The Old Tiger and the Wolf (1)

Pale blonde hair and blue eyes.

A collar rising ever so slightly from a smooth, pale nape of the neck. And in contrast — lips that gleamed a vivid red.

"…Ambassador Han…"

I turned my head toward the voice.

There, amid the clamor of a UN Security Council chamber in which every delegate was shouting only what he himself wished to say — the war crisis in Eastern Europe having risen once more — stood a woman whose beauty arrested the eye in a single glance.

Ah. The British representative's secretary, was it?

Or perhaps an attaché — either way, I remembered her. From the very first day of the Council session she had caught every gaze in the room, setting the hearts of the young men on our delegation ablaze and leaving them with nowhere decent to put their eyes.

Of course, a man who had already passed his sixtieth year and was knocking on seventy had no business taking a deep interest in a woman closer to a granddaughter than a daughter. And more than that — the atmosphere in Europe just now was far too grim.

"Ambassador."

The trouble was that she had, at some point, sidled right up beside me and begun murmuring at my ear.

"Ambassador Han!"

"Yes?"

I had been absorbed in the Polish foreign minister's statement. When I turned, the storybook beauty startled at her own volume, then pressed her eyelids slightly downward and spoke in a hush.

"Is it true… that the Korean government will not join this international resolution?"

"The resolution. You mean the resolution."

"Yes."

As if advertising to the entire chamber that Anglo-Saxon red blood ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠ran in her veins, she pushed the conference chairs aside with pale hands and pressed herself still closer, glancing about before she whispered.

"Our ambassador asked me to convey that Korea's present course is a matter of the gravest concern…"

"…Ah. Concern. Yes, I suppose it might be concerning."

I said it mildly, and looked down in silence at the crown of her head as she kept stealing guilty glances toward the seats of the British and American ambassadors, her own feet apparently too hot to hold still.

Join us, join us, they say.

I turned her question over in my mouth for a long while. Then I drew from memory the charge the president had given me, a man only just entering the twilight of his administration.

Before I had departed, the president — with one year of his term remaining — had made the request with genuine earnestness.

"…This time, we too will have to remain silent."

"What on earth is that supposed to mean, sir?"

Unlike the fire of his campaign, the president now looked worn through. Only the weary parts of politics had been left on his face, carved in as wrinkles. He flicked a glance at me, then turned his head away as he spoke.

"My own lame duck at the end of the term is problem enough, Minister, but the next presidential election will be held together with the general election. There is no reason for us to throw ourselves actively into a European affair on the other side of the earth. And we haven't the luxury besides."

A problem on the other side of the earth. Well. Perhaps he was right.

"The last budget review still pending in the Assembly matters too."

The president sent an old man's smile toward the National Assembly building in the distance, and laughed with a vulgarity unlike him.

Yes. Above all else, one's own country came first.

Silence?

But if we treated an international crisis as someone else's business and held our tongues — and if the head of a nation whose standing was no longer what it had been, a nation that now had every right to raise its voice on the world stage, came forward so passively — then long experience and instinct both told me it would not end well. I said so.

"That is a very poor thought, Your Excellency."

And besides: was the Republic of Korea not a country born precisely by overcoming such silences, and at great cost?

The men who cast their votes in the UN Security Council eighty years ago — what would they say if they saw us now?

That we were shameful. That we were small.

I will not live to see us look like that. Not if it kills me.

My mind made up, I bit down hard on my lip and closed both eyes.

"B-but this affair is, in the strictest sense, a war of aggression born of an illegal territorial invasion by the Russian military! And after the last Ukraine war ended, did we not exchange a secret memorandum with the United States? According to that memorandum, if the next Russian government makes a hostile move in Eastern Europe, we are to—"

"…A memorandum is a memorandum, Ambassador."

"That memorandum is a document I sealed with my own hand, under Your Excellency's orders!"

"But it was not an official diplomatic instrument."

"Good God, sir!"

In a voice of pure ice, he cut me off at a stroke, then made the request again with exhaustion soaking his eyes.

"There are any number of bills still pending in the Assembly, and this judicial uproar is inconvenient enough on our end. Let us simply leave it at that. I don't know which way the next administration will lean, but—"

"Your Excellency."

"If this is the sort of thing the EU handles, it isn't a problem that will be finished within the year, is it? Now, if it were the Middle East, that might be different. Those gentlemen will hold a meeting even with a knife at their own throats."

He flicked his hand at me — that's enough, get out — and turned his body away.

Even so. Wrong was wrong.

I started to leave at his dismissal, then stopped dead.

And I asked.

"Russia. China. Which of the two?"

"Now look here, Minister Han."

For a moment the presidential office froze over like a skin of ice. I stood there, stubborn as a post.

"Until Your Excellency answers me, I will not take a single step. I will not go to the Security Council at all. Which is it?"

"Are you determined to advertise to the press that we had a shouting match over the holiday? The general election is almost here!"

"I am not going. Absolutely not."

"This man, I swear—! Ahem!"

At what was mutiny in all but name, the president raked me up and down with a look of brief, animal displeasure, then bent at the waist in a crooked posture. The expression was ugly, but I caught what it meant: he would listen. I opened my mouth at once.

"Your Excellency cannot possibly be unaware that this crisis is an invasion inflamed by nothing more than a border dispute. I heard as well that the Chinese ambassador and the Russian ambassador called on you in succession last night."

"Hah."

"Every one of them moves according to his own arithmetic. Yes, I know that perfectly well. But it ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠is precisely at a time like this that we ought to be greatly strengthening our ties with our existing allies—"

"I understand."

A deep sigh. Then a question heavy with hesitation.

"Must it be done in my term?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"Haa. Very well. The country that visited yesterday was—"

That was when it happened.

"Ambassador?"

"Ah."

I had sunk too far into the recollection. I started violently at the careful touch on my shoulder and straightened my back.

"Ah — forgive me. My mind wandered for a moment."

"Then, as an apology, will you answer my question now?"

When I apologized, her eyes brightened. Seeing that look of expectation, I felt a small pang of guilt for the story I was about to tell.

It would not be the answer she wanted.

"The Korean government has been far too passive on this Eastern European question. Our ambassador has expressed deep con—"

"Before that, let us get one thing straight."

I straightened, eased her back as she drew nearer still, and met the eyes of the British ambassador, who was watching from across the chamber. Behind his glasses, that gaze had hardened a fraction.

"This question about joining the resolution — is it the official position of the British government?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"Not long ago, the British government offered an apology in an interview, did it not? Let me recall the wording."

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

"Ah! Th-that was—"

"The pressure your government passed along through unofficial channels — we received it yesterday, quite clearly."

When I put it that nakedly, she turned the color of a boiled beet and made a desperate effort to look elsewhere.

"That was just a roundabout way of calling us a bat, wasn't it?"

"Hup—!"

"Don't look so shocked. Yes, that's right. The performance the Korean government is putting on at present is a bat's game, every inch of it."

I ruffled the hair of this granddaughter-like woman, who had clapped a hand over her own mouth in astonishment.

"But look at it another way."

"L-look at what?"

"We are not taking anyone's side the way a bat does. We are trying to remain on good terms with everyone. We are the world. Ah — is that not how it goes?"

"What kind of nonsense is—"

"Then does it make sense that you people opened back-channel talks over China's government and Russia's eastward push? As if Britain did that alone. The Americans were behind it too, no doubt. Damn it all."

I silenced her protest in a single stroke and went on.

"We have information of our own, and we have partners. You are negotiating with them on truly disappointing terms — that you will reconsider the NATO accession of those Eastern European states trying to join the alliance, all to halt Russia's eastward advance peacefully, and that you will without fail sound them out in advance on any Middle Eastern question. What comes next, North Korea? Or Taiwan? Good heavens. That is a secret — and a blunder — more than sufficient to cast doubt on your diplomatic competence on the international stage."

"Ambassador!"

"It is the same as you. If you have power in your own yard, you want it recognized, and each side respects the other's turf. Russia wants its predominance in Eastern Europe acknowledged. China wants it known that its international influence has grown considerably. And you — Britain and America, who have kept the world order since the Cold War — want that position respected. That is all."

"…"

"So let us be honest with one another."

Across the chamber, the British ambassador rose with a stiffened face.

I rose from my seat as well.

I did not need a mirror. I knew exactly what my own expression looked like.

"That is how it is."

I delivered the last of it with a look that was an insult without quite being one — a look that might, perhaps, wound this young secretary.

That, I think, is how it must have been.

The reason that previous ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠life's memory had surfaced so suddenly was this:

"This is a bat's game if I ever saw one, isn't it?"

"A bat's game, sir?"

Woo Beom-seon — former Major of the Byeolgigun, and the man who had now taken to watching my back, or something in that neighborhood — was stamping his feet, his face twisted with anxiety, unburdening his worries onto me.

"Not in the least."

"What? Not in the least? Not in the leeeast?"

When I answered with nothing but a smile, he only grew angrier.

"Cool as you please, aren't you! You brat — the court might let it slide because you're just a little child, but I've already shown my face to the Daewongun and the court more times than I care to count. If this goes even a little wrong, my neck—"

"—goes slice, I suppose?"

"Yes, slice! You brat!"

I made a theatrical chopping motion at my own throat with the edge of my hand. Woo Beom-seon lunged at me and locked an arm around my head that was not quite a headlock.

I coughed, making it clear I was being throttled, and spoke through it.

"Khak— khak! If you've gotten the anger out of your system, would you kindly let go."

"I've a long way to go before it's out, you brat."

His arm tightened.

"Aaagh! You're killing me! Khak — a bat's game, what bat's game? It is not a bat's game!"

"Not a bat's game, you say?"

Having wriggled free of that brutal grip, I caught my breath and began to explain the situation to a man still ignorant of the court's balance of power.

"'Bat' is a word you hear when a creature with no power of its own flits from one side to the other."

"…And?"

"Do we lack power at present?"

"Hhnh?"

I clicked my tongue inwardly at Woo Beom-seon, whose eyes had gone round with interest.

No wonder the Japanese led him around by the nose.

It couldn't be helped. If he didn't know, I would have to explain it properly. An ignorant partner meant unforeseen obstacles in the great work ahead. I dropped myself onto the floor and began.

"At present, three factions exist in Hanseong. The court. The Daewongun. And the soldiers who raised this revolt."

"Mm. I'm listening."

"Other forces exist as well, but set those aside. You asked before: among them, whose side are we on?"

Caught by the sudden question, Woo Beom-seon rolled his eyes.

"W-well, we took Clerk Yu and Kim Jang-son into our rooms to advise them, so… the soldiers who raised the revolt?"

"And?"

"And? There's more?"

I nodded at him as he floundered, startled that there might be another side besides.

"The court is on our side as well. And His Highness the Daewongun, to whom you went to pay your respects, is on our side as well."

"What did you say?"

"The old-style soldiers have been spitting fury that Unhyeon Palace still hasn't decided on the treatment of the drill troops or the fate of the Byeolgigun, have they not? They likely mean to appoint you there."

"Hup—!"

"And the one they will order to suppress those same men — that will be you as well. To begin with, there is no other general worth putting at the head of a suppression force."

At the suggestion that he was to be put to such important use, Woo Beom-seon's mouth fell open wide enough to swallow a washbasin.

"What's more, the Daesaseong and his family, whom we rescued in the crisis, are on our side. So is the Japanese legation, which only barely escaped the rioters' assault."

"Ah!"

"We are not bats. If we were so wanting in strength that we had to throw ourselves on someone else's mercy, then yes, that would be a bat's part. But we lack for nothing. We have accumulated merit and raised the banner of righteousness because we mean to weather this crisis alongside every faction, and to remain on good terms with them all. Do not misunderstand."

And that was the truth of it. We had saved the Japanese students and civilians who would have died when the Japanese legation was attacked. We had saved every last member of the households of Min Yeong-hwan and Min Young-ik, who would otherwise have been destroyed and murdered by the rioters.

On top of that, Heungseon Daewongun was — just as in the original history — looking to employ Woo Beom-seon, who had been driven out of the Byeolgigun by Min Young-ik. And the court did not yet even know we existed.

In a situation like that, who would write us off as bats?

"Do you understand? We must be recognized as being on the same side — by all of them."

By then, the color in Woo Beom-seon's eyes had settled back to calm.

"Right… right. I understand."

"Then that's enough."

Having granted the point at last, Woo Beom-seon turned a dubious look on the crowd gathered at Gwanghwamun, then asked me carefully:

"I understand that by saving the Daesaseong we laid the royal in-laws under an obligation. But what about that one?"

"Which one, sir?"

"The Head of the Seonhyecheong."

Where he pointed, Min Gyeom-ho was being dragged forward, his hair a wild tangle. He was taking the murderous intent of the enraged soldiers and rioters upon his whole body, and even to look at him was pitiful.

"He's going to be beaten to death, isn't he?"

"Who can say."

I felt no particular sympathy for the man, and answered with a cold smile.

"That depends on His Highness the Daewongun's personal glory — and his greed."

And soon enough, events ran exactly as I had expected.

"Y-you dogs, do you know who I am?!"

"We know perfectly well who you are."

The place they dragged Min Gyeom-ho to was at the Daewongun's feet.

Having spoken several times with the crowds sitting in at the gate of Gwanghwamun, the Daewongun said, without the slightest change of expression, in a voice like ice:

That was the signal. And the sentence.

The crowd began to haul the certified traitor toward the place of execution.

Unable to reason with the rioters in any rational way, the Daewongun had, in accordance with the people's will, abandoned Min Gyeom-ho.

The revolt had broken. And for the first time, a high minister marked as a target by the rebel army had been officially put to death.

It was the first exercise of the people's power.

And so the corrupt official who had so long tormented the people of Hanyang with his extortion became a ghost without a head, and Hanseong filled with a roar.

"Hurk—!"

When Min Gyeom-ho's head was spiked on a pole and paraded once around the crowd, Woo Beom-seon's face went the color of old paper all by itself.

"Don't throw up, sir. The people around us will find it suspicious."

"Urgh."

I, on the other hand, gazed with deep satisfaction upon the head dripping its still-warm blood.

With this, king and subject have crossed a river from which there is no return!

From this day forward, the king and the father — those two men — could never go back to what they had been.

Never.