The Prelude to Spring

On a certain day of a certain month in a certain year, the Cross-Strait War erupted between Taiwan and China. While the eyes of the world were transfixed on the Taiwan Strait, the Kim Jong-seok regime in North Korea launched a massive provocation.

The administration of the Republic of Korea responded with absolute decisiveness. Thanks to a highly advanced Kill Chain and a meticulously orchestrated decapitation strike, the North Korean regime was instantly rendered brain-dead. Following the strike, the South Korean military marched north. Because the global gaze remained locked on the Taiwan Strait, there was zero foreign intervention.

Naturally, China was projecting its entire military might into the East China Sea. The United States was fully occupied with containing China, while Japan fought desperately to defend its maritime strongholds, including the Senkaku Islands and Okinawa. Russia, still reeling from the aftermath of its ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠war in Ukraine, lay in a near-comatose state.

As a result, the South Korean military effortlessly swept into a practically abandoned North Korea. The division of the peninsula, which had dragged on for nearly a century, came to a surprisingly anticlimactic end.

It seemed as though everything had concluded beautifully. But as history has always shown, the real war begins only after the swords and spears are beaten into plowshares.

On a certain day of a certain year, at the North Korean Military Government Headquarters in Pyongyang...

“*Whew...*”

General Park Tae-seop stared out the window. He drew a deep breath of cigarette smoke and exhaled it along with a heavy sigh.

“...”

Outside, soldiers and officers were conducting their morning run. Ironically, there was not a single female soldier in sight. The conscripts were, naturally—or perhaps unnaturally—all men. The officers, too, were entirely ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠male.

And for good reason. Back in the South, all the comfortable, cushy posts had been seized by female officers, while the male officers were exiled to the grueling, hellish deployments of the North.

Naturally, because the military was legally barred from political activity, they could not voice any opposition. Though there were faint murmurs of protest led by discharged veterans, they were easily swept under the rug. The decision-makers in power were simply too 'sweet'—excessively chivalrous to a fault.

The younger soldiers often referred to these 'sweet' politicians and senior commanders as the 'old swine.' Strictly speaking, General Park Tae-seop fell into the same age bracket as those old swine. Yet, anyone who knew him would never dare utter that term in his presence.

General Park Tae-seop was what one would call a 'virtuous general.' Whenever his subordinates grumbled, he would outwardly reprimand them, saying, “When soldiers think too much, the nation grows noisy.” Yet, behind the scenes, he always looked out for their welfare and approached every duty with absolute fairness. Because of this, every man who had ever served under him respected him as a true soldier.

However, that very same sense of fairness meant he never granted special favors to female soldiers. Consequently, the female officers disparaged him as a “petty Korean-man general.” They had even conspired with civic organizations, attempting to drag him down through false sexual harassment allegations ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠under the MeToo movement.

But General Park Tae-seop was a war hero who had led the Second Korean War to victory. Whenever such disgraceful, fabricated accusations arose, the veterans and active-duty soldiers who had served alongside him rose up in unison to defend him. Thanks to their fierce loyalty, his career remained untarnished.

And now, he was in Pyongyang, serving as the Commander of the North Korean Military Government. There was not a single woman here. It was, after all, a hellish deployment. While some complained that the lack of women made the atmosphere bleak and suffocating, Park actually found peace in it. At the very least, male soldiers—no, true soldiers—would never resort to cowardly schemes to slander him.

“...”

General Park Tae-seop took another drag of his cigarette. Memories of the war flooded back. The military had pushed north with desperate speed, quickly reaching the Tumen River. Everyone had rejoiced, believing the war was over. But then came an unexpected order: *“Reclaim Gando.”* It was a directive issued by the chickenhawks of Yeouido.

Buoyed by the rapid northern advance, the politicians had made a reckless decision solely to secure further political achievements. But too much young blood had already been spilled. There was no reason to expand the war needlessly and demand more senseless sacrifices.

Ultimately, Lieutenant General Kim Young-hoon, Park's senior from the military academy, took it upon himself to ignore the order to advance into Gando. The war ground to a halt and quietly ended.

Afterward, Lieutenant General Kim Young-hoon was dragged before a congressional hearing. Everyone condemned him. They insulted him. The people standing before him to pass judgment were all old swine who had received military exemptions, served in cushy defense roles, or completed the joke of a six-month officer program nicknamed the 'Yukgaejang' commission. Alongside them were women, women, women, and more women—none of whom had ever held a rifle or stood on the front lines.

Even under the barrage of vitriol, Lieutenant General Kim Young-hoon had remained calm.

The media boiled with outrage. The National Assembly seethed. Those who had stood on the front lines called him a patriot; those who had stayed safely behind called him a traitor. In the end, he quietly took off his uniform. Aside from the men who had bled on the battlefield, no one remembered the old soldier.

“...”

General Park Tae-seop felt a bitter ache in his chest. He was a man who always cautioned his subordinates that “when soldiers think too much, the world grows noisy.” Yet, he couldn't shake the feeling that the world itself had gone terribly wrong.

Just then, there was a knock at the door.

“It is the Deputy Commander, sir.”

It was Major General Lee Jin-hyuk, the Deputy Commander of the North Korean Military Government.

“Come in.”

“Loyalty!”

Major General Lee Jin-hyuk entered and saluted sharply.

“At ease. What is it?” General Park Tae-seop asked, returning the salute.

“Yes, sir. As reported, we have secured the weapons cache hidden at the Hamhung Livestock Factory.”

“They certainly hid them all over the place...” General Park Tae-seop pinched the bridge of his nose.

It was foolish to expect a failed state like North Korea to possess a normal, systematic inventory management system. Even after the war ended, unregistered weapons continued to turn up everywhere. It would have been fine if they were merely found abandoned, but all too often, they fell into the hands of armed insurgent groups composed of former North Korean soldiers. This issue of 'unaccounted weapons' was a massive headache for the Military Government.

“Furthermore, Vice Marshal Ri Chun-sik, who provided the intel, had some rather interesting words for us.”

“What did he say?”

“He said, 'They will come in handy later.'”

“That old man...” General Park Tae-seop let out a dry chuckle.

Vice Marshal Ri Chun-sik had surrendered without resistance when the South Korean military entered Pyongyang, stating that there was no need for a senseless bloodbath between brethren. Despite his courageous decision, the chickenhawks of Yeouido had vehemently demanded he be court-martialed. Now, he was languishing in a detention center somewhere in Pyongyang.

Even in prison, Vice Marshal Ri Chun-sik kept a close eye on the political climate by reading Southern newspapers. He undoubtedly knew exactly what was happening down south. Perhaps his tip was a form of 'consideration' wrapped in a cynical joke. It was a bitter irony that an enemy faced on the front lines understood their plight better than the politicians sitting safely in the rear.

“Shall we destroy them?”

“No, do not destroy them. For now, we keep this strictly between us.”

“Then...!”

“Do not jump to conclusions. As I always say, 'When soldiers think too much, the nation grows noisy.' Consider this nothing more than insurance.”

Every weapon within the military was registered and tracked by the administrative system. An 'unregistered weapon' that no one else knew existed would make an excellent tool in times of crisis.

“Understood, sir...” Major General Lee Jin-hyuk conceded, his expression unreadable.

“Is this about what happened back then?”

“No, sir.”

“Come now. Before we are superior and subordinate, we are senior and junior, brothers in arms. What is there to hide between us?”

“...That is true, sir.”

“I understand. Anyone in your position would feel the same.”

After his wife passed away, Major General Lee Jin-hyuk had poured his heart and soul into raising his only son. The boy grew up healthy, upright, and without a single crooked bone in his body. Despite Lee's attempts to dissuade him—knowing firsthand how brutal a soldier's life could be—his son insisted on entering the military academy to follow in his father's footsteps. In the end, as no parent can truly defeat their child's resolve, his son enrolled, commissioned as an officer, and built an exemplary career, determined never to bring shame to his father's name.

...Until he met that woman.

True to his father's unyielding nature, Lee's son refused to give female soldiers any special treatment. When they made absurd demands—such as requesting to sleep in motels instead of tents during field training, or asking that male conscripts carry their rucksacks for them—he flatly rejected them.

Harboring a deep grudge, a female soldier retaliated with a false sexual assault accusation. Her claim was shocking: she alleged that he had raped her and gotten her pregnant. Though Lee's son maintained his innocence to the very end, the 'sweet' military leadership refused to listen to a single word. Ultimately, driven to despair, Lee's son took his own life, leaving behind a desperate, final plea: *“I didn't do it.”*

It was later revealed that the child she carried was the result of a one-night stand, and even she didn't know who the father was. Yet, even after the truth came to light, the female soldier escaped with nothing more than a slap on the wrist. Though Major General Lee Jin-hyuk was an influential officer in his own right, there was nothing he could do when the 'sweet' military leadership and the civilian politicians above them banded together to shield her.

“Do not let personal feelings cloud your judgment. Our duty is ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠simply to defend the nation under civilian control.”

“I know, sir...”

“We can only pray that things never reach that point.” General Park Tae-seop crushed his cigarette butt in the ashtray, pulled out another, and placed it between his lips. “Care for one?” he offered, holding the pack out to Major General Lee Jin-hyuk.

“No, thank you, sir. I quit the day my son died,” Major General Lee Jin-hyuk declined quietly.

“I see.” General Park Tae-seop lit his cigarette. “With your son gone like that, what parent could possibly smoke in peace?”

“...Once everything is settled, I plan to share a smoke with my boy.” Major General Lee Jin-hyuk clenched his jaw.

He remembered how harshly he had scolded his son for smoking, as if it were some unforgivable sin. Why had he made such a fuss over a single cigarette? He wanted to ask his son, now resting in the columbarium: *“Hey, kiddo. Now that you're sharing a smoke with your old man, does it taste any better?”*