Chapter 231: International Railway Construction Joint-Stock Company (3)
Several weeks earlier.
“Are you insane, Oppa?”
Pauline Bonaparte snapped at her deranged second brother, Napoleon Bonaparte.
“You’re telling me to go seduce… Guillaume Oppa?”
“Seducing? What kind of word is that for a young lady to use? The guy just happens to be single, and you’re reaching marriageable age anyway…”
Hmm. I should probably find a reputable mental hospital after all. If this wasn’t insanity, then what was? He stood there with his arms on his hips as if he had come up with some brilliant idea while spouting utter nonsense.
“Sigh. Oppa, think about it again. Is Guillaume Oppa someone you and our family can even compare to? The Toulon family that soars through the sky, and the Bonaparte family that only recently stopped looking like beggars? If anyone heard this, they’d ask if you’d gone mad!”
“Tch. That’s because you don’t know him well. The club he founded back in school was literally called the Equality Club. Do you think he’s the kind of guy who cares about family status?”
And then—
Napoleon Bonaparte casually rocked back and forth in the rocking chair he was sitting in and added,
“Can you live the rest of your life without regret?”
“Regret?”
“What else? Later on, will you be able to avoid thinking, ‘Ah! Even if he rejected me, I should’ve at least confessed back then!’”
“….”
Honestly speaking, she probably would regret it a little. No, maybe quite a lot.
“For the record, if you refuse, I’ll have no choice but to pass the opportunity to Marie and Caroline. You know how intense those two can be.”
“…I know.”
“I don’t want to see my sister or my friend living some miserable life stained with regret and obsession. It’s better to be rejected cleanly or break up cleanly. Yes, much better.”
“Wait, why is it assumed that I’ll be the one getting rejected?! Whenever I go to a party, there are carriages full of gentlemen asking my name!”
“You get one carriage. Guillaume probably gets ten.”
Was he really her brother or her sworn enemy?
Pauline Bonaparte fumed.
“So what? Are you trying to set us up, or telling me to stay home because I’m not worthy?”
“Obviously the latter—no, I mean the former. Wait, hey, put that plate down, you brat.”
Clack.
Pauline Bonaparte set the plate she was holding onto the table, and Napoleon Bonaparte cleared his throat before continuing.
“Who do you think Napoleon is? A man who has devoured countless works of literature, and whose fiancée is the greatest writer in the world.”
“So?”
“Guillaume is French, but unlike most Frenchmen, his character is practically that of a medieval monk. If you approach him acting pitiful and pure, he won’t be able to reject you easily.
Oh! Romeo! Are you abandoning this Juliet? This Juliet loves you so dearly!”
“…Oppa, you should never try acting.”
Pauline Bonaparte shook her head, but Napoleon Bonaparte seemed not to hear her at all.
“Anyway, the conclusion is simple. That guy behaves like someone straight out of the Bible, so he’ll definitely try to push you away.”
When acquaintances act as matchmakers and things fall apart, it’s not unusual for the relationship to become awkward afterward.
“So before Guillaume makes up his mind and pushes you away, you need to capture his heart first.”
Rustle.
As he said this, Napoleon Bonaparte pulled two sheets of paper from his pocket and handed them to Pauline Bonaparte.
“What are these, Oppa?”
“A dark place. Romantic atmosphere. Perfect for igniting sparks between a man and a woman.”
Pauline Bonaparte said nothing and obediently took Napoleon Bonaparte’s gift. Thinking about it, if the opportunity would just be handed to someone else anyway, shouldn’t she at least give it a try?
Right, romance is good. I like romance too.
Back when I first entered university after surviving the tear-soaked path of an all-boys high school and finishing the college entrance exam, I went to MT gatherings and blind dates nonstop just to try dating once.
Besides, I’m twenty-nine years old now. According to the tra-di-tion that the elders in the distant East have drilled into people’s heads every Lunar New Year and Chuseok for generations, a man is supposed to finish military service at twenty-one, graduate university at twenty-six, land a stable job at a major corporation by twenty-seven, and get married at thirty.
Thinking about it now, those conditions are ridiculously difficult. It’s not like grinding endlessly in Diablo just to farm runes and equipment.
No wonder people call it Hell-Joseon. If you counted how many people among fifty million South Koreans actually manage that path, you could probably do it on one hand.
Anyway, enough digression. Romance is great. But why—why did it have to be her?
When I turned my head, there stood a beautiful young woman barely past twenty, radiating the freshness typical of the early twenties. She fidgeted with her hands.
She’s pretty. Especially that high nose and those eyes that seem faintly melancholic… no, wait. Pull yourself together.
How many years apart are we again?
Ah, thinking about it gives me a headache. A really damn bad headache.
Did I drink Captain Q last night instead of Bordeaux wine? I’d give anything for an aspirin right now.
If I remember correctly, I was born in ’71 and she was born in ’80. That’s a nine-year difference. Nine years.
…Damn. Nine years? It’s not quite the twelve-year “Chinese zodiac” gap that makes you look like a thief, but this still feels like I’d get arrested for a minor offense.
Even though I was a model student who only wrote two reflection letters my entire school life, I have no desire to end up before a judge at this age begging like a fly while writing another one.
And she’s my friend’s younger sister? If we dated and broke up, how would I even face that guy again?
They say matchmaking goes one of two ways: if it works, you share three cups of wine; if it fails, you get three slaps. But a family matchmaker? If things go wrong, instead of slaps I might receive three duel invitations.
…
…Or maybe not? In cool France, where people protest in the streets complaining that the king keeps only a wife and no mistress, maybe this kind of thing is fine? Is that how it works?
Inside my cerebral cortex, the twenty-three-year-old Korean and the twenty-nine-year-old Frenchman started boxing each other in a ring. Whoosh. Punch.
“…Oppa, do you perhaps dislike me?”
“Hm? No, no! It’s not that…”
Damn it. The words keep catching in my throat. The Pauline Bonaparte in my memory was a tiny kid. Because of that distance, the name Pauline just refuses to come out smoothly.
“Then please tell me what the problem is, Oppa.”
Oppa. Oppa. Hehehe.
No, damn it! Pull yourself together!
You know something? I had dreams too. A dream of living happily with a beautiful girlfriend, raising adorable kids, and enjoying good food in a good house.
So please stop staring at me like a puppy. My heart is pounding and melting.
I’m still a vigorous man in my twenties.
Sometimes when I wake up, my blanket is damp with something other than urine. And every time, I’m relieved to realize I’m not in the Nonsan training camp in the middle of the night.
While I clutched my throbbing head and sank into philosophical anguish about the human world, Napoleon Bonaparte clicked his tongue.
“Why does a man have so many thoughts? She likes you. Just date her.”
Y-you…! Do you know who caused this situation in the first place?! And listen to that sweaty macho mindset—truly the eighteenth century.
Just as I was about to swing my arm to deliver a poetic middle finger to that petty little dwarf’s face, something soft bumped into my arm.
Let’s see. How did the Korean national anthem start again?
Ah right. “Until the East Sea’s waters run dry and Mount Baekdu wears away…”
By the time I reached the line about the pine trees on Namsan standing firm in armor, I heard the door of the reception room open.
“…Sir, there is something to discuss. Oh dear! My apologies. Mayer has intruded without reading the situation.”
“No, no. It’s company business, it can’t be helped! Please, tell me what’s going on!”
And Pauline… could you please let go of my arm? My heart is about to explode.
“Spain wishes to commission our railway construction company.”
“Spain? Hmm… who exactly? The Spanish East India Company? Ah, that one went bankrupt, didn’t it?”
“The Prime Minister, Manuel Godoy, apparently.”
“That guy? Isn’t he the one who started a war? Why would he suddenly entrust us with construction?”
“I’m not sure of the details, but dissatisfaction within Spain toward the current king, Carlos IV, and Prime Minister Godoy seems to be growing.”
“Hmmm.”
Guillaume de Toulon let out a short groan and stroked his chin before speaking as if he had already figured it out.
“I see the angle. He’s trying to build some political achievements for himself.”
“That seems likely. Our company has been advertising this ‘new technology’ all over Europe. He’s probably hoping to benefit from the ripple effect.
So what shall we do? Accept the contract?”
“Of course we should. It’s not like they’re refusing to pay. If our customer wants to use our image while paying full price, why stop them? In fact, we should be grateful. They’ll be advertising for us in other countries without us spending a single coin.
Besides, those guys don’t have the technical capability to copy our products anyway. Perfect. Just sell them the equipment we already use. If it breaks, we can squeeze them again through after-service.”
“Heh heh, of course! …Ah! That reminds me, sir.”
The Frenchman with a German accent continued.
“Director Nathan says that Baring Bank has been purchasing shares of the International Railway Construction Joint-Stock Company.”
“You sons of—, ahem. Well, it suits the country of pirates, doesn’t it?”
“Should we attempt to defend the stock?”
“No need. We already hold more than half the shares, don’t we? Tell them to buy as much as they like. Even if they try that, they can’t take over the board.”
“Then next…”
Before long, the reception room filled with complicated business discussions that Pauline Bonaparte, as an ordinary person, could hardly understand.
Most people would have grown bored in such a situation.
But Pauline Bonaparte felt differently.
Every professional word he spoke made him shine even more. He simply looked cool.
They say when you’re wearing rose-colored glasses, someone looks twice as attractive. And they say people live on memories.
When she was little—
When both her eldest brother and her second brother had left home, leaving their house in Ajaccio empty.
One day, her second brother returned with news of graduation and brought a friend with him.
That friend gently patted the head of Pauline Bonaparte, who was only six or seven years old at the time, and stayed up all night telling her stories like something out of a fairy tale.
It began as a small fondness, but the hearts of young men and women are never calm.
The fondness that began in Ajaccio grew larger as it passed through Toulon and Paris over fifteen years. It never grew smaller.
In fact, it was as if she had worn rose-colored glasses for fifteen years straight.
Perhaps noticing Pauline Bonaparte staring at Guillaume de Toulon with deep eyes, the German-French man looked back and forth between them before clearing his throat and standing up.
“Thank you, sir. That should conclude the matter. Mayer will leave first to deal with some miscellaneous work.”
“What? But you’re always complaining about having too much work! Why is everything suddenly finished?!”
“Ahem. General Bonaparte, could you assist this old man for a moment?”
“Of course.”
The middle-aged man named Mayer and Napoleon Bonaparte joined forces to practically shove the two young people outside the building.
Two grown men pushing and one grown woman pulling—what could Guillaume de Toulon do? In the end, he was expelled from his own company in broad daylight.
“Secretary Pétion and Mayer will handle everything today, so please go outside and rest comfortably. Very comfortably.”
Bang!
The door slammed shut, and the sound of the latch locking echoed.
Without realizing it, Pauline Bonaparte tightened her grip on the arm she was holding.
“Ugh… uh… ah…”
The man beside her let out strange noises like a malfunctioning machine. For someone who traveled the world accomplishing extraordinary feats, wasn’t that a rather innocent reaction?
Pauline Bonaparte smiled faintly.
“We’re not going to keep standing here in the street, are we?”
“H-huh?”
“Of course, I wouldn’t mind.”
While Guillaume de Toulon struggled desperately against the Monsieur Confucius inside his heart, Pauline Bonaparte pulled two tickets from her pocket and held them out.
“Do you like opera?”
After breathing in several lungfuls of the theater’s cool air, my mind gradually cleared.
Right. Humans need to breathe. I could barely breathe earlier. Hah. Hah.
Meanwhile, the girl next to me kept trying to rest her head on my shoulder. Inside my mind, a marathon meeting was still underway about whether dating a friend’s younger sister was morally acceptable.
Right. What choice do I have? If the alternative is losing both friendship and love, it’s better to lose only love—
“Do I burden you?”
“…Burden?”
Pauline Bonaparte asked quietly so others couldn’t hear, and I had no choice but to repeat her words.
“Is it because I’m your friend’s younger sister?”
“…I can’t say that’s not part of it.”
She fell silent for a moment, then gently took my hand. I could feel her pulse through her delicate fingers.
“Oppa.”
“Yes.”
“I know you’re my brother’s friend. Even so, I came to you like this.”
Could you please look at me not as someone’s sister, but simply as Pauline?
Ah.
I don’t know.
I really don’t know anymore. I’ve done everything I could. Now whatever happens, happens.
All I did was continue holding Pauline Bonaparte’s hand.
The pounding of my heartbeat matched the pulse I felt through her fingers.