Telling the Tale of Going from South America to Korea (4)

The moment the question landed—one he had never seen coming—Eugene held the microphone and let the silence stretch.

An easy smile stayed fixed on his face. Behind it, his mind was a snarl of calculation.

Leave it to a Hankook University student to come out swinging. That was a sharp one.

It was a question he had not anticipated in the slightest. At most, he had expected something about his vision for national development, or maybe cooperation with Korean companies. Never in his wildest dreams had he imagined someone would bring up elections to his face.

I'd better get this answer right.

Reporters were everywhere. Whatever he said here was going to be splashed across every front page in the country—that much was certain.

Eugene's mind kicked into overdrive.

First of all, it wasn't wrong. As things stood, he was unelected power, plain and simple. The national emergency gave him a justification, but if this period dragged on, the international community would have every reason to hang a dictator's tag around his neck.

That said, he couldn't exactly hand over the government right this minute either. He had too much in motion. The highway still had to be finished. The nuclear plant still had to be built. The industrial parks still had to be filled with Korean corporate investment. At the very least, a decent stretch of that work needed to be wrapped up before he could pass the wheel without everything coming apart behind him.

And there was another problem. What if he handed over power and San Marcos plunged straight back into chaos? What if the next administration decided the previous one—meaning him—made a convenient target for ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠a purge?

"......"

Just imagining it was nauseating. Until he had at least a minimum safety net in place, he needed to keep both hands locked on the wheel.

In the end, there was only one answer.

Hold the election—but I have to run.

An election would set a term. A term would let him leave while they were still clapping.

And more than anything else...

That's how I get to retire, isn't it?

He was not going to work himself into an early grave with no end date on the calendar.

Calculations complete, Eugene opened his mouth, unhurried.

"That's a very sharp and timely question. Just what I'd expect from a junior of mine."

He met the student's eyes and went on, each word placed with care.

"As you pointed out, the current government of San Marcos rests on emergency powers. It was an unavoidable choice to restore order. I fully agree, however, that it cannot go on forever."

The hall held its breath.

Below the podium, Isabella's pupils shuddered as if the floor had given way. Eugene did not ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠stop.

"San Marcos has only just crawled out of the wreckage of civil war and terrorism and found its feet. For the moment, the urgent work of national reconstruction makes things difficult, but..."

He let the pause hang, then declared it in a voice that left no room for doubt.

"...!"

A murmur rolled through the seats.

"But if you were to lose, wouldn't that trigger even greater unrest?"

A reporter with a name badge on his chest. Eugene answered as if he had all the time in the world.

"I have never once lived with power as my goal. I have not the slightest intention of extending that power by undemocratic means. That is why I trust in the greatness of the people of San Marcos. One year from now, I will run in that election, and I will humbly accept their choice."

A beat of silence. And then—

The auditorium detonated. Applause crashed against the walls as if it might take the ceiling with it.

A young leader, voluntarily laying down power and walking onto the judgment stand. The university students, blood up and hearts loud, went wild for it.

Eugene came down from the podium waving easily through the roar, and offered a wry smile to Isabella, whose face had gone the color of paper.

From the next morning, the Republic of Korea was turned inside out by what he had said.

The nine o'clock network news led with it. The front pages of the morning papers were wallpapered with Eugene's face. Online, the country caught fire.

The fallout was ferocious. Ferocious enough that reporters occupied the hotel lobby right up until the moment Eugene's Korea schedule ran out.

So when he tried to leave for the airport first thing in the morning, the press corps camped in the lobby came at him like a kicked hive.

"Acting President! Just one comment, please!"

"Is the election in one year the official position?"

"As we understand it, San Marcos currently has no National Assembly. Are you planning to hold a general election at the same time?"

Dozens of microphones thrust forward like spearpoints. Eugene raised a hand, wearing that trademark good-natured smile of his.

"I'll give you the details in an official briefing once I'm home. One thing I can say for certain: San Marcos will walk the path of democracy from here on."

With his bodyguards shoving a lane through the crush, he barely made it into the car, and let out a long breath of relief.

And then—

"...Ahem."

He was met with a chill. Isabella, seated and waiting, was radiating cold air in a way she never did.

She lowered her phone as if she had just ended a call, and turned her head.

"A message of deep concern has arrived from the Blue House."

"Has it?"

"They committed to astronomical investment on the strength of Your Excellency's stable leadership. You have now introduced the uncertainty that the administration may change in a year."

Eugene answered with a show of calm.

"And the companies?"

"They haven't said much. I take that to mean they trust Your Excellency that much."

"Well, that's a relief."

"Your Excellency."

Isabella's voice dropped.

"A matter of this gravity should have been thoroughly discussed with your staff in advance."

"Sorry I couldn't tell you beforehand. But it was something we'd have to do eventually, wasn't it?"

"......"

"And it doesn't look good from the outside. We could start catching the dictator label."

"That is already..."

"Already?"

Isabella bit down on her lip. She let out a long, frustrated breath, as if the words themselves were stuck in her chest.

"...I'm sorry?"

Eugene's eyes went round.

Had he misheard that?

"A lifelong... what?"

"It was the unanimous view of the military and the cabinet that Your Excellency must lead San Marcos for life. We intended to amend the constitution and install you as president for life... but it seems we are already too late."

"Hold on. Who decided that—"

A cold line ran down Eugene's spine.

These people were dead set on wringing me out down to the marrow!

If he hadn't brought up elections, he would have been in serious trouble.

"Haah..."

Isabella, who had not the faintest idea what was going through his head, clutched her own.

"Since it has come to this, we will have to begin election preparations as soon as we return."

"We're doing it that fast?"

"San Marcos has held a proper election only four times since its founding. And even those were to choose National Assembly Representatives."

She listed it off, item by item, eyes locked on him.

"It has been so long that there is no voter registry, no polling stations, and no vote-counting staff. We will have to start from nothing—from writing the election law to educating the voters."

"Ah... there's more to do than I thought."

"And above all, if we are going to hold an election, the approval rating had better come in at one hundred percent."

"......"

Eugene quietly turned his face to the window.

That was when it happened.

Beep— beep—!

The emergency phone in his jacket pocket went off in a shrill burst. A hotline known only to a handful of people, Lucio, Director of the SIA, among them.

"Give me a moment."

He cut Isabella off, pulled the phone out, and the instant he read the message on the screen, his expression locked shut.

"Huh?"

"No."

I had no choice but to doubt my own eyes.

"Is this for real?"

I had known, from SIA reports, that the United States would intervene in Venezuela eventually. To be precise, it was a scenario you could have predicted even without the SIA. There was no world in which they sat still and watched a pro-China Venezuela operate in their own backyard.

Even so, I had figured the most they would do was put a pro-American politician out front and squeeze Maduro out of office.

And yet—

"They sent special forces into another country and just... grabbed the president?"

Not a former president. A sitting one.

The thought alone put a freeze down my spine. Because that meant there was no law on earth saying I couldn't end up the same way.

With a hand that was not entirely steady, I hit the call button.

"What on earth is going on?"

"And the reason? Even for the United States, snatching the president of a sovereign country like this doesn't make any sense."

"Haah... that man really is a loose cannon..."

"Social media?"

Still on the call, I stabbed the app ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠open. Drumpf's account, on which the eyes of the entire world were currently fixed. The instant I hit refresh, a brand-new post sat at the very top, next to his profile picture in a MAGA hat.

A post built to flex American muscle and rally the base. But the moment I read the next paragraph, my breath caught in my throat.

"...Huh?"

Why was my name in there?

"You've got to be kidding me."

What kind of nonsense was that?

I was still staring at the screen, too stunned to put a sentence together, when Isabella—who had been reading over my shoulder—began to tremble from head to foot.

"Your Excell... just how far ahead were you looking?"

"......"