The Arduous March of South America

The education reform had been a spectacular success. Schools were bursting at the seams with children, and the teachers threw themselves into their lessons with real fire.

Parents who had never given schooling a second thought now sent their kids every single day without fail, and students freed from backbreaking labor grew healthier by the hour.

Everything was perfect. Or rather, it had seemed that way.

"...Is this actually real?"

That was before I received Isabella's report.

"Unfortunately, it is the truth."

Every line of the expenditure settlement report was more staggering than the last.

Eye-watering numbers. Fine. Those were initial investments — one-time costs. I could live with that. They weren't going to keep draining the treasury forever.

The problem was the monthly burn.

The costs had ballooned to 150 percent of what I'd expected. My jaw actually dropped.

"...Aren't there far too many items under operating costs?"

"Enrollment has far exceeded projections, which has driven operating expenses up considerably."

"Didn't you tell me it would be ten million?"

"It was, initially. Then students from the provinces arrived in droves after the fact and threw the forecasts off entirely. A great many of them were not even listed in the resident registry, which compounded the error."

"This is a serious problem. We had the budget calibrated down to the dollar..."

"It would appear we must separately secure funding for the excess $6.5 million."

"Hrm..."

Once the Northern Oil Fields came online and the Korean companies started running their factories in earnest, an amount like this wouldn't even register. But that was six months away at the earliest. With the American shutdown holding up the loan, there was nowhere to pull the money from right now.

"Would it not be preferable, then, to charge even a modest tuition? Even ten dollars a month would afford us some breathing room."

"Absolutely not."

I shook my head without a second's hesitation.

"Ten dollars a month is not a small sum for ordinary families. The moment we start charging tuition, every student we just managed to gather will vanish overnight."

"Then we have no alternative. We shall have to draw on Tortilla's funds."

"That's actually the real problem."

"...I beg your pardon?"

"Tortilla has no available capital."

Of course there was money. We'd spent plenty, but we'd also earned plenty, and more than six billion ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠dollars was still sitting there. The trouble was that every last dollar of it already had somewhere to go.

"Even accounting for the nickel mine and the refinery plant, I was under the impression we still had over a billion dollars remaining."

"About that... we also agreed to build the oil storage facilities and the processing plants at the same time, so the investment ballooned."

A chill flickered through Isabella's eyes.

"...This is the first I am hearing of this."

"Must have slipped my mind."

Honestly, how was I supposed to pass up an opportunity like that? Crude refining, storage, and a full production line turning the byproducts into raw materials — a one-stop chemical industry for a mere eleven billion dollars. Hyunhwa would put up half, Tortilla the other half, so for $5.5 billion, Tortilla Company would hold half the rights.

I need at least half or I'll get dragged around by the nose.

However well Chairman Chung thought of me, when it came to money, the only thing you could trust was the contract. Owning anything under 50 percent was a problem waiting to happen, so I'd decided we'd put in equal shares from the start.

Well... I hadn't expected the cash crunch to hit this hard.

"Spending the money first and replenishing the investment once the loan arrives... would not be viable, I take it."

"Correct. The U.S. National Development Agency's loan is conditioned on infrastructure development. If they discover we used it for an equity investment, the entire amount becomes subject to clawback."

"Then perhaps we might negotiate a delay on the investment?"

I shook my head at Isabella's suggestion.

"I can't go changing the terms before the project has even begun."

The investment had to proceed on the promised date, no exceptions. San Marcos's international credit was already in the gutter. If I, the head of state, couldn't even keep my word, who would choose us as a business partner?

In the end, there was only one way through.

"Isabella."

"Yes, Your Excellency."

"Effective immediately, we are entering emergency fiscal austerity."

Pinch every last penny and hold out like hell until the loan came through.

"Emergency fiscal austerity, meaning...?"

I declared it with a grim face.

"All of it... you mean?"

"All of it. And the Presidential Palace will set the example."

I pushed the gourmet coffee off my desk and pulled a packet of instant coffee mix from the drawer.

"From now on, every beverage in the Presidential Palace is this. Whole-bean coffee? A luxury. Strip the break rooms of snacks while you're at it."

"That's actually more expensive—"

"And the air conditioning. What's it set to right now?"

"Twenty-five degrees."

"Bump it to twenty-eight. No — shut it off entirely. Nobody's going to die from a little heat. Use a fan. Since when have human beings even needed air conditioning..."

Isabella's expression turned peculiar.

"Official vehicles are banned for the time being as well. Tell them to ride bicycles — it's good for their health. I rode a bike myself back when I was Minister of Resources and Tourism."

"There may be... complaints."

"If they have complaints, tell them they'll be shipped off to Tortilla Farm. There are people out there sweating for a living — and they think they get to take it easy? We pinch pennies so we can teach the kids."

Estimated time until the American loan arrived: roughly three months. The desperate Arduous March had begun.

The day after Eugene declared the Arduous March, the Ministry of Education. Senior Presidential Secretary Sergio stormed the office with the look of a predator that had just sunk its teeth into prey.

"Nobody move!"

Civil servants who had been peacefully filling out approval documents shot to their feet in alarm. Sergio strode through their ranks, walked to a wastebasket in the corner, and kicked it over.

A clatter, then a hollow clang.

Scraps of paper and spent stationery spilled across the floor. Sergio plucked a ballpoint pen from the mess.

"Who threw this away. Step forward."

From the far end of the room, one man raised a trembling hand.

"Th-that would be me..."

"Why did you throw it away?"

"It stopped writing, so I discarded it."

"Stopped writing? You threw it away because it stopped writing?"

"Well, if it doesn't write, what else are you supposed to—"

Sergio rolled the tip of the pen across his tongue. It had been sitting in a wastebasket moments ago, but having received an order from His Excellency — who stood as high as the heavens themselves — he couldn't have cared less. He pressed the pen to a scrap of used paper and scribbled. Ink came out, sharp and dark.

"See that? It writes! Melt the dried ink and you've got two more days out of it! Is this your money? Huh?"

"I-I'm sorry!"

"Pick it back up and use it, right now! And from this day forward, anyone caught throwing away a pen they claim is empty will have it deducted from that month's salary. Understood?!"

"Yes, sir!"

Sergio's dressing-down was far from over.

"Listen up, all of you. His Excellency has ordered austerity. Not a single dollar is to be spent carelessly."

"Yes, sir!"

Coming from Sergio — a Senior Presidential Secretary who was a minister in all but name — not a soul dared talk back. But there was a man even more vicious than Sergio.

"Have I made myself clear?"

That man was Ricardo, Senior Presidential Secretary for Finance.

Unlike Sergio, who had come up as a Grade 3 deputy director, Ricardo was a ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠former Grade 7 clerk. In his quiet, measured way, he brought his seniors and juniors at the Ministry of Finance to heel, then set off on a tour of the building, hunting down waste wherever it hid.

"Who goes there?! Who dares defy His Excellency's orders by wasting toilet paper?!"

"Excuse me? I was just... finishing up after a number two..."

"What do you think you're doing, wrapping it like you're embalming a mummy?! Three squares! Three squares is plenty!"

"S-Senior Secretary... three squares is a matter of human dignity. What if it tears through while you're wiping...?"

"Then fold it. Fold it properly and you get the effect of six squares. If I catch this happening again, you will be writing a formal statement of apology. Is that understood?!"

Everyone was naturally horrified by Ricardo's merciless doctrine.

The people who handle the money could hardly afford to come in second at something like this.

What Ricardo had never once imagined, however, was that someone might approach Eugene's orders from an entirely different angle.

The underground situation room of the San Marcos Intelligence Agency.

While the rest of the administration waged a tearful war to save a single drop of ballpoint ink, Lucio, Director of the SIA, was running a completely different kind of calculation.

"Gathering specks of ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠dust still leaves you with nothing but dust."

A gleam lit Lucio's eyes.

"Ready?"

"Yes. We've had him hanging upside down for about thirty minutes. He should be nice and tender by now."

"Then let's go."

The interrogation room door opened, revealing a fat old man dangling from the ceiling — a man who had once served as Minister of Housing and Construction under Juan's regime. The moment Lucio appeared, he started squawking in outrage.

"What is the meaning of this?! I've been retired for over ten years! I'm a private citizen, not a sitting minister! You can't just kidnap me like this!"

Lucio walked over slowly and sat down.

"Minister Garcia. No — I suppose it's Senior Garcia now? In any case, it's been a while. You're looking well. I see the national treasury you siphoned off has been treating you to quite the diet."

"Wh-what are you talking about?! I have nothing to hide! And even if I had helped myself, that was fifteen years ago! The statute of limitations has expired!"

Garcia bellowed, waving the law around like a shield.

He wasn't wrong. He was right. The kind of right that gets you a beating.

"Doesn't seem like he's quite done marinating yet."

The words had barely left Lucio's mouth before clubs came in from every direction.

Thud. Thud. Thud. Thud. Thud. Thud!

A short while later.

"Ghhhkkk..."

Once the club massage was over, Lucio stepped up to a drooling Garcia and tucked a cigarette between his lips.

"The world has changed, Senior."

Lucio lit it for him.

"Th-that's absurd, you can't just—"

"Absurd? Watch your tongue. Would you prefer to spend the rest of your days in a coal mine?"

"I-I'm sorry..."

"No need to be quite so sorry."

Lucio held out a donation pledge that had been prepared in advance.

"Just stamp this. It's a pledge to contribute to the Education Development Fund."

"And if I donate... how much..."

"Adding up every salary you received as a soldier and a public official, plus everything you inherited, we get roughly $300,000. And yet your asset list shows $900,000. Even giving you the most generous possible allowance for living expenses, you appear to have helped yourself to at least $700,000. You'll be coughing all of it up, won't you?"

"Th-that's..."

"If you'd rather not part with cold hard cash, you're welcome to donate whatever you earn mining coal instead."

"N-no! I'll pay half! I'll pay it, I will!"

Garcia's tears came down like hailstones.

"You'll transfer the funds the moment you get home, yes? If you're late, you'll be seeing me again, Senior."

"Hhhkk, yes."

After sending Garcia on his way, Lucio smiled with deep satisfaction and scanned the next name on the list.

"Next up is the former Port Authority Director, is it?"

"Yes. Based on our investigation, we should be able to collect a donation of approximately $200,000."

"Excellent. Let's not keep him waiting."

The SIA's night burned hotter than it ever had.