Chapter 31
Chapter 31
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Translator: penny
Chapter: 31
Chapter Title: Creator I
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Shin Noah
1
Among those who've heard my story so far, some of you might be harboring this question.
So what the hell has the government been doing?
In this total shitshow, with cults pulling their insane stunts, Cthulhu tentacles crawling everywhere, and world tree zombies sprouting up in this crazy apocalypse—what exactly have the politicians and the government been up to?
First off, let me say something to those folks.
“Listen up, kids—the Korean government has something to say!”
That's right. We need to cut the government some slack and consider their side too.
You've already heard how, the moment gates popped up in Seoul, the National Assembly Building blasted off into space.
For the record, the president was in the middle of a policy address in the Assembly about the supplementary budget at the time. It was a truly touching moment when South Korea rocketed straight into the ranks of advanced space pioneering nations.
The grand unification of the ruling and opposition parties happened not on this pathetic Earth, but fatefully on a new colony called space.
From the politicians' perspective, Korea was just some shabby old home country from the past, right? Like how the Portuguese royal family relocated their main command center to Brazil to escape Napoleon, the Korean government just went on summer vacation.
Q) So what's left on the Korean Peninsula now?
A) A few assemblymen who didn't bother showing up for the policy address, some ministers, governors, mayors, county executives. And a whole shit-ton of monsters.
Before the social infrastructure completely collapsed, the politicians stupidly wasted three whole days.
If you've experienced it yourself, you'd know—three days in an apocalypse is more than enough time to drive people insane.
There weren't many real men who could keep their cool after hearing, “Oh my, the monsters are holding a prayer meeting in our apartment park and parking lot!”
And finally, on the third day, the government—or whatever scraps were left of it—delivered their address to the nation, shooting off the grand finale firework of a festival.
“Citizens of the Republic of Korea. The country is still safe. For the time being, please rest assured and go about your daily lives.”
A truly bland speech.
What the politicians overlooked was none other than the Korean people's DNA.
That DNA was imprinted with infinite trust in the government. The people of this country remembered how their ancestor Yi Yeon pulled off a lightning war when Japanese troops landed, and the patriotic spirit when the ROK Army immediately recaptured the Government-General building after the North Korean invasion and declared the defense of Seoul.
Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me. Fool me three times, and you might as well surrender your Homo sapiens license. And Koreans hadn't been weeded out in the evolutionary process yet.
“Rest assured my ass!”
“Fucking knew it, those bastards!”
“South! Head south no matter what!”
The civilians on the Korean Peninsula evacuated with astonishing orderliness.
“Citizens! Everything north of the Han River is still safe! Please trust the government and the ROK Army and go b—.”
“Who the fuck is that guy?”
“Some deputy mayor for public affairs, apparently?”
“What the hell's that?”
“Dunno. Toss him.”
“Huh? Wha—wha—?”
The Seoul Metropolitan Government's Deputy Mayor for Public Affairs (third in line to act as mayor in emergencies, the sole survivor) rushed out to Banpo Bridge himself to dissuade the citizens in a performance of sorts. But the Seoulites simply chucked him off the side of the bridge, giving him a complimentary Han River water temperature experience.
If the old Prague citizens had seen it, they'd have given a standing ovation for the clean, bold throw.
If the politicians had just come clean and said, “Look, we're pretty fucked right now, but judging by the monster distribution, north of the Han is surprisingly safe. To be more precise, every region in the country is equally dangerous,” things might've improved a bit.
But what can you do? They had no choice but to blame their ancestors for burning through two stacks of public trust.
Once the Seoul Republic spectacularly imploded, the remaining coalition governments had no options left. Mayors and county executives across the nation had long since internalized the national motto handed down through the ages: “Each to their own survival.”
It was the dragon's finishing touch when Busan’s mayor—the man closest to the throne in those chaotic times—fled to Japan of all places.
Not long after, the “Provisional Government of the Republic of Korea No. 2,” with the Busan mayor at its head, was established on the Japanese archipelago.
“Citizens. There are vicious rumors going around that I, as mayor, abandoned my duties and fled. This is not true.”
“I merely relocated to the diplomatic stage to more easily secure foreign aid and reclaim the Korean Peninsula!”
But even the staunchest government supporters couldn't help tilting their heads at the fact that the provisional government's capital was Fukuoka, Japan. “Huh, was the provisional capital always over there? Feels like it was a bit more to the west...?”
The Japanese must've been pretty flustered too.
Historically, Korea's provisional governments were militant groups with a hobby of packing bombs into lunchboxes instead of food, right? Who could sleep easy not knowing what those lunchbox otakus might pull next?
After all sorts of twists and turns, the “No. 2 Provisional Government” ended up shunned by both its own people and foreigners. In my view, it was suicide.
And as the crowning cherry on top, someone on the Korean Peninsula even attempted a military coup, mistaking the era for 70 years earlier.
“Citizens. Today, including myself, the brave soldiers defending the Republic of Korea's territory can no longer sit idly by amid this political chaos. We agree on this premise.”
“We have risen up to overthrow the regime that lost the people's trust through corruption and incompetence!”
But the coup failed.
The reason was simple. Shockingly, the boss-level monster Ten Tribes turned out to be an ardent democratic fighter.
Troops heading for the Blue House kept getting sidetracked and ending up at Ten Tribes' disguises.
The generals probably had no clue, but Ten Tribes had a habit of recognizing any group of 300+ humans moving together as food trucks.
The unit that tried entering “Sauron's Tower” in my last tale was already the remnants of the fallen ROK Army. Even those surviving units slowly faded away for one reason or another.
That about sums up the answer to “So what did the government do?”
Total chaos. A complete clusterfuck. A total wreck.
But as the saying goes, for a lotus to bloom, the muddy water must pool first.
Even in the Korean government's collective ass-kicking during the initial response, one lotus flower bloomed.
No Do-ha.
A Grade 7 civil servant working at a public rehab hospital.
He was the star of this episode.
2
Unlike other civil servants, the paradoxical reason No Do-ha succeeded was precisely because he was just a Grade 7 civil servant.
No Do-ha never dreamed of taking over the Korean government from the start. Tax management? Electing assemblymen? Universal welfare? Why the hell should I care?
“I probably shouldn't say this, but I never really felt like a civil servant...”
No Do-ha often said stuff like that to me. Not just me—he said it to everyone. He probably spouted the same lines back when he was living off taxpayers' money.
“I probably shouldn't say this, but I hate the public...”
“Isn't that actually something you really shouldn't say?”
“What's the big deal? Awakener Undertaker. In the world, are there more employees who like their boss or hate them? The latter, right? To civil servants, the public is the boss. So it's only natural there are more civil servants who hate the public...”
No Do-ha muttered, his shoulders slumped.
I first met this guy with his unusual brand of crazy in the 11th round. I'd heard rumors about him before, but this was our first direct connection.
“Ah, all done...”
“Oh.”
“Would you mind standing up and taking a few steps...?”
Because in the 11th round, my left leg had been blown off by a landmine, so I needed a prosthetic.
I stood up. Took a few light steps, even jogged a bit, did some on-the-spot hops. No Do-ha observed every bit of it meticulously.
“How is it? Any discomfort anywhere...?”
“Nope. Wow, this thing's performance is insane. Feels just like my real leg—muscles, nerves, everything.”
“Then I'm glad...”
No Do-ha smiled faintly.
Depending on who saw it, that smile might've seemed gloomy or sleazy, but thanks to my long regressor experience, I'd gotten pretty free of such preconceptions. So I could look at No Do-ha's face and unhesitatingly call it a “kind smile.”
“If anything goes wrong, your nerves might sting like hell. Think of it as a 5% gacha failure rate... Just come back to me then. I'll remake it for half price...”
No Do-ha was a prosthetics maker.
Prosthetics meaning assistive devices for people with mobility issues. Wheelchairs, crutches, that sort of thing.
Even before the gate incident blew up, No Do-ha had been working at a public hospital, repairing and crafting all sorts of prosthetics.
Word was he was already famous among wounded soldiers who'd lost ankles to landmines and such. The veterans' hospital had been eyeing him hungrily, but No Do-ha apparently couldn't care less.
“I probably shouldn't say this, but I hate soldiers...”
“Just to check, No Do-ha-ssi, do humans you actually like even exist?”
“Nope, none...?”
“...”
It was a miracle he hadn't become a hikikomori.
Even No Do-ha had worries. Specifically, worries about his patients—or more precisely, the ones with severe mobility issues.
“The patients are having a harder time getting around...”
Patients with spinal injuries had to rely on wheelchairs.
If they had cars with handicapped seating, it was somewhat better, but as time passed, not only did gasoline run out, but the asphalt roads themselves got all bumpy. Forget cars—even wheelchairs became a hassle.
Most people would've given up there.
Once the gate incident fully kicked off, the very idea of treating the disabled became pretty rare. Getting killed by monsters was treated as natural death. Without No Do-ha, I probably would've coolly ditched the 11th round the moment my left leg got severed.
“The elders say the roads are too rough, making it harder and harder to come to our workshop...”
But this guy with his extraordinary crazy streak was different.
“Then shouldn't we make the roads a bit more comfortable...?”
Dragging his slumped body along, No Do-ha went into negotiations.
Around this time, while sentiments toward the disabled had grown callous, their numbers had spiked more than ever. Losing an arm or leg scrapping with monsters wasn't even worth a medal.
And No Do-ha was an Awakener who'd gained the ability to craft prosthetics.
The prosthetics he made—even if crafted from wood or iron—felt exactly like real muscles to the user. Prosthetic leg on, and boom—you could run. No rehab training or adjustment period needed.
In short, a ton of his “regular customers” were Awakeners.
Pretty much every guild leader had some connection with No Do-ha. Even if they themselves were fine, they'd want to rush injured guildmates to his prosthetics workshop, right?
No Do-ha was a true civil servant who never refused bribes. If you didn't grease the wheels in advance, you'd hear, “Oh, customer, you're a bit backed up—please wait just six months.” Ponder the survival odds of a limbless Awakener for half a year, and even the snootiest guild leaders bent over backwards.
“Aigoo, Mr. No! What brings you all the way out here?”
“Ah, yes... Well, I was thinking of paving the road from Haeundae to Bansong-dong this time...”
“Huh? The road? You, sir? Why?”
“One of my patients lives in Bansong-dong, and they were complaining the path to our workshop is all destroyed. Finding them a place in Haeundae would be easy, but I don't wanna go that far out of my way, so I figured I'd just pave the road for them...”
Normally, paving a road is way huger consideration than finding a new house, but the madman's brain hadn't gotten the proper balance patch.
“But this Bansong area is under the guild leader's tight control, right? So I was wondering if you could offer some minor help when I say I'm paving the road...”
“Hmm. No other guilds involved—just you handling this solo project, Mr. No?”
“Yes...”
“Aigoo, then of course we'll help! Just say what you need!”
And so, the one-lane asphalt road from Haeundae-gu—where No Do-ha's workshop was—to Busan's Bansong-dong was completed.
It was just refurbishing an existing road, so no major construction headaches. No Do-ha's workshop handled everything from work to maintenance.
One of his patients, 71-year-old Mr. Lee, could now visit safely even if it took time. The patient was satisfied, No Do-ha was satisfied, and Bansong-dong real estate prices were satisfied too.
That was the beginning.