Where Am I, and Who Am I?
Where am I? Who am I?
"······."
"Hey. Hey. What are you doing?"
"Shut up. I can't concentrate."
"Unbelievable. If you've got nothing to do, go beg somewhere. Why are you drawing worms all over the ground?"
I ignored the whining brat chattering away beside me and went back to scratching words into the dirt with a stick.
Supernatural phenomenon. Reincarnation? Regression? Possession? Some kind of experiment the US military ran at Camp Humphreys? ROK forces at Gyeryongdae? The North? Or maybe a Chinese plot?
···No. Camp Humphreys in Pyeongtaek is way too far, no matter how I think about it.
America's out, for now.
The North or China, then? If they had a weapon that could induce this kind of psychosis, they'd have gone straight for the South Korean and American presidents—why waste it on some nobody captain?
That leaves Gyeryongdae. Come to think of it, isn't Gyeryongdae not far from Cheongju Air Base?
Right, that's it. A top-secret neurotoxin developed at Gyeryongdae to take off Kim Jong-un's head leaked out with a psss-sssh, and the unlucky Captain Lee Tae-oh, who just happened to be walking by, took a dose. Right now the real me is teetering between life and death in some ICU at the Armed Forces Capital Hospital.
Yeah, that explains it. My life being a hot mess, sure—but a perfectly good fighter jet slamming into the ground? That's beyond unlucky.
Murphy's Law exists, sure, but so does "every cloud has a silver lining." Nobody's luck runs out from cradle to grave.
So this is··· a dream.
I turned my head and looked at the little brat, whose face was streaked with sweat in rivulets like a river.
Has this kid ever bathed once in his life?
"What year is it?"
"Uh, uh. Well··· it's the byeongsin year."
"The byeongsin year?"
Byeongsin. As in 'moron.' Sure, sure. And those clothes—looks like he walked out of a folk village. What a committed method actor.
Since when were the people in my dreams this detailed?
"Now then, my friend. Forget the lunar calendar—can you tell me in the solar one?"
"Solar?"
The kid tilted his head, then went ah! and perked up.
"Got it! You mean the calendar the yanggweija use—the Western devils! That's what you're asking about, right?!"
"I'm losing my mind."
Why is this dream so ridiculously realistic? Don't tell me I fell asleep watching a historical drama last night.
"Hey, what's gotten into you all of a sudden? You're acting weird. You didn't catch some disease, did you?"
"Buddy. Hit me. Once, as hard as you can."
"What? You're just as crazy as I am, what do you—"
"No—no—stop talking and just hit me already!"
SMAK!
It hurts.
Yeah. Shit.
I've decided to accept reality.
Samsik, who scraped out a living under one of the many bridges of Hanseong, had come to a conclusion.
His friend Dushik had apparently gone mad, ever since the fever a few days back.
"You. What's your name again?"
"You forgot that too? It's Samsik! And you're Dushik!"
"Dushik? Are you kidding me. Who names a kid that half-heartedly?"
"Hansik-hyung did—"
"···From now on, call me Lee Tae-oh. Tae as in the name of a nation, o as in 'to enjoy.' Got it?"
Out of nowhere, the name everyone had been using just fine until yesterday got swapped for something completely unrecognizable.
"You—no, Samsik. Think you could go somewhere and scrape up a scrap of newspaper for me?"
"A newspaper? What's that?"
"Hoo."
Dushik—no, Tae-oh—let out a long sigh and asked again.
"Samsik. Last year, or anytime recently, did anything big happen to the country?"
"Big? Aah. The war ended last year, remember? You forgot?"
"War? What war. Who was fighting?"
The entire country was in chaos, and he's asking who was fighting?
That settled it. Dushik was definitely, certifiably insane.
Getting beaten half to death for failing to bring home alms, catching a fever on top of it—something in that head of his had gone wrong for sure. Poor kid.
"The Chinamen and the Japs went at it, hammer and tongs, and the Chinamen got trounced and ran off with their tails between their legs. You remember that?"
"······I see."
Dushik stared at the ground, deep in thought, then suddenly shot to his feet.
"You. Come somewhere with me."
Think objectively. Strip out every ounce of emotion and look at it with a cold head.
First: my body is, at most, five or six years old.
Second: according to the little brat—the first person I met after opening my eyes in this world··· no, in this era—he and I are a pair of beggars working under some thug. Judging by the state of me, that tracks.
Everything I own amounts to a few coins hidden in the waistband of my pants.
Orphan start, followed by an orphan bonus, plus a beggar debuff. My life is truly legendary.
The one saving grace··· is that this era doesn't seem to deviate from the past I know.
Which means the knowledge and skills I carry might actually be useful. Foreign languages, aviation expertise, that sort of thing.
Come to think of it, thank God I didn't get bounced into a fantasy other world. The only thing a 21st-century modern man can do in a fantasy world is beg.
Now, adding up the rest of the intel I've gathered:
No Japanese flag in sight anywhere, so the country probably hasn't fallen yet.
And from Samsik's report—"China and Japan smashed into each other and China got wrecked"—the one concrete thing I can extract is that this is the year after the First Sino-Japanese War.
Whether that's 1895 or something else exactly, I couldn't say.
I'm not a history major. I went to the service academy, where they teach you military history and not much else—how would I have memorized a timeline? I only know things roughly.
Truly monumental wars like the World Wars, or conflicts special to us like the Korean War and Vietnam—that's about where my before-and-after knowledge ends.
A fine officer does not move without reasonable and accurate information.
If you're in the Army maybe it's different, but a pilot who skimps on intel ends up bombing civilians and friendlies alike.
I need more information to maneuver. Simple as that.
"So where exactly are we going?"
"Jongno."
"Jongno? Why Jongno? No, wait a second—"
I dunked the waterworks-bucketed Samsik into the Han River one more time.
Sorry about that. But hygiene management is an officer's duty.
Even a history ignoramus like me knows, roughly, that Jongno has been the heart of Seoul from the Joseon dynasty all the way to the Republic of Korea.
Plant myself there, crouch down, and just listen to what the passersby gossip about—I'd get a general picture soon enough.
And that also means every kind of human being is gathered there.
Even in 21st-century Korea, getting to Jongno meant surviving the cursed Line 1, stuffed to the brim with every spectacle humanity had to offer.
Now imagine walking from the Han River to Jongno, in the 19th century—an age of savagery and violence—in beggar's rags, as a child.
God knows what misadventure would find us halfway there.
Worst of all, I'm still a little kid. One wrong punch and I'm done for good.
I refuse to watch the end of my second life on a roadside gutter.
"Okay. Okay, is this enough?"
"Mm. Good. Now nobody picks a fight with us for being disgusting."
I wrung out my still-damp clothes one last time and set off.
"But, Tae-oh."
"Yeah?"
"Do I··· really have to come too?"
"Yeah."
The Seoul of today is nothing like the Seoul I knew.
No asphalt, no matchbox apartment blocks. Instead, ox carts and rickshaws trundled back and forth—and there wasn't a single streetcar in sight, the kind you'd see in a modern historical drama.
I can't get my bearings at all.
Without a guide, I'll wander this Seoul until I drop dead today.
"Help me out. Just this once."
"What? No. Why are you talking like someone about to leave forever?"
"Because I am leaving."
"You? On what skills are you planning to eat?"
What skills?
In this country, where there's nothing to be had, knowing English alone would keep a man from starving.
Granted, in this body, that's about the only card I hold.
Samsik's suspicious stare didn't waver, but to my surprise he gave in easily enough.
"Either way, today's begging's already ruined because of you. If we go back and I say 'I couldn't get anything, sir?'—hyung's going to beat you, then beat me too."
"Might as well tough it out till nightfall, do a round of begging tomorrow, and go home after that. The excuse writes itself—we got jumped by thugs and robbed."
Amazing.
It's like looking at my own childhood. A rough upbringing does make children grow up fast, doesn't it.
"Haah. Why is my lot in life so twisted. Can't exactly leave a madman alone either—"
No point explaining further. He'd just look at me like an even bigger lunatic. Fine—I'll play the lunatic.
We had set out early, but by the time I reached Jongno the sun was already past its zenith, skirting the edge of dusk.
"Hey, Tae-oh. We made it to Jongno."
"······."
"I said we made it to Jongno."
"······."
"Hey!"
Sorry. I honestly can't spare you a thought right now.
I never imagined I'd live to see foreign soldiers strolling through Jongno with rifles slung.
And not just one of them. Two.
One was, naturally, the eternal villain of this era—the Imperial Japanese Army.
The other, from the chatter around us, was the Russian Army.
Man, what a fantastic world. In a little while, those two are going to put the Korean Peninsula on the gambling table and go at each other tooth and nail, aren't they?
The state of my country is simply amazing. Ko-reaaaa. Incredible.
That aside—nothing good comes of catching those bastards' eyes.
I slipped into the crowd, doing my utmost to avoid attention, and made for the front of some Western-style building where the throng was thickest.
What could be drawing such a crowd? I elbowed and shoved my way through, and the answer came into view.
A massive newspaper, pasted to the wall.
There it is. Seeing with my own eyes what I'd only ever glimpsed in textbook photographs—it finally feels real.
This world really is the past of the one I used to live in.
And.
[···It has now been over a year since His Majesty the Emperor departed for the Russian Legation in Jeong-dong···.]
And this glorious state of the nation, too, finally makes sense.
Right—whenever something fantastic happens in modern history, you just name that guy. The JOAT of Korean history.
The Japanese Army, which had beaten the Qing to a pulp in the Sino-Japanese War.
King Gojong, who fled from that very Japanese Army to the Russian Legation.
The Russian Army, which scored itself a free Gojong—a captured Pokémon—and used him to entrench itself on the peninsula.
Understood, loud and clear. This era.
It's so damn miserable I want to die.
As far as I know, within about ten years, this country falls into the hands of the Empire of Japan.
And forty years after that, the Empire of Japan shall receive the Holy Trinity—Father Truman, Son LeMay, and the Holy Spirit Fat Man—and return to dust.
So then. What should I do, right now?
What to do.
Survive. That comes first.
Can't rewrite history or anything else if I'm dead, can I.
"We're going to Jeong-dong."
"Jeong-dong?"
"You said there's a Russian legation in Jeong-dong, right?"
Diplomats in this era—much like the 21st century—huddle together in one quarter.
I don't know whether the Boxer Rebellion has already happened or is yet to come, but as that uprising—raised under the banner of killing every Westerner on earth—shows, the contemporary East is not friendly. Not. At. All.
Live apart and you die.
"Which means the American embassy, or consulate, will be there too."
Right now, interpreting for Americans or Britons is the fastest way in this country to put food, clothes, and a roof over your head.
Living as a penniless wretch like this, who knows which day I drop dead.
Jeong-dong is, at most, right next to Jongno.
In less than an hour, we stood in front of the American legation.
"I—I'm not going in. They say the Westerners snatch up kids like us and eat them."
"···Right. Thanks for everything."
I dug the coins out of my waistband, pressed them into his hand, and sent him off.
Having come this far, I can afford to lose a few lousy coins.
One deep breath. Then I knocked on the door.
"Hm? Was someone other than me scheduled to arrive today?"
"No, sir. Today's schedule was cleared entirely for Dr. Jaisohn."
American diplomat ··· furrowed his brow, rose from his seat, and called for the guard.
"What's the matter?"
"A Korean child, sir."
"Then he's a street urchin. Toss him a few coins and be done with it."
"That is—we already tried, but he insists he wants to work here."
"Ha. Can't even speak English, and what work does he imagine he'd do—"
"Well—that I can't speak to, but his English is actually quite good, sir."
"···He speaks English?"
Intrigued, the diplomat approached the gentleman and spoke with careful courtesy.
"Dr. Jaisohn. It promises to be a fine diversion—care to come and have a look with me?"
"Gladly."
The two men rose from their seats and followed the guard.
"Anything at all will do! A waiter, a cleaner, a scullery hand—just give me food, I beg you!"
"For the last time, kid, whatever you say to us, we've got no authority over the hiring—"
"Doesn't the Bible command us to help the poor! Please, save me!"
"This is unbearable."
"Waaah! Save me! Matthew! Proverbs! It is the will of Christ, you Antichrists!"
At the sight of the boy rolling head over heels across the floor, the diplomat couldn't help but chuckle.
"My goodness. You look no older than five or six. Tell me, young friend—where did you learn English?"
The moment the boy laid eyes on the diplomat—a man in a tailored suit, hair slicked back with pomade—he sprang up from the floor in an instant and bowed with impeccable formality.
"Pardon me, but—might you be a diplomat, sir?"
"I am. Where did you learn English?"
"Here and there, going place to place. Picked it up by ear."
"By ear? So you never actually studied anywhere?"
"I was born an orphan, sir. I scrape by on the streets of the capital, begging what I can. I never had the chance to learn anything, anywhere."
"If that's the truth of it, then truly remarkable, my boy."
"Dr. Jaisohn?"
The diplomat turned his head, drinking in the sight of the gentleman stepping toward the boy.
"You truly never studied, yet you speak English like this?"
"No, sir. Do I look like a man with money to spare for lessons?"
"Haha. Fair enough—I suppose you don't. ···Fascinating."
The gentleman turned and addressed the diplomat.
"If the American legation has no intention of taking this boy on, might I take him under my own care?"
"But of course, Dr. Jaisohn."
"You don't insist on the legation itself, then? I'll see that your meals and wages are paid without fail."
"Absolutely!"
The gentleman extended his hand.
"My name is Philip Jaisohn."
"In English, Theodor Lee; in Korean, Lee Tae-oh, sir."
"A fine name. ···Though I seldom use it these days—my Korean name is Seo Jae-pil."
I knew it.
There's no law saying I have to die here.