Chapter 210
Chapter 210
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 210
Chapter Title: Jerusalem Plan (1)
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Countless crystals cascading from the ceiling. Beneath the chandelier woven from shimmering crystal fragments, the eyes of U.S. Secretary of State Yang Wen-li gleamed between deeply furrowed brows.
He tore into his steak—dripping with bright red blood—like a savage beast, without so much as glancing at Crown Prince Bin Salman or the Israeli envoy, the two powerhouses seated nearby.
“Hoo…”
Only me. Just one person.
His gaze fixed solely on me, Yang Wen-li crossed his silver fork and knife over his plate in an X.
In diplomatic circles, this might be seen as a slight breach of etiquette.
Yet Bin Salman and the Israeli envoy set aside any pride, maintaining utter silence.
Like Yang Wen-li, they stared only at me, waiting their turn.
And so, I had no choice but to break this agonizing silence first.
“I hope the steak suits your taste. I gave special instructions to the protocol staff earlier.”
“What…?”
“I asked them to tweak the preparation a bit. I figured a more complex method might be better than a nearly raw rare steak…”
Clink. The fork and knife slipped from the plate onto the table.
Ignoring Yang Wen-li’s face hardening like stone, I took a sip of water and pressed on.
“Just like the reason we’re all gathered here in this awkward tension.”
“No wonder it felt gritty, like chewing grains of desert sand. Ah, and the seasoning didn’t sit right either. Like someone had dusted it with radioactive powder.”
Yang Wen-li openly referenced the nuclear material dealings between North Korea and Iran.
The atmosphere froze solid.
The tension thickened to the point where neither Bin Salman nor the Israeli envoy dared speak.
I gave a subtle tilt of my chin to Yang Wen-li, who was staring me down, urging him to spit out whatever he wanted to say.
“This is troubling, Chairman Han. If you go changing the recipe on your own, it turns out like this…”
And as if responding to my gesture, Yang Wen-li finally spoke.
At that instant—crash! The porcelain plate shattered with a deafening crack, scattering across the floor.
He picked up the sharpest shard from the debris and pointed it at me like a warning.
“Picky eaters get their whole plate smashed on the floor.”
“I understand. It must have been a bit unpleasant. Especially since it wasn’t a main dish you’re used to.”
No need to soothe him.
No need to grovel.
Just show him, one piece at a time.
What’s in it for you. And what’s in it for me and these two powerhouses at the table.
I met his razor-sharp gaze head-on and countered.
“The dessert coming up next should be right up your alley, Mr. Secretary. Enough to make you forget that displeasure entirely.”
“……”
Yang Wen-li looked lost in thought.
He chewed his lower lip raw while clutching the broken shard, then suddenly waved over a nearby staffer.
“Hey! Waiter!”
He popped a cracker from a tray into his mouth, crunching it down his throat.
Seeming to have sorted his thoughts, he rested his chin on his clasped hands and said to me.
“Let’s hear it, then. What kind of mind-blowing dessert have you prepared? If it doesn’t capture my taste buds in one go…”
A rather sharp… threat-like remark.
“An incompetent chef deserves to be tossed into a desert fire pit. That’s what I think.”
“No need to worry about that at all.”
I smiled, parrying his edged threat.
Picking up a macaron from the table with my fingers, I replied.
“The dessert called the [Jerusalem Plan] is sure to be perfect for your palate.”
The specifics of the [Jerusalem Plan].
At those words, the expressions in the banquet hall split in opposite directions.
Yang Wen-li’s enigmatic face contrasted with… the faint smiles from Crown Prince Bin Salman and the Israeli envoy.
* * * *
Rewind the clock just a bit, to when I had first entered the banquet hall.
The mischievous Yang Wen-li hadn’t arrived yet. Bin Salman and the Israeli envoy were still growling at each other.
‘Come on, stop fighting and take your seats already.’
They looked embarrassed at my head-shake and exasperated tone.
The two men cleared their throats instead of responding.
‘Ahem…’
‘Hrm!’
I continued without pause.
‘Saudi and Israel, Israel and Saudi. When faced with Iran armed with nukes, you both know you have to join hands, right?’
A national crisis half-forced upon them.
The Israeli envoy broke the brief silence first.
“Hoo… To think I’d have to share a boat with a barbaric usurper like you.”
“What did you say, you impious heathen!”
“But for the sake of our homeland and people, even shaking hands with the devil is unavoidable.”
Bin Salman’s face went blank at the envoy’s sudden U-turn.
He had plenty to say, but he let out a small sigh and chose compromise with reality.
“Hoo, as long as you Jews stay quietly in your corner, Allah’s mercy shines even in the shadows.”
“Good. Looks like we’re aligned enough. Now then.”
With the two men calmed, I beckoned to my aide, Yoo Se-na.
She nodded and promptly brought me a map.
This detailed map of the Arabian Peninsula featured a prominent red line stretching long.
A rail line… an astonishing 2,000 km in length.
“The [Jerusalem Plan]. Let me explain the specifics once more. Take a look at this map first.”
Dubbed the [Peace Track], it started in Jerusalem, Israel, passed through Saudi Arabia’s capital, and extended to a port on the Persian Gulf.
An overt check on Iran, forcibly binding Saudi Arabia and Israel together—like a three-legged race for two.
“Grr, my heart resists, but my head gets it completely. A project we must do.”
“Tying us into a joint economic zone outright…”
The two pondered deeply.
But the answer was already set. All they had to do was pick up their fountain pens and sign the treaty.
“The U.S. won’t be able to refuse this either. It blocks Iran’s sea routes entirely. Alright, then.”
I pulled two fountain pens from my pocket and offered them.
Bin Salman and the Israeli envoy exchanged glances, faces reluctant.
Still, in the end, the scent that filled the air… was the heavy aroma of black ink dancing across paper.
Scritch-scratch went the two pens, staining the treaty black.
“Chairman Han Seo-jun, everything you say has this weird way of captivating me.”
“Hoo, never thought I’d live to join hands with Saudis. Life’s full of surprises.”
The two eyed me with burdened expressions.
Had they bonded over the fight?
They each lit a water pipe, chuckled softly, and puffed away.
“Neat and tidy. Good. I’ll tell Secretary Yang Wen-li we’re ready.”
“Ah, Chairman Han Seo-jun. Hold on a sec.”
Bin Salman stopped me as I turned to leave.
Exhaling hazy smoke, he tossed out a valid concern.
“What if—and I mean what if—the U.S., specifically that Yang Wen-li guy, rejects this?”
“Ah, no need to worry about that.”
As if I hadn’t thought of that.
For this very reason… I’d already laid the groundwork in the heart of Rome, the Vatican.
“Politicians from Asian immigrant roots in the U.S. Southwest are always starving for votes.”
* * * *
“Damn it. Feels like you’re poking my sore spots with a fork.”
The [Jerusalem Plan]’s specifics: the Peace Track.
Having heard of this plan to sufficiently counter Iran’s growing nuclear might, Yang Wen-li muttered to himself with a complicated expression.
“From Jerusalem to Saudi’s Strait of Hormuz. Iran would have a fit if they heard about this.”
“Imagine U.S. troops stationed at that international transport hub. It’d serve America’s interests handsomely.”
“Grr… Hey! Waiter!”
Yang Wen-li beckoned the waiter beside him.
“Yes, Secretary!”
“Whiskey! Strongest you’ve got—make it quick!”
Was it prepped in advance?
Before he finished speaking, the waiter brought out an entire bottle chilling in ice.
“Kuh, I’ve heard you only make offers impossible to refuse, but experiencing it firsthand… it’s a strange feeling. However.”
The whiskey seemed like some kind of signal. Yang Wen-li dismissed all his aides.
Now, only four men remained at the square table, each at a corner.
Clink. Yang Wen-li swirled the ice in his glass with a flick of his wrist.
“That offer might be one the United States can’t refuse… but it doesn’t exactly appeal to me personally, Yang Wen-li?”
A grin slipped out unbidden.
Classic Yang Wen-li. He wanted not just fulfillment of his duty, but satisfaction of his personal ambitions too.
Of course, I’d fill those desires to the brim. I’d prepared everything before coming here.
“How can it be a proper feast with just one dessert?”
“What are you getting at?”
“You’ll need to move on from Secretary of State… to a major elected position next. Especially back in your home base of California.”
“Huh…”
I’d pierced his ambition head-on, one that might embarrass him a touch.
Toward his slightly flustered heart, I poured in surging waves of desire.
“You should run for governor. From what I know, the key is the Hispanics. Devout Catholics, that sort.”
“…What exactly are you trying to say?”
Leaning forward toward him across the table.
Like the serpent whispering to Eve with the red apple, I slowly offered him two words.
Words as irresistibly sweet as that apple, impossible not to bite.
“The Pope. And Jerusalem.”
“……!”
“Join the [Peace Track] groundbreaking together. I’ll reserve the seat right next to the kind-hearted Pope grandpa. Plenty of photo ops for your campaign.”