements. They will surely put forward Seward as their candidate, so we must establish a tailored strategy to dig into his weaknesses starting now. That old fox is not as easy as he seems.”
Breckinridge was already envisioning the time after he became the Democratic nominee.
The real fight would be the general election against the Republicans, wouldn’t it?
Just then, one of his staff members spoke up cautiously.
“Your Excellency, however... there are reports that Lincoln of Illinois is gradually emerging. His support seems unusual, and if Lincoln becomes the Republican candidate...”
Lincoln was a name Breckinridge knew well.
Because of that, he shook his head with a scoff.
“Lincoln? That backwoods lawyer? Tell me, have you ever seen that man win an election?”
It was an incredibly foolish warning, but thanks to it, he laughed genuinely for the first time in a while. The President snapped his fingers and let out a sneer.
“That man is just a born loser. He always talks a good game, only to slip up at the decisive moment. He’s the one who got crushed by Douglas; who is he going to beat? He’s nothing more than high-grade seasoning to make Seward look good.”
He then glared at the aide who had mentioned Lincoln, as if displeased.
Lincoln beating Seward and Chase to become the candidate?
To think he had kept a man with such poor analytical skills by his side as an aide.
“Are you still saying such things? Just leave Lincoln alone! I’ve been saying that for four years; how can you not understand?”
“......I apologize, Your Excellency.”
“In my view, Seward will be elected. He is not a man without weaknesses, so if we attack him calmly, we can easily win even if we only take a third of the votes in the North.”
In about three months, he would be confirmed as the Democratic nominee.
And when that time came, he would launch a fierce offensive against the Republicans.
He had already identified several of Seward’s weaknesses, and if he investigated further, he would surely find even more.
There were plenty of angles to exploit. There was enough chance of victory.
What if he didn't become the candidate?
What if such fraud occurred in the party primary due to Douglas’s schemes?
...He would never tolerate it.
Breckinridge was already mapping out the policies he would pursue after his successful re-election.
Grand plans to open a great Southern era, such as the annexation of Cuba and the expansion of slavery into the Western territories.
Looking at these campaign promises alone, there was no way he could lose if the election proceeded normally.
Isn't that right?
Since he was the one receiving the support and love of so many people, there was no way he could fall.
***
Having seen countless times how elections could ruin a person, Breckinridge’s downfall did not come as a surprise to me.
Even in the modern era, there were times I couldn't understand why people who graduated at the top of Seoul National University or from prestigious American universities acted in such strange ways whenever an election came around.
But once you experience the enthusiastic cheers and unconditional support of your fans, the conviction that you are absolutely right inevitably surges within you.
This is also a story from my own experience.
Even now, there are times when I get goosebumps just from hearing the overwhelming praise sent to me by hundreds of slaves, so how would it feel if that crowd grew to tens of thousands, all chanting your name?
Public opinion in the Northern Democratic Party was growing increasingly cold toward Breckinridge’s excessive pro-Southern policies, but for Breckinridge, intoxicated by the high of his campaign, the moment he would face reality would only come after the election ended.
No, wait. Seeing him talk about fraud before I could even finish my thought, it was highly likely he wouldn't accept it even after the election was over.
That meant it would symbolize the division of the Democratic Party and the victory of the Republican Party, which also meant the Civil War was right around the corner.
So now.
Shall I start administering the graduation exams?
***
Early spring of 1860.
The atmosphere at the Sett Rehabilitation Center was as vibrant as ever.
The sound of morning calisthenics, the sound of reading letters in the classroom, the sound of hammering iron in the blacksmith shop, and the cheers that erupted from the baseball field without fail every afternoon.
Even if it was a bizarre re-education facility that looked like nothing else in the South, it was, at the very least, a place that could be described as peaceful.
But beneath that tranquil surface, the seeds of revolution planted by James Sett were growing vigorously.
“The level of the first batch has risen much faster than expected.”
James scanned the educational performance report submitted by Leo with satisfaction.
Map reading ability, resource management simulation results, and even the ‘farm tool repair’ evaluation scores.
Everything was perfect.
So, it was time for the first harvest.
Human nature is incredibly fickle; no matter how much you praise someone, if their performance seems lackluster, people are quick to turn their backs.
And James was someone who understood this human nature very well.
At this point, it was necessary to produce graduates who had been transformed into ‘ideal slaves’ to once again elicit praise from public opinion.
Besides, wasn't it too blatant to release thousands of them all at once after the war broke out?
Before that, it would be natural to plant key operatives throughout the South in advance under the guise of ‘graduation’.
James posted a notice throughout the rehabilitation center.
[Notice of Selection for 1st Batch Outstanding Trainees and Early Graduation Exam]
[Evaluation Criteria: Loyalty, Work Ability, Perseverance, Health]
The official evaluation criteria were concise.
But hidden behind them were the real evaluation criteria, unique to Sett Cotton.
- Loyalty → Revenge against the original owner: Who harbors the deepest hatred?
- Work Ability → Sabotage Ability: Who can destroy a target fastest and without leaving a trace?
- Perseverance → Acting Ability: Who can perfectly play the role of an ‘obedient slave’ and wait for the day of judgment?
- Health → Survivability: This is health, literally. You have to survive to take revenge.
On the day of the graduation exam.
The central square of the rehabilitation center was in a festive mood.
Not only the Sett Elite Guard but also other trainees who were not yet receiving the education gathered to watch the exam of the first graduation candidates.
The first exam was marksmanship.
“All 1st batch trainees! Step forward!”
With Henry’s booming shout, the candidates stepped forward.
Surprisingly, Springfield 1855 muskets were held in their hands.
“Th-they’re going to shoot those?”
“For real? Us?”
The trainees who were still in the early stages of education murmured in the stands, but the candidates shouldered their rifles skillfully without the slightest hesitation.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Successive gunshots.
The dead center of the target placed far away was pierced accurately.
“Woooooooah!”
“Incredible!”
Cheers erupted.
The next exam was ‘Emergency Response Ability’.
Jonathan shouted to the candidates standing in front of a cotton gin model.
“Cotton gin overheating! Stop the operation within 30 seconds and report the cause!”
In the blink of an eye, the candidates rushed to the model and, with just a few strikes of a hammer and chisel, ‘safely’ detached the machine’s core components.
And they reported calmly.
“Overheating cause, suspected wear of the drive shaft bearing. Parts replacement is required.”
The parts they had broken were so craftily chosen that, to the naked eye, it really looked like wear caused by overheating.
Beyond this, the process of perfectly destroying not just the cotton gin but also the plantation fence without leaving a trace was demonstrated perfectly in front of everyone.
A task that everyone here would eventually be able to do.
The eyes of everyone watching this process burned with intense heat.
The final exam was ‘Work Planning Ability’.
Will presented a hypothetical situation.
“A storm has collapsed part of the riverbank. The floodgate is inoperable. You must build a temporary levee immediately to prevent flooding. Available resources are 50 sandbags, 10 logs, and 20 workers. What will you do?”
“Yes. First, I will divide the available personnel according to their work ability...”
The candidates each provided answers without a hitch. They drew maps, calculated resource allocation, and presented the most efficient work sequence.
It wasn't simple improvisation; those who applied the education they had received so far to derive the answer received high scores.
After all the exams were over, James stepped onto the podium himself.
“I will call out the names of the five first-batch graduates. Nick! Jenny! Samuel!...”
The five whose names were called stepped forward with moved expressions.
Nick looked around at those standing beside him and took a light breath, knowing that his own expression was likely no different from theirs.
He knew well that this was not something to be happy about simply because he had graduated as an honor student.
Depending on their performance as they returned to the plantations after leaving the rehabilitation center, the fate of everyone could change significantly.
Why else would only five people out of so many trainees be graduating?
They knew well how heavy the burden placed on their shoulders was.
Therefore, they had to be thorough, arm their minds, and never let their hearts be shaken by any variables.
Thinking about leaving this place made something boil madly in his chest, as if he were about to burst into tears, but he had to endure it.
Just as they were about to leave after receiving their diplomas with firm resolve, James called Nick back.
“Nick.”
“Yes, Master.”
“Don’t get hurt, and stay healthy.”
At that simple, insignificant remark, Nick burst into the tears he had been holding back, rendering his own vow from moments ago meaningless.
The despair in the carriage as he was dragged away from the North.
The warm bread and soup Will had given him.
And now, this person telling him not to get hurt.
He knelt before James.
He couldn't say anything else.
Only the hot tears streaming down his cheeks could replace his sincerity.
“Master... until I die! I will never forget this grace.”
James replied simply by patting his back without another word.
Precious faces he didn't know when he would see again once he left.
Still, none of the graduates, including Nick, said a word of farewell.
Because they knew that once everything was over, the place they would return to was right here: Sett Cotton.