Chapter 62
Chapter 62
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Translator : M.N 1391
Chapter: 62
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“Haa~. Mr. Kyungwan. At this rate, you might not be able to return to Korea.”
“Oh my? Then do I have to live here?”
Watching Kyungwan mutter, What do I do? I don’t speak Japanese, Oh Dugwan felt his teeth grind.
“Do you not understand how difficult your current situation is?”
“Living has always been difficult.”
“This is not the time to spout that kind of crap philosophy!”
As Oh Dugwan slammed the desk in frustration, Kyungwan asked,
“No, why is your blood pressure rising when I'd be the one locked up and I'd be the one punished?”
“Do you know what the Japanese media is like right now?”
“Well, judging from your attitude, they must be beating the hell out of Korea right now.”
At least he knows that well.
“.. Do you know that you’ve had a massive negative impact on Korea–Japan relations?”
“Why the surprise… They were never good to begin with.”
“So you’re saying well done?!”
“No, I’m not saying I did well, but I do wonder, if the water is already sewage, what’s the big deal about spitting into it a little more?”
“Mr. Kyungwan!”
“Aaah. I get it, so stop raising your voice and just tell me what you want from me. There’s no point arguing right and wrong now, and I’m not the type who’ll genuinely reflect anyway, right?”
Yes. It was truly fortunate that he had such excellent self-awareness.
Sarcastically thinking so, Oh Dugwan relayed what he and the Tokyo Metropolitan Police believed to be the best possible response plan.
Kyungwan frowned suspiciously.
“Uh… That’s the best you’ve got?”
“Do you have a better method?”
“How would I know?”
“Then do it.”
“Then the compensation, ”
“You clean up the crap you made!”
There’s the one who shits, and then there’s the one who cleans.
Such is the truth of this world, but at least Kyungwan considered the "service" he'd provided escorting them all the way here, so he showed mercy.
“Aah. Fine. I’ll do that much as a service, so stop shouting.”
And so, Kyungwan’s grand press conference began.
“Sumimasen. Zannendesu.”
Kyungwan bowed deeply in a dogeza, apologizing for the disturbance he caused.
To do this, he even watched videos to study dogeza, since a Korean formal bow wouldn’t do.
A storm of camera flashes rained down on him.
People who weren’t even reporters had gathered with flags, shouting.
“Kill the Joseon-jing!”
“Return Takeshima!”
Kyungwan had become a celebrity in Japan. He already had some international notoriety as a mind-reading criminal who had helped stop terrorism in the U.S., but after the assault on the officer, his fame in Japan shot through the roof.
Thanks to the anti-Korean crowd, of course.
Though it was also known that he assisted in the rapid capture of the Zainichi villain, that meant nothing to anti-Korean extremists.
What mattered was that the proud No.1 superpowered officer, who could have been Japan’s hero by taking down the Zainichi villain, was humiliated by a “Joseon-jing criminal.”
“Uh~ so…”
As Kyungwan read from the script, the Japanese interpreter translated it for the journalists.
“Boo!”
“Kill him!”
But the criticism and jeers didn’t stop.
Still, Kyungwan didn’t stop reading to the end.
Everything was scripted anyway, he just had to act.
“Sumimasendeshita!”
Finishing the statement, he bowed once more. Flashes exploded again.
When they finally eased, he slowly stood up.
Then a round object flew at him with a voice full of contempt.
“Joseon-jing!”
An egg.
Kyungwan twisted his wrist and caught the egg without breaking it. Then before anyone could intervene, he flicked it back toward the middle-aged man who had thrown it.
It smacked the man square in the face.
“Aagh! Chikushō!”
It stung in a strangely irritating way, but what annoyed them even more was Kyungwan’s attitude as he threw it back.
“St-rike!”
“... This bastard~!”
When Kyungwan pumped his fist and shouted, the crowd froze for a moment, then exploded.
Was that really the behavior of someone apologizing?!
“Kono yarō!”
“Kill him!”
Kyungwan smiled bashfully, bowing repeatedly, speaking clumsy Japanese.
“Sumimasen, sumimasen. Habit-desu. No more catch-ball. Okay?”
But there was no sign the mood would improve.
A few more eggs came flying.
Kyungwan caught every single one and returned them to their owners.
Watching that, Oh Dugwan shouted in despair.
“Mr. Lee Kyungwan!”
Was it really that hard to just let himself get hit by one egg?!
Get hit, get humiliated, help the furious Japanese people vent a little, for the country, was that too much to ask?!
But whether he ignored him or truly didn’t hear, Kyungwan continued returning every insulting projectile to its thrower.
The atmosphere grew more violent, and the situation worsened.
So much so that someone actually drew a famous Japanese knife, a sashimi knife, and charged.
Security moved in, but not very aggressively.
Not because the authorities ordered this.
Japan likely only intended egg-throwing.
No matter that they invited him, humiliating a “Joseon-jing criminal” to stir anti-Korean sentiment and boost national pride was probably the plan.
But the idea that Kyungwan would catch and return every egg was beyond the imagination of stiff-minded Japanese bureaucrats.
And if they had the imagination to foresee this, they would also have considered the possibility that some hate-filled individual might bring a deadly weapon.
Given that, what would security do?
If they protected a Joseon-jing and got hurt, who would praise them?
If they restrained the attacker, someone would definitely complain that they were protecting a dog-like Joseon-jing who insulted a Japanese citizen.
So prioritizing their own safety was the most rational choice.
That was how the man with the sashimi knife reached the stage.
“Die!”
Like Yamaguchi Otoya assassinating politician Asanuma Inejiro, the man struck with dramatic flair.
But unlike Asanuma, who was stabbed, Kyungwan twisted his body aside, dodging the blade.
He seized the attacker’s wrist, twisted the arm, and spun.
The attacker ended up on his knees, arm painfully twisted behind him.
His mind froze from the shoulder-ripping pain.
But the real punishment began now.
Crack!
“Aaagh!”
A horrifying scream burst from his mouth as Kyungwan stomped on his ankle, snapping the joint.
Crack!
“Uwaaaagh!”
There are two ankles, after all.
Even after turning him into a cripple, Kyungwan didn’t stop.
He twisted the shoulder until the ligament tore, then stomped down and bent the elbow backward.
Security rushed to stop him, but halted when he pressed the sashimi knife he’d taken against the attacker’s throat.
Smiling, Kyungwan said,
“If you try to kill someone, you are able to die. You should know that.”
His English pronunciation was surprisingly fluent, his back-and-forth trips to the U.S. hadn’t been in vain.
After crushing the man’s last good arm and letting the knife fall, Kyungwan reminded the Japanese people of something they should never forget.
“Don’t forget Pearl Harbor.”
Crossing the line he drew meant exactly that.
= = = = =
The situation deteriorated further.
The Japanese government repeatedly demanded an apology from Korea and once again asserted territorial claims over Takeshima.
Why they linked the incident, committed by a criminal they themselves requested, with Takeshima was beyond comprehension, but when had anti-Korean sentiment ever been guided by logic or reason?
If there was an earthquake, Korea’s fault.
A pandemic? Korea’s fault.
The Olympics being criticized? Korea’s fault.
Anything going wrong? Korea’s fault.
Then they whine when Korea doesn’t send disaster relief funds.
Whine when Korean firefighters or rescue workers don’t volunteer for their disasters.
Trying to understand the mind of an anti-Korean was like gazing into an abyss.
The more you tried to comprehend, the deeper and uglier human depravity became, assuming such creatures even counted as human.
Even at best, all you gained was racism against Japanese people, muttering, These are the kinds of people they are.
“It seems Mr. Kyungwan will have to stay in Japan for a while.”
Oh Dugwan, who looked twenty years older, came to the detention cell to inform him.
The situation was now far beyond what a low-level agent like him could influence.
The video of Kyungwan twisting all the attacker’s joints and crippling him had already spread worldwide.
Japan foamed at the mouth claiming this was the true, savage nature of Koreans.
The only silver lining was that, because foreign journalists had been invited, Kyungwan’s English remarks were broadcast abroad without distortion.
Japan?
Naturally, they deleted all his English dialogue and only spread the brutal, sensational clips of him breaking the attacker.
Yet even in this situation, Kyungwan asked something completely unrelated:
“Does Japanese prison serve good food?”
“Do you think it would?!”
It’s a country that treats its own people like cattle.
Would criminal rights be any better?
They don’t even care about the rights of suspects who haven’t been proven guilty yet.
“Haha. That’s quite the problem then.”
“That’s your biggest problem?!”
When he showed concern, Oh Dugwan distorted his face.
But Kyungwan stayed shameless.
“It is a big problem. Everything we do is for survival.”
Oh Dugwan’s soul left his body.
He had had enough, there was nothing more he could do.
“Anyway, please, just stay quiet. Stay calm. Please!”
“I’d like to.”
But as he said that, Kyungwan felt déjà vu.
Hadn’t he said something like this before?
It hadn’t been peaceful that time either.
And that unease persisted now.
“Hey! Food! Why aren’t you giving me food! Rice! Do you not know rice? Rice!”
Kyungwan shook the bars, shouting, but no answer came.
He had been locked up for two days now.
He’d been fed until last night, but this morning he’d received nothing.
Maybe the catering company had a problem?
Apparently not, he had clearly seen breakfast being distributed to other detainees this morning.
Look! Even now, he was being pointedly skipped while others received their meals!
Kyungwan ground his teeth.
These petty bastards. How dare they not give him food?
He wondered why they weren’t feeding him.
Had he done something so terrible he deserved starvation?