Chapter 180
Chapter 180
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 180
Chapter Title: The Disaster Approaches Like a Tsunami (2)
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Tokyo, Prime Minister's Official Residence.
A pristine white, slender brush made from fine goat hair. The black ink at its tip danced delicately across the paper.
This goat hair brush, rarely taken from its wooden box, was only brought out by the Prime Minister when everything was going smoothly.
Just like now.
"What do you think, Secretary-General? Does the calligraphy meet your approval?"
"Oh, when Your Excellency takes up the brush, it's instant masterpiece. Every time I come here, it's a feast for my eyes."
Even written with soft goat wool, the script extended boldly in the Chusa style.
The LDP Secretary-General gazed at the Prime Minister, who had just finished his calligraphy, and offered words laced with admiration and flattery.
"This straight, extending stroke is just like Your Excellency's decisiveness."
"Matters that can be resolved will find a way, no matter the process. Just like... this script right here."
"Ah, I was so lost in appreciation that I haven't even given my report. The Kaneyama Yakuza business has been neatly wrapped up."
The Prime Minister smiled faintly, clearly in good spirits.
Kaneyama Hayato, who had turned the Emperor and Imperial Family—national symbols—into laughingstocks.
It might have blown over, but bad luck meant even a fall backward could break your nose.
And for that Yakuza, it ended with him stripped bare and handed to the prosecutors, everything shaken out.
"He's been dealt with so thoroughly that he'll only breathe fresh air after he's rotted away in prison."
The Prime Minister nodded in satisfaction.
After scrawling the final character, he turned his head and posed one question.
"And the bureaucrats leashed by Kaneyama? You've brought them to heel as well?"
"Of course. The bureaucrats think the leash is gone for good. As if. The master's just changed."
"You've handled it well. You've gone above and beyond, Secretary-General."
"For the next few years, Your Excellency won't need to worry about bureaucratic backlash. Please focus on governing without a care."
A job well done, and calligraphy perfectly executed.
Everything was falling into place in the most uncanny way.
As if to put the finishing touch on it all, the Prime Minister reached into the wooden tube and pulled out a razor-thin fine brush.
But as he moved to inscribe his name beside the Chusa script, a strange tremor ran through his arm.
Not from himself, but from outside.
"Hm? Was that a vibration just now...?"
"A minor earthquake, perhaps."
"Hmm, no warning from the Meteorological Agency."
The light quake made the cord suspending the lamp sway gently. It subsided soon after, leaving a heavy unease in its wake.
The Prime Minister picked up the fine brush again and asked the Secretary-General.
"Anyway, that's done. Speaking of which, Han Seo-jun, the Ammunition Group Chairman who kicked off this whole affair—he's in Fukushima now?"
"Ah, yes. He rushed there the moment approval came for the plant visit."
"Hmm, just what is he after, following up on Princess Hina like this...?"
"Ammunition Group's heavy industries division does nuclear-related business, so he's probably pushing to supply some parts."
"If that were it, he'd have bundled it with our last meeting. Back then, his eyes weren't those of a mere merchant. More like..."
The Prime Minister recalled the young man who had visited him that day.
The Ammunition Group Chairman was... peculiar, to say the least.
He'd started with the language of politics and commerce—profit and loss calculations—but walked away with nothing. Even his romance with Princess Hina had been fake.
"The eyes of a man who wants to be a hero."
"A hero? That young Han Seo-jun? Ha ha ha."
"Well, time will tell. That was just my first impression... Ugh!"
"Argh! P-Prime Minister! Are you all right? An earthquake out of nowhere!"
A thunderous boom as the wooden curio cabinet with ceramics toppled, dangling lamp cords flickering in the chaos.
The violent shaking, far fiercer than before, rocked the heavens and earth for much longer.
-Beep! Beep! Beep! Beep!
The building's red emergency lights blared relentlessly.
The Prime Minister sat slumped before the cracked sliding wooden door. Coming to his senses, he swept back his hair and spoke slowly.
"Whew... I'm fine. I'm all right. What in the world was that...?"
"P-Prime Minister! Breaking news!"
At that moment, the Intelligence Director—a former high-ranking police official—burst into the room.
His face was pale with shock, unlike his usual composure, as he rushed to the Prime Minister.
Something was terribly wrong.
"Intelligence Director, what's happening? Give me the situation!"
"It's an emergency! The Tohoku region—the Tohoku region—!"
And the shocking news from the Intelligence Director's lips.
A colossal disaster, one that struck once a century if at all. It was barreling toward Japan—and the world—like a tsunami.
"A megaquake has hit! Magnitude... 9.0! The largest in recorded history!"
* * * *
Rewind the clock to one day before the incident, late evening.
I was nominally there to tour the Fukushima Nuclear Power Plant. But horns were sprouting from my head.
Fury from the frustration of swallowing a sweet potato whole without water.
"What the hell is this? The Prime Minister approved the plant tour, so what do you mean the TEPCO President shows up to block it?"
"Ehey! Chairman Han, that's not what I mean! Why doesn't a young guy like you get it?"
Tokyo Electric Power Company President Nakamura Kimocchi.
Half-bald with a protruding gut, he had just arrived—sweat beading thick on his forehead.
No wonder he'd suddenly shoved the statue-still Watanabe plant manager off to the side. And this was his "something to discuss."
"It's complicated due to security protocols. Complicated."
"And this pass is what I got after jumping through those complicated hoops?"
"Ah... well, you see..."
The predictable response.
I'd seen it plenty of times back at Ammunition Group.
The desperate flailing of an incompetent manager with skeletons in the closet, desperate not to let outsiders peek.
*Slurp.* Looks like talking to this embodiment of risk-aversion won't get anywhere.
Truth be told, TEPCO wasn't my company. A few piled-up problems? Not my concern.
The issue was...
*If I can't tour the inside, I won't know the paths for relief armored vehicles when disaster strikes.*
Silence brought the dilemma crashing down.
Sure, I'd mounted cameras on robot arms, but knowing the route to the reactor core in advance versus not? Worlds apart.
But this Nakamura President mistook my contemplation for something else.
Tucking away his obsequiousness, he suddenly played the hearty host.
"Ahem, Chairman Han. If it's just business, let's head somewhere nice, catch up man-to-man!"
"What kind of nonsense is that...?"
Then he whipped out his wallet, flashing his ID.
The yellow chrysanthemum emblem, symbol of Japan. Pointing to the petals, he launched into a rant.
"Forget that! See this chrysanthemum?"
"Hah... And why the chrysanthemum?"
"A Yamato man must keep as many women as chrysanthemum petals—that's the Japanese proverb. A Joseon man needs at least as many as mugunghwa petals!"
"What the...?"
As far as I knew, no such Japanese proverb existed.
Nakamura was just spouting garbage. No point talking or negotiating with this guy.
I needed someone else. Someone with pride in their work, a responsible manager of decent rank who could actually communicate.
And luckily, one such person was standing right there in the corner.
"Enough. Looks like there's nothing more to discuss here with you, President Nakamura."
"Chairman Han?"
My eyes fixed past Nakamura's shiny bald pate.
To Watanabe, the plant manager, shaking his head as he watched the scene.
Fukushima's top man there—entrusted fully with any cover-ups—might actually talk to me.
Decision made, I let out a short sigh, slung my arm around Nakamura's shoulder, and said.
"Then let's move. Time to snag ourselves some women. As many as the mugunghwa petals."
"Oh! Knew my eyes didn't lie!"
Nakamura bounced with glee.
Ignore for now the contemptuous glare from Yoo Se-na, my interpreter aide. This was all theater for the big play. I'd explain later. Even if it was exhausting.
"Keh... Knew it from the start. Men understand men! Let's go!"
"Ah, hold on. Before we do."
Lightly ignoring Nakamura's flushed excitement, I raised my hand and pointed across the way.
"That's the plant manager over there, right?"
"Y-Yes? Ah, yes. Hey! Watanabe, get over here!"
Watanabe trudged over slowly, clearly fed up with the farce.
*Looks like... he'll talk. If my instincts are right.*
"Let's bring him along too. Joy multiplies when shared."
"Ha ha... Chairman Han. This guy's a straight-laced nerd, not for that scene..."
Nakamura sweated bullets in the middle, making excuses—clearly worried how rowdy I'd get.
But I no longer saw his clownish antics.
Because I was staring intently into the eyes of Watanabe, now standing before me, screaming silently.
And as if answering the call, his sealed lips parted.
"I'll go."
"Huh? You, Watanabe? What's gotten into you?"
It worked. This would do.
Our rough mutual sincerity had nodded heads in agreement.
Masking myself once more as the roisterer, I clapped a hand on Nakamura's scratching nape and bellowed with feigned bravado.
"Alright, let's hit it. Perfect day too—cherry blossoms in full bloom. Damn, that's gorgeous."
Cherry blossoms blooming early.
The pale pink petals fluttered sadly toward the sea.
Like a terminally ill patient flaunting beauty before the end.
"Unlike those drifting petals... that black sea over there doesn't seem so cheerful."