The Blood-Red Banner

Dohyun and Chungho continued to meet after that. "To get anything done, wouldn't we need an organization first?" At Dohyun's suggestion, the two saw eye to eye and began gathering people through MyTube—a platform similar to YouTube—and various social media networks.

Thanks to Chungho's brilliant eloquence and Dohyun's sheer drive, people began to gather in far greater numbers than expected. Without any formal organizational chart or a proper chain of command, it was a group where simply declaring, "I am with them," was enough. A massive, loosely knit crowd was forming—generously called an underground organization, but more accurately described as a ragtag mob.

However, even with such a loose structure, once their numbers swelled from four digits into five, it became increasingly difficult to manage. "I think we should split the organization for now," Chungho suggested. "Split it how?""First, we need to establish a political party to absorb our sympathizers, and a vanguard organization capable of taking direct action."

"And for the vanguard... hm. It would be best to recruit loud, physically imposing men who can act as instigators.""How should we select them?""Let's start with an interview process.""We'll need to draw in applicants. Do you have any good ideas?"

"In my opinion, it would be best to give them a symbol. Something like an armband or a badge, functioning like a rank insignia...""Let's make the badges out of metal so they look good, and the armbands a highly visible color.""Sounds good.""How about a deep burgundy, the color of the military flags from the old Joseon Dynasty? A dark, turbid red, like dried blood.""Excellent. We'll use the Bagua as our emblem... and as for the organizational structure..."

"Do you have something in mind?""It would be better to intentionally place those who come from wealthy families, have prestigious academic backgrounds, or hold high social status at the bottom of the ranks.""So you mean to replace their real-world social hierarchy with our political hierarchy...""Exactly. Doing so will blur their perception of reality and highly motivate them to focus entirely on our 'activities.'""As expected of you..."

Thus, the alt-right political party, the Men's Republican Party, and its militant wing, the National Male Vanguard, were formed. Park Chungho assumed the role of President of the Men's Republican Party, while Dohyun became the Leader of the National Male Vanguard.

"Rationality is not what matters. Throw out empty promises. Tell them we will buy rice at a high price and sell cooked rice at a cheap price. It's all just fucking propaganda anyway. Everyone knows it's a lie. They don't get fooled because they are stupid; they get fooled because they desperately want to believe it. Because if they don't, they can't endure this reality. Think with the heart, not the head. When will overrides reason, and when anger overwhelms intellect, that is when history is made." These were the words Chungho had spoken one day. "All we have to do is bring their anger to a boiling point."

And then, the time came.

The revolution struck like a bolt of lightning. Martial law was declared. Troops armed with old North Korean-made weapons seized government offices, broadcasting stations, and newspaper agencies. The police force was completely neutralized. Riots broke out here and there, but the military intentionally turned a blind eye. And then, Dohyun and Chungho made their move.

Chungho ascended the podium like a colossus and looked down at the crowd. "My respected fellow citizens!" He paused. In the silence, excitement and anticipation boiled over. All preparations were complete. Finally, the anger had reached its boiling point. Now, all Chungho and Dohyun had to do was give them a push so they could unleash their fury. "We just need to provide them with the proper justification." All they had to do was throw wood onto the fire.

Looking at the men lined up before Chungho, Dohyun suddenly recalled the lyrics of a song. It was "Cuckoo" by Viktor Tsoi.

Just as the song said, the gunpowder was already there. Now, they were going to give them the fire.

"The time has finally come!" Chungho declared. The crowd stomped their feet and roared. The ground trembled, and the very air vibrated. As the excitement subsided slightly, Chungho raised a finger and began his speech. "There was a promise. A promise made to us."

"They demanded our effort. They demanded our lives. They demanded our time, and they demanded our blood and devotion." He listed everything that had been demanded of them, one by one. The crowd was swept up in excitement once more, but it did not erupt just yet. After another brief silence, Chungho stated clearly what they had done. "And so, we gave it to them."

"That's right!"

"Those motherfuckers!"

"Give it all back! We gave you everything, you bastards!"

"Give me back my arm! My arm!"

Among them were disabled veterans. The shout of a one-armed veteran was relatively quiet, but the boiling look in his eyes held a rage deeper than anyone else's. There were small explosions of anger like this, but they quickly subsided when Chungho lightly waved his hand.

"They promised us. Reward for our devotion, honor for our sacrifice. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠They promised us stable jobs. They promised us families. They promised us homes where those families could live. They promised us fair wages. They promised us proper rest. They promised to protect us with a just legal system." Once again, Chungho spoke of what they had been promised.

"And they did not pay back a single thing." He made it clear what had happened. "They ignored our devotion, and instead of honor, they gave us insult." He clearly stated what they had received instead.

"You have probably all heard the term Gunmuseae. That is merely a fraction of it."

"Those fucking bitches!" Scattered shouts erupted once more.

"We cannot start families. We have no homes. We have no money. This is what they have given us—forced retirement in our thirties, a silent Labor Standards Act, death from overwork, false accusations, and a society suffocated by unleashed feminism that brands us all as potential criminals." As the shouting died down, Chungho lowered his tone slightly, listing these grievances in a low, whispering, yet crystal-clear voice.

"And everything that should have been ours, they stole from us." He raised his hand to the sky, his voice rising once more. "Even after taking all this, they are still not satisfied. They grind down our time and our blood to sustain their businesses. They maintain their welfare and pensions. And if that wasn't enough, they stole what was ours and handed it to women. All while saying this: 'Men do not deserve to have this, but women do.'"

"No!"

"That's ours!"

"Fucking thief feminists!"

"Kill them all!"

Scattered screams and shouts erupted from all directions. The pressure gauge had reached its critical limit—but it ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠was not yet time to let it blow. He paused, letting some steam escape. The shouting subsided again, but the excitement and rage continued to build, passing the red line of the pressure gauge, breaking peak after peak.

"Now, let me ask you. Who broke the promise?" He threw the question out, looking over the crowd.

"The old farts!"

"The bitches!"

"The feminists!"

"The rich!"

"The conglomerates!"

Answers shot up from everywhere. But in truth, the content of the answers did not matter. The very act of answering was what was important. Chungho gave them a moment. He gave them time to fully immerse themselves in hating the objects of their hatred.

"Correct! They unilaterally broke the promise. But a broken promise does not simply end with its breach. When a promise is broken, a penalty always follows." He validated them. Instantly, silence fell over the crowd. It was the calm before the storm, the moment before a massive explosion. Every single air molecule floating in the space became as sharp as a needle, piercing the lungs of everyone present.

"Now, let us wring their necks and make them spit out what they devoured. Let us make them pay the penalty. Today, we... we..." The pressure gauge could no longer hold. It rattled, shuddered, and stopped. The pressure compressed for a split second, and then—

"Take back what is ours!"

It exploded all at once. A tempest raged. Hatred and fury swept through the plaza. The roar was no longer mere sound; it became a physical vibration, pounding against their chests.

Dohyun took a step forward to stand beside Chungho on the podium. Just then, various flags were passed up to them. Among them, he saw the Taegeukgi, the flag of the Republic of Korea. Dohyun reached out, but stopped. No. This is not our flag. He pulled his hand back. Next to it, he saw another flag. A deep, blood-red flag emblazoned with the Bagua. It was the party flag of the Men's Republican Party and the banner of the Vanguard. Yes. This is our flag. Dohyun gripped the flagpole and stood tall on the podium. He waved it with all his might. He waved their flag. Though there was barely any wind, the flag fluttered violently, whipped by the sheer excitement and the roaring of the crowd. Waving the flag, Dohyun thrust one hand high into the air. In his grip was a pistol. As if signaling the start of a match, he pulled the trigger. A gunshot rang out across the plaza.

"Let's go!"

From the podium, from the very epicenter, a shockwave of rage rippled outward. The shockwave swept through Seoul, engulfed the metropolitan area, and consumed the entire Republic of Korea. The revolution had begun.

And a few days later...

"Aaaah! Help me! Somebody help me, please!"

"Shut up, you traitorous bitch!"

It was no longer an uncommon sight to witness a form of public trial on the streets, targeting women who had made "feminist remarks," engaged in "feminist activities," or were deemed anti-state. The verdict of these trials was almost always guilty.

"If you don't stay still, I'm going to rip your cunt open with this, got it?"

And the punishment was frequently carried out in the form of rape.

Amidst all this, Yeeun was walking with anxious, hurried steps.

"I need to get home quickly before I get caught up in this..." she thought, her face pale with dread.