Blind Spot (6): My Personal Threshold
First, my personal issue.
I'd once declared that if I needed to, I'd smuggle in a nuke and detonate it myself—but that was strictly for cases of absolute necessity. To rephrase: only when there were no other options.
So where exactly should I draw the line for that necessity? Did I really need to secure victory by massacring millions, children included? Beyond the line of necessity, wasn't there another boundary I had to consider?
This wasn't just a cry from my conscience—it was a cry of pure disgust. I hated imperialists. Forget right or wrong; I just despised them on a visceral level. Sure, I pursued different values and outcomes from theirs, but methodologically, the line separating us came down mostly to scale.
The scale of sacrifices placed on the balance of desire. For me, inflating that scale excessively was like walking barefoot through a tunnel swarming with cockroaches like a raging torrent. It was a path I wouldn't take even if my life wasn't on the line—pure irritation would stop me cold.
Since my motives had nothing to do with ethics, blocking the imperialists' world order was just ideological fodder to instill in my subordinates.
That led to the second problem. Who should I entrust with this brutal plan? Justifying means with ends had its limits. Preparing a biological terror attack would burden even my loyal subordinates with moral torment. And there was no guarantee the disease spread could be contained at 100%.
Brainwashing my men to the level of those idiots up top ranting endlessly about "the state’s nukes" or whatever would risk them losing rational thinking and causing some unpredictable disaster.
Kyung-tae and Suyeon, along with a few former chiefs of staff and security—maybe half a dozen in total—were trustworthy enough. Not because they had zero chance of wavering, but because if they did, they'd come clean to me first.
Still, it was impossible to hand every single step from one to ten over to that small group.
I recalled what Suyeon had said in Singapore.
「If that's what you want, hyungnim, I could grab a knife right now and go stab every visible person—children and adults alike.」
Blind loyalty I could rely on, no matter the reason. Sensing my gaze, Suyeon turned her head. An unusually puzzled expression on her face.
"Is Perucho bothering you, perhaps?"
"What?"
"Maria's father, the port official Pedro Santos Sanchez."
"I haven't forgotten. But why bring him up now?"
"……I thought you were looking this way after hearing the news. Guess not."
News? Only then did I register the voice leaking from one dangling earbud. The announcer's tone, which I'd been tuning out as background noise.
Aware of my attention, Suyeon swiveled her chair for better conversation angle, unplugged the earphones from her laptop, and let the port updates blast through the speakers.
"Strange."
Listening to the news, doubts about Perucho surfaced.
"He's not the type to go this far. Doesn't he value his life?"
The potbellied man I'd seen embodied the self-centered everyman—mistaking weakness for righteousness. His motives for following Hwang were limited to his own life and his daughter's. Even if Hwang's disappearance devastated him, weighing that rage against survival would always tip toward living. A petty schemer through and through.
What Perucho was doing now bordered on suicide. Neither Chelino nor El Tiro and his men, skulking in the shadows, would spare a lowly clerk foolish enough to provoke them.
Suyeon answered my question.
"Maria's dead."
"How?"
"That night, while fleeing the city, assailants shot her. Not fatal, but they stole the car, and roads to the hospital were blocked. No timely treatment. Perucho believes it was Sinaloa remnants—said the attackers had their signature facial tattoos."
Ah. The picture formed. Clutching his daughter as she bled out and grew cold, the potbellied clerk stumbling through smoke-filled, gunfire-riddled night streets, drenched in sweat and tears.
That kind of trauma could change a man. Whether irreversible or just temporary fury and grief, who knew.
"He won't last long."
Dead or alive, no real difference—but if he offed himself, all the better. The traces of my Hwang alias would fade faster.
But Suyeon offered a different take.
"He might surprisingly hang on."
"Why?"
"Citizens mourning Hwang are rallying around him. His face and story hit the media after accusing the mayor. As that movement's figurehead, he's a fresh face for the Mexican government and FPDA+1 to parade—poster boy for positive community change."
"……Pushing that guy into politics?"
"If Chelino gets impeached and a by-election happens? Plenty possible. He'd absorb much of the goodwill toward dead Hwang. He was openly your local aide everywhere."
"Unintentionally aided his campaign, huh."
"Yes."
"Bit troublesome."
Suyeon's prediction rang realistic. His base was Hwang sympathizers, his resume just being your sidekick—so any political rise meant endlessly invoking Hwang's name to stay afloat.
Kill him? I drummed my fingers on the armrest, pondering.
Low risk from the Hwang alias. Birth nation listed Korean, but actual citizenship Colombian—and Colombia was at war with neighbors. 'No bandwidth for verifying some random businessman's ID, let alone non-state requests.'
Funds under Hwang? Laundered through paper companies more tangled than that infamous Apple tax scheme. Field team's decade-plus masterpiece.
Still, leaving Perucho alive chafed.
"What should we do with him?"
As if expecting it, Suyeon replied without hesitation.
"Kill or spare, either works."
"Killing makes sense, but why spare?"
"Hwang's death isn't even getting proper domestic buzz, let alone international, right when it should. Hong Kong admin assassination attempt, CCP elite home burglaries, West-China clashes, surging piracy, Japanese fishermen vanishing, African civil wars escalating, endless US black riots and looting, Paris terror, South American war……."
Listing global headlines randomly, Suyeon shook her head.
"You know it too, hyungnim. The world's not quieting down anytime soon. Hwang's death won't draw Round Table eyes. Better let anyone use Perucho—shifts focus to political angles."
True enough…… I'd known it deep down, but predator instinct warped my perspective momentarily. No big deal.
Topic arose out of nowhere, so my words lacked depth. Half my mind was still on the London assault dilemma.
Chewing it over: killing later works fine. Wait for Perucho hype to die. Even with current citizen support, politicians rarely avoid disappointing bases—rarer than endangered species. Environment forces it, especially corrupt Mexican politics.
Perucho had no Mexican grease: no political backing, no economic assets. Odds high he'd lose all but cult fans within a year.
Question I wouldn't have asked with more thought.
"I showed weakness."
"No. I'll edit the transcript and leak anonymously if he turns problematic."
"Good."
To ease Suyeon's subtle discomfort, I shifted to neutral ground.
"Any new Black Sea Party updates?"
The Black Sea Party (黑孩子黨)—self-proclaimed name for Awakened vigilantes hitting CCP bigwigs in China lately. Righteous thieves targeting only commie elite homes.
"Was gonna report with others later, but now?"
Her polite nudge: Shouldn't you rest more? Perucho came up unplanned anyway.
Rest already ruined.
"Tell me."
"……International Ops Director Seo Gapsu and Deputy Park Miju asked local contacts. Guangdong and Hainan alone: at least seven provincial standing committee-level casualties estimated."
"Seven? Seven at standing committee level?"
"Yes. Guangzhou Party Secretary Mao Xiaodu, Hainan Standing Committee Deputy Director Yang Hongzhong, Hainan Discipline Inspection Local Bureau Chief Peng Chunlan, Guangdong Propaganda Minister Sun Xi……."
After hearing the titles and names, I said with wry disbelief.
"If they don't contain this, China's economy's getting bombed."
Silly to call mere theft an economic bomb—but I wasn't joking.