Chapter 188
Chapter 188
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 188
Chapter Title: The Last Journalist
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1
Have you ever heard this one?
"Crisis is just another word for opportunity."
This phrase, proverbial in its ubiquity, strikes me as a touch too gentle.
Reality is cold.
To truly mirror this brutal world, even proverbs demand a remake.
"Find the opportunity in the crisis. Fail, and you're dead meat anyway."
The apocalypse is an endless chain of crises—like those survey calls that plague you nonstop during election season.
Election season lasts a month at most, but the apocalypse? It's a thrill ride of fresh horrors every single day, stretching on forever.
The weaklings who couldn't adapt to Earth's shiny new update? All dead.
And it wasn't just individuals biting the dust. Entire professions got the axe.
Name the top dream jobs wiped from elementary school surveys in the post-apocalypse era:
National Assembly members, election commission officials, union chairmen, stock traders, physicists, graduate students, hikikomori, and so on...
You can't leave out "journalists."
Modern media, propped up solely by advertisers, faced apocalypse-level cruelty.
Sure, big guilds occasionally churned out newsletters. Three Thousand Worlds' *Hogwarts News* even scored modest popularity. But calling that "press" was a real stretch.
Front-page features on Dang Seo-rin's fall witch fashion picks? Not exactly the pinnacle of journalistic integrity.
Even so, it took a good while for "journalist" to vanish from the job lists.
One reason.
Jo Young-su.
The last journalist in the Korean Peninsula—no, the Republic of Korea—stuck around for quite some time.
2
That said, grab any random Busan citizen and declare, "Jo Young-su? He's a journalist," and you'll probably get a weird look.
"That guy? A journalist? Why?"
The spot to run into Jo Young-su in Busan? None other than the plaza in front of National Highway Management Corps HQ.
Head there, and every day you'll spot some middle-aged guy waving protest signs and hollering.
"Dictator No Do-ha, step down! Step down! Step down!"
"Ugh, that uncle's at it again. Doesn't he ever get sick of it?"
"Dictator No Do-ha, STEEEEEEP DOOOOOOWN!"
That's right.
This uncle was Jo Young-su.
Naturally, to the average Busan local, Jo Young-su wasn't any journalist. He was just "the plaza's crazy uncle."
The crazy uncle's getup was something else entirely. Beyond the protest signs, his shirtfront and back blared:
[REPUBLIC OF KOREA 大韓民國]
[DEMOCRACY 民主主義]
In letters big as barn doors.
Less clothing, more armor—or better yet, holy relic. And crammed in fine print around the caps were lines like:
[The Republic of Korea is a democratic republic.] [Sovereignty rests with the people, and all power derives from the people.] [All citizens enjoy freedom of the press and publication, assembly, and association.] [No licenses or censorship for press/publication, no permits for assembly/association]...
The very incarnation of democracy!
Back when civilization hummed along, Seoul's Myeongdong had its "Heaven for Believers, Hell for Nonbelievers" evangelists. Now Busan boasted Jo Young-su as its tourist draw.
Busan might be fashion-forward and easygoing about outfits, but Jo outshone even Three Thousand Worlds' witch cosplayers.
"Can't somebody do something about that uncle?"
"Total public menace."
"When's his voice finally gonna give out?"
The Corps members loathed him with a passion.
They might not worship No Do-ha as the peninsula's savior, but nobody loves a human air raid siren screeching on their commute.
One word from No Do-ha like, "That guy's a nuisance—deal with him," and the Corps would've made him vanish without a trace.
"Just leave him be..."
Flip side: the sole reason Jo Young-su kept breathing was No Do-ha's deliberate neglect.
"Why kill over some bullshit? Go pull overtime or something..."
"But Corps Chief, ma'am. Any real reason to let that stubborn idiot live? It's tanking our members' morale."
"Morale, my ass. Don't wanna work? Quit. Who's stopping 'em? Fuck, I wanna quit and can't. You wanna see real morale drop...?"
"I'll make sure the members know hands off."
No Do-ha was utterly immune to criticism or slander—even the nastiest dad-jokes. She'd blow it off without a fart.
Don't mistake it for rulerly magnanimity.
Who spares a glance for a maggot writhing desperately for attention? That was No Do-ha's mindset.
Yoo Ji-won figured yelling at the boss wouldn't score points either, so she left Jo alone. She rivaled No Do-ha at treating pests like bugs.
"Dictator No Do-ha, step down!"
And so a miracle took root.
Jo Young-su secured "freedom of expression"—rarer than hen's teeth even in real democracies.
Shockingly, he was an Awakener to boot.
'Ability to light a lighter with his index finger.'
Pathetic power, sure—but to a true democrat, "innate gifts" meant squat.
What mattered: Awakeners could access SG Net. And only that.
-Anonymous: The Republic of Korea faces utter collapse! The electoral system has crumbled; democratic principles are MIA!
Nights after the Corps clocked out, Jo's fingers spewed fire on SG Net instead of the plaza.
-Anonymous: By what legitimate process or consensus did No Do-ha ascend to Corps Chief? What's the legal basis?
Easy: I, the Undertaker—a regressor—put her there after centuries of beta-testing.
Weirdly, everyone else loses their marbles clutching peninsula power.
What can you do? Pick No Do-ha, whose brain's already too fried to fry further.
-Anonymous: Giant guilds effectively ruling our cities? The crisis deepens. They arbitrarily collect protection money from citizens!
-Anonymous: If that's not taxation, what is? What right do these thug guilds have to tax the people?
Simple: every "anomaly expert" this era flocked to guilds.
Anyone who's followed my tales knows: civilians stand zero chance against anomalies. Even Awakeners struggle.
In this end-times street-lottery death world, guilds handled security and defense.
Guilds' pitch boiled down to:
"Hey, pay head tax plus 10% income as protection fees—we'll handle anomalies first and fiercest. Deal?"
Folks might gripe, but it wasn't some sweetheart deal rigged for guilds.
Without that incentive, who'd take the gig?
-Literary Girl: What's that uncle ranting about now?
-Anonymous: Dawn shift, folks—pay up the Three Kingdoms bait.
-Anonymous: Bro Jo Young-su << Word is he hits the free cafeteria daily—true??
-Goryeo Jang: Old fart, welcome aboard lololol
Jo's rep on SG Net? Trash.
Even anonymous, everyone clocked his ID. Built-up hate vibes.
Who navigates this era sweating "procedures" and "votes"? Anomalies sure don't.
-Anonymous: I'm not just slamming guild leaders for sucking or hating the Corps Chief.
His posts drew mockery floods; Jo fired back with wall-of-text rebuttals every time.
-Anonymous: The issue is due process! Push by force today, but humans live in time—and time breeds oblivion.
-Anonymous: Force holds 10 years. 20. Even 50. But not 100. Time's that mighty!
-Anonymous: Conquering oblivion's time demands consensus, promises, laws—humanity's sole proven fix!
-Anonymous: Hereditary succession ain't due process! Endless rituals and coronations dress it up.
-Anonymous: Consensus! Consensus alone! Laws etched in consensus!
-Anonymous: Can't reconvene everyone every decade, so start with "timeless pacts any human would agree to"—the Constitution!
-Anonymous: Can't involve all, so add "periodic renewals by elected reps"—that's laws!
One hell of a rebuttal wall.
No edits from me—this is verbatim, typed out per comment. No copy-paste; each worded uniquely.
-Anonymous: Corps and guilds got power? Yes. Consensus? No. Constitution/laws? No. Procedural consensus? No!
-Anonymous: Obvious: these orgs implode before 100 years. They got no right repping modern Korea!
-Anonymous: Provisional Government's ex-Busan mayor—who fled to Japan—has more legit claim!
└dolLHOuse: ?
Sermon as he might, zero buy-in for Jo.
Par for the course.
-Anonymous: 100 years lmao—we're panicking 'cause we won't hit 10, and he's on "time of oblivion" bs lololol
Nobody banked on any nation outlasting 100 years.
Korea itself folded just shy of its centennial. Jo's sacred "constitution and laws" couldn't stall the voids.
One stanza of Dang Seo-rin's Song Enchantment shielded more lives and order than stacks of signed papers.
That's the world now.
Humans? Not so great anymore—just nature's bit players, hopelessly outmatched. Laws? Luxury goods.
Bottom line: we're animals.
Beasts.
Awakening powers? No divine nod—just claws sprouting on a beast, wings for flight.
Humbly own that first, then face reality.
-Anonymous: Hard times don't excuse ditching procedure! Old Korea, occupied and colonized, still drafted a constitution alongside the independence declaration!
TL;DR: Jo Young-su was an idealist.
To SG Net users burying family, friends, colleagues—past and present—his brand of idealism bordered unendurable.
-Goryeo Jang: Yo old fart bro, dawn shift lit thanks to you hehe
Hence the nickname: Daetulddak.
"Republic of Korea" mashed with "old fart."
Alongside villain Goryeo Jang, they formed SG Net's big three baddies.
Who's third? Debatable—witch-trial judge crashes the list sometimes.
Deluded factions nom'd me, the Undertaker, as Three Kingdoms villain—pure smear.
-Anonymous: Corps Chief No Do-ha, awaken!
└Goryeo Jang: Awaken! Awaken!
Anyway.
Business as usual: dawn SG Net, Goryeo Jang trolling, Jo Young-su flaming.
Sane folk? Snoozing for tomorrow's grind.
Just the two villains swapping posts and replies, hotly fretting the nation's fate.
-Anonymous: Corps and guilds—poll the public NOW and seriously debate Korea's path forward!
└Goryeo Jang: Poll the public my ass lololol—how tf?
└Anonymous: Through the press, obviously!
└Goryeo Jang: Ah gotcha hehe—but our proud Republic of Korea got no press, no news, right? Hehe...
That's when it happened.
Jo's keyboard—always blasting straight-talk sans hesitation—went dead silent.
One minute. Three. Five.
No rebuttal to Goryeo Jang's troll, no matter the wait.
-Goryeo Jang: Finisher landed.
Goryeo gloated his last-word win, tossed fresh bait.
-Goryeo Jang: What tune y'all bumping rn? This one's mad tasty??
└ZERO_SUGAR: Three Kingdoms bait drop
└Goryeo Jang: Grow up
Of course, Goryeo Jang had no clue.
That he'd just accidentally midwifed the Korean Peninsula's final "journalist."