Chapter 3
Chapter 3
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Translator: crow
Chapter Title: Wielding the Pen (1)
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In this era's Western societies, most soldiers begin political activities after retirement.
Writing memoirs, holding lectures, dragging the press around, running for president, and so on.
Of course, that's a story that applies to soldiers in those weak democratic societies.
In our militaristic Korea, where the law of the jungle reigns, things are a bit different.
Even if an active general storms into a newspaper office that published an article he didn't like, beats up the reporters, and sends his underlings to give them a "physical persuasion," no one bats an eye.
Which means there's no problem with me engaging in political activities through the newspapers.
Ah, it might be a problem if it displeases the higher-ups, but that's a risk I have to take.
I pulled the car to a stop in the new Sinuiju city district, lined with soaring skyscrapers that pierced the sky.
A massive 54-story building loomed right in front of me.
It was the Dawn Building, where Korea's largest daily newspaper, the Goryeo Ilbo, had made its nest.
"Your Excellency. This is the Goryeo Ilbo offices."
Jeong Gil opened the car door and said.
As soon as we entered the lobby, a man who appeared to be in his fifties—evidently waiting after getting word—was bowing at a perfect right angle.
"I'm Jo Jung-dong, president of the Goryeo Ilbo, General."
"Pleased to meet you, President Jo."
Jo Jung-dong rubbed his hands together, casting aside his pride like a media boss greeting a chaebol chairman.
I wondered if the man standing before me was a newspaper owner or a salt peddler.
But on second thought, it wasn't such a strange sight.
In a relatively normal Korea with functioning politics, media power would overshadow political power.
Politicians in democratic nations are like starved seedlings desperate for a single line in the papers.
But this was the ruthless Korean Empire, ruled by the military.
If media power dared to stiffen its neck before a military general, an iron rod would come flying.
Not some lukewarm democratic retaliation like a tax audit, but "physical" consequences that could rip your head clean off.
Just this year alone, three newspapers had been shut down by the military.
Even giants like the Goryeo Ilbo or the Dongyang Ilbo weren't exempt.
We took the elevator straight up to the president's office.
As the elevator rose, Jo Jung-dong glanced at me cautiously before broaching the subject.
"I've heard that Your Excellency is visiting our newspaper today to place an op-ed, at the very least."
"That's right."
"Does it have to do with the military budget, by any chance?"
Not long ago, a scandal about military bribery had broken, leading to one newspaper's closure.
The military had employed a "silence strategy" to keep the wrongdoing off people's lips, but that didn't mean folks were blind to the truth.
The military might be all muscle and no brains, but newspapers, which lived by the written word, knew full well.
Jo Jung-dong's roundabout point was obvious.
'Please hold off on stories that could stir up public backlash. Our circulation will tank.'
I had no intention of putting the Goryeo Ilbo in a tough spot.
"It's not that kind of story."
Only then did Jo Jung-dong's face brighten a little.
When we arrived at the president's office, a slender young female secretary brought coffee.
We sipped our coffee as we discussed my true intentions.
Jo Jung-dong looked mildly surprised when I said I wanted to voice my "opinions" for the sake of "the nation's future."
'Military meathead playing at reform—now worrying about the nation's future?'
That was probably what he was thinking.
I decided to correct Jo Jung-dong's perception first.
"President Jo, what kind of country do you think this nation is?"
At my textbook question, Jo Jung-dong braced himself.
"Well, it's a 'responsible constitutional monarchy' with His Majesty the Emperor at the top as the focal point, and the Prime Minister leading below."
Fine words for a responsible constitutional monarchy, but in Western terms, it was a Prussian-style pseudo-constitutional monarchy.
Was that even a constitutional monarchy?
"A military dictatorship that only wears the shell of a constitutional monarchy. That's the true face of this country, in my view."
Jo Jung-dong's mouth fell slightly open at my blunt words.
"Could a truly modernized nation operate like that? Could we call it a proper modern state?"
"Well..."
"If this country truly wants to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with the West, it needs reform."
Such rhetoric was commonplace here.
Reform, innovation, restoration.
Talk of changing the nation poured out endlessly.
But words matter less for their content than for who speaks them.
The moment "reform" came from the mouth of a military man—and an imperial clansman at that—Jo Jung-dong's eyes trembled noticeably.
I had positioned my character as a patron yearning for "Western-style reform."
This was just the right level to project that character through the newspapers.
"What do you think, President Jo?"
"O-Of course, I think reform is necessary."
Jo Jung-dong wasn't about to reveal his true feelings easily.
Well, that's only natural.
Who would bare their soul just because a military man showed up spouting the unexpected?
This was where I wrapped up my appeal to Jo Jung-dong.
"What I'm trying to say is along those lines. Proposals for the nation's future. I'd like to see that kind of piece in the paper."
Commonplace talk.
But coming from an imperial general, it carried weight.
"It'll be an op-ed penned by Your Excellency himself, I presume?"
"Of course. Since I've come all this way to ask personally, I'd appreciate it in a prominent spot."
"I'll give it special attention."
Jo Jung-dong promised it the prime position among the op-eds.
That would do for now.
I stopped by the Dongyang Ilbo next and secured the same promise.
Truth be told, for just submitting an op-ed, a phone call and sending an aide would suffice.
But meeting the media owners in person was to make them recognize the possibility that I could become a player in the "political game."
No matter how capable you are, if those around you don't acknowledge you as a presidential contender, you won't get a shot at the election.
Right now, I was essentially kicking off my candidacy campaign to become the top dog of the future Korean Empire.
Newspapers came next, then books.
I started squeezing in time to write.
Unable to use Hitler's rational strategy of mobilizing power for sales, the book had to be entertaining.
And what kind of book sold best? A novel, of course.
I decided to write a novel that could embody my "ideology."
Among the books I'd "translated" during my translation work, there were plenty of Japanese light novels.
For one that could showcase "national modernization and developmental dictatorship"...
'The Legend of the Galactic Heroes would be perfect.'
The original theme of Tanaka Yoshiki's novel was which was better: the worst democracy or the best monarchy.
But depending on the perspective, it could yield entirely different interpretations.
Like clearing away the feudal remnants under Kaiser Reinhard, modernizing the homeland, and achieving the grand feat of cosmic unification on that foundation.
With some cunning tweaks to the content, I could shine the spotlight right there.
That said, there was no need to completely excise the paean to democracy woven into the novel.
It served as a device to signal: "This uniform isn't like the others who solve everything with guns and blades—he might think differently."
Anyway, between writing op-eds and novels, I didn't have enough bodies to go around.
Time was so short I had to cut back on sleep.
'Lack of sleep means I won't live long.'
Well, who prepares a coup while worrying about their health?
I'd have to carve out time from sleep if needed.
Not long after my first op-ed calling for Korea's reform hit the papers, the ripples came.
-Young General Lee Sung-jun Diagnoses the Empire's Reality with a Cool Head.
Ordinary folks didn't know or care what army brass names were or what they thought.
But it was different for officers in the military.
They craved as much info as possible on the higher-ups above them.
In that context, news of a young general championing reform spreading through the papers? It was bound to be a hot topic.
I sent Jeong Gil to the officers' mess to gauge the mood.
An hour later, after finishing his meal, Jeong Gil returned with his scouting report.
"There was a lot of talk about Your Excellency among the young officers in the mess hall."
"Details."
"They were debating fiercely the claim that to renew the Korean Empire, we need to start by changing outdated institutions and mindsets."
Better results than expected.
In the conservative military, "reform" wasn't easy to rally support for.
In such an environment, the fact that my claims sparked "debate" meant my agenda-setting was on point.
If anything, it was going exceptionally well.
Time to make a move, then.
"Aide."
"Yes, General."
"Starting tomorrow, I'll eat at the officers' mess with the young folks too. Prepare accordingly."
"Understood."
Of course, I didn't see the meals with the officers as a stage to affirm my authority as a general.
Those meals were a place to stand not as a lofty-ranked general, but as one ideologue among men.
That's where I'd put it to the test.
How deeply the ideology I'd forged could pierce this empire.