The Imperial Hunter - Chapter 31: August's Street Trees (4)
The body reinforcement incantation didn't create power from nothing—it amplified what was already there. It boosted exercise capacity relative to caloric intake, but only on the premise of baseline consumption. The recovery acceleration was just a speedup of natural healing, accompanied by proportionally greater expenditure. That was why my daily intake had ballooned past 5,000 kcal on a high-carb regimen.
As I wrapped up the somewhat burdensome meal in quantity, Suyeon set down her utensils first and glanced at her quietly buzzing phone. She read the incoming message in her calm voice.
"Hyungnim. The government has decided to award presidential commendations to our organization's affiliates."
What the hell is this?
"Commendations? For what?"
"For humanitarian aid to American Native tribes, elevating the nation's prestige and contributing to improved relations between Korea and the US... or so it says."
"......"
I was so dumbfounded I couldn't close my mouth.
The government's so-called humanitarian aid referred to the virus testing kits and various epidemic prevention supplies I'd sent to five Native reservations at Diamond Casino's request over the past few months. During the peak of the Chinese pneumonia outbreak in the US, North American Natives had been thoroughly ignored by the federal health administration for months. The federal government's medical support via the Indian Health Service amounted to nothing more than body bags for the dead.
Few knew it, but the official term for self-governing Native territories in the US was nation. Yet how could a nation stripped of diplomatic rights truly be one? How were they supposed to procure epidemic-prevention supplies from abroad when even ‘real’ nations were struggling with shortages?
In the end, only private efforts remained. As the Desert People withered away, the Chief had approached me with an unprecedented credit deal. I bit on his desperate proposal and politely promised ten times the amount he'd requested—for free.
The Chief seemed flustered by the unexpected generosity, but I had rational motives.
It's entirely feasible.
I'd long foreseen a cicada-summer season. When it came, North America's Natives would swarm like a heartbreaking chorus of cicadas. I wanted to gather them, forge them into the vanguard of an inferno for London.
To me, their plight was timely fortune. Their ancient grudge against invaders, refreshed by body bags, made it likely they'd wield awakening-granted powers as tools of rage. Even if they didn't want to—they would anyway.
Natives were poor and marginalized, hence high-crime groups. That foreshadowed their public image darkening further: superpowered vagrants, potential security threats abusing abilities for crime. The discrimination that bred, and their resistance to it, would birth recruitment pools of empire-hating militants.
Yes. I helped them while wishing misfortune upon them. The invaders would bear the sin; the choice was purely the Natives'. I reaped the desired harvest merely by extending mercy.
How could this not suit me perfectly? In their hour of need, only I extended a hand. My presence must be etched sharply in the minds of those trapped in their reservations. For now, limited to those who knew me—but once the tribes fell into deeper shadow, that would change.
Kyung-tae grumbled flatly.
"If they're giving stuff away, make it a medal or something. A commendation certificate's so cheapskate. Do they know how much we spent?"
Suyeon replied curtly.
"No choice. We dispersed the ownership."
"Still... hyungnim could've been a national merit hero. Can't help but feel it's a shame."
I felt a bit absurd.
"What good would that do me?"
"Not a bad thing, right? Your public persona gains social recognition and respect. I like people looking up to you, hyungnim."
"......"
Such pointless greed.
Social prestige made fine camouflage, but one-off honors had short shelf lives. Pushing it through HQ alone would draw unwanted scrutiny to us—and expose the organization's heart to our client, the White Chief.
Suyeon, pondering Kyung-tae's words, spoke quietly.
"A proposal on future policy—"
"Hm?"
"Separate from this, I believe it's not bad for hyungnim or key organization members to become this country's patriots and strategic assets."
Patriots and strategic assets?
"The second part's the key."
"Yes. It might bring annoyances, but official state protection in the light is crucial. When the Round Table of Light and Truth leverages British diplomacy and intel against us, a Korea that values us makes a fine bulwark."
True. Shadow bribes and protection had limits. Official safeguards for public personas actively countered pressures I might overlook—like buying escape time.
And Korea's national power was just right. Too strong, and we'd be puppets; too weak, useless as a shield.
Especially after this confirmation.
Amid the global health crisis, Korea surprisingly led worldwide epidemic prevention: test kits, strategies, exports of gear and PPE. It let me aid the Chief easily—good luck there.
Suyeon's proposal continued.
"It also improves access to intel and national projects. If magic becomes core to state interests, laws will restrict civilian access to key or hazardous awakened lifeforms and sites."
"Hm......"
"Existing connections and scholarships won't suffice—or will be cumbersome. Same overseas. National influence and diplomacy will often be needed. For smooth code collection, official credentials and easy contracts are essential."
"Valid points, but—"
I'd vaguely considered her angle. However.
"You know the risks are substantial."
"Yes."
"Yet you see greater gains."
"Yes."
"If your math checks out, fine. I'll review positively."
"Thank you."
When state power eyes the unknown, military applications come first. My top worry: conscription into wars or state conflicts.
This country loves forced labor.
Conscription itself skirted ILO forced-labor bans; even the self-proclaimed progressive president ignored them. Awakened might fare better than grunts, but disasters, civil aid—endless annoyances awaited, war or not. Just look at pandemic treatment of medics. At least pay them on time.
With threats like China and North Korea nearby, they'd never leave us be. Best case: expose some subordinates publicly. Still, to minimize losses, I'd shoulder the hassle in shadows.
But I trusted my chief secretary's judgment. Even if predictions missed, she'd find paths before cliffs.
Kyung-tae, who'd listened quietly, laughed approvingly.
"So the medal is a shame, huh."
"......Suppose so."
Strictly, my aid to the Chief didn't merit even a civilian medal. With the White House madman raging on SNS about federal embarrassment, what "friendship boost"?
America's president had long harbored grudge against Natives, especially the Desert People. They'd blocked his Mexico border wall. Straddling the border, the tribe invoked treaties to deny passage.
They had reason beyond land splits or anti-US spite: sacred ancestral burial grounds lay in the wall's path. The Saguaro cactus groves Americans called Organ Pipe were holy to Desert People and Apaches alike—believed vessels of ancestors' souls.
Early this year, as the Chinese plague hit, those cacti—imbued with forebears—were felled or blasted by executive order. Amid pandemic slaughter, after losing Waukulik's peak, another holy site gone. The Chief must've seethed with reversed blood.
To me, their rage was a safe, high-yield investment.
Bzzz—
My smartphone vibrated with an incoming call. The screen showed the White Chief's number.
"This old man's no saint either. Brew some coffee."
Planning to sip during the talk, both aides reacted. Kyung-tae half-stood, eyeing straight-backed Suyeon.
"Noona always does it—my turn this time—"
"Sit."
"Yes, ma'am."
Subdued, Kyung-tae sat. What did these two do all day...... I shook my head lightly and picked up after twenty seconds.
"Yes."
Chairman.
His voice sounded weaker than before. A good sign for me.
"What brings you today?"
......I called to express thanks for your past aid.
"Come now. I know the tribe's crisis isn't at the thanking stage. You're swamped, so this isn't idle time—there's another purpose. Speak. I prefer productive talk."
......
The speaker rumbled with a sigh. Predictable.
America controlled the plague, but Native reservations—always back-burner—still suffered. Local lockdowns hampered supplies.
Ha....... You're always like this; I lack the face to beg.
"So, the point?"
More test kits. I'll pay this time.
"No need for money."
Chairman.
"I said no. Kits mean starvation for someone if paid."
......
Diamond Casino held vast funds, but mostly patrons', not the Chief's. Unlike banks, investment leeway was narrow—fees funded most profits. Decent for crime syndicates, but far short of sustaining business and tribe survival amid global crisis and lockdowns.
And that's tightened lately.
The plague hurt casino clients too. The Chief's gigs must've dried up.
Heavy silence, then:
I'm in no position, but I must ask. Why help us so much? No reason for you.
Expected question. I answered nonchalantly.
"What a late realization. Forgot our first deal was pure favor?"
Life's fortunes turn. A whim—empire-hating spite, right or wrong—now perfectly masked my true aims.
......
I savored the Chief's returning silence. Almost wanted to praise past-me's whimsy.