The Howling Earth (1)

Having come from the future, I was living a second life when most people only get one. I suppose it was a blessing in its own way. Life, after all, never humors such pathetic pleas as "Just one more coin...!"

But when it came to raising a child, everything was a first for me. How on earth do you raise a son? It was driving me mad. The only parenting method I know is handing a kid an iPad to watch YouTube! Is this really going to be okay?

Despite my anxieties, this era offered something far more efficient and simpler than YouTube videos. I was wealthy enough to have a hangar for airplanes at my house; there was no way I couldn't afford to hire a babysitter.

In any case, the child grew incredibly fast. Before I knew it, he was toddling around.

"D-Daddy, wuv you..."

I wondered who had coined the word "toddle." Watching him waddle toward me, babbling my name, made it incredibly difficult to suppress a smile.

"Pfft, puhaha! Bwahaha!"

"Waaaaah!"

"Dear, why are you making the baby cry? Don't you dare laugh like that in front of him again! It's not like you're Hitler..."

"..."

The year was 1923. Somehow, I had turned forty. Ferdinand Stahl was now just two years old. My days flew by so quickly I barely had time to look in a mirror. Looking now, my once bright-yellow blonde hair had darkened into a shade of brown.

At any rate, after spending ages hoarding cash and scouting investment opportunities, I finally managed to carve out a bit of free time.

"Oh, by the way. I heard the animated version is out. Want to go see it?"

"...I already saw it."

"Huh? Already?"

"There was a private screening recently. I went to check it out."

Still, it was my own creation. And animated by none other than Walt Disney himself...! I had somehow squeezed some time out of my schedule to rush to the screening. My review was simple:

What on earth did I create?

Come to think of it, I had merely scribbled some random ideas on a piece of paper because Joseph Goebbels had asked for them. Naturally, the final product was a bizarre mishmash of every manga, novel, and anime I had consumed in the twenty-first century.

The resulting creation was utterly atrocious. From Tojo-Truman to Little Boy and Fat Man... The main villain, thrown together on a whim, set an ominous tone for a work cobbled together with cheap, plagiarized catchphrases.

Kaiser Ferdinand II had been utterly dumbfounded upon seeing my work.

"Stahl, were you on drugs?"

"...I must have been."

Regardless, Walt Disney's animated adaptation was a colossal success. After all, animation is just the process of stitching tens of thousands of drawings together. The sheer amount of grueling labor poured into it was evident, perfectly capturing the striking visual direction of modern animation.

I also met Walt Disney there. The moment he spotted me at the screening, his eyes went wide, and he began firing questions at me like a machine gun.

"V-V-Vice Chairman Stahl?!"

"Mr. Disney, a pleasure to meet you. The animation was... quite impressive."

"T-that's not what's important! Doesn't Tojo-Truman also wield the Authority of the Atom? Euclid awakened through the 'Uran Project,' but what about Tojo-Truman?"

"Well... I didn't write it in the story, but there is something called the Manhattan Project."

"Whoa! But I heard Little Boy and Fat Man were also children born from the power of the atom! Is it actually possible to create living organisms from nuclear energy? What's the scientific principle behind that?"

How the hell should I know? I just made up some absolute gibberish on the spot. I couldn't even remember what I said, but Walt Disney scribbled down every single word with the solemn intensity of a theologian unearthing divine providence.

"I-I can't believe it...! So Tojo-Truman isn't just one person, but the fused result of two people, Tojo and Truman?!"

"Yes... I suppose... so."

"But why did they have to fuse?"

"Well... ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠doesn't it take two people to make a baby? The twins born from the union of Tojo and Truman are Little Boy and Fat Man."

What on earth was I even saying? I didn't know much, but I recalled that in the original history, Walt Disney suffered from severe obsessive-compulsive disorder. He had even actively cooperated with McCarthyism, hadn't he? Still, in this timeline, he seemed quite innocent, which ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠was nice to see.

"By the way, who is Euclid's true wife? Is it Lena or Misaka? Personally, I'd prefer Lena over an ill-mannered girl like Misaka!"

"...But Misaka is cute too."

"Urgh! Take that back!"

Walt Disney grabbed me by the collar and shrieked at the top of his lungs before being dragged away by my bodyguards. I take back what I said about him looking nice. The man was a lunatic.

Regardless, Walt Disney resolved that his next project would be a prequel to Nuclear Assassin focusing on Tojo-Truman. He immediately set off for Japan, the setting of the work, to conduct on-site research.

"Mr. Disney, why Japan of all places?"

"Strangely, I feel drawn to it. It feels... almost like a spiritual home?"

"..."

I really wished he wouldn't make a sequel...

August 31, 1923. The history of East Asia had not changed all that much. You might ask how that could be, considering the Qing Dynasty had been restored and both Vietnam and Joseon were paying tribute to it. But the Central Plains had always been a chaotic mess during this period. The farce that took place in Beijing was merely a tempest in a teapot.

Before long, Sun Yat-sen would gather his forces in Nanjing and march north, and the grand historical current of Chiang Kai-shek of the Nationalists and Mao Zedong of the Communists rising as major power players would remain unaltered. After all, that was just how the Central Plains operated.

The Provisional Government of the Kingdom of Joseon was also sailing smoothly, taking advantage of the chaos in the Central Plains. They had installed Yi Cheok—Gojong's son, whose intellect had been slightly impaired by a poisoning incident—as a constitutional monarch, mockingly dubbed the "Lustful Sovereign." Of course, if Joseon had one major headache...

"Gojong Yi Hyeong is the very man who sold out our country, and Sunjong Yi Cheok, pitiful though he may be, is a half-wit! How can we serve such men as our kings?"

"Have you lost your mind?"

"Regardless, what era are we living in to still have a monarchy? People of Joseon! Unite under the Shanghai Provisional Government!"

"Bah, spit!"

It was the fact that certain rebellious elements were openly claiming the title of "Provisional Government" in Shanghai and denying Joseon's legitimacy. Surprisingly, there were quite a few people in Joseon who were utterly sick of kings. In particular, die-hard independence activists often headed to Shanghai instead of supporting a hopeless monarchy. Their leader was entirely predictable: Syngman Rhee, who had harbored a bone-deep hatred for the royal family ever since his imprisonment during the days of the Independence Club!

But Syngman Rhee alone lacked the numbers. Naturally, he sought out allies...

"We have received directives from Soviet Russia. They find it awkward to sponsor a monarchy, so they have instructed us to establish a separate provisional government."

"Hmm... Still, we are Marxists. How could we ever shake hands with a king?"

Young revolutionaries like Park Hon-yong, who had just finished studying Marxism in Moscow and Shanghai, joined the cause. Syngman Rhee and Park Hon-yong, together! It was a combination so volatile it wouldn't have been surprising if it collapsed instantly, much like the provisional government of the original history. In truth, though they sailed in the same boat, they were both waiting for the perfect moment to stab each other in the back.

I can't go the distance with a man like Syngman Rhee. But he has a silver tongue, so I'll play along and discard him when he's no longer useful!

I can't go the distance with these Reds. But the funding flowing in from Russia is sweet, so I'll play along and discard them when they're no longer useful!

How could such an organization possibly hold together? Established during the March 1st Movement triggered by Gojong's death in 1919, this provisional government was far more dysfunctional than its historical counterpart; it would have been a miracle if it lasted even a year. Yet, the organization still persisted. Why?

"Do something about those bastards in Yanbyan immediately! All our Joseon subjects are being sucked into Yanbyan!"

"Even if our economy has improved thanks to the American boom... we simply do not have the capacity to march our army into Manchuria again."

"Then are we just going to sit back and watch?"

The Empire of Japan agonized over the dilemma. Fortunately, the current cabinet was relatively ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠moderate, dominated by civilians. Instead of recklessly crushing the Kingdom of Joseon with military force, they devised a highly clever solution.

"Look at India. Even the mighty British Empire could not completely suppress the independence movement."

"And?"

"The existence of the rebellious Koreans is something we can never entirely eradicate. It is like prostitution or gambling."

"So what do you propose? Should we establish formal diplomatic relations with Joseon?"

"No. Just like any other rampant crime, we must keep these rebellious Koreans under our control. The Kingdom of Joseon is dangerous. Instead... why not manage them?"

"Manage them?"

"Yes. By gathering them all into that dysfunctional mess called the Shanghai Provisional Government."

In the end, a farcical situation arose where the Japanese cabinet was funnelling secret funds to the Provisional Government of the Republic of Korea. Of course, both Syngman Rhee and Park Hon-yong were well aware of this. Rhee, with his sharp political instincts, deduced the true source of the mysterious funds, while Park caught wind of it through the extensive network of communists embedded within the provisional government. Yet, they both quietly pocketed the money. Why?

Hehehe. Soon, I'll be able to pin this entire scandal on Syngman Rhee and have him eliminated.

Kekeke. I'll frame those Reds as pro-Japanese traitors and slaughter every last one of them.

Another peaceful day in East Asia. Thanks to the massive economic boom in the United States, no major crises erupted. Everything was just right. In truth, to the vast majority of ordinary citizens, matters like Japanese imperialism, the unification of the Central Plains, or the conflict between republics and monarchies were of little consequence.

A Joseon rickshaw puller set out onto the streets in the morning, hoping only to overcharge some wealthy, newly-rich Japanese tourist. A Chinese exchange student in Tokyo clutched his university notebook under his arm, his mind entirely occupied with thoughts of seducing Japanese women. A Japanese businessman in Yanbyan sang praises of the Kingdom of Joseon, eager to expand his business from Harbin down into South Manchuria.

Politically, they had been locked in extreme conflict for thousands of years, but the common folk of Korea, China, and Japan managed to live side-by-side, treating each other with a sort of detached indifference. At least, that was what everyone believed—until August 31, 1923.

And then came September 1, 1923, at 11:50 AM.

"Why is the wind blowing so hard today?"

"Tell me about it."

"Still, with a breeze this strong, it feels like the heat is finally breaking. Hey, is that rolled omelet you brought?!"

"Throw some firewood in the stove. Let's warm up our bento."

Office workers opened their bento boxes, chatting idly about the weather to escape the monotony of their work.

"Hey, make way!"

"Why the hell did you bring a rickshaw down here? You move!"

"Are you looking to get killed? Get out of my way!"

In the cramped, chaotic alleys of Tokyo—the product of rapid, unplanned urban development—the shouts of rickshaw pullers echoed as usual.

And... while the Japanese cabinet remained highly vigilant against Joseon's movements... a group far more radical and extreme than any Korean independence faction was drinking midday alcohol.

"Master Kita Ikki, I suppose the time is still not ripe?"

"Gendarmerie Commander Araki Sadao. Have just a little patience, and the day of the 'decisive battle' will arrive."

"The cabinet's military disarmament is growing more severe by the day. Before long, all the men under my command might be discharged."

"Japan's economy is slowly recovering. If they persist with disarmament under these conditions, discontent within the military will soon explode. We should orchestrate our move with the junior officers from Tohoku at the core. For men whose only alternative to the military is pulling a rickshaw to survive, they will gladly cooperate with our great cause."

Mutaguchi Renya, representing the junior officers, watched the discussion between Kita Ikki and Araki. His eyes trembled with anxiety.

How on earth did I end up sitting here? Mother, I want to go home... Should I report their treasonous plot right now? But what if they stab me to death?

While deeply engaged in his conversation with Araki, Kita Ikki cast a sidelong glance at Renya. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠It was painfully obvious what the man was thinking. In fact, keeping Mutaguchi Renya around just to watch him squirm in anxiety was one of Kita Ikki's favorite pastimes.

Hmm. Even this is getting boring. I'll play with him a little longer and then discard him.

Just as that thought crossed his mind, the earth and sky began to shake with terrifying violence.

"Wh-what is this...?"

"E-earthquake!"

To the inhabitants of the archipelago, earthquakes were a part of daily life. Every now and then, news would arrive of a tremor in Tohoku or Kansai. But even to the Japanese, this shaking was far from ordinary.

"This tremor... is not normal."

"We must escape immediately!"

September 1, 1923, 11:58 AM. The curtain rose on the Great Kanto Earthquake. As the earth and sky howled, the gazes of the ambitious Kita Ikki and Gendarmerie Commander Araki Sadao crossed, burning with a terrifying intensity.