Chapter 204
Chapter 204
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 204
Chapter Title: Roman Holiday (1)
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The interior of St. Peter’s Basilica stretched out far below, visible from the third-floor circular dome.
Leaning against a marble balustrade carved with an unknown angel, the Korean president and the pope faced each other.
The pope, dressed in pristine white vestments embroidered with gold, flashed a wrinkled smile through his glasses as he gripped the president’s hand tightly.
“Today’s meeting has been truly meaningful. I pray for the day we meet again. May God’s grace be with the land of Korea.”
“Thank you. I sincerely hope Your Holiness achieves all that you desire.”
Surrounded by a cluster of black-clad cardinals and presidential staff, the atmosphere was deliberately staged to feel warm and cordial.
As the journalists who had gathered dispersed one by one and the meeting wrapped up, the president muttered his true feelings while walking across the marble floor.
“Well, I’ll be damned. Is the guy naive, or just playing dumb? A pope with that title can’t be innocent.”
The lingering sensation in his palm from their handshake still hung in the air like an afterimage.
The grip had been so firm it bordered on rudeness, almost numbing—and it carried a message the pope hadn’t voiced aloud.
Of course, a political fox like the president had seen right through it.
“Whew, always dancing around the edges instead of getting to the point. Hey, Chief Park.”
“Yes, yes! Mr. President!”
Park Dong-hee, the policy chief of staff, had been barking orders at the staffers behind when he was suddenly called. He hurried over.
Rubbing his temples, the president tossed out a casual question.
“The pope, that old-timer. Think he could visit Korea before the election in a couple years? If we trim all the prep time front and back, next year around now would be perfect.”
“W-Well, from the staff’s perspective, we’d push as hard as possible to make it happen…”
“Tsk tsk, you dense one. Is that really what I’m asking?”
The president hadn’t expected a proper answer in the first place.
Truth be told, watching Park Dong-hee squirm was one of his hobbies.
“I-Is that so…?”
“Jeez, you’re hopeless. Don’t you get it? What’s that old man really thinking right now?”
As they stepped outside the basilica, Rome’s sunlight poured down immediately.
The president stretched languidly, as if shaking off a haze. Without looking back, he jabbed his thumb toward the pope and continued.
“The old guy’s a politician in his own right, cousin to the trade. His advantage? Lifetime term till he kicks the bucket. The downside?”
A vast crowd filled the square ahead. But most were tourists; few looked like actual Catholics.
“Fewer and fewer people showing up to his home turf church.”
“Ah…!”
The pope’s influence waned with every drop in the flock.
During the meeting, when the president had suggested a Korea visit to boost the election, the pope had smiled silently in response.
Just like this.
“Line up the Korea trip to boost my prestige right before the election, then tell me upfront what you’ll cough up in return. That’s what the old man’s saying.”
The president smirked, nose held high, clearly pleased with his own read.
Watching this, Policy Chief Park Dong-hee thought to himself.
‘This guy’s a real demon. How does that brain of his crunch numbers like a damn computer?’
Now it was time to earn his keep.
Ding dong! Red power light flicked on in human bidet Park Dong-hee’s tongue.
“Kuh… As expected of you, Mr. President. Domestic politics is too small a pond for your ocean of grandeur!”
“Ha ha, come on. Spare me the fluff. Though, gotta say, it sounds pretty good.”
The flattery session stretched on enjoyably for a while.
Satisfied with the sweetness, the president raised one hand. He stroked his chin and spoke.
“Anyway, this is turning into a headache.”
“Pardon…?”
“Gotta balance the scales right. If I openly grab the Catholic hand, the other faiths will drop the ones I already shook.”
Korea had about five million Catholics. An unignorable bloc, centrally organized—but not without blind spots.
The glaring eyes of Buddhism and Christianity, each with eight million followers.
Gazing up at Rome’s clear sky, the president reached toward unreachable clouds.
“Elections are like tightrope walking on a plank atop a rolling oil drum. No matter how it shakes side to side, you gotta hold the center.”
Sensing the president’s rare sentimental mood, Policy Chief Park Dong-hee instinctively knew his moment.
Same as always: Whip the underlings into cooking up a plausible plan, earn the boss’s favor. Who cared if they pulled weekend all-nighters?
“You’re right a hundred—no, a thousand times, sir! I’ll thrash the staff and turn your brilliant vision into reality…”
But then.
A cellphone rang mid-lifelong loyalty oath.
“Take it. It’s fine.”
“Ahem… Sorry, sir.”
For interrupting at this perfect timing, Park Dong-hee knew he’d be the punching bag. He immediately started chewing out the caller, an administrative officer.
“Hey, Admin Kim! Perfect timing on the call. You punk, you should’ve read the VIP’s mind and given me a heads-up beforehand… Huh?”
But fate timed it cruelly—the admin’s urgent voice cut in right away.
Park Dong-hee shot back at the claim that someone had shown up at the Vatican and they needed to schedule a meeting ASAP.
“What? That thunderbolt lunatic is here… now? No way, why? How?!”
The thunderbolt who always brought a storm in his wake.
Even Admin Kim on the other end trembled at the mention of the man with the Ammunition Group’s fiery logo.
Somehow, Park Dong-hee sensed this Vatican trip wouldn’t end smoothly.
—I don’t know the details, but… he says he needs to see the pope. Claims he knows the president’s deepest wishes better than anyone!
* * *
“Unfamiliar ceiling.”
Kim Won-cheol muttered a line straight out of some cheap novel opener.
He’d taken a quick trip to dreamland, apparently adventuring in some fantasy world.
“What’s unfamiliar about it? Same airplane ceiling as always.”
“No, the air itself feels different. I chugged whiskey and crashed out thinking we were heading to Korea.”
Looking around and peering out the window, Kim Won-cheol shrugged and went on.
“Wake up, and boom—Vatican? If that ain’t an unfamiliar ceiling, what is?”
“Enough. We’re short on time. Gotta sync with the president’s schedule and see the pope too.”
“Wait, what? Come to think of it, before I dozed off, something about the Nobel Peace Prize. That related?”
Nobel Peace Prize.
Making the US, Israel, and Saudi Arabia clasp hands and laugh ha-ha-ho-ho.
A diplomatic Mission: Impossible—and pulling it off might even snag a Nobel.
This obstacle looked insurmountable at first glance.
But… knowledge picked up in prison before the rewind turned it into a stepping stone to leap right over.
Especially from the daily comedy skits of the cell boss and his lackey, thick with dialect.
‘Damn, what’s with these punks and their nukes? Looks like every dog and cat’s arming up. End times, end times.’
‘Hyung-nim! When you get back in the game, arm the crew with nukes!’
A newspaper sidebar on Iran’s nuclear push.
An op-ed noting North Korea supplying tech and parts. The lackey peeked at it and started cackling dramatically.
‘Kuh, call the outfit Nuke Bomb Gang…! That’d be killer.’
‘Shut your dumb mouth, you idiot. How the hell we gonna buy nukes!’
‘Sell to the northern boys? Didn’t those Iran guys buy from them?’
The boss smacked his fist on the lackey’s head, scoffing at getting clubbed by cops or NIS over it.
Who’d have thought I’d glean a hint from those two bozos’ goofy routine.
“Nobel Peace Prize. Might not win, but we could make the shortlist.”
“What’re you…?”
US, Israel, Saudi Arabia.
A deadlock with no room to wedge in.
But… slip an outside cue ball in with the right shot, and the table turns into the pretty picture I want.
To the baffled Kim Won-cheol, I issued a light order.
“Get in touch with Policy Chief Park Dong-hee. The meeting’s probably wrapping up about now.”
* * *
Inside a five-star hotel on the Vatican outskirts, the sit-down with the president happened fast.
He was lost in thought afterward, though—waving hello but mulling something over.
Tapping the table with his fingertips, he muttered to himself nonstop.
“Hmm, Han Seo-jun might be a bit light for this. Saudi issue too…”
I could practically see the obvious thoughts playing out.
Scrambling to boost approval ratings with a papal visit. And pondering what card to play next.
I grabbed a water bottle from the fridge and set it down on the table with a thunk.
“What you’re thinking right now? Spot on both counts. The [Garden of the Lord] heresy excommunication’s too low-stakes. And we gotta watch Bin Salman’s eyes.”
“Hm? You…!”
The raccoon-faced man finally snapped to, looking up at me.
Seemed embarrassed that I’d read his plan to use me as a card for the [Garden of the Lord] thing.
He cleared his throat fake-like and twisted open the water bottle I’d handed him.
“This, really. Feels like I’m buck naked. No matter how I slice it, politics is your true calling, Chairman Han.”
“…Feels more like my true calling’s just protecting Ammunition Group properly.”
Politics? Don’t even joke about that nightmare.
Too many other things demanding my time and energy.
Starting right here in the Vatican spread before me.
Seated, I gazed steadily at the president and tossed out a topic.
“But since it’s out in the open, pretending not to see might disappoint you a bit, no?”
“Hm…?”
“I’ll handle the papal visit issue. It’s a puzzle piece I need anyway.”
He gawked, eyes popping rabbit-wide at my bold claim.
Papal visit to Korea.
On its own… it’s not some huge win for me. Pope comes or not, no real impact on Ammunition Group.
But in the bigger picture. Slotting in the pope puzzle piece solves the multivariable Middle East equation.
Leaning close to the president’s ear, I whispered low and careful.
“Give me free access to NIS intel on North Korea. Especially the Iran transaction logs.”
“W-What…?”
Iran, secretly nuclear-arming with North Korean help.
Public enemy of the US, Israel, Saudi Arabia. The moment my hand—with the NIS cue stick—sent the Iran cue ball rolling…