Chapter 77
Chapter 77
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Translator: crow
Chapter Title: Peaceful Daily Life (1)
-----------------------------------------------------------------
In May 1942, the German and Soviet forces—which would have been locked in fierce combat on the Eastern Front in the original timeline—were taking a breather, eyeing each other warily across the lines.
Germany, spooked by the immense Soviet reserves it had tasted back in 1941, didn't dare launch an offensive. The Soviets, for their part, were cowed by their winter defeats.
While those two mustachioed dictators enjoyed this uneasy peace, Korea was having its own version of calm routine.
"Hey, fire!"
Boom, boom.
"It's the White Bone Squad!"
As schoolkids screamed and fled from the tear gas, riot police in gas masks emblazoned with skull insignias chased them down, swinging their batons mercilessly.
Heads cracked open, blood pouring, but the cops showed no mercy.
"You bitch, you bitch— the country's feeding you hot rice, and you pull this shit?"
"Eek! Stop pulling!"
"Daring to protest in times like these!"
Amid the cops' brutal crackdown, onlookers seethed with rage but didn't dare step in.
"Those dog bastards!"
Still, today counted as lucky.
If trained troops or military police had shown up, there'd have been dead bodies for sure.
Protests like this cropped up now and then in wartime Korea.
Unlike Nazi Germany—with its similar setup—where they were rare, and that was because Hitler botched the wartime economy.
When you're maxing out civilian goods production and supplying daily needs by plundering occupied territories, why revolt?
Instead, their troops faced terror attacks from cops and soldiers in those looted lands.
Protests versus terror.
If you had to compare, our side had it way better.
"Your Excellency. Here's today's protest casualty report. One student died during the suppression."
It happened sometimes.
At first, hearing that someone died in a protest crackdown made me think I'd faint from shock.
But humans adapt, and soon it all felt numb, like listening to statistics.
Viewing the world through Stalin's eyes.
Not a good feeling.
"Arrests?"
"Home Ministry reports about 350."
"Give the ringleaders a proper 'education' in the holding cells, release the rest with warnings. Make sure they get it. Understood?"
"Yes, sir."
Crushing them by force wouldn't stop the protests anyway.
Shoving people into factories for 12 hours a day—who wouldn't rise up?
I'd have done the same.
I understood—hell, empathized—with the protesters who couldn't take it anymore.
I'd slaved away 16 hours a day as a translation drone; I knew the agony.
But understanding their side and swapping places were two different things.
Regrettably for them, our Korea was at war.
Any nation in wartime demanded massive sacrifices from workers to meet the needs.
Of course, it wasn't just laborers suffering.
In total war, every class had to bear it.
Even capitalists paid top rates of 90 percent, like in America.
Wartime justified and tolerated insane measures like that.
Because national survival trumped all.
That's why war was hell on the people too.
I took a deep drag from my cigarette and said,
"You there."
"Yes, Your Excellency."
"Do you know? I really wanted to make this country of ours a good one."
Everything about me was lies and contradictions, but this was sincere.
"You're doing it, Your Excellency. Anyone with a straight head can't deny your rule has set this country on the right path."
No, Jeong Gil doesn't get it.
He doesn't know the freedom where you can trash the state and insult its head without consequence.
He doesn't know the abundance where you don't starve after 12 factory hours or shiver without it.
In that sense, this Korean Empire resembled Kim Jong-un's North Korea more than 21st-century South Korea.
"Is that so."
Even Jeong Gil couldn't grasp my feelings.
Who could I blame, though?
I'd led the country here myself.
As its top leader, I bore infinite responsibility for its reality.
Lost in thought, a message came from outside.
"Your Excellency. The Home Minister requests an audience."
"Let him in."
I stubbed out my butt and sat back in my chair.
"Your Excellency."
Home Minister Lee Dong-seong bowed deeply.
"Enough, sunbae. Come on, straighten up. You're making me uncomfortable."
Lee Dong-seong was two years Yi Seong-jun's senior from the military academy.
Most folks had academy ties, but Dong-seong was privately close to the original Yi Seong-jun.
I'd slotted him into Home Minister on that connection, and now he was bursting with unspoken loyalty.
It got overboard sometimes, but better than handing it to someone unreliable.
"So, sunbae, what's up?"
"Yes, lately, subversive books are circulating around factory dorms. I came to see you about a bill to crack down on them."
"What subversive books?"
He handed over some pamphlets reeking of commie stink.
Fresh off the press, covers crude as hell.
Not from Soviet reds relying on our munitions—no way. These were homegrown ones.
"Hmm. Real reds, huh."
"What shall we do?"
Tricky to handle outright.
"No blanket ban; just reeducation for anyone caught possessing or reading them."
Reeducation meant lockup with Yi Seong-jun series indoctrination—a milder revolutionary camp.
Not full brainwashing, just enough to make them compliant with government policies.
"That enough? Seem like pure reds."
"Kids still young; let's not overdo it."
I didn't want to be needlessly cruel.
I was already a fine military dictator by my deeds; no need for extra labels.
Student protests, worker demos, now red pamphlets.
Korea's peaceful daily life was headache enough.
Then Security Command brought a plan to fix it.
"Your Excellency. Security Command has a scheme to divert public attention."
"Oh?"
In a buildup of national discontent, redirecting that anger helped rule.
Divert the unrest.
Push 3S Policy stuff, but wartime meant no spare cash.
Soon, Security Commander Lee Jeong-yoon entered with a binder.
"Fifth Column?"
Fifth column: outsiders detached from the herd, beyond the usual four.
Often a spy euphemism.
"Yes, Your Excellency. Sow suspicion among the public that German and Chinese agents are sabotaging inside."
"Fifth column out of nowhere? Who'd buy that? I don't even believe it."
"That's why we planned this. Read from page four."
Flipping ahead, the core showed: peg religion—Lutheran Protestants from Germany—as the spy network.
"So, link Germany and these folks."
"Spot on."
Conspiracies gain power with substance.
A target the public could hit.
Lutherans checked every box: few in number, enemy ties, alien culture in Korean society—all ripe for attack.
But it didn't sit right.
Not conscience.
'Method's simple, but keep swallowing that poison, and this country can't be saved forever.'
I'd chugged coup-like extremes out of necessity, but I knew restraint too.
This was wrong, even to me.
"Hey, hey—this approach is fucked from the start."
Lee Jeong-yoon flinched at my rebuke.
"Pardon?"
"Who targets their own citizens' group for terror?"
Stalin and Hitler did, but they were inhuman freaks—exceptions.
"Soften it up."
"Meaning?"
"No point sacrificing a specific religion."
Lee Jeong-yoon's face lit with realization.
"My thinking was shortsighted, Your Excellency."
"Yours, so refine it thoroughly."
"Yes, sir."
I waved him out, thoughts tangling further.
Spy fabrication.
Sure, this regime was itchy for scalps, a military junta.
But I couldn't order no such schemes.
Guys like Jeong-yoon did it to prop up my Korea.
At day's end, I lit a cigar.
Always swearing to cut back on smokes, but not now.
End-of-day tobacco tasted bitter.