Taken Into Custody
My first thought was, of all things, the dry-cleaning bill. A patrol officer's salary wasn't much. It hovered at an ambiguous level — low enough that it felt like an unspoken instruction to make up the shortfall by shaking down the colonial subjects for pocket change. Naturally, conscience kept me from demanding seat-money at taverns or collecting protection fees beyond the taxes I owed the state.
That was the sort of thing the Kim Du-han gang did, not me. Which meant I'd scraped this outfit together with money squeezed out month by month, precisely because I suspected that once the war ended and I could no longer wear the uniform, I'd still need something to wear. And now my knee was smeared with—
Blood.
"You — you — you, Japanese woman! What do you think you're doing to the Deputy Minister!"
The moment I saw the officer charging at me with his baton raised, however, all thoughts of dry-cleaning evaporated. Even a master of the martial arts avoids a fight against an armed opponent. I scrambled backward, quick as I could, though the slight heel on the shoes I'd worn today made even that harder than it should have been.
Hui-yeong, who had been knocked flat on her back by my kick, sprang to her feet and shouted.
"Wait, Officer Kang. There's no need for that. I was the one who—"
"She broke into a government building and assaulted the Deputy Minister of Military Affairs. Japanese or not, she has to be arrested!"
Japanese or not. The phrase struck me as oddly bitter. The nation that had won its independence through Yamamoto's "mercy" still had to bow to Japan as its mother country — a hard practical limit — and beneath the words I could feel something deeper: thirty years of living as a ruled people had hardened into instinct the prejudice that a "Japanese" was somehow a being standing above them.
It would have been convenient if that prejudice bent toward mercy in my case. It didn't. Right now I was, unmistakably, the arrogant madwoman who had run riot inside a Korean government building purely because she believed she was Japanese.
"Um — that's not — no, actually, I was the one who picked the fight first, so…"
Hui-yeong seemed to be trying to spin the story, but the detective was already watching me sidelong, one hand on his handcuffs and the other on his baton. I raised both hands into a wary half-crouch and faced him down, waiting for the moment he might lunge.
Ugh, what terrible luck. If only I'd hit her cleanly enough to leave no visible wound, I might have had room to argue. But the blood staining the front of my skirt was far too vivid, and the beautiful face of that woman clutching her bleeding nose was the most damning evidence of all.
No matter what Hui-yeong said, nothing was going to change. The officer glanced back and forth between the Deputy Minister and me, then spoke with visible reluctance.
"Still, this was an ugly assault inside the government building itself. I can't wave off the first act of violence since the founding of the government."
"Of all the places to develop a backbone…"
Frankly, all I wanted was for this commotion to end with the three people already here. But that hope was shattered to pieces by the sudden arrival of a fourth. Tap. Tap. An ordinary sound of leather shoes — yet each footstep carried weight.
This one was no mere detective. I knew it by instinct.
"What is this disturbance? This may be a building the Japanese left behind, but it is still the sacred seat of government — of the Ministry of Military Affairs, no less…"
The man who appeared with those footsteps was middle-aged and immaculately dressed in a tailored suit. The officer wheeled around and snapped to a salute.
"Minister of Security, sir!"
"Minister of Security?"
"Nnngh…"
Hui-yeong was still pinching her nose. Judging from the fact that nothing was dangling, her nasal bone hadn't shattered. A small mercy, I suppose — if it had needed resetting, a rather lovely face would have been ruined.
…Yes, she'd treated me somewhat coercively and cornered me rather frighteningly, but even so, I'd decided that breaking her nose and wrecking that face would have been a genuine loss.
"Deputy Minister Choi. What is going on here?"
"Sir, this is…"
In front of the man called the Minister of Security, Hui-yeong — full of bluster only moments ago — looked slightly cowed. Then again, the Minister of Security. He looked familiar somehow. Had I seen him in materials before I came to this world? If I could recognize his face, he was hardly an obscure man.
The man in the suit looked back and forth between me and Hui-yeong, then nodded as if the situation explained itself well enough.
"Chief Patrol Officer Ajisai."
He extended me a courtesy and called me by my old title. The Government-General had already withdrawn, and its Police Affairs Bureau dissolved with it, so my official standing right now was "no title at all." Going out of his way to address me as Chief Patrol Officer carried no meaning beyond respect for the organization I had once served. But the favor that followed on the heels of that respect was a harsh one.
"I must ask you to come with us. Deputy Minister Choi is a minister of Korea, and this matter cannot simply be allowed to pass. I've heard of your extraordinary skill — cooperate willingly. Officer Kang, place the cuffs on her."
"But, Minister!"
Hui-yeong cried out, eyes wide. The Minister silenced her with a mild but razor-edged tone.
"You may be acting in the minister's capacity, but I would rather you did not raise your voice at me in front of a patrol officer. The newer the government, the more vital harmony and proper order become. I won't forbid you to speak — but rank and file must stand straight."
"…Understood, sir. But I don't believe she should be taken into custody. Because I—"
"You've always said you wanted to beat Ajisai, haven't you?"
Hui-yeong flinched at his words. A faint smile touched the corner of his mouth as he added:
"Striking first and then arranging for only your opponent to be dragged away is also a perfectly good way to prove you're the stronger one. Consider it that way."
What kind of twisted logic is that? I thought — but when I turned my head, Hui-yeong looked quietly, almost visibly satisfied by the Minister's answer.
"You're right, that does count. I simply became better at fighting. I hadn't intended to put it on display for anyone. Take her away. Oh — and Unni. I'll come see you soon, so don't get too lonely."
Wait, that settles it?! Because the Deputy Minister had been shielding me, I'd dared to hope this might end without a trip to prison. But one sentence from her, and she'd folded — sending the pair of us to jail together.
…Nothing to be done, I suppose. Bowling over everyone here and running wasn't feasible. The man in front of me looked older, but his movements showed unmistakable military training — someone drilled by a serious, professional army, or someone who had served long. Hui-yeong, who had already confirmed she was stronger than me, went without saying… and there was the baton-wielding detective besides.
Resisting wasn't worth it. From Hui-yeong's attitude, she had no intention of handing me over for trial and a heavy sentence. I offered my hands meekly and spoke.
"I'll comply."
"Thank you for not making any further scene. Then — we'll escort you to the holding cell."
"Yes, sir!"
The officer clamped the heavy iron cuffs around my wrists. The pressure of the steel digging into my skin hurt in a strange, unfamiliar way. These weren't the lightweight modern restraints — the sheer heft of them was different. Back in my patrol days I'd once fooled around and locked a portable pair on my own wrists just to pick them open, but cuffs fastened by someone else's hands always ached worse.
Arrested for causing a brawl inside the government building the very moment Korea won its independence — if I ever wanted to brag that I'd been Korean in my past life, this was shaping up to be the most mortifying résumé in the world.
The detective was politely escorting me toward the corridor, and at that very instant I caught the Minister of Security's eyes for a moment and asked about the one thing nagging at me.
"Um, by the way… should I call you 'Minister'?"
"If you have questions, ask them."
"Might I have your name, sir?"
The Minister of Security chuckled. He nodded and answered kindly.
"Kim Hong-il. I was in China until quite recently — just returned, and now I hold this post. Security work doesn't suit me, but the Chairman asked it of me, so I had little choice. You'll be seeing me again soon enough. Don't take today's affair too hard."
Kim Hong-il?
The Kim Hong-il? The man who fought in both the Sino-Japanese War and the Korean War? And more than that — what exactly did "seeing me again soon enough" mean? Given my current situation, I could not imagine the Security Minister of the Korean government saying he'd see me "often" meant anything good.
I wanted to scream. At the same time, I had no desire to make a scene in the corridor and draw every eye in the building. The shame I was barely holding down won out, and the scream died in my throat.
And so, in this blessed year of Korean independence, my name went proudly onto the ledger as the first guest of the holding cell that had only just been handed over to Korean control. The charge: assault on the Deputy Minister of Military Affairs. The first detainee in the country's history — a Japanese woman who had smashed a government minister's face and drawn blood. Having my name recorded so honorably in this world's history of Korea made me feel…
"Not great."
It did not feel great. The stain on my skirt was slowly turning brown. At this rate, would I even be able to wear this outfit again? I had no intention of being obsessive about clothes, but when I thought of the months of salary I'd scraped together to buy this one, I felt worse and worse—
"Not… great…"
I plopped down, rear meeting cold floor, on the dank concrete of the cell where a single straw mat lay. Thanks to the mat, at least the seat of my skirt would gather less dust. It was no comfort at all.