Marine
Seo Yu-jin narrowed her eyes and watched Lee Jin get into the limousine without even sparing her a glance as he passed by.
When the Stone Hall had gone up in flames, the Imperial Secretariat and the security office had fallen into outright panic.
In that situation, she had rushed all the way to Ganghwado with one priority only: secure the sole survivor as quickly as possible.
And when she found Lee Jin, all she had expected was that he would serve as a symbol—something to preserve the Imperial family and hold it together at its center.
But Lee Jin had flatly rejected her plea to flee to safety first.
As a secretary in the Imperial household, her duty was to put the Emperor’s safety above all else, which meant evacuation should have been her first instinct.
Yet Seo Yu-jin couldn’t do that.
No, she wouldn’t.
Because what she saw in him was something she had never even seen in the trained Crown Prince—something like the air of a sovereign.
Before she knew it, Seo Yu-jin swallowed dryly and straightened her posture.
Lee Jin was staring out the darkly tinted window, deep in thought.
And in Seo Yu-jin’s mind, a very different figure began to overlap with his silhouette.
...The Great Emperor.
Not the ceremonial title of Great Emperor attached after a posthumous name, but the one and only man in this nation’s history who could truly be called a great emperor.
The mighty ruler who laid the foundations of the Korean Imperial family. The iron-fisted emperor who rose from an obscure branch of the royal clan and halted the fall of the nation.
Just like Lee Jin now.
A shiver ran down Seo Yu-jin’s spine.
No, she was getting ahead of herself. At least until now, not a single person in this Korean Imperial family had ever had anything remotely resembling that man’s bearing.
Still, the way Seo Yu-jin looked at Lee Jin had changed drastically from a moment ago.
As for Lee Jin, however—
History proves it. If you hide, you’re dead meat.
Whether it was during the May 16 coup or the December 12 coup, the commander-in-chief hid instead of taking command and got arrested in the end!
That’s the hard-earned wisdom of a country that’s lived through coups before.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇
In the Southern Song there was a figure known as Emperor Zhao Bing.
He wasn’t originally destined to become emperor, but after the Song dynasty collapsed and a government-in-exile was hastily established, this child—probably against his will—was placed on the throne. At the age of seven, everything came crashing down around him, and he found himself surrounded by Mongol forces.
The loyal retainers at his side supposedly said, “The nation has fallen, so you should die with it,” and leapt into the sea carrying him in their arms.
And so the final words left by Emperor Zhao Bing, who met such a valiant death, were said to be: “I shall never be born into the imperial family again!”
If you were wondering why I was suddenly lost in a thought like that, it was because my own situation—dragged into a fight out of nowhere despite having gotten absolutely nothing out of being royal—felt horribly similar.
But I had no other choice.
“Secretary Seo.”
I tore my gaze away from the window and spoke toward the front seat.
“Speak freely.”
Seo Yu-jin, seated in the passenger seat, slowly turned her head.
Her blouse was splattered with blood, her face deathly pale, and yet her posture remained ramrod straight.
“Let’s look at this logically. The rebels, I mean.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
“Normally, when someone stages a coup or rebellion, don’t they seize the Imperial family—the symbol of legitimacy—as hostages to justify what they’re doing?”
Given what the Emperor meant in this country, the coup forces would have been safer if they’d spirited away at least one member in advance.
And yet they had blown up the dozens of direct and collateral royals gathered in the Stone Hall all at once.
That means they were desperate as hell. They rushed the whole thing and detonated it before they’d even figured out the details. Or...
A colder possibility made the hair on my arms stand up.
Or maybe they wanted to abolish the Imperial family altogether.
If they were the sort of people who’d already weeded out everyone who could inherit the throne, then the lives of royal relatives wouldn’t be worth a damn as hostages. To them, we’d just be obsolete trash from a dead age—corrupt institutions to be swept away.
“Either way, the rebels’ justification will be the same: corruption and incompetence in the Imperial family. His Late Majesty and the Crown Prince...”
Seo Yu-jin paused, then bit her lip lightly before continuing.
“It is true that, in recent years, the state has been operated somewhat recklessly.”
That almost made sense.
Almost.
Except for one catastrophic miscalculation: that an irrelevant royal family member like me had been living right here on Ganghwado.
“I’ve been dying to ask this from the start. How the hell did you find me so fast? It hasn’t even been a few hours since the attack. You couldn’t possibly have had time to dig through the royal clan registry.”
But Seo Yu-jin’s answer was unexpected.
“As Chief Secretary of the Imperial family, I have memorized, in full, the personal information, current residence, emergency contact network, and certain notable particulars of every royal family member registered with the Korean Royal Clan Office.”
“...What? All of it?”
“Twice a year, whenever gifts are distributed, I personally verify each address update. Your Majesty had been residing here on this Ganghwado farm without any change, so immediately after the incident I was able to come here by the safest possible route.”
What an insane workaholic.
“That’s all?”
“Yes. Is there perhaps something troubling you?”
Seo Yu-jin tilted her head and asked again.
“No, nothing.”
After I answered, Seo Yu-jin spoke once more.
“Your Majesty. Forgive my presumption as a subject, but I must raise one concern.”
“Go ahead. I can’t exactly claim I’m one hundred percent certain my judgment is right either.”
“At a time when even the Imperial Guard Brigade has joined the rebellion, it is dangerous to blindly trust that the Marine Corps, an outer unit, will offer unconditional loyalty. Once Your Majesty’s safety has been secured, they may attempt to negotiate with the rebels or seize the initiative for themselves.”
She wasn’t wrong.
Seo Yu-jin’s concern was entirely reasonable. In this godforsaken age of chaos, no one could know what desires would bloom in the hearts of people holding guns.
But I shook my head.
“That’s too far-fetched, Secretary Seo.”
“On what grounds are you so certain?”
“What day is today? It’s the royal wedding of the century—the one the whole country has been buzzing about. And it’s a holiday, too.”
Looking out at the night sky, I muttered, “On a festival day that big, do you really think the commanders at regimental level or higher would all obediently stay inside their assigned garrison areas?”
Some were probably at a division commander’s golf outing. Others were at a senior officers’ dinner.
At the very least, all the people with enough brains to immediately lock down their units and play politics against me had stepped away.
Probably to Seoul, too.
There was a reason Gwak Ji-hun was trying to resign.
“Besides, there’s exactly one guy in that unit I can trust without question.”
Just then, the security officer spoke at the perfect moment.
“We’ll arrive in five minutes. I’ll escort you personally, Your Majesty.”
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇
“Halt! Halt! Approaching vehicle, stop immediately and identify yourselves!”
The main gate of the Fifth Independent Maneuver Regiment under the Marine Corps Second Division.
Marines in camouflage paint and K2 rifles had thrown up a barricade and blocked the limousine’s path.
Word of the coup must have already spread, because the entire unit was under a tight security alert. An armored vehicle had its cannon trained on the gate.
Creak—!
Our limousine came to a rough stop in front of the gate. As the Imperial guards made to get out, the Marines’ rifle muzzles snapped toward the car in unison.
“Don’t get out of the vehicle! Move even one step and we’ll fire!”
“How dare you point weapons at anyone during a national emergency! Call your commander here at once!”
The guards shouted, but the Marines—bristling with murderous intent—didn’t budge. One wrong move and it looked like friendly fire was about to break out right here.
“Secretary. Give me the imperial seal.”
“Your Majesty, it’s dangerous!”
“Staying in the car until we get turned into a hornet’s nest is even more dangerous.”
I snatched the box containing the golden imperial seal from Seo Yu-jin’s hands and threw open the rear door of the limousine.
“Don’t fire! I’m Imperial family!”
When I burst out of the limo bearing the House of Yi crest while wearing a shabby padded jacket and even shabbier sneakers, the sentries’ eyes wavered.
“Lower your guns!! All units, cease fire! Fingers off the trigger!!”
From behind the thick concrete blast wall inside the guard post came a familiar, ragged shout that nearly ripped through my eardrums.
A flurry of frantic boots rang out, and then a man in full combat gear with his ballistic helmet pulled low shoved his way through the soldiers and lunged forward.
His face was flushed red from the cold, and he was panting so hard he looked as if he’d just thrown himself to the ground in a panic.
“Captain Gwak.”
Captain Gwak’s gaze flicked back and forth between my pitiful clothes, dusty and worn, and the line of fierce Imperial security officers standing behind me.
“Hyung-nim?”
“Uh... yeah. It’s like that. You saw the news, right?”
Unlike the vicious expression he’d worn just seconds earlier, Captain Gwak now looked completely dumbfounded.
And then—he saw the golden imperial seal in my hand.
“...Attention, unit!!”
Captain Gwak snapped into rigid formality as if some automatic doll had been switched on.
“Sanho!”
Captain Gwak roared the command until the veins in his neck stood out.
At that beast-like bellow, even the enlisted men behind him stopped dead and turned toward me in unison.
“Long live the Emperor! Long live the Emperor! Long live the Emperor!!”
Before a moment ago it had been a complete mess, but now the guard post erupted in a thunderous threefold cheer and salute aimed only at me.
My chest tightened, and at the same time some bizarre feeling washed up my spine.
Only now did the reality of the situation really hit me.
It was real. I had really become the Emperor of this ridiculous makjang drama.
Just seeing Gwak Ji-hun—who I’d always treated like an easygoing younger brother—act exactly like someone from this world made that sink in.
“All right, enough. Everyone lower your hands and relax. This is no time to worry about manners.”
I hurriedly waved them down and cut off their salutes.
If I let them keep chanting long enough to do it twice, the rebels would be on their way to cut my throat.
“I’ll escort you straight to the command center at once!”
Sure enough, the personnel officer standing in for the regiment commander also tried to join in with Sanho and cheers, only to be stopped short.
I looked at the central screen in the command center. Most of the CCTV feed from Seoul had been cut, and military network communications were dropping in and out intermittently.
“This is the worst possible situation. I need to let them know I’ve taken the throne so the rebels and the loyalists can identify friend from foe. Should I just go live on YouTube and announce my accession?”
And while I’m at it, ask them to like and subscribe.
Seo Yu-jin’s expression turned stone-cold as she shook her head.
“That is impossible, Your Majesty. The major base stations and communication networks in the Seoul area have already been seized by the rebel forces of the Capital Defense Command. Civilian networks are completely jammed from traffic overload, and above all, if Your Majesty’s location is identified, an airstrike may be launched immediately.”
“Then what do we do?”
“I will attempt urgent communication with the Marine Corps headquarters and Naval Command using the military communications network here. Since this is a coup led by the Army, there is a good chance the Navy has not joined them. In addition...”
I could guess what Seo Yu-jin was about to say.
If the internet was dead, then there was only one place the entire nation’s eyes and ears would be turned to.
I said it flatly.
“We’ll have to go to the broadcasters.”
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇
A moment later, with engine roars like tearing metal, the KAAVs and troop transport trucks assigned to the Fifth Independent Maneuver Regiment began to move out.
Ganghwa Bridge was blocked by military police and directly attached troops dispatched in emergency from Division Headquarters, but...
Captain Gwak, holding the radio, shot me a sidelong glance.
Even the usually boisterous man looked visibly tense. If things went wrong, Marine comrades might end up firing on each other in a blood-soaked exchange.
Seo Yu-jin stepped in. She roughly snatched the radio from Captain Gwak’s hand.
“This is Seo Yu-jin, Chief Secretary of the Korean Imperial family. We are currently advancing toward the capital while escorting the body of His Majesty the Emperor under edict. The division’s troops are to open the barricades immediately and grant passage.”
[...W-what? The Emperor?]
From the other side, the radio crackled again, and the man who had been shouting moments ago promptly lowered his voice into something polite.
[...Understood. Immediate escort orders received.]
By the time we crossed Ganghwa Bridge without a single shot fired, Seo Yu-jin spoke again.
“The three major broadcasters in Seoul will almost certainly be the rebels’ highest-priority targets.”
She looked at me. “Then what do we do?”
“There’s an IBS second broadcast station in Ilsan. How about heading there?”
The instant she finished speaking, the security officer turned up the radio volume and said,
“Your Majesty, Secretary. I think you need to hear this immediately.”
Seo Yu-jin frowned slightly. “IBS1?”
“Yes, that’s right.”
I gave Seo Yu-jin a quick look and had the volume cranked to the maximum.
And then, from the radio, the stiff, frozen voice of an announcer drifted out.